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- His shield dropped away, and the insistent drone of a warning indicator pulsed in his helmet. His vision clouded from the flare of energy weapon discharges, and he struggled to draw a bead on the Elite in front of Polaski. It was no good-he had no
- clear shot. The Elite drew a plasma pistol. Polaski drew her own side-arm.
- She was faster or luckier. Her pistol cleared its holster; she snapped it up and fired. The pistol boomed as a shot took the Elite right in the center of its elongated helmet. The Elite's own shot went wide and seared into the deck behind Polaski.
- Polaski emptied her clip into the alien's face. A pair of rounds rocked the alien back. Its shields faded, and the remaining rounds tore through armor and bone. It fell on its back, twitched twice, and died.
- Johnson and Locklear unleashed a hellish crossfire into the corridor and made short work of the remaining Elites as Polaski hugged the deckplates.
- "Now that's what I'm talkin' about," Johnson crowed. "An honest-to-God turkey shoot."-Chpt.7 pg.80
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