Millius looked north and south. The other three landing craft were down too, the troops onboard repeating the same procedure. They were ready for a resistance, prepared for a fight. But there was none. There was nothing. No enemy soldiers, no hastily fortified positions. Just columns of smoke ahead, and the pungent residue of explosives in the frigid air.

“Scouting parties, forward.”

Millius was nervous. He knew many considered the Confeds weak, but he’d expected at least some kind of fight, an effort to defend their world before they tried to surrender.

What did they do? Run? Hide in the wilderness?

He pulled the collar of his coat tightly around his neck. It was damned cold.

They’ve got to know we can track any fires or heat sources. What do they think they’ll achieve making us hunt them down? Where could they even go?

He looked all around. He was edgy, worried about some kind of trap. But there was nothing. The LZ had been carefully selected. The enemy settlement was just on the far side of a large rise, blocking the use of any line of sight weapons the defenders might have. But the plumes of smoke pouring into the air left little doubt that the Confeds had destroyed their own town.

An odd thought—unwelcome, disturbing—went through his mind. Destroying one’s home, denying its use to an enemy. It seemed like an action worthy of Alliance citizens and warriors. But the Confeds were supposed to be soft. Weren’t they?

Destroying everything and pulling off into the hills…was it just unfocused fear? Or do they intend to carry on the fight from there?

He was just about to turn and organize scouting parties to send out into the hills when his eyes caught movement at the top of the rise. It was a group, moving up over the crest and toward his troopers. They appeared unarmed, disorganized. And they had their hands up in the air.

The Confederation sign of surrender…

Millius felt the tension in his body. Perhaps the Confeds were giving up after all. But he was wary of treachery. Was this a ploy, a way to trick his soldiers into letting down their guard?

“Centurion Tinnius,” he snapped into his com. “Take a party forward. Surround and secure that group of Confeds.”

“Yes, sir.” Tinnius was the commander of the first century, the troops currently on the ground.

Millius turned back, taking a few steps toward the lander and looking toward the pilot standing alongside the craft. “Optiominus, you may lift off and return to retrieve the second century.”

The spacer nodded. “Yes, sir.” He turned and climbed back inside the landing craft. A few seconds later, the hatch closed, and Millius could hear the sounds of the engines powering up for launch.