the last moment and rolled a desperate evade。 But she levelled out； and immediately picked up a
Locust chasing one of the Commonwealth planes。 Tone locked； she stung it hard； and as it began to
judder； stung it again and blew it to fragments。
Asche’s four came in moments later moving； if anything； at an even higher rate。 Asche got a
Talon squarely and cleanly。 Van Tull took a shot at a Tormentor； damaged it； looped around and
finished the kill。
Cordiale； his timing just out； mis…hit a Talon； and then found he had a Talon and a Locust on
him。 He tried to jink out； but nearly collided with a Lightning coming head on。 He screwed over to
evade； almost stalling。 The Lightning banked hard and its port…wing tip clipped the Talon behind
Cordiale。 The Lightning lost stability and began to spin； corrected； and then was blown apart by two
other Locusts。 Trailing debris； the Talon it had clipped came wide； right into Asche’s gun cone。 She
showed it little mercy。
Cordiale swung about and started to chase down a Tormentor。 It had shed its load； and was
turning for the home run。 But it was still a viable target。 If it died here； it couldn’t come back with
another clutch of bombs。
Marquall； the last in； was sure he had a kill。 He fired two bursts； but the Hell Talon was still
intact as he rocketed down past it。
He tucked in and began to climb again； bleeding off some power so his controls weren’t quite so
stiff with speed。 In a flash； he realised he’d gone up between two Tormentors； both spilling out
bombs like egg cases。 He cursed his own luck。 His haste to correct had made him miss a chance on
two easy targets。
Marquall was almost insensible with rage。 He was seething with desire to make a kill； to open
his account。 Bad enough he was the youngest； the most inexperienced； bad enough that Pers Espere
had been maimed wet…nursing him。 Marquall had no score。 No kills to his name。 Now his
confidence had returned after that disastrous virgin sortie； he was determined to prove his worth in
combat。
Hell； the sky was crawling with enemy machines！ Surely he could hit one of them？
“Umbra Eight！ Umbra Eight！ Break left now！”
That was Van Tull’s voice。 Marquall didn’t question it。 He stomped the rudder bar and leaned on
the stick； inverting as he pulled out to port。 A flame yellow Hell Talon rushed over and by him。
“Thanks； Three；” he voxed； coming true and climbing again。
“You okay； Eight？” Van Tull voxed。
“Four…A；” replied Marquall。 They were still babysitting him。 That rankled。 Then again； but for
Van Tull’s warning； he’d like as not be dead now。
He turned in。 Almost immediately； he picked up a Cyclone； running for its life from a Talon。
The Commonwealth prop…plane was weeping smoke。 Marquall wondered why Operations kept the
Cyclones and Wolfcubs in the air。 It was suicide； flying machines like that against the enemy’s
vector…thrust predators。
He cranked the throttle； banked wide； clipped off a wasted but satisfying burst at a Tormentor as
he went long over its back； and lined up on the Talon。
This time…
The port engine was dead； and so was Artone。 Frans Scalter fought with the Cyclone’s leaden
stick and called plaintively to his co…pilot and long…time friend。 Hard rounds had torn through the
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machine’s cockpit； shattering the glass nose and ripping Artone’s torso in half。 Wind screamed in
through the shattered bubble。 There was blood everywhere； and the instruments were plastered with
sticky flecks of human tissue。
“I’ll get you home！ I’ll get you home！” Scalter wailed； denying the scene around him； and
imagining some miraculous future where he brought the ruptured Cyclone down； and the crews
rushed in； and Artone was patched up and made alive again。
Scalter knew he had to keep evading。 The Hell Talon was right on his tail now。
“Seeker One！ Seeker One！ Someone！ Please—”
The Talon’s guns lit up。
Like a feline playing with a mouse； the bastard wasn’t going to let the Cyclone go。 It swung
from side to side with muscular power； correcting for every frantic jink and twist the
Commonwealth pilot tried to make。
It had got the blood scent。 It wanted the kill。 It was greedy。 It was staying on the target。
The first and oldest mistake。
Marquall came around on its five； calculating the deflection angle with almost leisurely brio。
Then he opened up with his quad cannons； feeling the heavy slap of them retard his motion；
hearing the breech blocks bang and the autoloaders rattle to feed ammo from the whirring drums。
Somehow； Marquall had expected the enemy machine to explode； or catch fire； or do something
equally spectacular。
It simply quivered。 Part of one blade…wing deformed； like foil； and a gulp of brown smoke
belched out of its engines。
Then it fell out of the air。 All lift lost in one shocking instant； it dropped away； turning end over
end； like a toy that had been thrown aside by a petulant child。
It spun away below him； smaller； smaller。
Throne； he’d got it。 He’d killed it stone dead。
“S…seeker One； Seeker One；” he stammered； rousing from a brief fugue。 “This is Umbra Eight。
You’re clear； friend。 Clear。 Get your machine home and down。”
“Umbra Eight； this is Seeker One。 Understood。”
Not even a thank you？ Marquall didn’t care。 He had a fire in his belly； a coal of excitement and
satisfaction。 He was no longer the kid who needed babysitting。
Something threw him into his seat like a kick in the face。 The Smear inverted； every alarm
screaming。 In terror； mystified； Marquall dragged on the stick； but it was slack and dead。 He saw
flame on his port side； sections of metal plating slipping off like fish scales。
Fire licked into the cockpit。
“No！” he yelled。 “Oh no； no； no！”
He fumbled with his harness； trying to reach the eject handle。 Half…heard voices blasted out of
the vox。
Huge negative G。 He was already greying out。 He couldn’t lift his hand； let alone reach the
lever。
In front of him； like a rapidly…spinning kaleidoscope image； the city was rushing up。
Over the Interior Desert； 09。22
They kissed over the top of a dune headland and there it was。 The size of it took their breath away。
Judd voiced a particularly florid oath。
A mass carrier。 It was almost a kilometre long； a huge slab of burnished decking and raised
ramps； bronze in the desert light。 Vast wheel assemblies rolled it across the dust。 Viltry had been
told the enemy called these behemoths aeries； as if they were home roosts for the murderous bats。 It
was a feat of mechanical genius； a juggernaut； a giant amongst machines。
Nothing could kill something that big。 Nothing could—
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He caught himself。 They would have to try。 That was the job the God…Emperor had decreed for
them。
“No hesitation； Halo；” he cried。 “We’re committed。 Line up and shed； then come around with
wing…loads for the second pass。 The Emperor protects。”
He could see the Talons they had been following sweeping in to the fluted arrestor runs on the
carrier’s top side。 They looked tiny by comparison； little gaudy specks。
The carrier had seen the inbound Marauders； coming down onto it at zero height。 Hundreds of
anti aircraft batteries tracked round； alert； like the alarmed tails of scorpions； and the air was filled
with bursting flak and zipping tracers。 A hailstorm of fire。
“Stay on it； stay on it…” Viltry ordered。
A siren screeched。 Amongst the blizzard of flak bursts； Viltry glimpsed the trail smoke of
missiles banging off from the carrier。
Wordlessly； he hit the chaff switch； and clouds of glittering； distorting material puffed out of
Greta’s launchers。 Then heat…flares too。 Near…miss explosions shook the airframe。 The space
between the onrushing planes and the vast carrier was muddy with flash flowers and blooms of
black and white smoke。
A rocket struck Miss Adventure and killed her dead。 The torn wreckage and hull sections；
moving at close to mach one； cartwheeled over the desert floor； raking the sand； spitting flame like a
firework。
“Nose and top。 Anytime you like；” Viltry said。
The turrets opened up； playing fire along the carrier’s starboard hull。 Viltry； concentrating as
hard as he could； saw bats trying to launch from the lower chutes。 Naxol had seen them too。 A
Locust came off its ion catapult and burst like a flare。
Ten seconds。 Five。 Flak damage to the port wing。 Ignore it； hold her true。 Two seconds。 One。
Release。
Halo pulled off over the giant carrier。 Every single bombardier had placed his drop perfectly。
Vast eruptions lit up the deck； puncturing the armoured ramps； blasting flak mounts out of their
sockets； toppling lifter assemblies and crane gantries。 Someone—Viltry’s guess was Widowmaker—
dropped their clutch into the command spire that rose over the top deck section。 A massive fireball
spread out； felling the spire in ragged chunks。
Four Marauders pulled clear of the blazing carrier。 Throne of Terra； bombs gone； had been hit
by flak。 In his rear…picter； Viltry saw it flip onto its back and crash into the sands。
The four remaining planes arced round in formation； turning high； and began their second pass。
Monumental palls of smoke rose from the stricken carrier。
They came in with rockets now； turrets blasting again。 The wing…loads loosed； and snaked off on
spiralling trails of smoke。 There was nothing like the same weight of flak on them now。
The rockets splashed； sheeting fire and hull fragments into the desert sky as the Marauders went
over。
They began to pull away； climbing。
Something primal and catastrophic happened to the carrier。 Most likely； one of the rockets had
penetrated the magazine or the drive section。 The carrier spasmed； shook； and then incinerated in
one stupendously bright flash。
The Shockwave almost knocked Halo out of the air。
They soared out； stabilising。 A giant cloud of smoke； shaped like a forest mushroom； filled the
sky behind them。
Theda MAB South； 09。30
The Operations rotunda was frantic with activity and chatter。 Between them； the flight controllers
were overseeing four major air…fights and nine intercept sorties。 “Darrow？”
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Darrow was staring up at the roof dome； where sunlight was spilling in through the collar of
stained glass。
“Darrow？ Junior？” Eads sounded tetchy。
Darrow started。 “Sir； I’m sorry。 My mind was drifting。 No excuses。 What were you saying；
Flight？”
Eads turned his face towards the young man。 There was sympathy in its sightless look。 Eads held
out a scrap of printout wafer。 “I thought you might like to announce this； son；” he said。 “Proof that
not just bad things happen in this life。”
“Flight？”
“They told me about Heckel； son。 I’m sorry that it had to be you who found him。 Think about
something else now。 Announce that。”
Darrow looked down at the flimsy printout； then smiled。 He looked up and cleared his throat。
He’d heard junior flight controllers and assistants make proud announcements like this。 Now it was
his turn。 And it beat them all。
“Attention； attention。 Halo Flight confirms it has destroyed a mass carrier in the north desert。
That is confirmed。 Enemy carrier destroyed。”
Darrow’s smile widened as the rotunda broke out in cheers and applause。 The first carrier found
and killed。 Even Banzie was clapping and grinning。
Eads said something。 Darrow