Sharp pain bit into Alex’s face, sending her tumbling behind cover. The cracks and whines of bullets tearing through the air competed with the chorus of explosions and gunfire. They were back on the top floor. The bus terminal and the surrounding blocks were a war zone. Smoke and dust obscured her vision, and the overwhelming smell of blood, sweat, and gunpowder made her nauseous. She had been in simulated firefights but the exercises hadn’t prepared her for this. She wanted to curl up and sink into the floor behind the safety of the crisscrossing concrete supports along the terminal’s outer edges.

To her left and right, Shepherd and the men on Murray’s fire team unleashed bursts of automatic fire into the streets. The rest of the team waited in the lower concourse guarding the entrances. She exchanged glances with Shepherd. He pointed to his cheek. She touched her face and felt a sliver of metal in her skin. She pulled it out and threw it to the ground where it mixed with the spent shell casings and debris littering the terminal. Rivulets of blood dripped from her wound and spattered the concrete.

When they had arrived at the bus terminal an hour and a half earlier, the surrounding buildings had been mostly intact. The mortar barrage, however, had radically altered the landscape by shattering the terminal’s roof and leaving gaping holes looking down into the concourse. The brick and concrete buildings across the street resembled the outlines of jigsaw puzzles with more-and-more pieces disappearing as shells and bullets ripped through them.

Alex noticed movement at the corner of the intersection on her right. Two figures jumped out the broken glass doors of a pharmacy. The men took cover behind a row of empty newspaper dispensers and began firing at the terminal. A round snapped by her face with a supersonic crack. She flinched and knelt further behind her bullet-pocked column. She could just make out the two men without exposing herself to fire. She concentrated until a rough outline of the pharmacy appeared in her mind. A second bullet struck close to her head. She clenched her hand into a fist.

The pharmacy’s walls exploded. A chunk of concrete smashed the nearest gunman’s skull. He crumpled against the newspaper dispensers and his body jerked twice as the team raked him with automatic fire. The second gunman jumped from cover and ran across the street. Two shots hit him simultaneously in the leg and head so that he seemed to stumble forward and then spin before hitting the pavement.

Five for form but nine for degree of difficulty, Alex thought ironically.

A white plume erupted from the roof of a three-story apartment building behind the pharmacy. Murray yelled, “RPG!”

Alex rolled out from cover and reached toward the approaching missile. The projectile, barely visible in the approaching cloud, slammed to a halt. The onrushing smoke overtook and engulfed it. She twisted her hand. The missile slammed to the ground and exploded.

The RPG gunner lowered his launcher while a man beside him hefted another rocket and began to load it into the tube. Alex closed her eyes with her arm still raised toward the intersection. An imprint of the apartments resolved around her until she could see the brick walls, wooden floors, broken pipes, and rotting gutters. Then she saw her own hand rising above the flat, tar-papered roof. She slammed her palm down. The roof caved in, collapsing onto the next floor and the next, so that the aging structure seemed to implode. Finally, the internal pressure was so great that the lower floors exploded outward.

She again felt the heat and adrenaline leave her body, and she leaned forward, her head on the concrete floor.

“Alex!” Shepherd came over and knelt next to her. She did not reply. He took her collar and pulled her behind the pillar.

She dimly heard Shepherd and Murray talking.

“What about Neill?”

“Not so good.”

Specialist Roger Neill was a dark haired, self-styled jock. He took part in all the Directorate’s organized athletics. Now, he lay on the rubble behind the team. The shrapnel from a grenade had torn off the right side of his face. His left eye stared at them, opaque and unseeing.

Murray, kneeling beside Shepherd, said, “He’s gone, sir.”

Neill. The handsome jock. No more football. No more baseball. She tried to push his image from her mind, but he was still there, smiling and teasing: “Nice butterfly, sweetheart. How are you at the breast stroke?” Then she playfully punched him on his broad chest.

Shepherd shook his head and dropped the empty magazine out of his weapon. “Take him back into the concourse. Put him with Hensley.”

Shepherd withdrew a magazine from his vest and slapped it into the rifle’s receiver. He glanced at Alex, still lying on the ground behind the column. His face was grimy, beaded with sweat. He forced a smile. “Nice job with the RPG. Will you be okay here? I need to check the… the others.”

In that brief hesitation, she knew: He cares about them, about us, all of us. And he’s wondering, What if we’re wiped out, one by one? What if no one gets out?

“I’ll be all right. Be careful.”

He forced a grimy smile. “Aren’t I always?”

Always the leader. Keeping up troop morale. They had lost two men and the natural thing to wonder was: am I next?

As Shepherd moved crab-like back toward the concourse, she realized eerie silence had replaced the sounds of battle. No one was shooting. No one was lobbing mortars or rockets. She peeked over the pillar. The only movement came from the dust and debris settling onto the wet street, and the sullen fall of dark raindrops, heavy and ominous.

“Sure is quiet out there,” Specialist O’Brian said. He was with Murray’s team. Murray had once bragged he could drink O’Brian under the table, but at the end, Murray was under the table and O’Brian was dancing an Irish jig on top.

“Ammo check!” Shepherd called back.

The group behind the pillar started counting magazines. “We’re all short,” Murray muttered and then glanced over the column before backing toward the concourse. “We can’t hold here much longer.”

“We’ll fall back to the subway,” Shepherd said.

“How long until that gunship gets here?”

“Still an hour out. Our ammo won’t last that long.”

“How about Alpha?”

“I left each of them with about sixty rounds.”

“I think we need it more than they do.”

Shepherd nodded. “I’ll round up what I can. Keep watch here.”

Murray grunted and crawled back to the cover.

Shepherd hurried away to the stairs. She watched him until his helmet disappeared from view and then sat with her back against the concrete support. She wiped away the blood oozing from her cheek. Through the alternating pattern of triangular windows, whose glass shattered over the course of the battle, the sky had begun to turn black from the storm clouds. Jagged lightning arced above the city, heralding a roar of thunder. Her shoulder and forehead ached. She closed her eyes and listened to the raindrops.

“Repeat that?” Murray said. Alex glanced at him as he touched his earpiece. Then he shouted, “Artillery! Get to cover!”

She had time to turn and cover her head with her arms before the roof exploded. A second explosion followed, tearing one of the commuter busses in half and blasting fragments of metal and glass across the wide-open space of the terminal.

“Let’s get the hell outta here!” Murray yelled.

She stood and took a wobbly step toward the stairs. The world had slowed. The shouts from her team sounded far-off and distorted. Her feet caught on a block of concrete from the roof, toppling her to the ground. She got to her hands and knees and began to crawl over the debris. She only made it a few feet before a round exploded between her and the stairway. The blast tossed her into the air like ragdoll. Then she was falling. She flailed her arms and legs to right herself but a sudden impact knocked the wind out of her lungs.

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When she could breathe again, she began to panic. How bad is it? How bad am I hurt? Before she could answer, a chunk of rubble crashed against her right shoulder. She screamed but all the air had once again fled her lungs. Her eyes filled with tears, making it even harder for her to see through her already blurred vision. She tried to concentrate on the slab of concrete, but each time she gave a mental shove, it ground further into her shoulder. In desperation, she thrust her palm against the block’s rough surface. As if made of chalk, the concrete disintegrated into sand, which drifted off her shoulder and body.

She sat and got to her feet. The bus terminal’s second floor rose high above. She had fallen off the side of the building. The entire roof was gone. The team was gone, too. This wasn’t how they had trained to operate. She was always supposed to stay with the team; they were supposed to protect her just as she was supposed to protect them. All she had was her armor and her handgun. Out here on the street, everything was open – no cover. Debris clogged the terminal entrances. With her shoulder injured, she would need help to climb back inside. Except…

I can make my own entrance, she thought and hurried toward a damaged section of the wall.

A gunshot broke the silence in the moment before a black marble-sized ball exploded at her feet. Another shot rang out and an agonizing blow to her abdomen knocked her to the ground. She felt a titanium club had struck her in the chest. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out in pain.

Four men approached from across the street. Three of them held assault rifles while the fourth carried a short, almost toy-like weapon with a round magazine and a cylindrical gas canister near the barrel. The three men with rifles surveyed the upper terminal while the fourth leveled his gun at her. She concentrated on the black cylinder. The canister ruptured and sent a white stream of vapor billowing into the air. The man holding the weapon threw it aside. One of the others aimed his rifle at her and fired.

Dust erupted inches from her face.

“Hold your fire!” someone yelled.

The man who had shot hesitantly lowered his rifle. Alex did not hesitate; she ripped the weapon out of his hands and sent it flying like an arrow into the brick wall. She began to concentrate on the remaining two rifles but then an intense flash exploded into her vision. Had someone else shot her? White-hot shafts of pain drove straight into her skull from both temples. She screamed and grabbed her head. Her mental picture of the two weapons vanished. The pain lessened as well.

When she looked up, she saw a fifth man. Unlike the other four, the new figure wore military fatigues decorated with a camouflaged pattern of white, black, and grey patches. He was unarmed, and as he approached, she noticed blood trickling from his nose. He stopped and held up his hand.

A peace gesture? He looked young, about her age.

She wiped at her eyes to clear her vision and realized with a shock that the man had on a strange mask and helmet. The black helmet clung to his skull as if it were a thick stocking over his hair. A similar black substance without slits or openings covered his eyes.

She tried to concentrate again on the rifles but the white-hot fire ripped into her temples. The man in the military uniform fell to his knees. Blood dripped from both his nostrils and trickled into his mouth from his upper lip. Is he doing this? Is he able to block… something? She released her focus on the weapon. The pain vanished.

The man eyed her and then said in a strange, calm voice that seemed to come from far away, “Please stop doing that.”

She pushed herself up. “Who are you?”

He stood only a few feet away. Her distorted reflection gazed back at her from the darkness covering his eyes. Are those shades… or goggles?

“I’m Webb.” He brushed at his uniform and then gestured to his companions. “See if there are any others.”

The team. Where are they?

“Now,” Webb said, “I’d like to know who you are.”

“Alexandra Bedford.”

She couldn’t read his expression through the black substance. “You’re… General Bedford’s…?”

She didn’t reply.

“Holy…” one of the soldiers said with a whistle.

Webb unhooked a radio from his belt. “This is Taipan 5 calling Adder X-Ray.” His voice sounded mechanical, devoid of emotion.

“This is Adder X-Ray,” a voice said from the radio.

“I have confirmation the Directorate sent a ‘kinetic. I have her secured.”

“Her?”

“General Bedford’s daughter.”

There was a long pause and then garbled background noise before the voice returned. “You have a change in priorities. Bring her to command immediately. Try to secure any remaining members of her unit. You may use force if needed, but she is not to be harmed. Understand?”

“I copy,” Webb said. “Taipan 5, out.”

As Webb returned the radio to his belt, Alex looked down at her thigh holster. Her right arm and shoulder ached. A trickle of blood ran out her sleeve and down her hand between her index and middle fingers. But… she could draw the weapon and fire at least two shots before any of the men reacted.

If they have orders not to hurt me, then that might buy me a few seconds.

She flexed her hand and placed it on her thigh.

“I will shoot you if you try to harm my men,” Webb said.

She hesitated. “You have orders not to hurt me.”

Webb’s upper lip curled. With his skullcap and mask, it was not a pleasant smile. “I don’t always follow orders.”

“What do you want with me?”

“I don’t want anything with you,” Webb said. “It’s General Martin who wants to see you.”

“What does he want, then?”

“Ours is not to reason why,” Webb said, still wearing his feral grin. He wiped the blood from his nose and extended his hand. “Now, give me your firearm. You won’t be hurt as long as you cooperate.”

She searched for any signs of Shepherd or the team. Dozens of NEA soldiers began to fan out around the bus terminal while others took up position on the roofs of the surrounding buildings.

Time to fight another day. She stood and removed her handgun from her holster. She handed her weapon to Webb.

“Thank you.” Webb withdrew the magazine and then pulled back on the slide and ejected the chambered round. After placing the magazine back into the weapon, he switched the safety on and then pointed the gun at her head.

“What are you—”

Webb interrupted, “You just saw: it’s empty. Turn around.”

She stared down the barrel and then reluctantly turned.

“Who is your team’s ranking officer?” Webb said.

“Captain Shepherd.”

“Captain Shepherd!” Webb shouted. “This is the New England Alliance! We have General Bedford’s daughter in our custody. You have one minute to surrender before we continue our attack.”

There was a long silence broken only by the patter of rain on the pavement.

“Talk to him,” Webb spoke into her ear.

She turned slightly to look at Webb and then shouted, “There’s at least forty of them out here! They’re all around the street. They’re in the buildings to the west, too!”

She expected Webb to strike her but no blows came. Instead, he sighed before shouting, “As you can hear, Ms. Bedford is quite all right. You can either surrender or die fighting.”

Again, no reply. Why aren’t they answering?

Webb pulled her away from the entranceway, holstered her handgun in his belt, and gestured toward the soldiers across the street. The men held assault rifles and breaching shotguns and wore the same uniform as Webb except with ballistic vests protecting their torsos.

“This is your last chance,” Webb said to her as they reached the sidewalk opposite the terminal’s entrance. “If you have any way to convincing your team to surrender, I suggest you do it.”

She glared at Webb but kept silent. He stepped in front of her and gestured to the soldiers. The men converged near the terminal’s service entrance. The first soldier posted to the right of the doorframe. Two others hurried from behind him to the opposite side of the door. The first man fired two shotgun blasts and blew the door from its hinges. Then he pulled a metallic cylinder from his vest and threw the device into the entranceway. The burst of light forced Alex to shield her eyes. The rest of the soldiers rushed into the concourse with weapons raised. She flinched at a rumble of thunder overhead. A tense stillness hung over the city block. She stood motionless behind Webb, waiting for the gunfire. But nothing happened. A soldier emerged from the service entrance and jogged toward Webb.

“Building’s empty, sir. Just three bodies. Two Directorate. But the third…”

“What is it?” Webb said.

“You’d better see for yourself, sir.”

“I’m more concerned about the rest of their team. Where did they go?”

“They must have run into the tunnels. Should we go after them?”

Webb scraped at his upper lip with his teeth. “No. Secure the bodies and form a perimeter. Miss… Bedford and I have a meeting to attend.”

“Understood, sir.”

Webb removed his radio from his belt and began to report in his mechanical, dry, clipped voice.

They left me behind. They had to have known I was missing, but they left anyway. She felt empty and discarded like the trash and rubble on the streets.

“It’s time to go,” Webb said after he finished his transmission.

“What?”

He pointed to a Humvee bumping its way into the devastated intersection. “Our ride is here.”

Webb moved toward the vehicle but Alex remained in place.

“Now what?” he said impatiently.

“No!”

“What?”

“I’m not going!” She sounded to herself like an upset child.

Webb shook his head.

She looked around and noted the soldiers’ positions. She was twenty meters from the terminal entrance. With a diversion and some luck, she could reach the concourse and disappear into the subway tunnels. As long as the men followed their orders not to shoot her, she could escape.

As if reading her thoughts, Webb said, “Don’t try it.”

“Why should I trust you? We came to discuss a treaty, and you attacked us! If you want a war, my father can give you more than asked for!”

Webb’s grin vanished. “I am well aware of what you father can do.”

“Then why did you attack us?”

“You fired first.”

“What are you saying? The bridge blew up and…”

“And you killed two of my men who were coming to see what the hell happened.”

In her memory, she saw Shepherd raise his gun and fire twice, and she again felt the anger that he had fired without cause. But if they didn’t destroy the bridge, then…

“Now, I’ll ask you one more time,” Webb said. “Come with me.”

She shook her head and stepped back.

Webb moved forward and reached his hand out toward her cheek. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?”

Before she could react, his fingers struck her forehead, just below the brim of her helmet.

And everything went dark.