Halo_ First Strike - Eric S. Nylund [101]
"Eyes sharp," John said. "We have company. My guess is camouflaged Elites. Maybe some of the original crew still alive. Blue-Three, -Four, and -Five—move out."
"Roger," Will replied.
Anton emerged from the dropship hefting an arc welder, while Will and Li maneuvered the three-by-three-meter hull plates.
"Fred and Grace, you're on the welders," John ordered. "Anton, post on top of the dropship. Li, you're at three o'clock. Will at nine. I'll take the six."
Blue acknowledgment lights winked on.
John helped Fred and Grace set the plates in position. Grace and Fred fired up the arc welder, and pinpoints of metal liquefied beneath their tips. A shower of sparks swirled around them in the evacuated environment like a swarm of fireflies.
"We're in position, Admiral," John reported. "ETA for repairs is two minutes."
"Roger, Chief," Admiral Whitcomb replied. Ionization made the channel flood with static. "When you're done, give the word and get secure—we'll be accelerating immediately."
"Yes, sir."
So far, so good, John thought. Just another minute or two.
A streamer of plasma appeared from nowhere. The tangled, crisscrossed Slipspace around them dropped the bolt of boiling fire fifty meters overhead; it moved port to starboard—and vanished back into the void.
The COM shattered into white noise, and the motion sensors blurred... as did the active camouflage shielding of the six Elites who had been slowly—and until a moment ago imperceptibly— crawling toward their position.
"Enemy contacts!" John shouted.
He crouched behind the dome of a sensor node and opened fire. A hail of bullets caught the closest Elite dead-center in its chest. The gunfire punched through its shielding and then tore into its armor. It tumbled backward and spun off the hull.
In his peripheral vision John saw the silent muzzle flashes from his team. He glanced back; Fred and Grace hadn't moved. They stared at the beads of molten alloy under their arc welder's tip.
As if Fred could read his mind, he said, "I need another twenty seconds, Chief."
A volley of crystalline needles fired from one of the Elites peppered the sensor node. The Master Chief returned fire, but the Elite's camouflage kicked in and it faded from view.
Another plasma bolt sizzled close to the hull, this one thirty meters to port. It was a river of fire that lit the surface of Ascendant Justice like a dozen suns. John's shields drained to a quarter.
"Okay, Chief," Fred told him, "I'm—"
"Incoming!" Polaski cried over the COM.
John turned to the dropship and saw a third plasma projectile materialize from the folds of tangled Slipspace. This one skimmed a mere three meters over the hull—straight toward them.
Will dived into the crux where the dropship met the hull. Fred and Grace hit the deck. Li stood his ground and fired at the Elites, muzzle flash reflected in his helmet's faceplate. Anton rose from his limited cover on top of the dropship, but instinctively ducked again as an Elite took a shot at him. John crouched, jumped, and propelled himself into the sheltered area between the dropship's mandibles.
The plasma blasted over the dropship like a tidal wave of fire.
Polaski screamed, and her channel went silent.
Blue-white light filled John's vision, and electrical discharges jolted his flesh and buzzed through his muscles and ligaments. Temperature warnings blared. Boiling hydrostatic gel vented through his MJOLNIR armor's emergency ducts.
Through blurry eyes, John saw the Covenant Elites flash vaporize. Downship, Ascendant Justice's hull heated to a glowing yellow and softened.
Then the light and heat vanished, and the torrent of fire trailed aft like the tail of a comet.
John craned his neck up, every muscle in his body screaming in pain. There was no trace of Li or Anton. The dropship's hull was melted and distorted like a wax candle caught in a blowtorch's blast.
The cockpit and Polaski