Halo_ First Strike - Eric S. Nylund [42]
"Excuse me, Master Chief," Polaski said. She removed her cap and wrung it in her hands. "You're not suggesting that you're going to continue that half-assed op, are you? We barely survived four days of hell. It was a miracle we got away from Reach, survived the Covenant on Halo... not to mention the Flood."
"I have a duty to complete my mission," the Master Chief told her. "I'll do it with or without your help. There's more at stake than our individual discomfort—even our lives."
"We're not Spartans," Haverson said. "We're not trained for your kind of mission."
That was certainly true. They weren't Spartans. John's team would never give up. But as he scanned their weary faces, he had to acknowledge that they weren't ready for this mission.
The Sergeant stepped forward and said, "You still want to go, I got your back, Chief." John nodded, but he saw the exhaustion even in the Sergeant's dark eyes. There were limits to what any soldier, even a hard
core Marine like Johnson, could endure. And as much as he didn't want to admit it, his original orders, given only a week ago, felt as if they'd been issued a lifetime in the past. Even John felt the temptation to stop and regroup before continuing.
"What's on this ship," Haverson said, "can save the human race. And wasn't that the goal of your mission? Let's return to Earth and let the Admiralty decide. No one would question your decision to clarify your orders given the circumstances—" He paused, then added, "and the loss of your entire team."
Haverson's expression was carefully neutral, but the Chief still bristled at the further mention of his team—and at the attempt to manipulate him. He remembered his order sending Fred, Kelly, and the others to the surface of Reach, thinking that he, Linda, and James were going on the "hard" mission.
"Listen to the El-Tee," Locklear said. "We deliver a little something for the R-and-D eggheads and maybe buy some shore leave. I vote for that plan." He saluted Haverson. "Hell yeah!"
"This isn't a democracy," the Master Chief said, his voice both calm and dangerous.
Locklear twitched but didn't back down. "Yeah, maybe it isn't," he said, "but last time I checked, I take my orders from the Corps— not from some swabbie. Sir."
The Sergeant scowled at the ODST and moved to his side. "You better get it together, Marine," he barked, "or the Chief'11 reach down and pull you inside out by your cornhole. And that'll be a sweet, sweet mercy ... compared to what I'm gonna do to you."
Locklear contemplated the Sergeant's words and the Master Chief's silence. He looked to Polaski and then to Haverson. Polaski stared at the Marine with wide eyes, then turned away. Haverson gave him a slight shake of his head. Locklear sighed, eased his stance, and dropped his gaze. "Man, I really, really hate this shit." "I hate to interrupt," Cortana said, "but I find myself agreeing with the Lieutenant."
The Chief clicked on a private COM channel. "Explain, Cortana. I thought our mission was what you were built for. Why are you backing out now?"
"I'm not 'backing out,' " she shot back. "Our orders were
ERIC NYLUND
given when the UNSC had a fleet, and when Reach was still an intact military presence. All that has changed."
The Master Chief couldn't disagree with what she was saying ... but there was something else in her voice. And for the first time, John thought that Cortana might be hiding something from him.
"We have intact ship-scale plasma weapons and new reactor technologies," Cortana continued. "Imagine if every ship could maneuver with pinpoint precision in Slipspace." She paused. "The UNSC could be just as effective in space as you are in ground engagements. We could actually win this war."
The Master Chief frowned. He didn't like the Lieutenant's or Cortana's arguments—because they made sense. Aborting his mission was unthinkable. He had always finished what he started, and he'd always won.
As a professional soldier, John was ready