and politicians and weapons manufacturers watched on, the men and women on Kronos prepared for the end.
[no image in epub file]
Lying in a small outcropping of rock, Joshua Rantz of Charlie Company tried to still his breathing. His tan uniform and gray ceramic armor blended well with the bleak terrain, but a moving target still stood out like a sore thumb. Closing his eyes, Josh measured each breath in a slow four-count. In the dim light he became just another boulder on the canyon wall. The sun had just set, cooling the training area to a blissful ninety-eight degrees. Josh raised the shade film on his visor and gazed at the beautiful horizon. The blue star made an impressive show every evening, turning the sky into a watercolor with every shade of purple, red, and orange.
“You’re dead.” The deep baritone was felt as much as heard.
Josh opened his eyes and looked up at a mountain. Dax Goodman, his fellow Charlie Company soldier, was nearly three hundred pounds of sharp muscle. He looked every bit the sports celebrity, with his bright white smile and dimpled chin. Dax tried hard to maintain a serious expression but lost it after a few seconds. He offered a beefy hand to Josh and hoisted his friend to his feet.
“Alexa’s in position?” Josh asked.
“Just getting set up, Sarge.”
“Stop that.”
“You got it, Sarge.”
“I’m not kidding.” Josh shot Dax a mean look. They walked side-by-side toward base camp through a wide canyon. There probably wasn’t an enemy for miles, but they still paused every few dozen yards to scan their surroundings. Months of living in a combat zone—even a make-believe one—had imprinted new instincts. Corners were now dead zones. Shadows were possible threats. And every sound could be the last they ever heard. “In a month, I’ll be a corporal again and all will be right with the world. I’m not earning the pay, so what’s the point in pretending I’m a sergeant?”
“All right,” Dax said, holding up both hands. “You got me.” The darkness swallowed the huge soldier, his brown skin blending into the surroundings. “Rank looks good on you, though.”
Josh glanced down at the chevrons on his uniform. They were borrowed off of Sergeant Luker, who had taken a sniper round a few months back. That had earned Josh his battlefield promotion, as well as control of the squad. There were dried red droplets on the rank, leftover dye from the sim-round that “killed” Luker.
“Bravo’s done,” Dax said suddenly. “Alexa got the word from the XO. First Platoon took them out at first light. Picture-perfect ambush.”
They arrived at their improvised patrol base, buried in the canyons. Accessible from only two directions, it was a perfect spot for a tactical pause. The squad was invisible unless the enemy stumbled right in. A sentry held them at gunpoint and waited for the password, then waved them through and resumed his guard.
Dax set down his DaVinci Heavy Machine—a massive three-barrel monster—and sucked down mouthfuls of water. “Just Delta…”
“And Alpha,” a voice said. Alexa Haines jogged over. She had stripped down most of her armor, with the exception of the simulator vest. If she removed that, she’d be automatically killed for breaking the rules of the Crucible. Still, it was cooler than wearing all fifty pounds of her scout gear. She sweat from every pore, but still looked cheerful as ever. “XO says we need to stand by. Something’s happening at the FOB.”
We’ve been standing by for three days. Josh paced irritably. “Delta still has more boots on the ground. If we don’t pick a few more off, we’re coming in third place. That means no extra leave.”
Alexa punched Josh’s arm. “Had a big weekend lined up? Hot date?”
Josh dodged a second punch and blushed. “No. I mean, that’s not what I’m saying. We shouldn’t settle for anything less than a total win.”
“I’m pretty sure Alpha’s already locked that up,” Dax said.
Alpha Company had sailed through the first few months of the Crucible with endless momentum, conducting blistering assaults against their opponents. Now, with a little more than a month left, they were relaxing in an easily defendable position at the North side of the training area. If they made it to the end without suffering more losses, they would win the event without lifting another finger.
Josh turned to Alexa. “Have you…been working on it?”
Her face brightened. “I thought you’d never ask.” She led them to the center of camp where a map rested on a large boulder. Her red hair had grown long during the half-year exercise, and she wore it in a tight ponytail. The armor across her right shoulder bore a long crack—earned during a tense struggle with a Delta sniper. “They definitely don’t have this hill covered. I’ve counted their patrols three times, and no one watches it.” She tapped the map. “I mean, it’s suicide to attack from here, but still.”
Josh rubbed his chin. “I’ll work that part out. Just keep a tab on their movements.”
“What is all this?” Dax asked.
“I asked Alexa to take her scouts and find out about Delta’s FOB. We’ve got a little more than five weeks before this all shuts down.” Josh tapped the map where a cluster of red dots had been drawn. “We can take Delta out before then. I just need to convince the XO. If he gives me two platoons, I can get Charlie into second place in a single night.”
Near Earth Orbit
The first invader slipped free of the swirling Blue portal and shot out into the Sol System. Forward rockets fired, slowing the heavy craft until it was nearly stationary. Its iridescent silver hull shimmered in the light of Sol, the system’s small yellow star. The engines cooled, venting puffs of green and white gas into space.
Seconds later, three more vessels joined the larger ship, popping into existence with flashes of blue light. Their numbers grew steadily as a variety of large and small craft entered human space. Finally, the Blue Space funnels shrank and faded, leaving behind an armada of silver and blue. The alien craft looked cobbled together in haste, with different colored panels and sloppily repaired hulls. They ranged from small saucers to enormous, cigar-shaped cruisers. Engines ignited, and the strange collection of ships advanced toward the human homeworld.
With all eyes watching the interlopers, few even noticed the second series of Blue exits opening just a hundred kilometers away.
October 13, 2236
Lunar Sector Patrol Center (SPC)
Luna
Cameron Davis and George Locklear sat at a table in the quiet mess hall, nursing steaming cups of coffee. A few other pilots ate their meals in silence, ignoring the overpowering smell of whiskey and beer wafting from the two men’s table. George sat with his head on the table, groaning. Cameron seemed unfazed by a night of poor decision-making, and barely suppressed his smirk every time his friend winced. Their flight uniforms were clean, if not fresh. They’d changed out of their dress blues a half hour before.
Like most members of Sector Patrol, their uniforms were recycled from Fleet. The tiger-stripe pattern in gray and blue had long ago changed to a hexagonal charcoal for the Active component. There was no malice in the decision; it made no fiscal sense to spend the money on brand new uniforms for the weekend warriors. Still,
