Halo Lighting System First Strike Games - Manual (Page 182)

178 HALO: FIRST STRIKE
jogged out of the center of the ravine, both keeping their eyes on
the rim of the canyon overhead.
The Master Chief had plenty of questions for Anton, however.
Like, why had his team split from Red Team? Where was Red
Team? And why hadn't the Covenant glassed every square cen-
timeter of Reach yet?
"You okay, Chief?" Lieutenant Haverson's voice broke in
from the COM.
"Affirmative, sir. Contact made with a Spartan. Stand by."
Anton halted before a dark cavern entrance. It was difficult to
see, even with image enhancement; there was only the faint out-
line of a tunnel in the shadows of the cliff face. Just inside were
reinforcing steel I-beams painted matte black, and beyond there
were two-meter-wide boulders with chainguns bolted to their
sides. Each gun was crewed by a Spartan—whom John recog-
nized as Grace-093 and Li-008.
When they saw John they gave him the smile gesture, which
he returned.
Grace followed the Master Chief and Anton into the cavern.
Li remained to operate the guns.
The Master Chief blinked as his eyes adjusted to the harsh
fluorescent lights that illuminated the interior of the cavern. The
walls had a grooved texture, as if they'd been dug out by machin-
ery. Standing before a foldout card table in the center of the
cavern was another man, in a Navy uniform.
The Master Chief stiffened and saluted. "Admiral, sir!"
Vice Admiral Danforth Whitcomb, despite his Western Euro-
pean name and Texas drawl, claimed to have descended from
Russian Cossacks. He had the physique of a large bear, a closely
shaved and polished head, eyes so dark they could have been
made of coal, and a salt-and-pepper mustache that drooped over
his upper lip and dangled off the edge of his chin.
"Master Chief." The Admiral snapped off a crisp salute. "At
ease, son. Damn good to see you." He strode to the Chief and
shook his hand—a gesture very few non-Spartans cared to
endure;—pressing bare flesh into a cold unyielding gauntlet that
could pulverize their bones. "Welcome to Camp Independence.
Accommodations ain't four star... but we call it home."
"Thank you, sir."