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"I hear you, Master Chief. Looking forward to those Navy nurses. Now—" The Sergeant pushed off the hull and drifted toward the hatch. "—let's get the rest of the crew on board." He hesitated by the cryotubes. "I see you already picked up a few stragglers."
"They'll have to wait," the Chief said. "It'll take half an hour to thaw them out without risking hypothermic shock. We don't have that much time left before we reengage the Covenant."
"Reengage," the Sergeant said, savoring the word. He smiled. "Good. For a second I thought we were running away from a per?fectly good fight." The Sergeant opened the hatch to the Pelican.
The barrel of an MA5B assault rifle extended through the opening. The Sergeant reached down and pulled it up.
A Marine Corporal drifted though the hatch. The name stitched on his uniform read LOCKLEAR. He was tanned, shaved bald, and had a wild look in his clear blue eyes. He retrieved his gun from the Sergeant and swept the interior with the point of his weapon. "Clear!" he shouted back down into the Pelican.
"At ease, Corporal," the Master Chief said.
The Corporal's eyes finally locked onto the Chief. He shook his head in disbelief. "A Spartan," he muttered. "Figures. Outta the friggin' frying pan—"
The Master Chief spotted the Marine's shoulder patch: the gold comet insigne of the Orbital Drop Shock Troops. The ODST, more colorfully known as "Helljumpers," were notorious for their tenacity in a fight.
Locklear must have been one of Major Silva's boys, which ex?plained the young Marine's general hostility. Silva was ODST to
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the bone, and during the action on Halo had been decidedly negative about the SPARTAN-IIs in general... and the Chief in particular.
Another man gripped the edge of the hatch and pulled himself up. He had a plasma pistol strapped to his side and wore a crisp black uniform. His red hair was neatly slicked back, and his eyes took in the Chief without obvious surprise. He wore the black enameled bars of a First Lieutenant.
"Sir!" The Chief snapped off a crisp salute.
"Adjusting burn and angle," Cortana announced. The Long-sword and Pelican tilted relative to the moon, Basis, on the viewscreen. "That should give you a little more than one gee on the deck."
The lieutenant settled to the floor and lazily returned the salute. "I'm Haverson," he said. He looked John over with inter?est. "You are the Master Chief, SPARTAN-117."
"Yes, sir." The Chief was surprised. Most people, even experi?enced officers, had difficulty distinguishing one Spartan from another. How had this young officer so quickly identified him?
The Chief saw the round insigne on the man's shoulder—the black and silver eagle wings over a trio of stars. Inscribed above the eagle wings were the Latin words SEMPER VIGILANS—Ever Vigilant.
Haverson was with the Office of Naval Intelligence.
"Good," Haverson said. He glanced quickly at Locklear and Johnson. "With you, Chief, we might have a chance." He reached into the hatch and pulled another person onto the Longsword.