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226
HALO: FIRST STRIKE
to the starboard hatch and eased it open. He drew his pistol and
checked the passage beyond. "It's clear. Locklear, Sergeant, please
give the doctor a hand with her patient."
"Yes, sir," Locklear said. "Happy to sit this battle out in the es-
cape pod."
Sergeant Johnson set his rifle on Kelly's chest and said, "Come
on, Corporal, shake a leg and gimme a hand. The lady in her
armor weighs more than your last date."
Locklear and the Sergeant hefted Kelly and, grunting under
the load, moved her off the bridge. Dr. Halsey followed, cast one
last withering look at the Admiral, and sealed the hatch behind
her.
Admiral Whitcomb sighed. He felt for the Spartan... felt too
much—which was the problem. He couldn't concentrate with
her so close. He'd want constant status reports on her condition.
Hell, he would have gone over, knelt next to her, and held her
hand if that would've helped. He loved the men and women un-
der his command as if they were his own sons and daughters. It
was the old axiom of command: To be a good leader, you had to
love the service. To be a great commander, you had to be willing
to destroy that which you loved.
Static crackled, and the Master Chief reported in: "We're in
position, Admiral. ETA for repairs is two minutes."
"Roger, Chief," Admiral Whitcomb replied. "When you're
done give the word and get secure. We'll be accelerating
immediately."
"Yes, sir."
Thunder rumbled through the deck.
"Plasma impacts, sir," Cortana explained. "Their energy pro-
file has diffused, but they were still powerful enough to knock
the lateral sensors and cameras offline."
Admiral Whitcomb smoothed his thick fingers over his mus-
tache. "We've got only a few minutes before this space tears us
apart." He squinted at the wall displays, trying to count the number
of enemy craft. "That's if those Covenant ships don't do the job
first."
He turned to Cortana. "How many enemy ships are there?
Which are real and which are illusion?"
"Impossible to accurately determine, sir. I counted fourteen