“Fire,” the Master Chief said.

Linda fired once. The grenades detonated; the chain reaction set off the twenty kilograms of C-12.

A subsonic fist slammed into the Master Chief and threw him to the far side of the landing pod. Even twenty meters away, the sides of the craft warped and the top edges sheared away.

He looked over the edge.

There was a crater where the Pelican had been. If anything had survived that blast, it was now in orbit.

“We have a way in,” the Master Chief remarked.

Linda nodded.

In the distance, where the station curved out of view, more Covenant pods landed—and the Master Chief saw the silhouettes of hundreds of Jackals and Elite fighters crawling and jetting their way closer.

“Let’s go, Blue-One.”

They pulled themselves toward the hole. The detonation had blown through five decks, leaving a tunnel of ragged-edged metal and sputtering gas hoses.

The Master Chief called up the station’s blueprints on his display. “That one,” he said, and pointed two decks down. “B level. That’s where bay nine and the Circumference should be, three hundred meters to port.”

They climbed into the interior and into B deck’s corridor. The station’s emergency lights were on, filling the passage with dull red illumination.

The Master Chief paused and signaled her to halt. He pulled out the Lotus antitank mine from his satchel and set it on the deck. He set the sensitivity to maximum and triggered its proximity detectors. Anything that tried to follow them would get a surprise.

The Master Chief and Linda gripped the handrails along the corridor and pulled themselves up the curved hall.

Flashes of automatic-weapons fire flashed in the low light, just ahead of their position.

“Blue-One,” the Master Chief said, “Ahead, ten meters—there’s a pressure door open.”

They quickly took positions on either side of the door. He sent his optical probe around the corner.

The docking bay had a dozen ship berths on two levels. The Master Chief spotted a few battered Pelicans; a station service bot; and in berth eleven, a sleek private craft held in place by massive service clamps. Where the ship’s name should have been painted on the prow there was only a simple circle. That had to be the target.

Two berths aft, four Marines in vac suits were pinned down by plasma and needler fire. The Master Chief turned his optical probe and saw what was pinning them down: thirty Jackals were in the forward portion of the bay, slowly advancing, under cover of their energy shields.

The Marines tossed frag grenades. The Jackals scrambled for cover and turned their shields.

Three silent explosions flashed in the vacuum. Not one of the Jackals fell.

Another explosion rippled through the deck—behind them. It shook the Master Chief’s bones in his armor. The Lotus mine had detonated.

They didn’t have much time before the Covenant force outside caught up with them.

The Master Chief readied his assault rifle.

“Take those Jackals out, Blue-One. I’ll make a break for the Circumference.”

Linda gripped the edge of the pressure door with her left hand, propped her rifle across it, and curled her right hand around the trigger.

“There are a lot of them,” she said. “This may take a few seconds.”

A flicker of a contact appeared on the Master Chief’s motion tracker—then vanished. He turned and brought his assault rifle to bear. Nothing. “Hang on, Blue-One. I’m going to check our six.”

Linda’s acknowledgment light winked on.

The Master Chief eased back down the passage ten meters. No sensor contact. There was just dim red light and shadows... but one of the shadows moved.

It only took an instant for the image to fully resister: a black film peeled away from the darkness. It was a meter taller than John and wore blue armor similar to that on Covenant warships. Its helmet was elongated and it had rows of sharp teeth; it looked like it was smiling at him.

The Elite warrior leveled a plasma pistol.

At this range, there was no way the creature would miss—the plasma weapon would cut through John’s slowly recharging shields almost immediately. And if John used his assault rifle, it wouldn’t cut though the alien’s energy shield. In a simple exchange of fire, the alien would win.

Unacceptable. He needed to change the odds.

The Master Chief pushed off the wall and launched himself at the creature. He slammed into the Elite before it had a chance to fire.

They tumbled backward and crashed into the bulkhead. The Master Chief saw the alien’s shield flicker and fade—

—he hammered on the edge of the alien’s gun.

The creature howled soundlessly in the vacuum and dropped the plasma weapon.

The Elite kicked him in the midsection; his shield took the brunt of the attack, but the blow sent him spinning end over end. He slapped his hand against the ceiling and stalled his spin—then dove under the Elite’s follow-up attack.

The Master Chief tried to grab the alien—but their weakened shields slid and crackled over one another. Too slippery.

They bounced down the curved length of the passage. The Master Chief’s boot caught on a railing, twisted—a lance of pain shot up his leg—but he halted their combined momentum.

The Elite pushed away and caught a railing on the opposite side of the passage. Then it turned and sprang back toward the Master Chief.

John ignored the pain in his leg. He pushed himself at the alien.

They collided—the Master Chief struck with both fists, but the force slid off the Elite’s shields.

The Elite grabbed him and threw him. They both spun into the wall.

The Master Chief was pinned—perfect: he had something to brace against in the zero gravity. He swung his fist, used every muscle in his body, and connected with the alien’s midsection. Its shield shimmered and crackled but some of the momentum transferred. The alien doubled over and reeled backward—

—and its hands found the plasma weapon that it had dropped.

The Elite recovered quickly and aimed at the Master Chief.

The Master Chief jumped, grabbed its wrist. He locked his armor’s glove articulation—it became a vise clamp.

They wrestled for control. The gun pointed at the alien—then the Master Chief.

The alien was as strong as the Master Chief.

They spun and bounced off the floor, ceiling, and walls. They were too evenly matched.

The Master Chief managed to force a stalemate: the pistol now pointed straight up between their bodies. If it went off it would hit them both—one shot at point-blank range might collapse their shields. They’d both fry.

The Master Chief whipped his forearm and elbow over the creature’s wrist and slammed it in the head. For a split second it was stunned and its strength ebbed.

John turned the gun into its face—squeezed the firing mechanism. The plasma discharge exploded into the creature. Fire sprayed across its shields; they shimmered, flickered, and dimmed.

The energy splash washed over the Master Chief; his shields drained to a quarter. The internal suit temperature spiked to critical levels.

But the Elite’s shields were dead.

He didn’t wait for the plasma gun to recharge. The Master Chief grabbed the creature with his left hand—his right fist struck an uppercut to the head, a hook to the throat and chest, three rapid-fire strikes with his forearm to its helmet—that cracked and hissed atmosphere.

The Master Chief pushed away and fired the pistol again. The bolt of fire caught the Elite in the face.

It writhed and clawed at nothing. The Elite shuddered... suspended in midair; it twitched and finally stopped moving.

The Master Chief shot it again to make sure it was dead.

Motion sensors picked up multiple targets approaching down the corridor—forty meters and closing.

The Master Chief turned and double-timed it back to Blue-One.