Chapter 2: A Taste of Combat
Lynch turned the hog to the left far too sharply, again. She didn't seem to understand how easy it was to roll a warthog, or how hard it was to keep the gun steady as he pumped a few hundred rounds into a perusing Ghost. Those things, and their drivers, were far too canny for his liking. They skirted rises in the uneven earth, blasting off a few shots of plasma whenever they had a shot.
Back to the task at hand, Matt grimaced and turned on Lynch. He was about to say something about her driving, when he noticed something above them to the front. 12 o'clock high, as it went. The thing specifically, was purple, glowed, and shot streaming rivers of plasma at them. Banshee. Lynch swerved wildly to the right, just in time to avoid a 'missile', a fuel-rod, ONI called them.
The resulting explosion kicked the jeep up onto its right two wheels, where it remained for an impossibly long time before settling again. Matt, who had been busy not falling off, finally turned the chaingun on the flyer. It didn't take much to knock that particular bird out of the air. With another grimace, he spun back toward the Ghost and pulled the trigger. The driver of the Ghost was protected by the front of the machine, so the rounds glanced off the frontal armor.
The fronts of those craft were tough, but they were exposed from any other direction. It didn't matter, though, because he was forced to simply fire on the front of the cursed vehicle. Several plasma shots glanced off the shield mounted on the chaingun, and several more were repelled by his energy shield. Finally the Ghost, and the elite, were gone, in a satisfying explosion. Debris were scattered over the land, and Lynch pulled the warthog to a stop.
Matt gave her a curious glance, letting go of the gun and crouching. He had only ever seen marines in combat, but the rookies always seemed to act like, well, like her. Her hands were clenched to the wheel, so tightly he could see her hands turning white. Her face was pale, blood drained, and her breathing was heavily elevated. She was staring straight ahead, almost unblinking. After disabling his external speakers, he conferred with Seraphim. "Sera, what's wrong with her?"
"Matthew-115, I thought you had fought alongside marines before. She is reacting to stress, with elevated adrenaline. Her heartbeat is increased deliver the oxygen and adrenaline to all parts of the body, but especially the brain. She is consuming extreme amounts of oxygen, and may be hyperventilating." Seraphim spoke with an almost teacher-like voice, pleased to be able to help the SPARTAN with his dilemma. The SPARTANS were awkward people, and it tickled her circuits to see him learning something other than combat.
"Petty Officer Lynch." Matt said, quietly. He didn't want to startle her, and he was unsure how she would react in her current state. "Calm down. It's over." He tilted his head slightly to the side, more on instinct and mimicry than a planned action.
"Sorry, sir." She said, breathless. Her hands suddenly released from the wheel, almost a spasm, and she curled them to her chest. Matt could guess they were cramping, simply from the way she held her hands. Finally, the SPARTAN had a good idea.
"Why don't you get some sleep? I'll take the wheel for a while." A quick glance around showed him all he needed to know: there were no Covenant around. No one would have to man the gun. He glanced back at Lynch, who looked a little relieved, but had an expression that Matt couldn't read.
"I don't think I'll get much sleep…" Lynch said, glancing at the passenger seat next to her. The sun was shining, it was hot, and the jeep would be bouncing over all sorts of obstacles. While any SPARTAN could sleep like that, they wouldn't, considering that they were in enemy territory. But the sailor, who had never been in any kind of combat, wasn't a SPARTAN. She needed sleep.
Finally, she nodded, and slid her way into the passenger seat, ducking carefully under the cross bar. Matt slid into the driver's seat without even touching the ground. While he was more than a little big for the seat, he still managed to fit so that he could control their speed and direction. Good enough.
Matthew-15 spared one last look at Lynch before placing his foot on the gas pedal. The jeep started slowly, but had a surprisingly high top speed.
