The explosive conflagration engulfed the street, the habitat, all the Drasin soldier drones, and two buildings. Eric flinched but didn’t turn away as the buildings shifted, their supports blown out by the blast, and then slowly began to topple into the street. They slammed into what was left of the Odyssey command module, a cloud of dust and debris sweeping out and rolling into the park. Eric finally turned away as everything was obscured. He had too many other things to do.

“Come on,” he said to Lyssa, walking back across the rooftop.

“Where are we going?”

“To get some gear for you and whoever else we can recruit.”

“I thought you just blew the gear to hell?” she demanded, chasing after him.

“No, that was the command habitat,” he said as he walked. “There was only a small security office there, nothing major.”

“Then where is the rest?”

He looked down at the park and then well out past it to the city beyond. “Out there. Past the Drasin.”

“Oh, just fucking perfect,” she muttered disgustedly. “Can it get any worse?”

“Tell me, Lieutenant,” Eric asked mildly, “do you swim?”

She just groaned.

Eric smiled in his armor, though the situation didn’t hold much real humor. He knew that it wasn’t going to be remotely as easy as he’d just implied, which wasn’t very. No, they had to cross the park first, and he didn’t dare use the chute to fly over it. They’d be very slow-moving skeet for enemy fire if they tried that.

They had to cross the park on foot, and from the looks of it the action had drawn the attention of every single one of the alien bastards. Worse, they were all converging on where the Odyssey module had rested.

Bastards must really want a piece of her, Eric thought grimly. Well, too late, you pricks.

He’d burn every last piece of his ship to cinders before he let her be eaten and turned into more of the enemy.

UNDER 1600 PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE, WASHINGTON, D.C.

“SIR, YOU NEED to check this.”

General Caern scowled, an expression that was becoming increasingly familiar on his visage, but headed over to the call without comment.

“What is it, Sergeant?”

“Report out of NYC, sir. We have an asset on the ground calling in Stryker teams, putting paint on target for them.”

“I thought the Guard was having trouble getting to the hot zone?”

“They are, sir. Look at the call sign attached to the orders.”

Caern looked closer, his eyes widening in surprising. “Is that confirmed?”

“Voice print and bio-implant countersigned, sir.”

“Well damn, that son of a bitch is like a cockroach.” Caern chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, give him whatever he needs, son. Weston knows more about these bastards than any man on the planet and maybe off it.”