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Incoming energy bursts from the lead Covenant vessels cut across their vector and slammed into a COMSat. The communi?cations satellite broke apart, disintegrating into glittering shards.
"Better hang on," Mitchell announced to his passengers in the dropship's troop bay. "Company's coming."
A swarm of Seraphs—the Covenant's scarablike attack fighters—fell into tight formation and arced through space on an intercept course for the dropship.
The Pelican's engines flared and the bulky ship plummeted toward the surface of Reach. The alien fighters accelerated and plasma bursts flickered from their gunports.
An energy bolt slashed past on the port side, narrowly missing the Pelican's cockpit.
Mitchell's voice crackled across the COM system: "Bravo-One to Knife Two-Six: I could use a little help here."
He rolled the Pelican to port to avoid a massive, twisted hunk of wreckage from a patrol cutter that had strayed too close to the oncoming assault wave. Beneath the blackened plasma scorches, he could just make out the UNSC insigne. Mitchell scowled. This was getting worse by the second. "Bravo-One to Knife Two-Six, where the hell are you?" he yelled.
A quartet of wedge-shaped, angular fighters slotted into cover?ing position on Mitchell's scopes—Longswords, heavy fighters.
6 HALO: FIRST STRIKE
"Knife Two-Six to Bravo-One," a terse, female voice crackled across the COM channel. "Keep your pants on. Business is good today."
Too good. No sooner had the fighters taken escort position over his dropship than the approaching Covenant fighters opened up with a barrage of plasma fire.
Three of the Pelican's four Longsword escorts peeled off and powered toward the Covenant ships. Against the black of space, cannons flashed and missiles etched ghostly trails; Covenant energy weapons cut through the night and explosions dotted the sky.
The Pelican and its sole escort, however, accelerated straight toward the planet. It shot past whirling wreckage; it rolled and maneuvered as missiles and plasma bolts crisscrossed their path.
Mitchell flinched as Reach's orbital defense guns fired in a hot, actinic flash. A white ball of molten metal screamed directly over the Pelican and its escort as they rocketed beneath the de?fense platform's ring-shaped superstructure.
Mitchell sent the Pelican into the planet's atmosphere. Va?porous flames flickered across the ship's stunted nose, and the Pelican jounced from side to side.
"Bravo-One, adjust attack angle," the Longsword pilot ad?vised. "You're coming in too hot."
"Negative," Mitchell said. "We're getting to the surface fast— or we're not getting there at all. Enemy contacts on my scopes at four by three o'clock."
A dozen more Covenant Seraphs fired their engines and an?gled toward the two descending ships.
"Affirmative: four by three. I've got 'em, Bravo-One," the Longsword pilot announced. "Give 'em hell down there."
The Longsword flipped into a tight roll and rocketed for the Covenant formation. There was no chance that the pilot could take out a dozen Seraphs—and Knife Two-Six had to know that. Mitchell only hoped that the precious seconds Two-Six bought them would be enough.