He rotated the fiber-optic cable to point down the opposite end of the street. There was more activity another block away.

He retracted the probe and moved Blue Team a block farther south. He signaled the team to hold position, then climbed up a short series of metal handholds until he was just below a manhole cover.

He cautiously sent the probe topside again, up through the manhole-cover vent.

There was a Jackal’s hoof directly adjacent to the probe, blocking half of his field of vision. He turned the probe with excruciating slowness, and saw fifty more Jackals milling back and forth. They were concentrated around the building across the street. The building resembled pictures that Déjà had shown him years ago—it looked like an Athenian temple, with white marble steps and Ionic columns. At the top of the steps were a pair of stationary guns. More bad news.

He pulled the probe back and consulted the map. The building was marked as the Côte d’Azur Museum of Natural History.

The Covenant had serious firepower here—the stationary guns had commanding fields of fire, making a frontal assault suicidal. Why would they protect a human structure? he wondered. Was it their headquarters?

The Master Chief signaled for Blue-Two. He pointed to the accessway that led under the building. He held up two fingers, pointed toward her eyes, and then down the passage, and then slowly balled his hand into a fist.

Kelly proceeded very slowly down that passage to scout it out.

The Master Chief checked the time. Red and Green Teams were due to report. He had James attach the ground-return transceiver to the pipes overhead.

“Green Team, come in.”

“Roger: Green Team Leader here, sir,” Linda whispered over the channel. “We’ve scouted the residential section.” There was a pause. “No survivors... just like Draco Three. We’re too late.”

He understood. They’d seen it before. The Covenant didn’t take prisoners. On Draco III, they had watched via satellite linkup as human survivors were herded together and ripped apart by ravenous Grunts and Jackals. By the time the Spartans had gotten there, there was no one left to rescue.

But the victims had been avenged.

“Green Team: stand by and prepare to fall back to the RV and secure the area,” he said.

“Standing by,” Linda said.

He switched to the Red Team COM channel: “Red Team, report.”

Joshua’s voice crackled over the link: “Red Leader, sir. We’ve got something for ONI. We’ve spotted some new type of Covenant race. Little guys that float. They seem to be some sort of explorer or scientist type. They take things apart, then move on, like they’re looking for something. They do not, repeat not, appear hostile. Advise that you do not engage. They raise a pretty loud alarm, Blue Lead.”

“You in trouble?”

“Dodged trouble, sir,” he said. “But there is one snag.”

“Snag.” The word was charged with meaning for the Spartans. Getting caught in an ambush or a minefield, a teammate wounded, or aerial bombardments—those were all things they had trained for. Snags were things they didn’t know how to handle. Complications that no one had planned for.

“Go ahead,” the Master Chief whispered.

“We have survivors. Twenty civilians hid in a cargo ship here. There are several wounded.”

The Master Chief mulled this over. It wasn’t his choice to weigh the relative worth of a handful of civilian lives versus the possibility of taking out ten thousand Covenant troops with their nuke. His orders were specific on this point. They could not set up the nuke if there was civilian population at risk.

“New mission objective, Red Team Leader,” the Master Chief said. “Get those civilians to the recovery point and evac them back to fleet.” He switched COM channels again, broadcasting to all the teams. “Green Team Leader, you still online?”

A pause, then Linda spoke: “Roger.”

“Move to the docks and coordinate with Red Team—they have survivors we need to evac. Green Team leader has strategic control of this mission.”

“Understood,” she said. “We’re on our way.”

“Affirmative, sir,” Joshua said. “We’ll get it done.”

“Blue Team out.” The Master Chief disconnected.

It was going to be rough for Green and Red Teams. Those civilians would slow them down—and if they had to protect them from Covenant patrols, they’d all get noticed.

Blue-Two returned. She opened the COM link and reported in. “There’s access to the building—a ladder and a steel plate welded shut. We can burn through it.”

The Master Chief opened up the team COM channel. “We’re going to assume that Red and Green Teams will remove the civilians from Côte d’Azur. We will proceed as planned.”

He paused, then turned to Blue-Two. “Break out the nuke and arm it.”

2120 Hours, July 18, 2552 (Military Calendar)

UNSC Iroquois, military staging area in orbit around Sigma Octanus IV

“Ship’s status?” Captain Keyes said as he strode onto the bridge, buttoning his collar. He noticed that the repair station Cradle still obscured their port camera. “And why aren’t we clear of that station yet?”

“Sir, all hands are at battle stations,” Lieutenant Dominique replied. “General quarters sounded. Tac data uploaded to your station.”

A tactical overview of the Iroquois, neighboring vessels, and Cradle popped onto Keyes’ personal display screen. “As you can see,” Lieutenant Dominique continued, “we did clear the station, but they are moving on the same outbound vector we are. Admiral Stanforth wants them with the fleet.”

Captain Keyes took his place in his command chair—“the hot seat,” as it was more colloquially known—and reviewed the data. He nodded with satisfaction. “Looks like the Admiral has something up his sleeve.” He turned to Lieutenant Hall. “Engine status, Lieutenant?”

“Engines hot at fifty percent,” she reported. She straightened to her full height, nearly six feet, and looked Captain Keyes in the eye with something edging near defensiveness. “Sir, the engines took a real beating in our last engagement. The repairs we’ve made are... well, the best we could do without a complete refit.”

“Understood, Lieutenant,” Keyes replied calmly. In truth, Keyes was concerned about the engines, too—but it would do no good to make Hall more uneasy than necessary. The last thing he needed now was to undermine her confidence.

“Gunnery officer?” Captain Keyes turned to Lieutenant Hikowa. The petite woman bore more resemblance to a porcelain doll than to a combat officer, but Keyes knew her delicate appearance was only skin deep. She had ice water for blood and nerves of steel.

“MAC guns charging,” Lieutenant Hikowa reported. “Sixty-five percent and climbing at two percent per minute.”

Everything on the Iroquois had slowed down to a crawl. Engine, weapons—even the unwieldy Cradle kept pace with them.

Captain Keyes sat up straighter. There was no time to spend on self-recriminations. He would have to do the best he could with what he had. There simply was no other alternative.

The lift doors popped open and a young man stepped on deck. He was tall and thin. His dark hair—longer than regulations permitted—had been slicked back. He was disarmingly handsome; Keyes noticed the female bridge crew pause to look the newcomer over before returning to their tasks. “Ensign Lovell reporting for duty, Captain.” He snapped a sharp salute.

“Welcome aboard, Ensign Lovell.” Captain Keyes returned his salute, surprised that the unkempt officer could demonstrate such crisp adherence to military protocol. “Man the navigation console, please.”

The bridge officers scrutinized the Ensign. It was highly unusual for such a low-ranking officer to pilot a capital ship. “Sir?” Lovell wrinkled his forehead, confused. “Has there been some mistake, sir?”