Time: Date Record [[Error]] Anomaly Date Unknown

Captured Covenant Dropship Near Hybrid Vessel

Gettysburg—Ascendant Justice, In Anomalous

Slipspace Bubble.

The faintly blue luminous walls of the Covenant dropship pressed in, which made John feel slightly claustrophobic. It was ironic when he stopped to think about it, because he was always inside his skintight armor. His fellow Spartans sat in the bay beside him, motionless.

Fred, designated Blue-Two on this mission, was John’s second in command. He had fought in more than 120 campaigns, was a great leader and a quick thinker. Sometimes he took the responsibility of his command too seriously, though, empathizing too deeply with any wounded member of his team.

Li, Blue-Three, was the team’s zero-gee combat specialist. He had trained extensively with microgravity equipment and martial arts at the UNSC’s extreme-conditions facility on Chiron in orbit about Mars. He was as much at home in free fall as the rest of them were on solid land, and John was glad to have him on this mission.

Anton, Blue-Four, had John worried. He spent most of his life with his feet firmly planted on the ground. He’d cross-trained in tracking, camouflage, and stealth, and had been used almost exclusively on ground-based operations. More than once he had expressed discomfort in zero-gee situations.

Will, Blue-Five, was quiet, but had never failed to complete his mission. He wasn’t always that way, though. When he was younger he was the one with the jokes and riddles that kept the team’s spirits high. Something had hardened in him over the years… as it had in them all. But with Will something special had been lost.

Grace, Blue-Six, had a knack for explosives. She could shape a charge to cut through a single steel bolt with only a whisper sound, or rig a hundred thousand liters of kerosene to blow into a firestorm from hell. Ironically her temper was nonexistent.

John opened a COM channel. “Give me a systems check, Blue Team.”

Five acknowledgment lights winked on.

“This reminds me of the underwater mission Chief Mendez sent us on at Emerald Cove,” Fred whispered. “When he sabotaged half our air tanks? And we ended up stealing his.”

“And after,” Anton said, laughing, “we ditched him and camped on that island. It was a week with nothing to do but light bonfires, bake clams, and surf.”

“Mmmmm,” Grace added, “calamari.”

John wondered if Emerald Cove even existed anymore. The UNSC had abandoned that colony a decade ago. The Covenant had most likely glassed that world.

“Blue Team.” Polaski’s voice broke over the COM. “Local conditions are as calm as they’re going to get. Exiting in three… two…one.”

John felt the acceleration in the pit of his stomach. He rose, moved to the hatch, and popped it open. Outside, Ascendant Justice’s hull moved past them—almost every square centimeter of the flagship’s polished alloy skin had been scarred by heat and micrometeors; tendrils of metal vapor snaked and shimmered in the vacuum.

On Ascendant Justice’s upper deck he saw the looming shadow of the inverted UNSC frigate Gettysburg still miraculously attached. It was on fire, pockmarked with craters, and venting atmosphere, but it was remarkably intact. If not for the thousands of dead Naval personnel undoubtedly on board, he might have christened the ship “lucky.”

The dropship slowed and Polaski drifted, turned, and descended onto the surface of the ship.

“Latch engaged,” she said over the COM. “All yours, Chief.”

“Fred, Grace, and I will reconnoiter,” he told Blue Team. “Anton, Will, and Li, get ready to move the arc welder and hull plates we scavenged from the Gettysburg when we give the all-clear signal.”

John eased his boots onto the hull. Their magnetic soles clamped onto the metal with a satisfying click.

Polaski had landed the Covenant dropship so that its mandibles cradled the hole and gave them some shelter.

Overhead, Slipspace was on fire. It looked as if someone had doused the night with jet fuel and ignited it. Bloody, boiling streaks of flame tore across a midnight-blue sky. Meteors flashed past and sprayed molten metal in trails of glittering stardust.

A fist-sized projectile blurred past the Master Chief and rammed into the ship’s starboard side. Sparks and liquefied alloy spattered into space. His shields flickered as debris ricocheted from the armor’s protective field.

They had to move fast. The Admiral was right: This was a shooting gallery. The quicker they sealed that hole and got out of here—the better.

John turned and swept his rifle over the terrain. There were bumpy sensor nodes, kilometers of conduits, and a dozen gaping canyons in the hull. A legion of Covenant warriors could hide in this mess.

No enemy contact. Nothing on his motion sensors, either.

He stepped close to the main-drive conduit and examined the hole. The pipe was five meters across and still red hot, even though Cortana had shut it down three minutes ago. The hole was round, a three-meter-wide gap, with ragged edges that all pointed inward.

“If that was from a plasma strike,” Grace said, “the metal would have been boiled away. If it was from an impact, the edges would be scraped on one side, compacted on the other. This hole was deliberately made.”

“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 were gone.

His biosign warning blared. Will, Grace, and Fred lay next to him—dead or unconscious, he couldn’t tell. He quickly attached their tethers to the deck, then clipped his own in place.

John keyed the COM. “Admiral, conduit breach is sealed, sir.”

“Hang on, son,” Admiral Whitcomb replied. “This might be a rough ride.”

John slumped to the deck unconscious.