第135页

　　220 HALO:  FIRST  STRIKE
　　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  sabo?taged  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."
　　"Mmrnmm,"  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  Jus?tice'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  miracu?lously  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  de?scended  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.  "An?ton,  Will,  and  Li,  get  ready  to  move  the  arc  welder  and  hull  plates
　　ERIC  NYLUND 221
　　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  galley.  The  quicker  they  sealed  that  hole  and  got  out  of  here—the  better.