"Enable stealth protocols," Commander Richard Lash ordered. "Prepare for transition to normal space."

"Yes, sir." Lieutenant Commander Julian Waters turned to the Dusk's bridge officers.

"External power sources off-line," he said. "Lock ablative baffles. Secure engine dampers."

Lieutenant Bethany Durruno at her NAV station crosschecked the calculations for the slipspace-to-normal transition. "We're almost there, sir. Thirty seconds."

At the OP-SENSOR station. Lieutenant Joe Yang said, "Rigged for dark and silent running, sir. Five points confirmed."

Lash personally rechecked everything on the display by the captain's chair. All shipshape. So why did he have a feeling everything was about to hit the fan? Answer: in his short tenure as commanding officer of the Dusk, imminent disaster had been the norm. He expected no less this time.

"Go to normal space," he ordered. "Start the clock."

Waters set the chronometer and said, "Time on mission: fifteen and counting."

Lash glanced at his old-fashioned spring-and-gear wrist-watch, a gift from his dad when he'd graduated from OSC. "Keep it wound, Son."

He checked: it was indeed wound tight.

The bridge lights dimmed to red as the ship's power shunted to the Shaw-Fujikawa translight drive's particle accelerator, and it ripped a hole back into the normal three dimensions of interstellar space.

The trio of blackened viewscreens sparkled with stars. One point of light was unusually bright. The main screen centered on this star, and astronomical parameters streamed alongside Zeta Doradus. Elliptical orbits traced of the six innermost planets.

"Positive fix on stellar references," Lieutenant Durruno said. "We're slightly off target, sir.

Three million kilometers."

"Move us in," Lash ordered, "one-third full ahead on intercept course for the fourth planet. Tell Lieutenant Commander Cho in Engineering to start recharging the Slipspace capacitors."

"Aye, sir," she said.

She bit her lower lip, and Commander Lash knew that meant she was nervous, too… sensing something amiss already on this mission.

The Dusk skimmed through space, black on black; only a telltale flickering of the background stars gave the slightest indication that anything was there.

Waters glanced at the chronometer and whispered, "Sir, thirteen minutes to go. Barely time to close on the target while running dark, let alone gather a detailed analysis."

Time was never on Commander Lash's side. Either there was too much time and his crew waited days or weeks stealthed or, as was now the case, they had to rush and balance gathering accurate data with remaining hidden. It was a hell of a choice: The fate of thousands' lives and eight other ships depended on this. On the other hand, if the Dusk were detected, no intel would get back. Not to mention, they'd all be dead.

Eighteen months of crew attrition and constant action were now taking their toll on Lash's officers. He watched Lieutenants Durruno and Yang and saw the combat fatigue mirrored in their glazed, dark-circled eyes. They had endured endless waiting— punctuated by salvos of Covenant plasma and laser fire. They'd witnessed the fall of four colonies and the cremation of billions. They were close to the edge. For that matter, so was he.

"We have our orders," Lash told Waters. "Fifteen minutes in and then we transition back.

We'll do our best with the time allotted."

They had limited time for two reasons. First, past fifteen minutes detection by Covenant sensors grew at a statistically geometric rate. Second, after fifteen minutes the Dusk's ability to find the rest of their battle group in Slipspace would exponentially decrease.

Lash sat back, and in the fine tradition of prowler commanders everywhere, he practiced exuding patience.

The Dusk's journey back to Earth had occurred in record time. They had caught a wake in slipstream space, one indeter-minably larger then the Covenant wake they had followed.

Their NAV-AI reported: SOLITON-LIKE wave patterns detected near HALO CONSTRUCT.

Lash had no idea what had caused it, only reported it to Lord Hood… who had considered his report of Shpspace wakes and then immediately ordered them to attempt the same trick and follow the Spartan strike team's vector until they reached remote station Tripoli. There they would rende-vous with a battle group under the command of Admiral Carl "Buster"

Patterson, provide assistance to the Spartan team, and hopefully obtain new technologies that would turn the tide of this war.

Lash had heard rumors of the Spartans' audacious actions, boarding a Covenant ship, nuking its sister ship, destroying the Tallo Negro del Maiz orbital stalk in the process. The stuff legends were made of.

He was more than happy to stay in the shadows. No vid broadcasts about his glorious death, thank you.

The Dusk had had no chance at Earth to take on a full crew or resupply—instead they transitioned immediately to Slipstream space to catch the rapidly dissipating wake of the Spartan-captured Covenant ship.

"Maximum range for the X-ELF radar system," Lieutenant Yang announced. "Eight minutes on the clock, sir."

"Start a high-resolution series," Lash told him, "planet surface to the Lagrange points."

"Coming online now," Yang said. He straightened. "Two contacts in high planetary orbit! Covenant destroyers."

Silhouettes flashed on Lash's display, confirming Yang's analysis.

"Heavy destroyers," Lash murmured. Enough concentrated firepower to take out a dozen UNSC prowlers.

Waters asked, "Could one be the Spartans' ship? We could send a narrow-band encrypted ping, sir."

"Anything is possible with Spartans," Lash said, "but it's not our job to communicate with them. We're here to gather data for Admiral Patterson's strategic consideration."

Waters closed his eyes, thinking a moment, and finally said, "Aye, sir."

The Lieutenant Commander wanted to get into the fight. It was a deadly sentiment for the officer of a prowler. Lash sympathized. Waters had long ago lost his wife and children on Harvest. But stealth was their only defense against such a force. Vengeance had no place on his ship.

"Debris in orbit," Yang said. "Metallic structures. Unknown alloy composition on spectroscopic analysis."

"Recent combat?" Waters asked.

"Aye, sir, residual plasma detected. However… insufficient tonnage to account for even one Covenant destroyer."

"Come to course zero two zero by three two five," Commander Lash ordered Lieutenant Durruno. "Cut engines and shunt the power to recharging Slipspace capacitors."

She focused her laserlike attention on her NAV controls. "Coming about. New trajectory set. Our inertia will take us in for a tight orbit." All trace of her fatigue vanished and she tapped a rapid-fire message on her keyboard, and then replied.

"Lieutenant Commander Cho reports capacitors at fifty percent. They'll be hot in six minutes."

"Go active camouflage," Commander Lash told Waters.

Lash forced himself to remain collected. He felt like a fraud, but he had to try to maintain the illusion of confidence for the sake of his officers. He would never let them know how scared he was.

"Active camouflage online," Waters said. "Texture buffer full. Four minutes on the clock."

The Dusk dove toward the twilight demarcation line of the planet. The normally matte-black ablative coating on her dorsal surfaces flickered with patterns of cirrostratus and lapis ocean and glowing orange sunset.

"Radiologicals?" Lash asked.

"No Argus-eiTect beta radiation detected in the magneto-sphere," Yang answered. "The Spartan team has not detonated any FENRIS warheads."

"Is that a good, or bad, thing?" Waters murmured.

Lash wasn't sure. If the Spartans had been here, he'd expect there to be a swath of destruction. "Planetary energy sources?" he asked Yang.

"Nothing, sir," Yang answered as he pored over the data flashing on his screens. "We still have one-quarter of the planet's surface to scan, though. It will take seven minutes in this orbit to cover that area."

"One minute on the clock," Waters told him. He hesitated as if he had more to say… but didn't.

Lash knew what he wanted: a full orbit, more time, and a close pass near those Covenant combat assets. Waters wanted to be a hero.

"We're following Admiral Patterson's orders to the letter," Lash said. "We've got two Covenant warships on the other side of this planet. No detectable sign of Spartans. No nukes trig-gered. And we haven't been seen. That's enough."

Lash locked gazes with Waters.

Waters looked away, frowned, but nodded. He said, "Rig for Slipspace transition."

"Aye aye," Lieutenant Durruno said. She sighed, visibly relaxing at the decision to leave.

"Matrix calculations input. Ready for transition in seventeen seconds."

Lash fidgeted in the captain's chair. It was the right move to leave. If they executed a full orbit, their luck would most certainly run out. And waiting for their recon data in Slipspace was Patterson's battle group of eight ships.

Two Covenant destroyers were a threat, but it was accepted that three-to-one odds in the UNSC's favor against Covenant forces was an even match. Four to one? They rarely had such odds in this war.

So why did this feel all wrong?

"Initiate Slipspace transition," Commander Lash ordered.

Around the Dusk space flashed blue and white and the stars vanished.

Eight UNSC ships dropped from Slipstream space into black interstellar vacuum and there was a fireworks show of blue Cherenkov radiation and spiraling subatomic particle decays.

Commander Lash used this to his advantage.

"Set new course to port, perpendicular to fleet attack vector," he ordered Lieutenant Durruno.

"Aye, sir." Under the red glow of the bridge's battle lighting, his officers looked more alive now… and more scared.

The stealthed Dusk moved away from the destroyers, carrier, and cruiser of Admiral Patterson's battle group.

Lash wasn't running away—a sentiment he found himself repeating ever since he had witnessed the events at the Halo ring.

He had volunteered the Dusk to go back and scout the planet on a second recon mission. But the Admiral had told him there was no time. He was going to "catch those Covenant bastards with their pants down" and strike while they were near the planet's gravity well.

With the odds in his favor it was a sound tactic. Still, it bothered Lash that the Admiral committed so many lives without a complete picture.

"Move us into an elliptical orbit around the dark side of Onyx," Lash ordered. "Set apogee to fifty thousand kilometers. Ahead one-third power."

"New course set, sir." Lieutenant Durruno turned to face him. Looking pained, she opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, and then quickly said, "I beg your pardon, Commander. I thought we had orders to remain clear of the combat."

"We will," Lash said, "but we're going to finish that planetary scan." He moved to the NAV station and set one hand on Bethany's shoulder. "Just take us in nice and easy."

Her eyes locked forward on her screens. "Yes, sir."

To Lieutenant Yang he said, "Monitor the engine thermals and push us past one-third power… right up to the dark-line limit."

Yang swallowed, and then replied, "Aye aye. Commander."

Lash danced a fine line. He wanted speed and invisibility.

"Action on-screen!" Lieutenant Commander Waters announced.

On the central viewer flashes appeared in the dark. Admiral Patterson had launched his alpha strike.

"Magnification forty," Lash ordered.

The two Covenant destroyers snapped on center screen. Scattered Archer missiles detonated harmlessly on their shields. The ships turned out of orbital alignments to face their enemy, and in doing so, closed ranks.

Three white spheres popped behind the vessels—expanded and enveloped the now- clustered enemy destroyers. Jets of supercharged ions funneled downward into the planet's magneto-sphere.

"Perfect placement of the nukes," Yang murmured, glancing between the viewscreen and his instruments. "Maximum destruction and radiation trapped by the planet so the fleet can move in."

"… And finish them off." Waters rubbed his hands together in unconscious anticipation.

The fireballs cooled to red and a single sleek silhouette emerged: one of the Covenant destroyers had survived. Plasma charges launched toward the center of the UNSC battle group—directly at Admiral Patterson's flagship carrier, the Stalingrad.

The prows of the UNSC ships flared as their magnetic accelerator cannons fired.

Lines of flame and superheated slugs crossed the space between the two forces.

The UNSC destroyer Glasgow Kiss accelerated in front of the fleet; the narrow craft turned sideways, placing itself between the incoming plasma and the Stalingrad. A dozen escape pods popped from her hull as the ship caught three of the four lances of fire. The hull heated for an instant, and then shattered into fragments.

"Track those pods," Lash ordered Lieutenant Yang.

"Aye, sir."

On-screen, the Stalingrad took a direct hit on her port side. Plasma etched through the meters of titanium-A armor plating like a blowtorch through rice paper, and her center amidships decks vented.

The UNSC fleet MAC rounds impacted on the Covenant destroyer. The slugs battered through the ship's reconstituted shields, and then through the hull, knocking it back so violently it tumbled out of control into the planet's atmosphere, leaving a trail of turbulence and fire.

Its engines flared and accelerated into an extremely low orbit—away from the fleet.

"Cowards," Waters muttered.

"I wonder," Lash replied. "We've survived five UNSC-Covenant engagements." He stared into deep space, remembering the carnage, and that the UNSC had only won one of those battles. "The Covenant do not simply run away. Lieutenant Commander. They might disengage to regroup, but when outgunned and outnumbered… they go down swinging."