Commander Ward strode the deck with a heavy step, reviewing the crewmen. Though shorter than almost all of his deck officers, he still possessed a presence that made him seem far larger. Deck officers scurried out of his way as he stomped along. Cmdr. Ward was notorious for quick-changing moods and high spirits. His buccaneer manner had earned him the nickname Blackbeard, though no one said it to his face. He was the highest-ranking officer aboard the Winter Moon, a clever ship captain who'd seen action at Sigma Octanus and managed to survive. He'd been one of the lucky ones.

Cmdr. Ward shook his head to clear it. Now was not the time to reminisce. He found that his hand had strayed to the sword attached to his belt. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, passed down in his family from all the way back to the Third World War. He drew his hand back. His hand always crept to that sword whenever he was nervous or worried. Just like he was now.

Having survived a major battle (and a few skirmishes), Ward knew that the Covenant rarely left anything half-done. And they sure hadn't finished in their attack on September Station. Ward knew they'd be back, and possibly soon. Every hour they needed for repairs was another hour in which the Covenant might reappear. So far it had been seventeen hours since the battle, and none of them knew how much longer they would need to be in dock.

The Station had docked the Winter Moon in the best repair dock on the installation, and even with the command section of the station gone the techs were working efficiently around the clock to fix the cruiser. Nevertheless, this did little to allay Commander Ward's fears. He looked at his timepiece: thirty seconds had passed. He took it off and put it in his pocket; it would be better not to know the time.

"Sir!" Ward started and turned to see a crewman standing attention. His face was pale, and he was breathing quickly. "Sorry, sir but we've got a message from FLEETCOM HQ! It's urgent, sir!"

"Show me, Lieutenant," Ward commanded. "Put it on the main screen." Ward only read a moment before he burst out, "Oh God in heaven . . ." Crewmen looked over and gasps were heard around the room. The message read thus:

United Nations Space Command ALPHA PRIORITY TRANSMISSION 04592Z-83

Encryption Code: Red

Public Key: file /bravo-tango-beta-five/

From: Admiral Roland Freemont, Commanding Fleet Officer, FLEETCOM Sector One Commander/

To: ALL UNSC warships in REACH, JERICO and TANTALUS systems

Subject: Immediate Recall

Classification: Classified (BGX directive)

/start file/

Covenant presence detected on REACH system's edge coordinates 030 relative.

All UNSC warships are hereby ordered to cease all activities and regroup at rally point ZULU at best speed.

ALL SHIPS are to enact the Cole Protocol immediately.

/end file/

Ward suddenly realized why the Covenant had not pressed their attack against the station. They were grouping, preparing for a different strike. On Reach. Reach, which was humanity's biggest military outpost and shipyard. Against the Covenant, current estimates had humanity holding out a month, maybe two. If Reach fell, those estimates shrunk to about a week. Ward stared at the screen for a moment, hunched over and disbelieving, and finally lifted his hand and pointed to his deck officers.

"Enact the Cole Protocol," he croaked at them almost inaudibly.

"Pardon, sir?" one asked. Ward sat for a second, then rose to his full height and stared them down. The empty void in his stomach grew to a fiery boiling. His spirit began to return.

"The Cole Protocol dammit!" he thundered at them. He turned to his ops officer, and yelled at him. "Schroeder! What's the status on our repairs?"

Schroeder felt heartened by Ward's fiery combat demeanor, and answered back confidently, "Ninety-five percent complete, sir! All systems online and ready!" Hearing this Ward put on a ferocious grin and stomped up and down the bridge, yelling commands. Now that there were things to be done, Ward felt much better. The pit in his stomach was growing quickly, but the need for action overshadowed and enveloped it. He didn't play the waiting game well, but when there was a fight to be had he didn't falter.

"Blow all connections to the Station! Plot the fastest course to Reach, best possible speed! Ricker, move us into Slipspace as soon as we're clear of September! Myra, contact the Orion and tell them to follow our lead!" Ward yelled. He laughed crazily. "Hold your heads high people!" He drew his sword and held it aloft, watching it shine. "There's battle to be done!"