Halo_ First Strike - Eric S. Nylund [27]
The Chief tended to agree with Locklear's threat analysis of the Covenant: When in doubt, kill. Still, he found the young Marine's actions unnecessary... and a little sloppy.
The architecture of the Covenant fighter bay was similar to the interior of the other Covenant ship the Chief had recently been inside, the Truth and Reconciliation. Low indirect lights illuminated the dark purple walls. The alien metal appeared to be stenciled with odd, faintly luminescent geometric patterns that overlapped each other. The ceiling was vaulted and unnecessarily high, maybe ten meters. In contrast to a human ship, it was a waste of space.
The Chief spotted a large door at the back of the bay.
The door was a distorted hexagonal shape and large enough that the entire team could enter at the same time—not that he'd ever be foolish enough to take up such a formation in hostile territory. The door had four sections that, when keyed to open, would silently slide away from the center.
"That will take us to the main corridor," Cortana said. "And from there, to the bridge." The Chief waved Locklear to the right side of the door, Sergeant Johnson to the left. "Lieutenant Haverson," he called out, "you're our rear guard. Polaski, hit the door controls. Hand signals from now on." Haverson tossed an ironic salute to the Chief but tightened his grip on his weapon and scanned the bay.
Polaski moved forward and crouched by the panel in the middle of the door. She turned her cap around and leaned closer, then looked back to the Chief and gave him a thumbs-up.
He raised his rifle and nodded, giving her the go-ahead to breach the door. She reached for the controls. Before she touched them, though, the door slid apart.
Standing on the opposite side were five Elites: Two stood shielded by either edge of the door; a third stood centered in the corridor, plasma rifle leveled at the Chief; behind it, the fourth Elite covered the rear of their formation; and one last Elite crouched in front of the door control panel—nose to nose with Polaski.
The Chief fired two bursts directly over Polaski's head. His first shots struck the Elite in the middle of the corridor. His second burst hit the Elite standing rear guard. The alien warriors hadn't activated their shields, and 7.62mm rounds punctured their armor. The pair of Elites dropped to the deck.
Their comrades on either side of the door howled and attacked. The whine of plasma rifle fire echoed through the bay as blue-white energy bolts crashed into the Chief's own shields.
His shield dropped away, and the insistent drone of a warning indicator pulsed in his helmet. His vision clouded from the flare of energy weapon discharges, and he struggled to draw a bead on the Elite in front of Polaski. It was no good—he had no clear shot.
The Elite drew a plasma pistol. Polaski drew her own sidearm.
She was faster—or luckier. Her pistol cleared its holster; she snapped it up and fired. The pistol boomed as a shot took the Elite right in the center of its elongated helmet.
The Elite's own shot went wide and seared into the deck behind Polaski.
Polaski emptied her clip into the alien's face. A pair of rounds rocked the alien back. Its shields faded, and the remaining rounds tore through armor and bone.
It fell on its back, twitched twice, and died.
Johnson and Locklear unleashed a hellish crossfire into the corridor and made short work of the remaining Elites as Polaski hugged the deckplates.
"Now that's what I'm talkin' about," Johnson crowed. "An honest-to-God turkey shoot." Ten meters down the passage a dozen more Elites rounded a corner.
"Uh-oh," Locklear muttered.
"Sergeant," the Chief barked. "Door control!" John moved to Polaski's position in two quick strides, grabbed her by her collar, and dragged her out of the line of fire. Plasma bolts singed the air where she'd been.
He dropped her, primed a grenade, and tossed it toward the rushing Elites.