第7页

　　"Too  hot  for  them,"  Kelly  said.  "We're  on  our  own."
　　"Joshua,"  Fred  called  out.  "Report."
　　"The  autopilot's  gone,  and  cockpit  controls  are  offline,"  Joshua  answered.  "I  can  counter  our  spin  with  thrusters."  He  tapped  in
　　10 HALO:  FIRST  STRIKE
　　a  command;  the  port  engine  shuddered,  and  the  ship's  rolling  slowed  and  ceased.
　　"Can  we  land?"  Fred  asked.
　　Joshua  didn't  hesitate  to  give  the  bad  news.  "Negative.  The  computer  has  no  solution  for  our  inbound  vector."  He  tapped  rapidly  on  the  keyboard.  "I'll  buy  as  much  time  as  I  can."
　　Fred  ran  over  their  limited  options.  They  had  no  parasails,  no  rocket-propelled  drop  capsules.  That  left  them  one  simple  choice:  They  could  ride  this  Pelican  straight  into  hell...  or  they  could  get  off.
　　"Get  ready  for  a  fast  drop,"  Fred  shouted.  "Grab  your  gear.  Pump  your  suits'  hydrostatic  gel  to  maximum  pressure.  Suck  it  up,  Spartans—we're  landing  hard."
　　"Hard  landing"  was  an  understatement.  The  Spartans—and  their  MJOLNIR  armor—were  tough.  The  armor's  energy  shields,  hydrostatic  gel,  and  reactive  circuits,  along  with  the  Spartans'  augmented  skeletal  structure,  might  be  enough  to  withstand  a  high-speed  crash  landing...  but  not  a  supersonic  impact.
　　It  was  a  dangerous  gamble.  If  Joshua  couldn't  slow  the  Peli?can's  descent—they'd  be  paste.
　　"Twelve  thousand  meters  to  go,"  Kelly  shouted,  still  leaning  over  the  edge  of  the  aft  door.
　　Fred  told  the  Spartans:  "Ready  and  aft.  Jump  on  my  mark."
　　The  Spartans  grabbed  their  gear  and  moved  toward  the  open  hatch.
　　The  Pelican's  engines  screamed  and  pulsed  as  Joshua  angled  the  thruster  cams  to  reverse  positions.  The  deceleration  pulled  at  the  Spartan  team,  and  everyone  grabbed,  or  made,  a  handhold.
　　Joshua  brought  what  was  left  of  the  craft's  control  flaps  to  bear,  and  the  Pelican's  nose  snapped  up.  A  sonic  boom  rippled  through  the  ship  as  its  velocity  dropped  below  Mach  1.  The  frame  shuddered  and  rivets  popped.
　　"Eight  kilometers  and  this  brick  is  still  dropping  fast,"  Kelly  called  out.
　　"Joshua,  get  aft,"  Fred  ordered.
　　"Affirmative,"  Joshua  said.
　　The  Pelican  groaned  and  the  frame  pinged  from  the  stress—  and  then  creaked  as  the  craft  shuddered  and  flexed.  Fred  set  his
　　ERIC  NYLUND
　　11
　　armored  glove  on  the  wall  and  tried  to  will  the  craft  to  hold  to?gether  a  little  longer.
　　It  didn't  work.  The  port  engine  exploded,  and  the  Pelican  tum?bled  out  of  control.
　　Kelly  and  the  Spartans  near  the  aft  drop  hatch  dropped  out.
　　No  more  time.
　　"Jump,"  Fred  shouted.  "Spartans:  Go,  go,  go!"
　　The  rest  of  the  Spartans  crawled  aft,  fighting  the  gee  forces  of  the  tumbling  Pelican.  Fred  grabbed  Joshua—and  they  jumped.
　　CHAPTER  TWO
　　0631  hours,  August  30,2552  (Military  Calendar)\Epsilon  Eridani  system,  unknown  aerial  position,  planet  Reach.
　　Fred  saw  the  sky  and  earth  flashing  in  rapid  succession  before  his  faceplate.  Decades  of  training  took  over.  This  was  just  like  a  parasail  drop  ...  except  this  time  there  was  no  chute.  He  forced  his  arms  and  legs  open;  the  spread-eagle  position  controlled  his  tumble  and  slowed  his  velocity.