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Lieutenant Haverson stood next to him. The young man was invaluable for his tactical assessments and knowledge of the Covenant. He was a bit too cautious for Whitcomb's taste— though the trait was to be expected in an ONI officer, he sup?posed. Still, the young Lieutenant had shown enough backbone to stand up to him. The kid definitely had some potential.
A square on the holographic controls morphed into the tiny figure of Cortana.
"Sporadic plasma and mass impacts along our hull, Admiral," she reported and crossed her arms. "Atmospheric integrity down
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to thirteen percent. Structural integrity rated poor. I estimate the hull will fail in no more than five minutes."
"Understood," the Admiral replied.
They didn't have much choice but to play the hand that they'd been dealt. The longer they stayed in this environment, the more damage the Covenant ships surrounding them incurred. If As?cendant Justice had engines, the Admiral could accelerate that process. But if they waited too long, their own ship would disin?tegrate around them.
Admiral Whitcomb glanced up to see how the rest of his crew was holding up under the pressure.
Locklear paced, his hands flexing. The ODST was a weapon with its safety permanently clicked off... and on overload charge.
Sergeant Johnson stood near the sealed bulkhead, rifle slung over his shoulder. He was looking at the crew and probably for?mulating his own opinions about them. He was rock-solid. One glance into his dark eyes and the Admiral understood what drove the man: pure cold hatred of the enemy. The Admiral could ap?preciate that.
Dr. Halsey tended the Spartan called "Kelly" on the deck. The doctor was brilliant... but a total mystery to him. They had met half a dozen times before at upper-echelon social gatherings, and he'd found her to be charming and outwardly likable. But he'd read enough reports of her "projects" that he'd found it im?possible to relate to her. If half the rumors he'd heard about her were true, she'd been mixed up in every black op from here to Andromeda. He didn't trust her.
"Doctor Halsey," the Admiral said. He released his grip on the railing and clasped his hands behind his back to conceal his sweaty palms. "Clear my bridge of the wounded, ASAP."
Dr. Halsey looked up from her data pad and the fluctuating patterns of Kelly's biosigns. "Admiral, I don't want to move her. She not entirely stable."
"Do it, Doctor. She's a distraction. We have a battle to fight here."
Dr. Halsey shot him a look that could have stopped a plasma bolt dead in its tracks.
Lieutenant Haverson stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Ma'am, there's an escape craft just off the bridge." He moved
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to the starboard hatch and eased it open. He drew his pistol and checked the passage beyond. "It's clear. Locklear, Sergeant, please give the doctor a hand with her patient."
"Yes, sir," Locklear said. "Happy to sit this battle out in the es?cape pod."