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32
HALO: FIRST STRIKE
incomprehensible. Then there was only static, and then the
COM went dead.
The cruisers fired salvos of plasma that burned the sky. Dis-
tant explosions thumped, and Fred strained to see if there was
any return fire—any sign that his Spartans were fighting or re-
treating. Their only hope was movement; the enemy firepower
would shred a fixed position.
"Fall back," he hissed. "Now, damn it."
Kelly tapped him on the shoulder and pointed up.
The clouds parted like a curtain drawn as a fireball a hundred
meters across roared over their position. He saw the faint out-
lines of dozens of Covenant battleships in low orbit.
"Plasma bombardment," Fred whispered.
He'd seen this before. They all had. When the Covenant con-
quered a human world they fired their main plasma batteries at
the planet—fired until its oceans boiled and nothing was left but a
globe of broken glass.
"That's it," Kelly murmured. "We've lost. Reach is going to
fall."
Fred watched as the plasma impacted upon the horizon and
the sky turned white, then faded to black as millions of tons of
ash and debris blotted out the sun.
"Maybe," Fred said. He gunned his Banshee. "Maybe not.
Come on, we're not done yet."