Halo

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"What the hell?" Gonzales said. "What happened?"

"Holy Jesus motherfucker," the pilot said.

Gonzales sat gripping his seat, chilled by the blast of cold

air from the plane's air conditioner onto his sweat-soaked shirt.

He glanced down to his lap: no, he hadn't pissed himself.

Really, everything happened too quickly for him to get that

scared.

A Mitsubishi-McDonnell "Loup Garou" warplane dived in front

of them and circled in slow motion. Like the ultralights it was

cast in matte black, but with a massive fuselage. It turned a

slow barrel roll as it circled them, lazy predator looping fat,

slow prey, then turned on brilliant floods that played across

their canopy.

The pilot and Gonzales both froze in the glare.

Then the Loup Garou's black cockpit did a reverse-fade;

behind the transparent shell Gonzales saw the mirror-visored

pilot, twin cables running from the base of his neck. The Loup

Garou's wings slid forward into reverse-sweep, and it stood on its