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The Chief squared himself to the Lieutenant and said nothing.
Haverson held up his hands. "I acknowledge that you have tactical command, Chief. I know your authority has the backing of the brass and ONI Section Three. You'll get no argument from me on that point, but I put it to you that your original mission has just been superseded by the discovery of the technology on this ship. We should scrub your mission and head straight back to Earth."
"What's this other mission?" Locklear asked, his voice suspicious.
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Haverson shrugged. "I see no reason to keep this information classified at this point. Tell him, Chief."
The Master Chief didn't like how Haverson "acceded" to his tactical command yet readily ordered him to reveal highly clas?sified material.
"Cortana," the Chief said. "Is the bridge secure from eaves?droppers?"
"A moment," Cortana said. Red lights pulsed around the room's perimeter. "It is now. Go ahead, Chief."
"My team and I—" the Master Chief started.
He hesitated—the thought of his fellow Spartans stopped him cold. For all he knew they were all dead. He pushed that to the back of his mind, however, and continued.
"Our mission was to capture a Covenant ship, infiltrate Covenant-controlled space, and capture one of their leaders. Command hoped they could use this to force the Covenant into a cease-fire and negotiations."
No one said a word.
Finally, Locklear snorted and rolled his eyes. "Typical Navy suicide mission."
"No," the Master Chief replied. "It was a long shot, but we had a chance. We have a better chance now that we have this ship."
"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 sur?vived 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-
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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."