Halo_ First Strike - Eric S. Nylund [83]
"And the rest of Red Team, sir?" the Master Chief asked.
Whitcomb shook his head. "We got one last transmission from them before they said they were falling back." He walked to the table, unrolled an old paper topological map, and pointed at Menachite Mountain. "Here. Where ONI had their CASTLE base." He paused. "But the Covenant are tearing that mountain apart, rock by rock. I want to believe they're still there ... but we've counted at least a dozen companies. Those Covenant have air support, close orbit patrols, and, on the ground, armor. The place is a fortress. Could anyone survive?"
The Master Chief scrutinized the lines on the map and had an answer for the Admiral. "They're underground," he said. "The CASTLE facility. We did a lot of training there. The Covenant can fill up those tunnels with only so many search parties."
"Then you think they all have a chance?" "Yes, sir. More than a chance. I'd guarantee they're in there. That's where I'd be."
The Admiral set his fingertip on the representation of Menachite Mountain, tapped it twice, thinking, and then suddenly looked up. "You got into this canyon in a captured Covenant ship, right? A dropship?"
"Yes, sir." John hadn't told him that. Despite his brusque manner, the Admiral knew his business.
"Then we'll go get them, son."
182
HALO: FIRST STRIKE
"Sir!" Lieutenant Haverson said. "With all due respect, sir, our first priority should be to get back to Earth. The intelligence we've gathered on the Halo construct, the technology aboard the flagship we've captured ... Cortana's Slipspace calculations alone could turn the tide of this war for us."
"I know all that," the Admiral replied tersely. "And you're three hundred percent correct, Lieutenant. But"—he tapped the map again with his meaty forefinger—"I won't leave a single man or woman behind on this planet for the Covenant to tear apart for sport. No way. And that goes double for a Spartan. We're going in."
CHAPTER TWENTY
TIME:DATE RECORD ANOMALY\Estimated 0610 hours, September 23,2552 (Military Calendar)\ Aboard capturedCovenant dropship, Epsilon Eridani system, en route to surfaceof 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 communiques 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