Dirt flew under the tracks of his Warthog as Staff Sergeant Lipton raced against the trio of Ghosts behind him. The Ghosts hung close behind him, firing sporadic burst at his vehicle. His Warthog's chain-gun hung limply against the side of the vehicle, trailing smoke.
Lipton's comm. Crackled on and he heard the reassuring voice of his Division commander. "Warthog driver, this is General Grant. What is your status?"
"Sir, this is Staff Sergeant Lipton of the 101st. I'm incoming with wounded and leading three Ghosts, I repeat, three Ghosts."
"I copy, Sergeant. We have a Longsword on the way."
Lipton swore as his vehicle hit a large crater, jolting his passenger, who groaned in pain. "Thank you, sir! Where can I enter?"
The General's reply came back with a resigned touch. "I'm sorry, soldier. All vectors have been cut off except for the back road in from the west. Recommend you alter your course. I am downloading a nav marker to your helmet."
"Roger that, sir." Lipton turned the vehicle towards the entrance. An orange arrow appeared on his visor. His first thoughts were to head straight for it, hoping to outrun the slower Covenant vehicles. Then a thought burst into his head. The Spartan! That's why they haven't killed us yet!
Lipton swerved the Warthog to the side, causing the trailing Ghosts to collide in a jumbled heap. The Warthog's engine revved loudly as Lipton pressed the petal down hard. The Warthog shot off, leaving the Ghosts tangled in a mess.
General Grant's voice popped in on the comm. Channel. "What are you doing, Lipton?"
"I can't go that way, it's not safe."
"What do you mean, not safe?"
Lipton took a deep breath before he dropped the hammer. "My injured passenger is a Spartan."
General Grant's voice came back more subdued. "Oh. What does that have to do with the entrance?"
"They are probably listening in on us, so they'd know where the entrance was. I'm going to come in my way." He smashed the comm. Unit with the butt of his pistol. As Lipton imagined the General's reaction, he thought to himself. My way is right through the freaking front door.
A ledge appeared on Lipton's right, giving him a good view of the battlefield. Covenant dead and wounded covered the plain so thickly that the ground underneath looked out of place among the mass of twisted flesh. Seeing a good path, Lipton gunned the engine and slid down the slope.
The Covenant largely ignored his sole Warthog as he sped towards the human lines, maxing out the vehicle's top speed. The air whistled by so quickly that he had a hard time catching his breath. Covenant troops flashed past, blurs of color and noise.
Finally the Covenant took notice of him. A mob of Grunts, Jackals, Elites, and Hunters blocked his path, plasma weapons firing angry darts of energy past his head. The Warthog plowed through the first wave with the ease of a knife slicing hot butter. A continuous stream of bumps jarred him and his passenger. Then they broke through.
Marines gazed in open-mouthed wonder as the Warthog cleared the slit trenches of the human lines and skidded to a halt. Lipton stumbled out of the smoking vehicles and called for help. A pair of burly marines assisted him in evacuating the wounded Spartan into another vehicle, congratulating him on his daring exploit non-stop.
Lipton stretched luxuriously and hopped in beside the Spartan. The reinforced doors slid shut behind him, blocking off the horrendous scene outside.