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The Spartan realized then that he already knew that,had known it ever since he had seen Jenkins’ video, but was unwilling to accept it.
“We can’t let the Flood get off this ring!” Cortana said desperately. “You know what he’d expect . . . What he’d want us to do.”
Yes,the Chief thought.I know my duty.
They needed to blow theAutumn ’s engines to destroy Halo and the Flood. To do that, they needed the Captain’s neural implants.
The Master Chief drew his arm back, formed his hand into a stiff-fingered armored shovel, and made use of his enormous strength to plunge the crude instrument into the Flood form’s bloated body.
There was momentary resistance as he punched his way through the creature’s skin and penetrated the Captain’s skull to enter the half-dissolved brain that lay within. Then, with his hand buried in the form’s seemingly nerveless body, he felt for and found Keyes’ implants.
The Chief’s hand made a popping sound as it pulled out of the wound. He shook the spongy gore onto the deck and slipped the chips into empty slots in his armor.
“It’s done,” Cortana said somberly. “I have the code. We should go. We need to get back to thePillar of Autumn . Let’s go back to the shuttle bay and find a ride.”
As if summoned by the lethargic beast that stood in front of the ship’s controls, a host of Flood poured into the room, all of whom were clearly determined to kill the heavily armored invader. A flying wedge comprised of carrier and combat forms stormed the platform, pushed the human back, and soaked up his bullets as if eager to receive them.
Finally, more by chance than design, the Spartan backed off the command deck and plummeted to the deck below. That bought a moment of respite. There wasn’t much time, though, just enough to hustle up out of the channel that ran parallel to the platform above, reload both of his weapons, and put his back into a corner.
The hordereally came for him then, honking, gibbering, and gurgling, climbing up over the bodies that were mounded in front of them, careless of casualties, willing to pay whatever price he required.
The storm of gunfire put out by the MJOLNIR-clad soldier wastoo powerful,too well aimed, and the Flood started to wilt, stumble, and fall, many giving up their lives only inches from the Spartan’s blood-drenched boots, clawing at his ankles. He gave thanks as the last combat form collapsed, relished the silence that settled over the room, and took a moment to reload both of his weapons.
“Are you okay?” Cortana asked hesitantly, both grateful and amazed by the fact that the Chief was still on his feet.
He thought of Captain Keyes.
“No,” the Spartan replied. “Let’s get the hell out of here and finish these bastards off.”
He was numb from creeping exhaustion, hunger, and combat. The planned escape route back to the shuttle bay was littered with Flood and Covenant alike. The Spartan moved almost as if he was on autopilot—he simply killed and killed and killed.
The bay was filled with Covenant forces. A dropship had deployed fresh troops into the bay and bugged out. A pair of amped-up Elites patrolled near the Banshee at the base of the bay.