第31页

　　This  last  person  was  a  woman,  and  she  wore  the  flight-suit  of  a  pilot.  Her  dirty  blond  hair  was  tucked  into  a  cap.  She  saluted  the  Chief.  "Petty  Warrant  Officer  Polaski,  requesting  permission  to  come  aboard,  Master  Chief."
　　"Granted,"  he  said  and  returned  her  salute.
　　Stenciled  onto  her  coveralls  was  a  flaming  fist  over  a  red  bull's-eye,  the  insignia  of  the  Twenty-third  Naval  Air  Squadron.  Although  the  Chief  had  never  met  Polaski,  she  was  from  the  same  chalk  as  Captain  Carol  Rawley,  callsign  "Foehammer."  If  Polaski  was  anything  like  Foehammer,  she  would  be  a  skilled  and  fearless  pilot.
　　50 HALO:  FIRST  STRIKE
　　"So  what's  the  story?"  Locklear  demanded.  "We  got  some?thing  to  shoot  here?"
　　"At  ease,  Marine,"  the  Sergeant  growled.  "Use  that  stuffing  between  your  ears  for  something  besides  keeping  your  helmet  on.  Notice  we're  not  floating?  Feel  those  gee  forces?  This  ship  is  in  a  slingshot  orbit.  We're  coming  around  the  moon  for  another  crack  at  the  Covenant."
　　"That's  correct,"  the  Chief  said.
　　"Our  first  priority  should  be  to  escape,"  Haverson  said  and  his  thin  brows  knitted  in  frustration,  "not  to  blindly  engage  the  Covenant.  We  have  valuable  intelligence  on  the  enemy,  and  on  Halo.  Our  first  priority  should  be  to  reach  UNSC-controlled  space."
　　"That  was  my  intention,  sir,"  the  Chief  replied.  "But  neither  this  Longsword  nor  your  Pelican  is  equipped  with  Shaw-Fujikawa  engines.  Without  a  jump  to  Slipspace,  it  would  take  years  to  return."
　　Haverson  sighed.  "That  does  limit  our  options,  doesn't  it?"  He  turned  his  back  to  the  Chief  and  paced,  deep  in  thought.
　　The  Master  Chief  respected  the  chain  of  command,  wnich  meant  that  he  had  to  obey  Lieutenant  Haverson.  But,  officer  or  not,  the  Spartan  had  never  liked  it  when  people  turned  their  backs  to  him.  And  he  certainly  didn't  like  the  way  Haverson  as?sumed  he  was  in  charge.
　　The  Chief  had  already  gotten  his  orders,  and  he  intended  to  follow  them—whether  or  not  Haverson  approved.
　　"Pardon  me,  sir,"  the  Chief  said.  "I  must  point  out  that  while  you  are  the  ranking  officer,  I  am  on  a  classified  mission  of  the  highest  priority.  My  orders  come  directly  from  High  Command."
　　"Meaning?"
　　"Meaning,"  John  continued,  "I  have  tactical  command  of  this  crew,  these  ships.  .  .  and  you.  Sir."
　　Haverson  turned,  his  expression  dark.  The  Lieutenant's  mouth  opened  as  if  he  were  going  to  say  something.  He  closed  his  mouth  and  looked  the  Chief  over.  A  faint  smile  flickered  over  his  thin  lips.  "Of  course.  I  am  well  aware  of  your  mission,  Chief.  I'll  do  anything  I  can  to  assist."
　　He  knew  about  the  Spartan's  original  mission  to  capture  a  Covenant  Prophet?  What  was  an  ONI  officer  doing  here  anyway?
　　ERIC  NYLUND 51
　　"So  what's  the  plan?"  Locklear  asked.  "Slingshot  orbit—then  what?  We  just  going  to  talk  all  day,  Chief?"
　　"No,"  the  Chief  replied.
　　He  glanced  at  Polaski  and  the  Sergeant.  He  could  count  on  her,  and  though  he  was  suspicious  of  exactly  how  Sergeant  John?son  had  avoided  falling  to  the  Flood,  he  was  willing  to  give  the  man  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  Haverson?  He  wouldn't  trust  him,  but  the  man  knew  what  was  at  stake,  and  he  wouldn't  interfere.  Probably.  Locklear  was  another  story,  though.