Seven flares of white lit up the void as the ships returned to reality. Positioned in battle formation, dozens of kilometres apart, the ships were grey, ugly, block-shaped, and vaguely intimidating. Each of them was half a kilometre long, at least, plated in flawless, impervious-looking armour, and bristling with weapons and sensor antennas. Almost simultaneously, ghost-like flickers wrapped themselves around the ships and vanished as their energy barriers coalesced. But a decade on, here the UNSC was, above a Covenant world. Winning. Commander Marshall saw poetry in that. But he could try. "Sir?"