Halo_ First Strike - Eric S. Nylund [140]
Banshees flew in formation through the center space of the great room, as did flocks of headless birds and great clouds of butterflies. It could have been an Escher etching come to life.
John felt extreme vertigo for a moment. Then he understood that with advanced Covenant gravity technology, there didn't have to be an up or down here.
Odd that a military station would have so much unnecessary ornamentation. Yet Fleet HQ had a large atrium in their lobby. Maybe this was the Covenant equivalent—multiplied a hundredfold.
John spied a band of translucent material set into a far wall, glistening. "Is that the window to the repair bays, Cortana?"
"Correct," she replied.
"Then at least we know the way out. And the structure we need to enter?" "One o'clock," she said. "The one with the carved columns. It is the most direct route to the reactor chambers."
John moved out of the hole and hugged the nearby wall. The shadows in the bright daylight would do a decent job of camouflaging them.
"Okay, Blue Team. Get oriented. . . as much as you can. Our target is the columned building at one o'clock. I make it to be a three-hundred-meter sprint across open ground. We'll make a break for it. Unless anyone has a better plan?"
Linda emerged, looked around, and said, "Permission to post on the rooftop and provide cover."
"Do it," John said. "Let me know when you're in position and ready."
Linda retrieved a padded grappling hook and rope from her pack, twirled it, and tossed it up and over the adjacent roof. She tugged it once, it caught, and then she quickly ascended.
The remaining Spartans joined John in the shadows. He shouldered his battle rifle and thumbed the safety off.
Linda's acknowledgment light winked once.
John tensed and ran. It took him three strides to build to his top-speed sprint. His adrenaline spiked and it made his blood burn. He felt time slow, his perception running at an overclocked pace. He focused on speed—putting one foot in front of the other. His boots dug into cobblestones, crushed rock, and sent a fine spray of gravel behind him. He saw three obstacles in his path: a group of startled Grunts. He slammed the butt of his rifle into the nearest one, and crushed its skull. The dead Grunt spun end over end and landed in a heap. He heard squawks and shouts around him but didn't stop to look.
He was on the stairs of the building, worn-smooth stone steps that he bounded up five at a time. John saw three friendly contacts behind him on his motion tracker ... and at the periphery of its range a solid mass of enemy contacts.
"You're good so far," Linda reported. "There are Elites, but they're unarmed. No, wait. A Hunter pair is advancing on your position. Stand by."
A quartet of shots split the air like thunderclaps.
"Threat neutralized," Linda said. "The rest of them are scattering. Banshees approaching. I'm moving."
John cleared the stairs and skidded to a halt on the threshold of the temple. The interior was cold; external temperature readings were near freezing. Light filtered in through stained-glass windows in the ceiling—tinged lavender, cobalt, and turquoise. Three rows of giant columns made of blue-black basalt ran the length of the thirty-meter-long rectangular structure, casting long shadows. It was a good place for an ambush. He set his back against one of the pillars and swept the entrance, covering his team as they entered.
"Cortana, update on station security?" John said.
"There are dozens of reports on the security channels. I've got them covered."
Another Cortana voice broke in over the first: "Also be advised, Chief, that there are ceremonial guards in this temple—a race we have not encountered before. Roughly translated from Covenant dialects, they are called 'Brutes.' They shouldn't be a significant threat or they would have been used in previous