第112页

　　The  Admiral  nodded.  "I  gave  it  only  ten  days.  There's  no  need  to  give  them  too  much  time  to  tinker."
　　He  set  one  of  his  heavy  hands  on  Lieutenant  Haverson's  shoulder,  and  Haverson  flinched.  "They  are  two  possible  out?comes  to  this  plan,  Lieutenant.  Either  the  Covenant  pack  up  the  Novas  and  take  them  home  for  study—a  possibility  I  pray  to  God  happens.  A  bomb  like  that  would  crack  their  home  world  in  half.  Or  the  bombs  stay  here—and  they'll  stop  the  Covenant  on  Reach."
　　ERIC  NYLUND 181
　　"I  see,  sir,"  Lieutenant  Haverson  replied  in  a  whisper,  then  glanced  at  his  watch.  "This  was  how  many  days  ago?"
　　"Got  plenty  of  time  left,"  the  Admiral  told  him.  "Around  twenty  hours."
　　Lieutenant  Haverson  swallowed.
　　"There's  just  one  snag  in  that  plan,  though."  The  Admiral  re?moved  his  hand  from  Haverson  and  his  gaze  settled  onto  the  dirt  floor  of  the  cavern.  "I  had  a  team  of  Marines—Charlie  Company—that  got  wiped  out  before  we  could  get  to  those  No?vas."  He  sighed.  "Brave  kids.  A  damned  waste  of  good  men.  That's  when  I  picked  up  Red  Team  on  coded  COM.  I  'convinced'  them  to  lend  me  a  few  of  your  Spartans.  We  got  to  the  Novas,  armed  them,  and  we've  been  raising  eight  kinds  of  hell  down  here  with  hit-and-run  exercises—just  to  keep  everyone  busy,  you  understand.  Wouldn't  want  to  get  bored."
　　"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  Mena?chite  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  man?ner,  the  Admiral  knew  his  business.
　　"Then  we'll  go  get  them,  son."
　　I
　　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."