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ERIC NYLUND
81
here, it would have maintained better discipline and silenced the
Grunts.
Still, the Master Chief hesitated. His shields were gone, his
armor breached. He had been fighting almost nonstop for what
felt like years. He was forced to admit that he was at the limits of
his endurance.
A good soldier always assessed the tactical situation—and
right now, his situation was serious. A single lucky plasma shot
could inflict third-degree burns along his arm and shoulder and
incapacitate him, which would give the Grunts an opportunity to
finish him off.
The Chief flexed his wounded shoulder, and pain lanced
across his chest. He banished his discomfort and concentrated
on how to win this fight.
It was ironic that after facing the best warriors in the Cove-
nant, and after defeating the Flood, he could be killed by a handful
of Grunts.
"Chief," Cortana said over the COM. "Are you there yet? I'm
down to one last option."
The Master Chief replied in a whisper, "Almost."
"Be careful. Your armor is breached. You can no longer func-
tion in a compromised atmosphere."
He flashed an acknowledgment to Cortana and concentrated
on the problem at hand. Using grenades was not an option; a
plasma grenade or a frag near those reactor coils could breach
the containment vessel.
That left stealth—and outwitting the Grunts.
Maybe he'd use his grenades after all. The Master Chief set a
plasma grenade in the center of the elevator shaft. He took his re-
maining two frag grenades and set them aside as well. He felt
along the elevator shaft walls and found what he needed—a
length of hair-fine optical cord. He pulled out a three-meter
length.
The Engineer gave a huff of irritation at this destruction.
The Master Chief threaded the line though the rings of his
frag grenades and tied each end at anchor points ten centime-
ters off the floor. He wedged the grenades into the slot of the
open door.