With an infernal racket, the boarding probe crashed into the humongous hangar, finally coming to a stop after a few grueling seconds. Safely strapped into his chair, Jack was relatively unharmed, though dazed and rattled. In the milliseconds before they crashed, he had briefly glimpsed the chaos outside the probe—a large-scale battle between Human infiltration teams and the Kharlath forces. Mr. Okoro grabbed his rifle and gestured for everyone to do the same; there was no telling what would happen once they opened the door.

As if in a dream, Jack followed the person in front of him, rifle in hand, and stepped into the chaos outside. Two steps out of the boarding probe, and his face was sprayed with a fine, dry powder—all that remained of a man who could have been him. It was one of Okoro’s people, someone he didn’t know. A small mercy. As if on autopilot, he fired his rifle into the distance—a gesture of defiance more than one with any practical purpose—and ducked behind the boarding probe. Another man turned to dust next to him, this time someone familiar: one of the two recruits who had been helping him carry Lieutenant Ballinger. A man who was there because of him—a boy, really—who had followed him to his death.

Desperate and enraged, Jack jumped out from behind his flimsy cover and fired his rifle again, this time actually aiming at a group of Kharlath soldiers. He didn’t wait to see if he hit any of them.

Back in the fragile safety of the boarding probe’s shadow, he took a proper look around for the first time. The ground level was complete chaos, with boarding probes in various states of dismemberment scattered across the hangar. Between them, small, disparate groups of humans cowered like rats, with an occasionally braver—or perhaps dumber—soldier popping up to take a potshot. On the higher levels, on suspended platforms that lined the entire length of the room, endless waves of Kharlath were pouring in from every entrance, firing from all directions.

It was then that Jack understood what was happening: the hangar being open was neither a technical malfunction nor an oversight. It was deliberate military strategy—this was the perfect kill box, and he was in it, with no way out. To make matters worse, aside from the already familiar energy lances, the Kharlath on board this ship clearly had another type of weapon, one that could instantly disintegrate anyone it hit.

Slowly but surely, despair overwhelmed Jack. His legs started to give out beneath him, sweat dripped down his face, and his eyes began to water—he hadn’t been afraid of dying before, or at least he didn’t think so. But dying like this? Watching everything crumble around him as he awaited the inevitable, utterly trapped? It wasn’t something he had ever imagined. Suddenly resolute, and with newfound strength, Jack made the only choice left to him—he chose to die, and in doing so, he chose, for the last time, to live. Not cowering in fear, taken out by some stray shot, but on his feet, looking his enemy in the eye.

He straightened his back and walked out of cover, slowly and methodically, plasma pistol in hand. He expected the end to be swift—but it didn’t come. Plasma bolts flew past his ear, close enough that he could feel the heat on his face. But none of them actually hit him. He raised his left hand, aimed at the first enemy he saw, and pressed the trigger. In a flash of light, the Kharlath soldier fell to the ground. He did it again and again. Left hand raised. Trigger pressed. One shot, one kill. One, two, three, four times. Yet the reply never came. It was as if he were invisible. There he stood, daring the enemy to kill him, and yet he was ignored. Was he truly that insignificant to Fate, that even the ultimate temptation would fall on deaf ears?

As he raised his hand for a fifth time, a sudden impact threw him to the ground. He looked up, stunned, only to see Corporal Āwhina lying on top of him, holding him down with considerable strength.

“Are you out of your mind, crewman?” she growled, though there was a hint of compassion in her voice.

“I just wanted to get it over with,” Jack replied fiercely.

She rolled off from atop him, lying flat on her back, though with a hand still pressed against his chest, holding him down. Seemingly ignoring his reply, she decided, steadfastly: “On three, we turn around on our bellies and crawl back behind the probe. And you’d better not pull this shit again after I risked my life to save you.”

Flustered, Jack obeyed her. It was amusing, but in the end, what stopped his suicidal assault was not his fear of death or his will to live—it was shame. Regular, mundane shame, of putting a fellow soldier in a terrible position after she’d decided to go out on a limb to help him. So he crawled back into cover, dejected, with the corporal right behind him.

“There’s a plan,” Mr. Okoro spoke, to no one in particular, as Jack crashed against the boarding probe, his entire body suddenly limp. “A Templar made it on board, probably from the Yi. Knight Zhōu. His probe fortunately boarded somewhere else. He’s got almost two full Assault squads with him, and he’s coming to help us. They’re going to be facing some resistance, but they will get here, and we will make it out. Of that, I have no doubt.” His speech was meant to inspire, but Jack could see doubt creeping into his formerly stoic face. Mr. Okoro was rattled, likely a very rare occurrence for him.

“How can you be sure? Is one man, even a Templar, enough to turn the tide?” Nurse Julie asked, and Jack felt a surge of relief to hear someone familiar still alive.

“You haven’t seen Sergeant Thomas in action, have you?” Corporal Āwhina laughed. “One Templar could probably clear this entire hangar by himself.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden, loud explosion just above their heads.

“Artillery!” Corporal Āwhina yelled, protecting her head from falling debris.

“We can’t stay here,” Mr. Okoro concurred, without lifting his eyes from his wristpad. “I’ll try to call in a few assault drones from outside to cover us. I need one of you to contact everyone else in the hangar, broad comms frequency. We all need to make a run for the door. We can’t wait around until the Templar gets here.”

“What about the wounded?” Julie protested, concerned.

“They won’t waste ammo on people who aren’t shooting back. The further we are from them, the safer they are,” Mr. Okoro reassured her.

Seeing the frantic desperation in everyone’s eyes, Jack took charge. He turned on his headset, set it to the standard frequency, and, once again channeling his drill sergeant persona, began barking orders: “To everyone still alive in the open hangar on the left side of the ship: listen up! In a few moments, a few assault drones are going to come in here and start shooting at the Kharlath above us. This is a distraction. It won’t do much. But it will provide us with an opportunity to make a run for the exit and save our lives. On my mark, head for the southeast exit. Weapons ready!”

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The conviction and authority in his voice surprised even himself.

“Mark!” Jack yelled savagely into his headset as the first assault drone crashed into the hangar, firing wildly as it went down. Suddenly, dozens of people began crawling out from various corners of the room, desperately firing their guns above their heads. Many were downed immediately, but even more made it to the exit. The second drone flew in, colliding with a suspended walkway and taking out a large group of Kharlath in the process. As bits and pieces of their enemies rained down, Jack could only be relieved for the precious seconds it bought their increasingly smaller group. Finally, as a third and final drone barreled into the room, it exploded into a flurry of shrapnel and fire as it smashed into a boarding probe. Jack crossed the threshold and made it out of the hangar. He was alive, against all odds.

He looked around at the small crowd of survivors now gathered around him. Out of their group, only half had made it. Nurse Julie, the former leader of Assault Squad 8, who had been following him all this time, and two others from Mr. Okoro’s group were among them. As his eyes scanned the larger group that had formed around them, he spotted Mr. Okoro near the entrance, with Corporal Āwhina draped limply around his shoulders. His body was clearly straining from the effort, but he walked resolutely toward the middle of the group, gesturing for others to make way as he gently laid her down.

Wordlessly, Julie kneeled beside Āwhina and began examining her wounds. “The armor took the brunt of it,” she said calmly but gravely. “But she’s badly burned, most likely has a few broken ribs too. We’ll need to cut her out of the armor.”

“We can’t just sit here and wait to be killed while you do goddamn surgery in the middle of a firefight!” a voice yelled from the crowd.

Without a word, Mr. Okoro identified the man who had voiced the complaint, walked up to him, and laid him out with a single casual punch. Then, with a level of intensity Jack hadn’t expected from him, he addressed the group: “This woman has saved my life a dozen times over today! The same goes for everyone else who came on the Bismarck. I will not abandon her!” A few isolated cheers could be heard, but mostly, the crowd simply quieted down. He had won them over, though just barely.

While Mr. Okoro was busy trying to save the corporal’s life, Jack once again took charge, directing the rest of the group: “I want everyone out of the door frame, so they can’t take shots at us. I want two people on either side of the door in case they decide to charge at us. The rest, form a circle. Everyone wounded gets in the middle. Everyone else, face outwards, guns pointed. Any questions?”

No one raised any objections, though a few awkward glances were exchanged. In a short time, Jack had become quite a competent leader, though he lacked both the rank and actual qualifications. But in the heat of battle, with no one knowing what to do and no chain of command to follow, those were far less important than simply having someone level-headed enough to know what to do, and charismatic enough for them to listen.

As the rest of the crowd followed through with his plan, Jack walked up to Mr. Okoro and tapped him gently on the shoulder. “How do I contact the Templar?” His wristpad buzzed. He had received his answer.

“What are you thinking?” Mr. Okoro inquired, finally turning his attention toward Jack.

“We use Knight Zhōu’s group to force the rest of the Kharlath to the ground level. Then, you call in some more assault drones to pelt them, and finally, we go in, pick off the stragglers, and rescue everyone left behind.”

“It’s solid. In theory. But these people have been through hell, and now you’re going to ask them to go back in.” Mr. Okoro spoke loud enough for the crowd to hear, signaling that it was okay to voice their dissent. Was he undermining Jack’s authority, or simply preventing a mutiny down the line?

“Almost everyone’s got someone left back there,” a voice spoke up from the crowd as an older man stepped forward. He was wearing Assault Corps armor, though judging by his build and age, it didn’t belong to him. “Either trapped, wounded, or even dead. We can’t just leave them behind.”

Jack stood up, making his voice heard over the crowd. “There is no other way! We save our friends and loved ones now, or we come back to pick up their corpses later. Either way, that room will need to be cleared!”

The crowd didn’t respond one way or the other, but once again, there were no dissenters. These people were ready to follow him, however begrudgingly.

He dialed the frequency he had received into his headset, and a gruff, distorted voice greeted him from the other end: “Yes?”

“This is Crewman Nereus from the hangar group. We’ve been forced to evacuate the hangar. Most of us made it out of the room, but some are still trapped in there. What’s your status?”

“Making steady progress,” came the matter-of-fact response from the other end. “Minimal casualties. ETA 2 minutes.”

With no time to waste, Jack explained his plan to the Templar, sparing no detail. His interlocutor monosyllabically agreed as they set to work. With the Kharlath driven down from the walkways and Mr. Okoro’s drones turned against them, it was time for Jack to play his part. Picking about a dozen of the fitter-looking survivors, he entered the fray once more.

Rushing headfirst into the hangar, Jack was unprepared for the sheer pandemonium his plan had unleashed. The room was a smoldering wreck, with debris scattered everywhere, and walkways either hanging precariously in the air or collapsed entirely. The Kharlath forces were in complete disarray, either running around like headless chickens or futilely trying to fight back against the Templar’s onslaught. Knight Zhōu moved calmly through the chaos, unleashing death from the weapons mounted on his shoulders and wrists. Neither the energy lances nor the mysterious disintegrators had any effect on the Templar’s armor. The desperate Kharlath eventually resorted to charging him with the bladed parts of their lances—a strategy even less effective, as they were effortlessly thrown aside or pounded into the ground.

Utterly transfixed, Jack watched as Knight Zhōu single-handedly took down two dozen Kharlath troops in just as many seconds. In such a wide-open space, with adequate support, the Templar seemed genuinely invincible. Within minutes, they had wiped out the entire Kharlath presence inside the hangar, and the group quickly set to work recovering those they had left behind.

“You Nereus?” Zhōu walked up to greet Jack, removing his helmet to reveal a surprisingly unassuming face behind the machine. He looked to be about sixty years old, with a short, greying goatee and neatly trimmed medium-length hair. A pair of dark, almond-shaped eyes darted around the room, reflecting a keen intelligence.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Knight-Templar!” Jack tried his best to sound imposing and official.

“Likewise!” Zhōu replied, almost lifting Jack off the ground with a powerful handshake. “So, I take it you’re in charge here?”

“I don’t actually know.” Jack hesitated. “I suppose, unofficially, I am.”

“There’s more work to be done. We need to coordinate with Major Barrett on the other side of the ship. Gather whoever’s still capable of fighting from your crew and meet me in five. It’s time for the final push!” With these parting words, Zhōu put his helmet back on and walked away to examine what was left of his assault squads, leaving Jack to organize his survivors however he saw fit.

Just as Jack was getting ready to rally his troops for a final time, a transmission came on the broad frequency he still had his headset tuned to:

“This is crewman Nakayama of the Bismarck jump drive team. We are pinned down and require assistance. Please respond!”