第114页

　　"Hang  on,"  the  Chief  called  back  to  his  team.
　　Polaski  nosed  the  Covenant  dropship  over  and  plummeted  into  the  dark  purple  scintillating  grav  beam.  The  instant  they  entered  the  field,  the  ship  jumped,  accelerated,  and  shuddered  into  the  hole  drilled  through  solid  rock.
　　ERIC  NYLUND 185
　　Cut  off  from  the  thin  shreds  of  sunlight  above,  the  ship  went  dark.  The  internal  running  lights  glowed  a  faint  blue.
　　"We've  got  no  room  to  maneuver  in  here,"  Polaski  whispered.
　　Lieutenant  Haverson  climbed  forward.  "Admiral  Whitcomb,  sir,  I  see  how  we  can  get  in—assuming  this  hole  leads  somewhere—  but  it's  the  other  part  of  your  plan  that's  unclear.  What's  our  exit  strategy,  sir?"
　　The  Admiral's  steely  glare  pinned  Haverson.  "I've  got  it  fig?ured  out.  You  just  shoot  when  I  tell  you  to  and  keep  it  all  puck?ered  up  tight.  Got  it?"
　　Haverson  clenched  his  jaw,  looking  extremely  unsatisfied.  "Yes,  sir."
　　Polaski  focused  intently  on  the  walls  of  the  tunnel  rushing  toward  her  craft.  "Short-range  sensors  have  a  contact,"  she  said.  "It  looks  like  the  bottom  of  the  shaft.  ETA  sixty  seconds  at  this  speed."
　　The  Admiral  leaned  closer  to  the  Chief  and  whispered,  "We're  gonna  get  hit  heavy  by  whatever's  down  there.  You  make  sure  you  hit  them  back  three  times  harder.  Then  you  get  Anton  on  point  and  see  if  he  can't  locate  your  Spartans.  I'm  guessing  they've  gone  to  ground."
　　Before  the  Chief  could  reply,  the  Admiral  moved  aft  and  grabbed  an  assault  rifle  and  two  HE  pistols.  He  clipped  plasma  and  frag  grenades  to  his  belt.
　　"Thirty  seconds,"  Polaski  called  out.  She  cut  the  engines,  and  the  dropship  coasted  on  the  grav  beam  only.  "There's  something  down  there,"  she  said.  "Is  that  sunlight?"
　　The  dropship  emerged  into  a  titanic  room—three  kilometers  across,  circular,  with  a  dozen  galleries  circumscribing  the  space.  Overhead,  a  holographic  sun  and  a  dozen  moons  wheeled  along  its  domed  ceiling.  Except  for  the  hole  drilled  into  the  mountain  by  the  Covenant,  the  holographic  projection  was  perfect.
　　The  Admiral  scrutinized  the  room,  and  his  dark  eyes  locked  onto  a  gathering  of  Covenant  forces  on  the  floor,  near  one  edge  of  the  great  room.  "There,"  he  said,  and  pointed.  "I  make  out  about  a  hundred  of  them:  a  few  Elites,  Jackals,  mostly  Grunts.  Looks  like  they're  clearing  a  cave-in  and  not  ready  for  company  yet.  Good.
　　"Polaski,  land  us  half  a  kilometer  from  'em  and  then  dust  off.
　　186 HALO:  FIRST  STRIKE
　　I  want  you  back  in  that  hole  ASAP.  Plug  it  up.  We  don't  want  to  leave  our  back  door  wide  open."
　　"Aye,  sir,"  Polaski  replied.
　　Admiral  Whitcomb  addressed  Li.  "You're  our  rear  guard,  son.  Stay  here  and  guard  the  ship  with  Polaski.  Sorry."
　　"Sir!  Yes,  sir,"  Li  replied.  The  Master  Chief  detected  a  hint  of  bitterness  in  the  Spartan's  voice  for  drawing  what  he  undoubt?edly  would  think  was  soft  duty.
　　Their  dropship  eased  lower  until  it  was  a  meter  above  the  blue  tiles  of  the  room;  the  side  hatches  opened.  The  Chief  jumped  out  first,  followed  by  Anton,  Lieutenant  Haverson,  and  Locklear.  From  the  hatch  on  the  opposite  side  leapt  the  Admiral,  Sergeant  Johnson,  and  Grace.