Rhodes walked into the command dome on the planet Deizo’s fourth moon. It was far enough behind the front line not to put any of the Legion’s commanding officers in danger.
Rhodes only had to glance at the charts in front of them to see exactly why the Battalion 1 governing body sent him and his subordinates out here sooner than they should have.
The battalion had to wait a week at Coleridge Station before they boarded the Ero to travel here. Then the trip took another seven weeks.
In that time, the Masks had torched all the rest of the Noria system the governing body asked Rhodes to save.
The Masks had also laid the Luros system to waste. Now they were starting on the Siro system—which was the system with the planet Deizo in it.
The Masks were just making landfall on the planet Rono—the system’s outermost planet.
That was the Masks’ MO. They started at the farthest outskirts with the smallest population and worked their way inward toward the center—toward the highest population densities.
This strategy gave the Legion a little extra time to evacuate, but not nearly enough. Rhodes had taken a few brief moments to study this war. Those moments told him all he needed to know.
The numbers of casualties kept mounting into the billions as the Masks overran one planet after another. The Emal had been saints compared to these ruthless machines.
General Kaufman bent over the chart and pointed out different parts of Rono. “The Ninth Division is holding the Koth continent—here. The Masks are pivoting the battle line back to the Kaviuk continent—here. We’ll land the 249th, the 217th, and the 235th along this mountain range. Captain Rhodes, your battalion will come at the enemy from this side and drive the Masks toward the platoons. The platoons’ fire will force the Masks to divert into this valley. We can bombard them from orbit and slow them down that way.”
“Yes, Sir,” Rhodes replied. “You can count on us.”
Colonel Jenner’s head shot up and he stared at Rhodes, but Jenner didn’t say anything.
Rhodes remained silent through the rest of the briefing. He didn’t need to know anything else.
He’d been mentally preparing himself for this through the whole journey. The SAMs would malfunction in battle. He was more certain of that than he’d ever been of anything.
He’d tested them a dozen in training at Coleridge Station before the battalion boarded the Ero to come here.
None of that meant squat. The SAMs already knew the training session wasn’t real.
They would react differently when they faced real Masks. Something was bound to go wrong. That was the only real certainty left in Rhodes’s world.
He’d kept his promise to Rhinehart by asking Dr. Trudeau if there was any way of wiping Rhinehart’s awareness of what he was doing.
Trudeau promised to look into it, too. Then Rhodes never heard another word about it. So that was a dead end, too.
Rhinehart didn’t bring it up again. He didn’t act like his situation caused him any more distress than usual—not any more than it caused everyone else in the battalion.
Rhodes just spent his days counting down the seconds before something else went wrong. Anticipating the next catastrophe gave him a certain kind of peace. He didn’t have to dread it because he already knew it would happen.
The chart in front of him did give him pause, though. He didn’t expect the brass to come up with a strategy like this.
He got out of the meeting without saying another word to anyone. What was the point? He already knew what he had to do.
He returned to the battalion. His subordinates stood around talking near the Ero where it dropped them off adjacent to the command dome.
The scene on Deizo resembled the same confusion Rhodes had seen on Ohait. Ships, crews, soldiers, medical staff, and mountains of supplies crowded the area.
Ships came and went from the front line, dropped off new shipments of equipment, food, and weapons, loaded on wounded to be transported away from the front, and performed every other wartime activity.
Rhodes found the battalion talking to a bunch of regular soldiers from the 249th. They all knew each other from their previous joint campaigns.
Lieutenant Turley turned around when Rhodes showed up. “What’s the word from up the chain, Sir?”
Rhodes showed the battalion the chart on The Grid. The soldiers couldn’t see it. “You and the platoons are going up on a ridge to flank the enemy. The battalion will flank them on the other side and drive the Masks into your guns. Then you open fire and push them down into the valley between. Those are our orders.”
“What?!” Cantrell blurted out. “We aren’t deployed with you?! What’s the point of that? What’s the point of you being here at all if you don’t back us up?”
“You take it up with General Kaufman,” Rhodes replied. “He wants to bombard the Masks from orbit. He needs to isolate the enemy in one place so he doesn’t hit your platoon or my battalion in the process.”
“This is cracked!” Turley chimed in. “You guys are supposed to support us. You won’t be able to do that on the opposite side of the valley. We don’t stand a chance without you.”
Rhodes didn’t respond, not even when Cantrell smacked his lips and whirled away. “I’m going to talk to Captain Vernick about this. He can go to the command dome for us.”
The soldiers wandered off. Rhodes watched them out of sight.
The platoons wouldn’t have been so thrilled to have the battalion around if the soldiers knew what the battalion had been going through these last several weeks.
“What about it, Sir?” Oakes asked. “Why aren’t we deployed with the platoons? If the Masks don’t drop down into that valley, they could break through the platoons and no one would be able to stop them.”
“They could break through us, too,” Dietz pointed out. “The Masks are as likely to come after us as they are to come after the platoons. Nothing can stop them from getting where they want to go.”
“This has nothing to do with any of that,” Rocky interjected. “The Legion brass wants to deploy us away from the regular platoons. That’s obvious, isn’t it? They’re doing this for the platoons’ safety—so we don’t put the platoons in danger if we go haywire again.”
“None of it matters because we have our orders,” Lauer added. “We just have to carry out the plan and hope for the best.”
“I won’t hope for the best,” Thackery muttered. “I won’t hope for anything other than a quick death.”
“Keep on dreaming, honey,” Coulter told her. “No good deed ever goes unpunished.”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
She snorted at him, but just then, the Ero crew unloaded the battalion’s Strikers.
The ship used a conveyor system to deposit the ships on the ground. Rhodes and his people boarded their Strikers and activated The Grid.
“You won’t be involved in this battle,” Rhodes told Rio.
“Aw!” Rio teased. “You and Fisher get all the fun.”
“The Legion doesn’t want to complicate things by having you flying around in the air during the battle. They want to bombard the Masks from orbit. You and the other Strikers will only get in the way.”
“Why are we even here, then?” Rio revolved The Grid in front of him to survey the two flanking ridges and the valley where the Legion planned to trap the Masks. “It would be better to bombard the Masks from closer to the ground.”
“Everyone’s an armchair general. Just drop us off on the ridge and make yourselves scarce.”
“Until you need me, right?” Rio asked.
Rhodes grinned at him through the interface. “I’m glad you’ll be standing by in case it all goes south.”
“When it all goes south,” Lauer corrected.
Rhodes didn’t answer. He launched Rio and the battalion soared through the Siro system getting closer to Rono.
Legion vessels crowded the solar system. Ravagers surrounded Rono and took turns landing platoons, supplies, and command staff on the planet.
Another Ravager transported the platoons who would pull this maneuver with Battalion 1.
The battalion waited in orbit until the platoons got into position. Rhodes and his people watched the Masks’ progress through The Grid.
“Damn!” Oakes muttered. “They don’t mess around, do they?”
“They don’t give anyone time to offer any effective defense,” Thackery pointed out. “That’s the Masks’ strategy—speed. The Legion is used to taking their time and setting everything up in advance. The Masks have found a way to overcome that.”
“Do you think they know?” Dietz asked. “If the Masks are Legion technology, then the Masks must know everything about the Legion. Maybe the Masks came up with this strategy specifically because they figured out the Legion’s greatest weakness.”
“The Masks would be stupid not to exploit any Legion weakness,” Rhinehart pointed out. “One thing I know about the Masks is that they aren’t stupid.”
A signal came through The Grid from the command dome. “That’s our cue,” Rhodes ordered. “You Strikers drop us off and head back to Deizo. You can wait with the Ero.”
“Yes, Sir,” Teo replied.
The Strikers plunged through the atmosphere on a fast approach to the mountains. The Masks advanced from the other direction to close on the spot where General Kaufman wanted the battalion and the platoons to pull their flanking maneuver.
The battalion barely got into position in time before the Masks swarmed over the nearest hills. The Strikers launched away into orbit and left the battalion on the ground.
The platoons flattened themselves behind the far hills and aimed their Jackhammers down the slopes at the incoming Masks. The platoons occupied the same position they’d been in against the Emal—except these weren’t Emal.
Rhodes shivered looking down at the Masks. Damn, they moved fast! They targeted Legion positions much more accurately than the Emal ever did.
Rhodes didn’t see any Masks invasion ships in the atmosphere. They didn’t need ships.
The ground troops rotated their fusion rifles back and forth to hit Legion positions on the surrounding hillsides.
Booming explosions echoed across the landscape. Rhodes went through another dizzy blur of cognitive dissonance. He was fighting this enemy in broad daylight. The Emal always saved their worst assaults for nighttime.
They could see better in the dark, but it still gave the impression of weakness. It somehow tricked the Legion into believing the Emal couldn’t fight in daylight.
They could. They just didn’t want to.
The Masks definitely could. Nothing slowed them down. They streamed over the hillsides and flooded the valleys approaching the battalion’s position.
“Stand by!” Rhodes ordered. “Here we go!”
He glanced across the valley toward the platoons on the other side. All those soldiers lay on their stomachs aiming down at the Masks.
The platoons tracked the Masks’ advance. The platoons would open fire as soon as the battalion drove the Masks in that direction.
Rhodes didn’t know when the Legion wanted him to launch this assault, but whatever plans the Legion made went out the window when the Masks showed up. No one could plan for an enemy that moved this fast.
The Masks didn’t drop down into the valley. They kept their line on the hillsides—high enough not to lose the advantage of someone shooting at them from above.
Did the Masks use any other Legion tactics against the platoons? The SAMs could access the whole Legion database with thousands upon thousands of hours of footage from every battle the Legion ever fought against countless enemies.
The Masks must know more about Legion tactics than any force alive—including the Legion itself.
Rhodes couldn’t think of anyone, not even the Legion’s own brass, who knew that much about every strategy and tactic the Legion had ever used.
Another explosion in the atmosphere snapped him back to his senses. He blinked once.
The Masks were already marching through the valley and drawing level with the platoons on the other side. Rhodes had to attack now or miss his chance.
“Go!” Rhodes ordered and fired his boosters.
The battalion burst over the hillside and plunged down on the Masks. Their line snaked along both flanking slopes and wavered backward to the pass where the Masks entered this valley.
They still didn’t make their formation more than one individual deep. They didn’t congregate into groups. That might have weakened them, but it actually made them harder to hit.
Rhodes picked up speed diving down the hill. He opened fire with his scourge gun, fired a dozen Vipers, and when the Masks pivoted to return fire, he switched to his thermal cannons.
His Vipers could only take out a dozen Masks at a time. That was the genius of them using a thin line one individual deep. They could cover more territory without risking too many of their people every time a Viper went off.
People. These weren’t people. They were machines—and yet some part of Rhodes’s mind still recognized that they were sentient. They were SAMs. He just couldn’t see their faces under those Masks.
Would they be as concerned about protecting their own kind as Fisher and the others? Would these Masks suffer the same emotional turmoil at the thought of letting their comrades down? How could Rhodes kill people like that?
They fired back at him and he blocked those questions out of his mind. These machines planned to kill many millions more people for no reason. He didn’t know their plans or motivations. He didn’t need to.
He dropped low into the valley, pivoted right and left, and used the Masks’ formation to his advantage. He could cut wide swaths through their numbers from down here. They spread their firepower too thin by not positioning more Masks together.
The rest of the battalion copied him, spread up the valley, and opened fire from a distance. None of the battalion engaged the Masks directly—not closely enough even to see them as people—potential people.
The SAMs didn’t interfere. Rhodes heard Fisher calling instructions and information into his ear, but Rhodes couldn’t hear him.
Fisher adjusted The Grid in front of Rhodes’s eyes. New signals flashed on it too fast and Rhodes registered the information in a split second. He didn’t need to hear Fisher. Rhodes saw everything he needed to see in The Grid.
That information overlaid the sight of his thermal cannons toppling Masks by the dozen. They stood their ground for a few minutes and lost dozens of their number before they inched backward toward the far ridge.
They had to climb backward and keep up a steady barrage of shots against the battalion. The Masks wound up backing straight into the platoons’ Jackhammers.
The platoons opened fire and cut down dozens of Masks. The battle played out exactly the way General Kaufman hoped it would—until the exact moment when it didn’t.
The Masks wavered there between the two flanks until, in the worst possible nightmare scenario, the Masks wheeled and charged straight up the hill toward the Legion position.
Rhodes charged forward in a rush of speed to intercept the enemy, but the Masks got there first. They didn’t struggle at all to climb that steep slope.
They didn’t climb the way normal people would. They just sprinted straight up it in a mind-blowing burst of speed and strength.
The platoons kept up their assault as long as they could—right until the moment when the Masks vaulted over the hill, plunged down behind it, and landed on top of the platoons.
The soldiers took a split second too long to get to their feet. The Masks opened fire and mowed down hundreds of soldiers before they even got off the ground.
The ones that did get up staggered backward to get away from the enemy. The Masks marched forward again just as steadily as before.
Their scourge guns traded fire with the platoons’ Jackhammers, but the soldiers couldn’t defend themselves at this range.
The Masks’ armor deflected most of the Jackhammer fire. The soldiers dropped some Masks, but not nearly enough.
The Masks’ fusion rifles did much more damage—and the platoons’ position worked against them now.
The soldiers closed together for protection, which gave the Masks all the opportunity they needed to flatten dozens of soldiers with every hit.
The battalion got caught on the slopes below. Rhodes gunned his boosters, but by the time he got over the ridge, the battle was already disintegrating into a bloodbath.
He dove over the ridge, swooped down on the Masks from behind, and went back to gunning as many of them as he could hit.
He descended behind them. They couldn’t face him here—not without turning their backs on the platoons.
The Masks didn’t fall for it. They stayed facing the platoons and the Masks kept their backs to Rhodes and his people.
Rhodes roared at them, but at that moment, a blistering jet of fire broke through the clouds above his head.
He’d been so busy fighting the Masks on the ground that he didn’t see any invasion ships. He didn’t see any now. None showed up on The Grid.
The next instant, the shot hit him in the chest and buckled him to the ground.
End of Chapter 35.