Page 22 of Fated in A Time of War
A comms tower means signal. Signal means backup. Extraction. Maybe even vengeance.
The thought electrifies me so fast I almost laugh. My squad’s gone. Lakka’s gone. But if I can get that signal out, then maybe his death counts for something. Maybe I can call down hell on these bastards.
I look back at Alice. She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak. Just meets my eyes with that unnerving calm. Like she knew what it meant to me the second she pointed it out.
I bare my teeth. “Could be a trap.”
She tilts her head, as if to sayall of this is a trap.
She’s not wrong.
I suck in a breath, drag the rifle close, and start sketching the plan with my hands. Old signals. Military shorthand. Sweep left, disable sentry, breach hull, hit the tower.
She watches every motion, her gaze sharp. Doesn’t ask a single question. Just nods. Once.
Like we’ve done this a hundred times before. Like she’s not the enemy.
My pulse hammers. My mouth tastes like copper.
Fast. Brutal. That’s the only way this works.
I glance back through the cracked scope one last time, burning every angle, every shadow into memory. The Kru’s armor whines. Their dropship smolders. The comms tower flickers, a weak little heartbeat against the ruin.
I lower the scope, muscles coiled so tight they ache.
“They move.”
Everything goes wrong in seconds.
One heartbeat I’m tracing lines of attack, the next the world erupts in sparks and thunder. A ferrocrete wall to our left groans and crumbles—wind, rats, hell, maybe ghosts. Doesn’t matter. The Kru don’t hesitate. They open fire, rotary cannons coughing flame, rounds tearing into the rubble where we’d been crouched.
“Move!” I snarl, shoving Alice forward before my brain catches up.
Bullets scream past us, chewing up ferroglass and throwing shards into the air. I feel them nick across my scales, hot sparks of pain that vanish under the roar of adrenaline. The air turns into a storm of grit and metal.
We break cover early, sprinting out of shadows that were supposed to buy us precious seconds. Alice is fast—faster than I gave her credit for. Her boots slap against fractured stone, her breath sharp but steady. I keep my body angled between her and the gunfire, rifle tucked into my shoulder, snapping bursts at the muzzle flashes.
The Kru don’t fight like soldiers. They fight like predators. No suppression fire, no warning shots. Just kill, fast and ugly.
The comms tower looms ahead, a skeleton of scorched plating and sparking cables. Ferroglass plating around its base is already spider-webbed from the barrage. Bullets ping and whine as we slam into cover beneath it.
Alice presses flat to the ferroglass, eyes wide, chest heaving. She’s alive. For now.
“Up!” I bark, jabbing a finger toward the maintenance panel above.
She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t waste breath. She just sets her hands to the corroded rung bolted to the tower’s flank. I lace my fingers together, crouch low.
“Go!”
Her boot hits my palms. I heave upward, muscles burning as I boost her toward the panel. She scrabbles, grabs hold, hauls herself up.
Rounds slam against the ferroglass inches from my head, one shard nicking my cheek. Blood mixes with dust in my mouth, iron and ash. I lean out just enough to fire back—short, sharp bursts. Surgical. Two shots drop a Kru’s shoulder servos, forcing him behind cover. Another burst clips the rotary barrel of Bonesnapper’s cannon, sending it whining out of sync.
“Faster, damn you,” I mutter, teeth gritted.
Above me, sparks shower as Alice yanks the panel open. The acrid stench of fried circuits fills the air. She mutters under her breath—words I don’t catch, maybe prayers, maybe curses—while her fingers fly over the jury-rigged mess.
The tower flickers. Once. Twice. Then it hums to life, a faint vibration I feel through my boots.
