The Covenant used these stocky aliens as cannon fodder. They stood a meter tall and wore armored environment suits that replicated the atmosphere of their frozen homeworld. They reminded the Chief of biped dogs, not only in appearance, but because their speech—even with the new translation software— was an odd combination of high-pitched squeaks, guttural barks, and growls. They were about as smart as dogs, too. But what they lacked in brainpower, they made up for in sheer tenacity. He had seen them hurl themselves at their enemies until the ground was piled high with their corpses . . . and their opponents had depleted their ammunition. These Grunts were unusually well armed: needlers, plasma pistols, and there were four stationary plasma cannons. Those could be a problem. One other problem: there were easily a thousand of them.

Finally the Grunts realized what was happening—and where this attack was coming from. They regrouped and chargeden masse . An earthquake vibration coursed through the ground and shook the porous stone beneath the Chief’s boots.

The Grunts were three meters from the wall. Two dull thumps reverberated though the ground. The squeals and barks of the incoming Grunts, however, drowned out the noise of the exploding grenades.

The Grunts looked like a living carpet of steel-blue skin, claws, and chrome weapons. Some ran on all fours up the slope. They barked and howled, baying for the Spartans’ blood.

The Banshees screamed over their heads—then banked sharply for another pass.

The Banshees formed into a “flying V” and swooped toward them, almost brushing the ground.

The Banshees were one hundred meters away, then fifty meters. Their plasma weapons might recycle fast enough to get another shot . . . and at this range, the Chief wouldn’t be dodging.