“I hope you’re not talking about going down into that,” his second said, jerking his head in the direction of the city beyond the camp. Commander Granger, formerly an NYPD SWAT, had been drafted once New York was cleared out, along with most of his men. “Because the count estimate has gone up, I hope you know.”

“I know,” Eric nodded. “The President has some intel we didn’t, however, so here’s what’s on the line. The Detroit/Windsor area is one of the primary centers for defense manufacturing in the Confederation. All the raw materials from northern Canada come through here, and this is where they put together the bombs that our air force and navy are running low on.”

Granger fell silent, closing his eyes, but didn’t raise another objection.

“So that’s the mission. We need to secure those factories, eliminate the horde tearing the city apart, and provide protection for workers until the National Guard can move in a couple divisions. Any questions?”

“Yeah,” someone called from the crowd. “Is the President nuts? For that matter, are you? We don’t have the numbers for this, Cap, you know that.”

“You’re right,” Eric said. “Which is why the President has dealt us an ace. We’ve been assigned a Kilo Kilo bird for the mission, and have full access to her load out.”

There was a silence following that, with a good chunk of his people not recognizing the term. Those who did were shocked quiet.

“Motherfucker!”

Most of them.

“Have something to say, Ron?” Eric asked, mildly amused, since Blake wasn’t saying anything that he hadn’t thought himself.

“No, son, I think I about covered it,” Blake told him dryly.

Eric just nodded. “For those of you who don’t know, a Kilo Kilo bird is a satellite loaded with high-velocity kinetic kill missiles. We’re going to use them to clear the road before we head into the city, and it won’t be pretty.”

“What about the factories?” Granger asked.

“Kilos are reasonably precise,” Eric told him. “We won’t touch the factories.”

Granger looked around, weary, but his face echoed the determination of those around him. “Alright, Cap. You’ve led us this far, I suppose we can go a little farther. As long as you’re killing those things, I’m with you.”

“Hear, hear!”

Eric nodded to all of them. “Then get some sleep. We strike at dawn.”

Amid the cheers, Eric headed back to the supply train. He quickly found who he was looking for, a mechanic assigned to his crew several weeks earlier.

“Charlie, you best prep her,” he said, climbing up into the back of the big truck.

“You sure, Cap’n?” the grease-covered man asked, looking over. “Not much ammo left.”

“I know. If things go well tomorrow, we’ll have ammo aplenty. If they don’t . . . well”—Eric shrugged—“we won’t be needing any.”