Filter
Top Products
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
1751 hours, September 13,2552 (revised date,
Military Calendar)\Aboard Covenant battle station
Unyielding Hierophant.
John struggled and tried to pry the hands from his throat. The
tendons in the Brute's forearms were solid bands of steel—and
the creature was so determined to rip John's head off that a full
clip from a rifle into its chest hadn't even slowed it down.
Behind him, John felt another explosion thunder though the
stone floor, followed by the staccato rattle of rifle fire.
Blue Team was busy with another threat. He was on his own.
John blinked. The darkness dimming the edge of his vision
wouldn't clear.
John watched his shield bar flicker and sluggishly recharge. If
it built up enough repulsive force, he might have a chance to
wriggle out of the Brute's grasp. If he tried too quickly, though,
the Brute wouldn't lose its grip and could pound his shield flat
again.
The Brute bellowed, and globules of spittle spattered onto the
Chief's visor. It leaned closer, screwing its massive hands tighter
around his throat.
John's vision narrowed. His windpipe swelled, and he gagged.
Shields were at one quarter charge. It'd have to be enough.
John had been in similar death-grip holds before—endless
hours of training on the wrestling mats with his teammates and
martial arts specialists provided by Chief Mendez. There were
ways to escape a larger, stronger opponent. And there were al-
ways countermoves to those escapes. And countermoves to those
counters. It was like a game of chess, except the pieces were arms