He stopped. The automatic cannons were one thing—could the armor withstand air power like that? The SkyHawk had a quartet of 50mm cannons that made the chain-guns look like peashooters. They also had Scorpion missiles—designed to take out tanks.
...
	The tip of the Scorpion missile passed a centimeter from his head.
	He reached out—fingertips brushed the metal casing—
	—and slapped it aside.
	The SkyHawk jet screamed over his head.
	The Scorpion missile detonated.
	Pressure slammed though his body. The Master Chief flew six meters, spinning end over end, and landed flat on his back.
	He blinked, and saw nothing but blackness. Was he dead? Had he lost?
	The shield status bar in his heads-up display pulsed weakly. It was completely drained—then it blinked red and slowly started to refill. Blood was spattered across the inside of his helmet and he tasted copper.
	He stood, his muscles screaming in protest.
	“Run!” Cortana said. “Before they come back for a look.”
	The Master Chief got up and ran. As he passed the spot where he had stood to face down the missile, he saw a two-meter-deep crater.