The Master Chief was careful to keep his back to a Marine, a pillar, or the nearest bulkhead. His MJOLNIR armor, and the recharging shield it carried, provided the Spartan with an advantage that none of the Marines possessed, so he focused most of his attention on the Elites, leaving the Jackals and Grunts for others to handle.
Cortana, meanwhile, was hard at work tapping into the ship’s electronic nervous system in an attempt to find the best way out of the trap. “We need a way out of this bay now,” the Master Chief told her, “or there won’t be anyone left to complete the mission.”
He ducked behind a crate, emptied his magazine into a charging Grunt who wielded a plasma grenade, then paused to reload.
A Hunter gave a bloodcurdling roar as it charged into the fray. The Spartan turned and saw Sergeant Parker fire at the massive alien. A trio of bullets spat from his assault rifle – the last three rounds in the weapon. He discarded the empty gun and backpedaled in an attempt to buy himself some time. His hand dipped for his sidearm.
The Hunter sprang forward and the tips of the beast’s razor-spines shredded through the Marine’s ballistic armor. He crashed to the deck.
The Master Chief cursed under his breath, slapped a fresh clip into place, racked a round into the chamber and took aim on the Hunter. The alien was coming on fast, too fast, and the Spartan knew he wasn’t going to get a kill-shot in time.
The Hunter stepped past Sergeant Parker’s prone form. The alien’s razor spines sprang into view, and it roared again as the Spartan sprayed it with gunfire, knowing the gesture was futile, but unwilling to let the enemy at his teammate’s exposed flank.
Without warning, the Hunter reared up, howled, and crashed to the ground. The Master Chief was puzzled, and briefly checked his weapon. Could he have gotten in a lucky shot?
He heard a cough, and saw Sergeant Parker struggling to his feet, a smoking M6D pistol in his hand. Blood flowed from the gashes in his side, and he was unsteady on his feet, but he found the strength to spit on the Hunter’s fallen corpse.
The Chief took a covering position near the wounded sergeant. He gave him a brisk nod. “Not bad for a Marine. Thanks.”
The sergeant grabbed a fallen assault rifle, slammed a fresh magazine into place, and grinned. “Any time, swabbie.”
His motion sensor showed more contacts inbound, but they were keeping their distance. Their failed assault on the bay must have left them disorganized. Good, he thought. We need all the time we can get. “Cortana,” he said, “how much longer before you get a door open?”
“Got it!” Cortana proclaimed exultantly. One of the heavy doors hissed open. “Everyone should move through the door now. I can’t guarantee that it won’t lock when it closes.”
“Follow me!” he barked, then led the surviving Marines out of the shuttle bay and into the comparative safety of a corridor beyond.
The next fifteen minutes were like a slow-motion nightmare as the rescuers fought their way through a maze of corridors, up a series of narrow ramps, and onto the launch bay’s upper level. With Cortana’s guidance, they plunged back into the ship’s oppressive passageways.
As they proceeded through the bowels of the large warship, Cortana finally gave them good news: “The Captain’s signal is strong. He must be close.”
The Chief frowned. This was taking too long. Every passing second made it that much less likely that any of the rescue party would be able to get off the Truth and Reconciliation alive, let alone with Captain Keyes. The ODSTs were good fighters, but they were slowing him down.
He turned to Sergeant Parker and said, “Hold your men here. I’ll be back soon – with the Captain.”
She started to protest, then nodded. “Just don’t tell Silva,” she said.
“I won’t.”
The Master Chief ran from door to door until one of them opened to reveal a rectangular room lined with cells. It appeared that the translucent force fields served in place of bars. He dashed inside and called the Captain’s name, but received no answer. A quick check confirmed that, with the exception of one dead Marine, the detention center was empty.
Frustrated, yet reassured by Cortana’s insistence that the CNI signal remained strong, the Spartan exited the room, entered the hall, and literally went door to door, searching for the correct hatch. Once he located it, the Master Chief almost wished he hadn’t.
The portal slid open, a Grunt yelled something the Master Chief couldn’t understand, and a plasma beam lashed past the human’s helmet.
The Master Chief opened fire, heard a Marine yell from within one of the cells, “Good to see you, Chief!” and knew he was in the right place.
A plasma beam appeared out of nowhere, hit the Spartan in the chest, and triggered the armor’s audible alarm. He ducked behind a support column, just in time to see an energy beam slice through the spot he had just vacated. He scanned the room, looking for his assailant.
Nothing.
His motion sensor showed faint trace movements, but he couldn’t spot their source.
His eyes narrowed, and he noticed a slight shimmer in the air, directly in front of him. He fired a sustained burst through the middle of it, and was rewarded with a loud howl. The Elite seemed to materialize out of thin air, made a grab for his own entrails, and managed to catch them before he died.
He strode to the access controls and, with Cortana’s help, killed the force fields. Captain Keyes stepped out of his cell, paused to scoop a Needler off the floor, and met the Chief’s eyes. “Coming here was reckless,” he said, his voice harsh. The Chief was about to explain his orders when Keyes’ expression warmed, and the Autumn’s CO smiled. “Thanks.”
The Spartan nodded. “Any time, sir.”
“Can you find your way out?” Keyes inquired doubtfully. “The corridors of this ship are like a maze.”
“It shouldn’t be too difficult,” the Master Chief replied. “All we have to do is follow the bodies.”
Lieutenant “Cookie” Peterson put Echo 136 down a full klick from the Pillar of Autumn, looked out through the rain-spattered windscreen, and saw Echo 206 settle in approximately fifty meters away. It had been an uneventful flight, thanks in part to the weather, and the fact that the assault on the Truth and Reconciliation had probably served to distract the Covenant from what was going on elsewhere.
Peterson felt the ship shudder as the ramp hit the ground, waited for the Crew Chief to call “Clear!”, and fired the Pelican’s thrusters. The ship was extremely vulnerable while on the ground – and he was eager to return to the relative safety of Alpha Base. Then, assuming the Helljumpers got the job done, he and his crew would be back to transport some of the survivors and their loot.
Back at Alpha Base, McKay watched Echo 136 wobble as a gust of wind hit the Pelican from the side, saw the ship gather speed, and start to climb out. Echo 206 took off a few moments later and both ships were gone within a matter of seconds.
Her people knew what they were doing, so rather than make a pest of herself, McKay decided to wait and watch as the platoon leaders sorted things out. The officer felt the usual moments of fear, of self-doubt regarding her ability to accomplish the mission, but took comfort from something an instructor once told her.
“Take a look around,” the instructor had advised. “Ask yourself if there’s anyone else who is better qualified to do the job. Not in the entire galaxy, but right there, at that point in time. If the answer is ‘yes,’ ask them to accept command, and do everything you can to support them. If the answer is ‘no,’ which it will be ninety-nine percent of the time, then take your best shot. That’s all any of us can do.”