HALO: First Strike by Eric Nylund

Author:Eric Nylund
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books

CHAPTER 20

* * *

TIME:DATE RECORD ANOMALY, Estimated 0610 Hours,

September 23, 2552 (Military Calendar)

Aboard captured Covenant dropship, Epsilon Eridani system, en route to surface of Reach.

Polaski accelerated the captured dropship to its maximum velocity—just under Mach 1. The craft arced up and joined the long convoy of Covenant ships—troop transports, scavenger drones, and Seraph fighters—as they descended from a higher orbit down to the surface. The formation of alien vessels headed straight toward Menachite Mountain.

Covenant communiqués scrolled across a screen next to the pilot’s seat and then ceased.

“Incoming transmissions from the convoy . . . I guess they don’t like strays,” Polaski muttered calmly, looking at the Covenant calligraphy.

“They’re not shooting,” the Admiral said, gripping the back of Polaski’s seat. “We’re fine. Just fly, Warrant Officer.” He turned to the Master Chief. “Get ’em ready, son.”

The Chief nodded and moved aft to the rest of the squad. His three Spartans as well as Lieutenant Haverson, Locklear, and Sergeant Johnson stood over an array of weapons laid out on the deck. Anton ticked off the inventory: “Shotguns, a fuel rod gun, Jackhammer rocket launchers, plasma and HE pistols, and every type of grenade—take your pick.”

The Chief picked up five clips of ammunition for his MA5B assault rifle, three frag grenades, and a shotgun for close work. Nothing fancy—he wanted to keep it simple so he could keep one eye on the rest of his team.

Locklear hefted the fuel rod gun, grunting from the exertion. The weapon glowed an eerie green along its fuel casing.

Grace relieved him of the too-heavy weapon and shouldered it with ease.

“Make sure you get a handgun,” the Chief told Locklear. “We’ll be in close quarters underground.”

“Roger that,” Locklear said.

“We’re close,” the Admiral called out.

The Master Chief moved back to the cockpit to watch. The line of dropships and drones maneuvered toward a pile of truck-sized stones that had been carved from the mountain. A spiraling hole, ten kilometers across, sat where Menachite Mountain had once risen majestic and impregnable, covered with forests and glaciers.

It was only a strip mine now, with a single shaft drilled down its center. A Covenant cruiser hovered over the shaft, and the purple glow of a grav lift knifed into the hole.

“That’s our LZ,” Whitcomb announced. “Polaski, I want you to drive this crate straight down—but ease up a tad on the engines and let their grav beam do the work. It’ll take us all the way down to whatever’s at the bottom.”

“With respect, Admiral,” Polaski said, “I’m not sure we’ll fit.”

The Admiral squinted at the hole. “We’ll fit,” he said. “I have every confidence in you, Warrant Officer. Now make it quick. I don’t think anyone topside is going to think us going down there is a good idea.”

“Yes, sir!” Her eyes locked onto the hole. “No problem, sir.”

The Master Chief marveled at the Admiral’s lack of fear. He trusted the man’s judgment; he had been criticized during his campaigns for unorthodox tactics and strategies, but his insight had been proven correct each time.

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