He grabbed the wireless comm, dropping it over his ear, and planted a foot on the cement barrier that was all that stood between himself and a thirty-story drop. The windows of just about every building in the city had been long since blown out.

“You’ve got Ranger Swenson. Make it good.”

“Weston,” the voice on the other side said simply. “I’m currently orbiting Dallas, a little north of your position. Your city crawls, Ranger.”

Swenson laughed. “Tell me something I don’t know, Weston.”

“The President gave an order, couple hours ago. Anything that crawls, dies.” The voice on the other side said, “Get your people out of the city, Swenson.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa . . .” Swenson leaned forward, glowering at no one. “What the hell are you saying, Weston?”

“I’m saying”—the voice paused a moment—“what I’m saying, Ranger, is that Dallas glows in the dark tonight. Whether you do or not depends on how far out of town you get.”

Swenson swore. “You can’t DO that!”

“It’s done.”

“It’s NOT done!”

Swenson was hollering into his comm, attracting the attention of everyone in the makeshift command center, and he didn’t give a damn. About fifteen Guardsmen, the remainder of an armored platoon that got torn to shreds on Young Street, started to circle around and look at each other nervously.

The remaining defenders of the city were mostly scattered, based out of whatever piece of crap building they could find that wasn’t being eaten at the time. They’d mostly been driven to being little more than an underground railroad, of which the Reunion base was the last stop.

“Listen to me, you piece of shit, if you think I’m going to sit here and let you blow my city to hell and back, you’re out of your fucking mind.”

Everyone around looked at each other, nerves now being replaced by real apprehension. They had to have misunderstood that, right?

“Bah.” Eric closed the connection while the man on the other side was dipping into his repertoire of Spanish curse words. He leaned forward, tapping the pilot on the shoulder. “Take us over that way. I need face time with that jackass.”

“Roger that, sir. Should I set down in the park?”

“Hell no,” Eric growled, “just get me over their base of operations. I’ll handle the rest.”

“You want it, Cap, you got it.”

The pilot banked the Cherokee from a standstill to sideways flight at over two hundred miles per hour in just a few seconds, slamming everyone around a bit even with the CM operating at full intensity. He twisted the craft around as they crossed over Reunion Park, bringing them into a tight orbit around the area.

“Whatever you’re going to do, now’s the time, Cap!” the pilot called back as Eric pulled himself into the EXO-13.