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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