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FIRST
STRIKE
ERIC NYLUND
BALLANTINE BOOKS • NEW YORK
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Other books based on Xbox games: HALO: THE FLOOD by William C. Dietz HALO: THE FALL OF REACH by Eric Nylund BRUTE FORCE: BETRAYALS by Dean Wesley Smith CRIMSON SKIES by Eric Nylund, Michael B. Lee, Nancy Berman, and Eric S. Trautmann Books published by The Random House Publishing Group are available at quantity discounts on bulk purchases for premium, educational, fund-raising, and special sales use. For details, please call 1-800-733-3000.
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Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as "unsold or destroyed" and neither the author nor the publisher may have re- ceived payment for it. Halo: First Strike is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. A Del Rey® Book Published by The Random House Publishing Group Copyright © 2003 by Microsoft Corporation All right
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS First and foremost, I would like to thank the personnel at Central Command: Syne Mitchell and the newest officer on our team, Kai Nylund. The Intel Officers at Microsoft's Franchise Development Group: Doug Zartman, Nancy Figatner, and Edward Ventura, and most notably Eric S. Trautmann (Special Ops field agent). The people in Section Two, a.k.a. Microsoft's User Experience Group: Jo Tyo, Matt Whiting, Dana Fos, and Jason Groce. Logistics officers at Ballantine/Del Rey: K
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SECTION REACH
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CHAPTER ONE 0622 hours, August 30,2552 (Military Calendar)\ UNSC Vessel Pillar of Autumn, Epsilon Eridani system near Reach Station Gamma. SPARTAN-104, Frederic, twirled a combat knife, his fingers nimble despite the bulky MJOLNIR combat armor that encased his body. The blade traced a complicated series of graceful arcs in the air. The few remaining Naval personnel on the deck turned pale and averted their eyes—a Spartan wielding a knife was gen- erally accompanied by the presence of se
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ERIC NYLUND 3 Master Chief SPARTAN-117—John—marched to the nearest COM panel as Captain Keyes's face filled the screen. Fred sensed a slight movement to his right—a subtle hand sig- nal from Kelly. He opened a private COM freq to his teammate. "Looks like we're in for more surprises," she said. "Roger that," he replied, "though I think I've had enough sur- prises for one op." Kelly chuckled. Fred focused his attention on John's exchange with Keyes. Each Spartan—selected from an early a
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4 HALO: FIRST STRIKE with danger at every turn—unknown enemy deployment, no gravity, useless intel, no dirt beneath his feet. There was no question, though: The space op was the toughest duty, so Fred intended to volunteer for it. Captain Keyes considered John's suggestion. "No, Master Chief. It's too risky—we've got to make sure the Covenant don't get that NAV data. We'll use a nuclear mine, set it close to the docking ring, and detonate it." "Sir, the EMP will burn out the superconduc
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ERIC NYLUND 5 prep in five minutes. Joshua: Liaise with Cortana and get me current intel on the drop area—I don't care if it's just weather satellite imagery, but I want pictures, and I want them ninety seconds ago." Red Team jumped into action. The pre-mission jitters were gone, replaced with a cold calm. There was a job to do, and Fred was eager to get to work. Flight Officer Mitchell flinched as a stray energy burst streaked into the landing bay and vaporized a meter-wide section of
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6 HALO: FIRST STRIKE "Knife Two-Six to Bravo-One," a terse, female voice crackled across the COM channel. "Keep your pants on. Business is good today." Too good. No sooner had the fighters taken escort position over his dropship than the approaching Covenant fighters opened up with a barrage of plasma fire. Three of the Pelican's four Longsword escorts peeled off and powered toward the Covenant ships. Against the black of space, cannons flashed and missiles etched ghostly trails; Covena
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ERIC NYLUND The Pelican's aft section had been stripped of the padded crash seats that usually lined the section's port and starboard sides. The life-support generators on the firewall between pas- senger and pilot's compartment had also been discarded to make room. Under other circumstances, such modifications would have left the Pelican's troop bay unusually cavernous. Every square centimeter of space, however, was occupied. Twenty-seven Spartans braced themselves and clung to the fram
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8 HALO: FIRST STRIKE Their job this time was to get groundside and protect the gen- erators that powered the orbiting Magnetic Accelerator Cannon platforms. The fleet was getting ripped to shreds in space. The massive MAC guns were the only thing keeping the Covenant from overrunning their lines and taking Reach. Fred knew that if anything had Kelly and the other Spartans rattled, it was leaving behind the Master Chief and his hand-picked Blue Team. Fred would have infinitely preferred t
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ERIC NYLUND 9 The Pelican pitched forward, and her engines blasted in full overload. The dropship's stabilizers tore away, and the craft rolled out of control. The Spartans grabbed on to cross beams as their gear was flung about inside the ship. "It's going to be a helluva hot drop, Spartans," their pilot hissed over the COM. "Autopilot's programmed to angle. Re- verse thrusters. Gees are takin' me out. I'll—" A flash of light outlined the cockpit hatch, and the tiny shock-proof glass w
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10 HALO: FIRST STRIKE a command; the port engine shuddered, and the ship's rolling slowed and ceased. "Can we land?" Fred asked. Joshua didn't hesitate to give the bad news. "Negative. The computer has no solution for our inbound vector." He tapped rapidly on the keyboard. "I'll buy as much time as I can." Fred ran over their limited options. They had no parasails, no rocket-propelled drop capsules. That left them one simple choice: They could ride this Pelican straight into hell... or
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ERIC NYLUND 11 armored glove on the wall and tried to will the craft to hold to- gether a little longer. It didn't work. The port engine exploded, and the Pelican tum- bled out of control. Kelly and the Spartans near the aft drop hatch dropped out. No more time. "Jump," Fred shouted. "Spartans: Go, go, go!" The rest of the Spartans crawled aft, fighting the gee forces of the tumbling Pelican. Fred grabbed Joshua—and they jumped.
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CHAPTER TWO 0631 hours, August 30,2552 (Military Calendar)\Epsilon Eridani system, unknown aerial position, planet Reach. Fred saw the sky and earth flashing in rapid succession before his faceplate. Decades of training took over. This was just like a parasail drop ... except this time there was no chute. He forced his arms and legs open; the spread-eagle position controlled his tumble and slowed his velocity. Time seemed to simultaneously crawl and race—something Kelly had once dubbed
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ERIC NYLUND 13 lives. This was the same forest where CPO Mendez had left them when they were children. With only pieces of a map and no food, water, or weapons, they had captured a guarded Pelican and re- turned to HQ. That was the mission where John, now the Master Chief, had earned command of the group, the mission that had forged them into a team. Fred pushed the memory aside. This was no homecoming. UNSC Military Reservation 01478-B training facility would be due west. And the genera
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14 HALO: FIRST STRIKE his knees, and tucked into a ball. He overrode the hydrostatic sys- tem and overpressurized the gel surrounding his body. A thou- sand tiny knives stabbed him—pain unlike any he'd experienced since the SPARTAN-II program had surgically altered him. The MJOLNIR armor's shields flared as he broke through branches—then drained in one sudden burst as he impacted dead-center on a thick tree trunk. He smashed through it like an armored missile. He tumbled, and his body abs
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ERIC NYLUND 15 Fred snorted in disgust. Kelly thought he'd been thinking on his feet—but all he'd done was land on his ass. He didn't want to talk about it—not now. "Any other good news?" he said. "Plenty," she replied. "Our gear—munitions boxes, bags of extra weapons—they're scattered across what's passing for our LZ. Only a few of us have assault rifles, maybe five in total." Fred instinctively reached for his MA5B and discovered that the anchoring clips on his armor had been sheared a
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16 HALO: FIRST STRIKE "One here, too," Red-Fifteen reported. "Neutralized." There had to be more. Fred knew the Covenant never traveled in small numbers. Worse, if the Covenant were deploying troops in any signifi- cant numbers, that meant the holding action in orbit had turned ugly ... so it was only a matter of time before this mission went from bad to worse. He was so intent on listening to his team's field checks, he al- most ran into a pair of Jackals. He instinctively melted into th
