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The Fall of Reach, Halo: First Strike, and Halo: He lives near Seattle on a rain-drenched mountain with his wife, Syne Mitchell. Toggle navigation. New to eBooks. Halo No.
proof that first strike is no longer canon
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I bought this for my son for Christmas Worked out great! They may try to get their troops on the station before the Super MAC guns can take out their ships.
This will be a difficult mission, Chief. I'm,,,open to suggestions.
Captain Keyes's eyes widened and he leaned forward in his command chair. I'll split my squad. Three will board the space dock and make sure that NAV data does not fall into the Covenant's hands. The remainder of the Spartans will go groundside and repel the invasion forces.
Given his choice, he'd rather fight the Covenant on the ground. Like his fellow Spartans, he loathed off-planet duty.
The op to board the space dock would be fraught 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. 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. If the Covenant search the wreckage, they may obtain the data. We'll go with your suggestion. I'll plot a course over the docking station.
Ready your Spartans and prep two dropships. We'll launch you-" He consulted with Cortana.
Halo: First Strike pdf
We'll be ready. Fred snapped to attention as the Master Chief turned to face the Spartans. Fred began to step forward- -but Kelly beat him to it. Fred, you're Red Team leader. You'll have tactical command of the ground operation. Now wasn't the time to question orders,,,as much as he wanted to.
Kelly called out, "Attention! Fred switched to Red Team's all-hands freq and barked, "Let's move, Spartans! I want gear stowed in ninety seconds, and final prep in five minutes. 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.
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 bulkhead. Red-hot, molten metal splattered the Pelican dropship's viewport. Screw this, he thought, and hit the Pelican's thrusters. The gun-metal-green transport-reinforced to carry more than twenty Spartans-balanced for a moment on a column of blue-white fire, then hurtled out of the Pillar of Autumn's launch bay and into space.
Five seconds later all hell broke loose. Incoming energy bursts from the lead Covenant vessels cut across their vector and slammed into a COMSat. The communications satellite broke apart, disintegrating into glittering shards.
The Pelican's engines flared and the bulky ship plummeted toward the surface of Reach. The alien fighters accelerated and plasma bursts flickered from their gunports. An energy bolt slashed past on the port side, narrowly missing the Pelican's cockpit.
Mitchell's voice crackled across the COM system: I could use a little help here. Beneath the blackened plasma scorches, he could just make out the UNSC insigne. Mitchell scowled. This was getting worse by the second. A quartet of wedge-shaped, angular fighters slotted into covering position on Mitchell's scopes-Longswords, heavy fighters.
Business is good today. 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; Covenant energy weapons cut through the night and explosions dotted the sky.
The Pelican and its sole escort, however, accelerated straight toward the planet. It shot past whirling wreckage; it rolled and maneuvered as missiles and plasma bolts crisscrossed their path. Mitchell flinched as Reach's orbital defense guns fired in a hot, actinic flash.
A white ball of molten metal screamed directly over the Pelican and its escort as they rocketed beneath the defense platform's ring-shaped superstructure.
Mitchell sent the Pelican into the planet's atmosphere. Vaporous flames flickered across the ship's stunted nose, and the Pelican jounced from side to side.
Enemy contacts on my scopes at four by three o'clock. I've got 'em, Bravo-One," the Longsword pilot announced. There was no chance that the pilot could take out a dozen Seraphs-and Knife Two-Six had to know that. Mitchell only hoped that the precious seconds Two-Six bought them would be enough. The Pelican opened its intake vents and ignited afterburners, plummeting toward the ground at thirteen hundred meters per second.
I cannot get over how good Last Light was!
The faint aura of flames around the craft roared from red to blinding orange. 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 passenger 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-two Spartans braced themselves and clung to the frame of the ship; they crouched in their MJOLNIR armor to absorb the shock of their rapid descent.
Their armor was half a ton of black alloy, faintly luminous green ceramic plates, and winking energy shield emitters. Polarized visors and full helmets made them look part Greek hero and part tank-more machine than human. At their feet equipment bags and ammunition boxes were lashed in place. Everything rattled as the ship jostled through the increasingly dense air.
Fred hit the COM and barked: He'd spammed every ship in range. Damn it. He opened a private channel to Kelly.
Her reply was a subtle nod. He knew better than to make such a simple mistake-and as his second in command, Kelly was rattled by his mistake with the COM, too. He needed her rock-solid. He needed all of Red Team frosty and wired tight. Which meant that he needed to make sure he held it together.
No more mistakes. He checked the squad's biomonitors.
They showed all green on his heads-up display, with pulse rates only marginally accelerated. The dropship's pilot was a different story. Mitchell's heart fired like an assault rifle.
Any problems with Red Team weren't physical; the biomonitors confirmed that much. Their job this time was to get groundside and protect the generators that powered the orbiting Magnetic Accelerator Cannon platforms. The fleet was getting ripped to shreds in space.The knife spun.
Fred, you're Red Team leader. Fred sensed a slight movement to his right-a subtle hand signal from Kelly. Which meant that he needed to make sure he held it together. Fred began to step forward- -but Kelly beat him to it.