TIME:DATE RECORD [[ERROR]]ANOMALYDate Unknown Captured Covenant flagshipAscendant Justice, in anomalous Slipspace bubble.

Admiral Whitcomb stood on the bridge of Ascendant Justice. He gripped the edges of therailing that encircled the central raised platform and watched the sea of fire on the walldisplays.

They were stuck in this pocket of Slipspace, trapped like an insect in amber as lines ofplasma crisscrossed the region. Enemy fire vanished and reappeared, smearing the bluefog of Slipspace with crimson streaks of  glowing energy. Molten chunks of metal, thebroken pieces of Covenant ships, streaked past the cameras—comets that thudded intotheir hull.

There was another danger in the blue fog: ghost ships that ap.peared and faded fromsight... more than half of them disabled, engulfed in fire, or their hulls broken. How manyof those Cove.nant craft were still capable of  engaging Ascendant Justice"! How manycould they take out before they risked the jump back to normal space?

Lieutenant Haverson stood next to him. The young man was invaluable for his tacticalassessments and knowledge of the Covenant. He was a bit too cautious for Whitcomb'staste— though the trait was to be expected  in an ONI officer, he sup.posed. Still, theyoung Lieutenant had shown enough backbone to stand up to him. The kid definitely hadsome potential.

A square on the holographic controls morphed into the tiny figure of Cortana.

"Sporadic plasma and mass impacts along our hull, Admiral," she reported and crossedher arms. "Atmospheric integrity downERIC NYLUNO225to thirteen percent. Structural integrity rated poor. I estimate the hull will fail in no more than five minutes.""Understood," the Admiral replied.

They didn't have much choice but to play the hand that they'd been dealt. The longer they stayed in this environment, the more damage the Covenant ships surrounding them incurred. If As.cendant Justice had  engines, the Admiral could accelerate that process.But if they waited too long, their own ship would disin.tegrate around them.

Admiral Whitcomb glanced up to see how the rest of his crew was holding up under thepressure.

Locklear paced, his hands flexing. The ODST was a weapon with its safety permanentlyclicked off... and on overload charge.

Sergeant Johnson stood near the sealed bulkhead, rifle slung over his shoulder. He was looking at the crew and probably for.mulating his own opinions about them. He was rock-solid. One glance into his dark eyes and  the Admiral understood what drove theman: pure cold hatred of the enemy. The Admiral could ap.preciate that.

Dr. Halsey tended the Spartan called "Kelly" on the deck. The doctor was brilliant... but atotal mystery to him. They had met half a dozen times before at upper-echelon socialgatherings, and he'd found her to be  charming and outwardly likable. But he'd readenough reports of her "projects" that he'd found it im.possible to relate to her. If half therumors he'd heard about her were true, she'd been mixed up in every black op from  here to Andromeda. He didn't trust her.

"Doctor Halsey," the Admiral said. He released his grip on the railing and clasped hishands behind his back to conceal his sweaty palms. "Clear my bridge of the wounded,ASAP."Dr. Halsey looked up from her data pad and the fluctuating patterns of Kelly's biosigns."Admiral, I don't want to move her. She not entirely stable.""Do it, Doctor. She's a distraction. We have a battle to fight here."Dr. Halsey shot him a look that could have stopped a plasma bolt dead in its tracks.

Lieutenant Haverson stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Ma'am, there's an escape craft just off the bridge." He moved226HALO: FIRST STRIKEto the starboard hatch and eased it open. He drew his pistol and checked the passage beyond. "It's clear. Locklear, Sergeant, please give the doctor a hand with her patient.""Yes, sir," Locklear said. "Happy to sit this battle out in the es.cape pod."Sergeant Johnson set his rifle on Kelly's chest and said, "Come on, Corporal, shake a leg and gimme a hand. The lady in her armor weighs more than your last date."Locklear and the Sergeant hefted Kelly and, grunting under the load, moved her off thebridge. Dr. Halsey followed, cast one last withering look at the Admiral, and sealed thehatch be.hind her.

Admiral Whitcomb sighed. He felt for the Spartan... felt too much—which was theproblem. He couldn't concentrate with her so close. He'd want constant status reports on her condition. Hell, he would have gone over,  knelt next to her, and held her hand if thatwould've helped. He loved the men and women un.der his command as if they were hisown sons and daughters. It was the old axiom of command: To be a good leader, you  hadto love the service. To be a great commander, you had to be willing to destroy that whichyou loved.

Static crackled, and the Master Chief reported in: "We're in position, Admiral. ETA for repairs is two minutes.""Roger, Chief," Admiral Whitcomb replied. "When you're done give the word and getsecure. We'll be accelerating immediately.""Yes, sir."Thunder rumbled through the deck.

"Plasma impacts, sir," Cortana explained. "Their energy pro.file has diffused, but theywere still powerful enough to knock the lateral sensors and cameras offline."Admiral Whitcomb smoothed his thick fingers over his mus.tache. "We've got only a fewminutes before this space tears us apart." He squinted at the wall displays, trying to countthe num.ber of enemy craft. "That's if  those Covenant ships don't do the job first."He turned to Cortana. "How many enemy ships are there? Which are real and which areillusion?""Impossible to accurately determine, sir. I counted fourteenERIC NYLUND227targets before they started firing and filli the space between us with ionizing plasma.Now? ..." Mathematical symbols raced alongngng her length, flashing blue and indigo. "Crossindexingsimilar mirrored images and extrapolating, I estimate there are currentlybetween three and five operational ships, sir."Admiral Whitcomb gritted his teeth and concentrated. He had to get this ship moving— take out one or two enemy craft. Maybe the tangled plasma-filled space would cook therest of them.

That was their best chance. Their only chance. He'd have to trust the Master Chief to getthat drive conduit fixed.

"Very well, Cortana," he said. "Heat the Gettysburg's reactor to maximum power andprepare to flood the main-engine plasma conduit. Charge all available weapons turretcapacitors.""Yes, sir. Standby."He glanced at a screen that showed the Gettysburg sitting atop them inverted. "Is thelaunch bay on the Gettysburg intact? Can it hold an atmosphere?"Cortana blinked. "Yes, sir. It has a slow leak of thirty-two kilo pascals per—""Pressurize the bay.""Acknowledged, Admiral. However," Cortana replied, "that will leave our air reservesdangerously low."The Admiral stared at the ships surrounding them—a plasma bolt struck a distant cruiserhead-on, and its nose buckled. Gouts of flame flared along its lateral plasma lines. The ship looked like a fish spit with a red-hot poker.

That could have been them.

"Hurry up, Chief," he whispered.

On the displays the Admiral spotted two ships. There was a carrier far away; it lookedundamaged. Closer, off the port bow, was a cruiser that, aside from a hole punchedthrough its aft sec.tion, was also undamaged ...  and only ten thousand kilometers away.That was the priority target.

"Lay in a new course," the Admiral ordered. "Two-four-zero by zero-three-five."Lieutenant Haverson took an involuntary step closer to the display, and his face contortedas he worked out the math in his head. "That's... a collision course, sir."228HALO: FIRST STRIKE"Glad you concur with my calculations," the Admiral re.marked dryly.

Lieutenant Haverson glanced at the Gettysburg and nodded, finally understanding. "Aye,sir. A good plan.""Admiral," the Master Chief's voice broke through in a wash of static. "Hull breach issealed, sir.""Hang on, son," Admiral Whitcomb said. "This might be a rough ride. Cortana, give me flank speed now!""Complying," Cortana said. "Flank speed. Conduit is hold.ing. Coming about to two-fourzeroby zero-three............