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The planet's nighttime face appeared on every viewscreen, dark save the glimmering clouds on the edge of twilight.
"Hot spot!" Yang shouted. "On the horizon: twenty-seven degrees north, one hundred eighteen east. Recalibrating thermals to cut though atmospheric distortion."
On the main viewscreen a wavering image resolved into twenty Covenant warships—climbing at flank speed through the atmosphere—on an intercept vector toward Admiral Patterson's fleet.
Lash jumped to his feet. "Cut engine power to one-third," he said. "Reenable stealth protocols. Come to new bearing: polar orbit. Get me a clear sight line to the Stalingrad."
"New heading, aye," Lieutenant Durruno said, her voice straining as she calculated the orbit. "Brace for correction burn at one-third power."
The Dusk pitched and tilted into a polar alignment. Engines rumbled and the prowler arced up toward the ice caps of Onyx.
"Zenith in twenty-three seconds," Durruno said.
Lash tuned to Lieutenant Commander Waters. "Action report."
Waters's gaze was already locked onto his display. "Nothing. Covenant fleet is ignoring us."
Lash should have been relieved; they could have destroyed the Dusk with a few laser shots. Going dark was the right thing to do. But despite his years of training in evading the enemy, Lash wished the Covenant had turned. It might have given Patterson a few extra seconds to see what was coming.
He waited fifteen seconds—the most agonizing quarter minute of his life—watching the clouds, landmasses, and oceans of Onyx pass under his ship.
The Dusk finally crested the pole and the stars—as well as Admiral Patterson's fleet—reappeared on the forward screen.
Only a hundred kilometers apart the UNSC vessels fired all magnetic accelerator cannons and launched a volley of Archer missiles at the Covenant ships racing toward them. The meteoric rounds blazed through the atmosphere leaving smoking scars.
Lasers flashed from the Covenant ships destroying incoming missiles, but they couldn't stop the point-blank-fired MAC slugs.
Seven MAC rounds struck the two lead destroyers in the Covenant line, shattered their shields, dented the armor, and pounded through hulls, crippling the vessels so they aborted their attack run as they were caught in the planet's gravity pull. One ship's engines flared, overloading as its captain attempted a survivable landing. One lone destroyer, however, spun in orbit, its forward momentum neutralized.
A victory. Lash knew it would be short-lived.
The enemy outnumbered them almost three to one with superior weapons and defensive shields. And the proximity of a gravity well meant Patterson was backed into a corner. It would be a slaughter.
Plasma erupted from the Covenant fleet that looked like a solar flare as it boiled through the vacuum of space toward the UNSC ships.
Patterson was no fool. He didn't attempt to evade at this range. Instead the engines of his ships heated and they angled into a lower orbit—accelerating into the attack.