The Wraith and Basilisk shimmered into view. Basilisk was already firing, unleashing a devastating, untargeted salvo where the other Soren believed the Wraith should be, counting on Soren to do exactly what he predicted.

  But Soren wasn’t in charge, so the Wraith wasn’t moving.

  The barrage passed harmlessly, missing the stationary ship by a wide margin.

  "Sang, bow on the Basilisk, now!" Wilf barked.

  Sang responded instantly, the Wraith pivoting on its axis, its nose swinging to point directly at the enemy ship, suddenly trying desperately to change vectors. Only now did Soren realize how ingenious Wilf’s idea was. They could bring the vortex cannon into position much more quickly and easily by remaining static.

  The comms came to life, the other Soren's voice echoing across the bridge, strained and desperate. “Soren, wait. We can still negotiate!”

  Wilf leaned forward, his fingers twitching in excitement. "Keira, fire."

  Keira didn't hesitate. Her hand stabbed down on the control, and the vortex cannon roared to life. The swirling lance of destruction erupted from the Wraith's bow, spearing across the void with unerring precision.

  It struck the Basilisk dead center, the enemy ship's shields flaring brilliantly for a heartbeat before collapsing under the titanic force. The beam tore into the hull, ripping through decks and bulkheads like they were made of paper.

  Secondary explosions rippled through the dying ship as critical systems failed and munitions stores detonated. The Basilisk listed drunkenly, gouts of flame and atmosphere spilling from the gaping wounds in its flank.

  And then, with a final, silent flash, the reactors went critical. The Basilisk vanished in a blinding blast of light and fury, a miniature sun blooming against the stars. When the glare faded, only a slowly expanding cloud of debris remained in a shimmer of dust and shattered dreams.

  The bridge erupted into cheers, their faces alight with relief and triumph. Wilf slumped back in the command chair, his entire body shaking with spent adrenaline.

  Soren moved to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Well done, Wilf," he said softly. "Well done."

  Wilf looked up at him, his fingers still in surprise, his face expressing shock and awe. "I can't believe that worked."

  Soren chuckled, a rueful sound. "Neither can I, honestly. But I'm glad it did."

  Jack approached, his weathered face split by a broad grin. "That was some damn fine captaining, Wilf. Unorthodox, unexpected. You've got a real knack for this."

  Wilf ducked his head, embarrassed but pleased by the praise. "Thanks, Admiral. But it was the Captain's idea. I just followed his lead."

  Soren shook his head. "No, Wilf. This victory is yours. You made the call, you took the risk. And it paid off." He turned to the rest of the crew, raising his voice. "Excellent work, all of you. But we're not done yet. We need to get down there, find out what's happening. Alex might still need our help."

  Jack nodded, his expression hardening with resolve. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go get your boy."

  Soren turned back to Wilf, a question in his eyes. Wilf understood instantly, rising from the command chair.

  "You have the conn, Captain," he said.

  Soren settled back into the seat, his grip tightening on the armrests. "Sang, take us down. Keira, keep weapons hot and shields up. We don't know exactly what we're flying into."

  The bridge crew rushed to comply, the Wraith surging forward, angling towards the embattled planet below. Soren stared at the viewscreen, his jaw clenched, determination burning in his eyes.

  Hold on, Alex, he thought. I'm coming. We're almost there.

  He just hoped they wouldn't get there too late.

  CHAPTER 44

  “Sarah, you know what to do.” Alex didn’t take his eyes off the man standing before him in Fort Brix’s Combat Information Center. “Go!” he told her, the unwavering muzzle of his gun leveled squarely at the enemy commander's chest.

  She didn’t hesitate, turning and rushing from the CIC, a lone figure carrying the weight of their last desperate hope.

  The missile she had stolen, the one she was risking everything to retrieve, could be the deciding factor in this fight. But even as he clung to that sliver of possibility, their situation's cold, hard reality pressed down on him like a physical weight. They were outnumbered already. There was only one missile and two dropships. How could they win a fight against those odds?

  "Why?" he demanded, his eyes hard, his voice a low growl. "Why execute captured Marines? What possible purpose could that serve?"

  The commander sniggered, a strange, almost detached look in his eyes. "Purpose?" he repeated as if the word held no meaning. "There is no purpose, Strickland. None of this matters. Your men, my men, this planet...in the grand scheme of things, it's all just dust in the wind."

  Alex stared at him, a chill running down his spine at the utter lack of emotion in the man's voice. It was as if he had become disconnected from reality, lost in some dark abyss of despair.

  "You're not making any sense," Alex said, shaking his head. "This matters. Every life matters. And what you did to those Marines, to my comrades...that's unforgivable."

  The commander laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Forgiveness? That's a luxury for the living, Strickland. And I don't expect to be among them for much longer. My only consolation is that you won’t be, either.”

  Before Alex could respond, his comms crackled to life, Malik's voice filling his helmet with urgent desperation. "Gunny! We're pinned down at the armory! Diego's hit, he's...he's not moving! We need backup, now!"

  A heartbeat later, Jackson and Zoe chimed in, their voices overlapping in a panicked cacophony. "We're taking heavy fire! They're all around us! Gunny, where are you?"

  Alex's blood ran cold, his fist clenching at his side. His team was dying while he stood here trying to make sense of the ramblings of a madman.

  The commander watched him, a knowing smirk twisting his lips. "You should worry more about yourself and your squad, Strickland. Seems like they're in a bit of trouble."

  Alex met his gaze, a cold, deadly calm settling over him. "Thank you for the advice," he said softly. Then, in a blur of motion, he raised his rifle and opened fire, a sustained burst that stitched a line of destruction across the command center.

  Consoles exploded in showers of sparks and shattered plastic, and operators jerked and fell. And at the center of it all, the commander danced a macabre jig as the rounds tore into him, his smirk never wavering even as the life faded from his eyes.

  Alex lowered his smoking weapon, surveying the carnage with a cold, detached gaze. A part of him recoiled at what he had just done, at the sheer, brutal efficiency of the slaughter. This wasn't him. This wasn't what his father would have done.

  But he wasn't his father. And right now, his squad needed him.

  He spun on his heel and raced from the command center, bursting out into the chaos of the battleground that had once been Fort Brix. All around him, the night was alive with the flash of weapons fire, the roar of explosions, and the screams of the dying.

  He had barely taken three steps when a unit of armored enemy soldiers emerged from the smoke, their weapons already trained on him. They opened fire, a storm of rounds that would have reduced an unarmored man to bloody flesh and rags in an instant.

  But Alex was far from unarmored. He was as angry and focused as he had ever been.

  He moved like a whirlwind, his powered armor's enhanced reflexes and strength making him a blur of motion. He dodged and wove, rounds sparking off his armor as he closed the distance, his rifle spitting retribution with every step.

  Alex was among them before they could fire more than a few shots at him, a vengeful ghost in their midst. He lashed out with armored fists and precision shots, the enemy’s elementary armor unable to stand up against his power. He was always one step ahead of them, always moving to deal out broken bones and ending lives with each brutal impact of his armored fist.

  In seconds, it was over. The last soldier fell, his helmet caved in by a crushing blow, and Alex stood alone amidst the carnage, his chest heaving, his armor splattered with blood.

  A flicker of motion caught his eye, and he looked up, his heart leaping into his throat at the nearness of the dropships descending through the smoke-filled sky. They were close, too close, ready to release their human cargo at any moment.

  He raised his rifle, knowing it was futile, that he couldn't possibly stop them all, even if he had more of Jackson’s grenades, which he didn’t. But he was all that stood between these invaders and total defeat. He had to do something.

  And then, a miracle.

  Streaks of light broke through the haze above, a barrage of missiles arcing downward from orbit, targeting one of the incoming Armadillos. The missiles struck the lead ship in the rear, the first few encountering only shields, the last punching into the hull. The craft vanished in a blossom of flame, the shockwave stretching down to rattle the ground and buffet Alex.

  He breathed a sigh of relief at the dropship’s destruction, although he remained confused. Sarah obviously didn’t fire those missiles. Who did?

  As he scanned the sky, searching for the source of the missiles, he saw no sign of another starship like the Komodo. Had they both used their jump drives and moved to another location?

  No time to worry about that now. His squad needed him.

  He turned, orienting himself, and raced towards the last known position of Jackson and Zoe. He found them pinned down behind the indoor range amidst a hail of enemy fire.

  Alex didn't hesitate. He vaulted the building to the roof, his jump jets flaring. Landing there, he charged across and leaped high into the air, sighting the enemy units below. His rifle roared in short, controlled bursts, dropping the enemy one after another. Jackson and Zoe surged out from cover to join him, their weapons adding to the storm of fire, half of the enemy bleeding out on the synthcrete by the time Alex landed among them.

  Together, the three Scorpions pushed back the remaining enemy Marines, their resistance crumbling in the face of the Scorpions' fury and relentless desire to reach Malik and Diego. But even as they fought, even as they clawed their way toward their position, Alex felt a growing sense of dread, a sickening certainty that they were already too late.

  And then Malik's voice, raw with grief and rage, confirmed his worst fears. “Diego's…he’s...he's gone, Gunny. I couldn't...I couldn't save him."

  Pain and guilt stabbed through Alex like a knife. Diego, the newest Scorpion, the one who had never asked for any of this. Dead, because he had brought him into this fight.

  Damn it. Pain lanced through Alex, but he shook it off, forcing himself to compartmentalize, to keep his mind on the task at hand. There would be time later to mourn, to wallow in self-recrimination. He couldn’t bring Diego back, but he was determined to finish this fight and to keep the rest of his team alive.

  He led Jackson and Zoe in a bounding advance, covering each other as they closed on Malik's position. They found him sitting on the ground, arms wrapped around Diego’s chest, holding his still form between his spread legs. Diego’s armor was pitted and scarred from the ferocious firefight, his helmet visor shattered and what remained of his face covered in blood.

  Malik looked up, his eyes raw with pain behind his own visor. "We have to make them pay, Gunny. For Diego, for all of them."

  Alex nodded, a silent promise. Then, as an enraged scream split the air, he turned just in time to see Sarah's second missile streak up from the jungle, slamming into the remaining dropship. It lurched drunkenly, belching flame and smoke, but it didn't go down. Not immediately.

  As Alex watched in horror as the craft's deployment bay yawned open, disgorging a stream of power-armored figures. They fell towards the ground like vengeful angels, their jetpacks flaring as the dropship spun away to crash somewhere in the jungle.

  “Gunny, I don’t know about you,” Jackson said. “But I’m not feeling too positive about winning this.”

  “Then we take as many with us as we can,” Alex replied. “Let’s go, Scorpions.”

  The dropship troops landed inside the base, their fresh numbers and firepower more than enough to tip the balance back in the enemy's favor. Alex and his Scorpions clawed back like demons, but they were being steadily pushed back, their armor chipped, pitted, and scuffed, their bodies nearing exhaustion as they fought for their lives.

  One enemy Marine in particular stood out, his posture more confident, his movements fluid and precise. He joined the assault without a rifle, relying instead on his physical prowess in a display Alex could hardly believe. Even as their rounds dug into his Kikko armor, chewing away at the inferior composite, he closed the gap on the Scorpions without succumbing.

  He engaged Jackson first, a whirlwind of strikes that left the Scorpion off-balance and clearly outmatched. A brutal blow sent him staggering, his rifle falling from his hand. A follow-up strike crumpled his damaged chest plate and sent him sprawling, limp and motionless on the synthcrete.

  Alex surged forward, eager to engage the most adept fighter he’d ever seen. But before he could reach him, Sarah dropped from above, placing herself between them like an avenging angel.

  As Sarah engaged the enemy Marine, he changed course, racing to Jackson’s side, dropping to his knees beside his fallen comrade, frantically checking for signs of life. There. A weak pulse in his neck. He stood, watching Sarah fight with the fury of a lioness, but he knew she didn’t stand a chance.

  Not against this opponent.

  He moved with a speed and skill that defied belief, slipping every blow, countering every strike with brutal efficiency until a crushing strike sent her slamming to the ground. Alex stared in horror as her helmet cracked open when she hit the ground, blood quickly pooling beneath her head.Grief and rage warred in his heart for dominance as the enemy Marine turned his way.

  It was only then that Alex realized the enemy fire had stopped. An eerie silence had fallen over the battlefield.

  The enemy Marine stepped forward, his every movement radiating arrogance and menace. “Hello, Alex.”

  Alex rose slowly to his feet, blood pounding in his ears, his vision narrowed to a tunnel of pure white-hot fury. “You’re good; I’ll give you that," he snarled, "but not good enough. I’m gonna take you down, asshole.”

  The figure laughed, a cold, cruel sound. Then, slowly, almost lazily, he reached up and disengaged his helmet. It hissed open, revealing a face that sent a jolt of pure shock through Alex's very core.

  He was staring at himself. Not a resemblance, not a trick of light, but an exact mirror image. How was that even possible?

  The other Alex smiled, a shark's grin that held no warmth, no humanity. "Let's dance.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Alex stared at his doppelgänger, his mind reeling with disbelief. It was like looking into a twisted funhouse mirror, his own face grinning back at him with cold, cruel malice. But there was no time to process the impossibility of it all, no time to wonder how or why this was happening.

  Because the other Alex was already moving, closing the distance between them with predatory grace, his power armor whirring and humming with each fluid step, his faceplate sliding closed as he approached.

  Alex reacted on instinct, years of training taking over. He brought his rifle up, finger tightening on the trigger, but his double was faster. A blurred movement, a metallic clang, and the weapon spun from Alex's grip, skittering across the blood-slick synthcrete.

  “You’re not playing fair,” the other Alex said.

  “Screw fair,” Alex snarled back. And then they were on each other, a whirlwind of armored fists and explosive fury.

  They clashed like titans, their suits lending strength and speed far beyond human norms. Blow after blow rained down, each impact sending shockwaves through their armor, cracking and denting the advanced composites.

  Alex ducked a haymaker that would have taken his head off. He retaliated with a punishing body blow, his fist slamming into his doppelgänger's midsection with enough force to crack ribs.

  But the other Alex seemed to shrug it off, a mocking laugh escaping his lips as he pressed his attack. A lightning-fast jab snapped Alex's head back, followed by a crushing uppercut that sent him staggering.

  He tasted blood and felt it trickling down his chin from a split lip. But he wouldn't back down, wouldn't give an inch. His squad was depending on him.

  He launched himself back into the fray with a roar of defiance, jets flaring from his back as he staggered his opponent with a flying tackle. The two of them crashed in a tangle of limbs and armor.

  They grappled and strained against each other, servos whining with effort as each sought to gain the upper hand. Alex managed to pin his double for a moment, raining down a series of punishing blows to his helmeted face.

  His doppelgänger bucked and twisted beneath him with inhuman strength, throwing him off and reversing their positions. Armored hands closed around Alex's throat, squeezing with crushing force, the advanced pneumatics of the suit turning the other Alex's grip into an inescapable vise.

  Black spots swamped Alex's vision, his lungs burning, his pulse pounding in his ears. He scrabbled at the implacable grip, his enhanced strength useless against this relentless assault.

  Just as consciousness began to fade, just as he felt himself slipping toward the dark abyss, the sky above lit up with a brilliant flash. Both Alexes snapped their gazes upward, momentarily distracted from their life-and-death struggle.

  High above Jungle's surface, an impossibly bright star had bloomed, a second sun that cast stark shadows across the battlefield. It expanded rapidly, a blossom of fire and destruction that could only mean one thing.

  A starship had just been destroyed in orbit.

  The shock of it broke the other Alex's grip, his hands slackening for just a fraction of a second. But it was all the opening the real Alex needed.

  Sucking in a desperate breath, he bucked and twisted, dislodging his doppelgänger and rolling to his feet in a single fluid motion. They stood facing each other, chests heaving, armor battered and sparking.