John shouldered his rifle, took one step back toward the way he had come, and fired a burst into a mob of Grunts that had swarmed in past the Wraith, killing two and forcing the rest to scatter and dive for cover.
	“Chief, you should probably follow those Marines—they look like they need the help—and there are three more Wraiths on the way,” Cortana said thoughtfully.
...
	Corporal Palmer produced a notebook-sized device from her pack and passed it to the Spartan, and he flipped it open and showed them a traffic video with a time stamp from twenty-two minutes earlier four Wraiths and fifty light infantry entering the Mtangwe Underpass.
...
	“Chief,” Cortana whispered, “there was no way for you to save those three.”
	“Even so,” he muttered, “I could’ve wiped out that entire unit.”
	“Four Wraiths,” Cortana broke in. “Four. You rely too much on your luck.”
	“The limited space and the abandoned vehicles in the tunnel would have restricted their mobility as well as their ability to use their main weapons, especially if they brought all four down—which they did. I’ve been doing this for twenty-seven years, Cortana. And I know the exact limits of my luck.”
	“Then what? The rest of them die trying to support you?”
	“They started running as soon as the shooting started.”
	“Yes, Chief, but Corporal Palmer’s reasoning was sound—even without knowing about the other three Wraiths she had more sense than to go up against armor without any antiarmor weaponry.”