He hoped that he wasn’t about to get them all killed, but if that was what it took to save his world and his family . . . assuming they were still alive . . . he was prepared to make just that sacrifice.

He just refused to make it in vain.

They were here to win. They had to win. They would win.

There were no other options.

“Three seconds, Colonel!”

“Drop!” Green called, sending the first of the Priminae soldiers out of the shuttle at Mach Three and fifty thousand feet.

His grin wasn’t entirely ugly as he stepped up to the door and then threw himself out. Reed also loved his work, probably a little too much.

“De oppresso liber!” he called as the wind tore him away from the shuttle and the Priminae ship vanished from sight in a blurred instant.

The six Heroics corkscrewed around the blue-white marble that was the Earth, dropping ships as fast as they could in an explosive effort to cover every possible point. It was an impossible task, of course, and one that sent almost as much fright through those on the ground as the initial invasion itself had.

The roaring fireballs that engulfed the braking carriers seemed to tear from horizon to horizon with terrifying speed, and the silver shuttlecraft that dropped from them were so alien that to many people’s eyes they just had to be more of the enemy. Surface-to-air missiles leapt out, tracking the ships from ground station, only to be swatted from the sky by the Priminae point defense systems.

The Priminae may not have been and were not currently masters of the art of war, but they learned fast and had good teachers.

“Susan!”

“On it, ma’am.” Susan Lamont cringed, eyes not coming up from her station.

Several groups had opened fire on the drop ships. Thankfully, they’d been too impatient and launched far too soon. That wouldn’t save people if someone down there was a slight bit smarter, however, so she was frantically jumping across every frequency she could.

“I say again,” she spoke as her fingers flew over the console, “do not fire on the silver ships. They are allies.”

She cycled through every language she knew, trying to head off a tragedy before it happened, but there were so many more that she despaired of what she was sure she would see in a few short minutes. Another voice, however, broke into the frequency and began repeating her message in other languages. Some she knew, many she did not.

“Mr. Palin?” Susan blinked, remembering the language specialist from the first mission of the Odyssey. She had been one of the few who rather got a kick out of the sometimes infuriating man, and the sense of relief she felt at hearing his oft-hated voice was palpable.