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HALO: FIRST STRIKE
A howl echoed from the other side, and a curl of gray smoke
drifted through the crack.
The Chief slung his rifle, grabbed the doors, flexed, pulled—
and this time the heavy metal moved.
A flash of plasma fire washed over his shields, blinding him.
He ignored it, closed his eyes, and continued to force his way
through the door. Another plasma shot struck him in the chest.
The doors were half a meter apart—good enough.
He rolled to the side and gave his shields a moment to
regenerate.
Nothing. The suit's alarms pulsed insistently. He squinted
through the glowing spots that swam in his vision and scanned
the damage report—the MJOLNIR's internal temperature was
over sixty degrees Celsius, and the Chief heard the whine of
microcompressors in his armor, trying to compensate.
"Marines!" he yelled. "Suppressing fire!"
"Hell yes, Master Chief," Locklear replied. Locklear dropped
to one knee and fired through the opening; Johnson stood and
fired over the younger Marine's head.
The Chief rebooted his shielding control software.
Nothing. His shield system was dead.
The shooting stopped. "I'm out," Locklear said.
"And I'm in," the Chief said.
• He rushed into the room and stepped over the dead Elite on
the floor before him. Its torso had been ripped open—shot as it
tried to hold the doors closed.
The Chief scanned the room. It was circular, twenty meters
across, with a raised platform in the center that was ten meters
across and ringed with holographic control surfaces. The central
platform floated over a pit in the floor. Within the pit were ex-
ploded optical conduits and a trio of Covenant Engineers, cow-
ering in fear.
"Don't shoot the Engineers," Cortana warned. "We need them."
"Understood," the Chief replied. "Acknowledge that order,
Locklear."
There was a pause over COM and then Locklear said,
"Roger."
Along the circular walls, floor-to-ceiling displays showed the
flagship's status as a variety of charts and graphs, peppered with