The hover car screamed through Varnathi streets, inertial dampeners keeping Zoe pressed comfortably into her seat despite speeds that would have liquefied an unprotected body. She watched the city blur past through reinforced viewports.

The architecture was striking. All angles and clean lines, white-washed surfaces that caught the toxic sky's strange light and turned it into something almost beautiful. Modern, organized, screaming efficiency and order. Buildings rose in geometric precision, their surfaces unmarred except where bombardment had scarred them.

This is their world. Their colony. And it's almost empty.

"General population is in shelters," her attaché said from the driver's seat. The Varnathi had introduced herself as Tir'Shan, and everything about her screamed ace pilot. Flight suit, casual confidence, and eyes that tracked every movement. "Deep underground. Reinforced. They'll survive even if we lose the surface."

When, not if. Zoe thought grimly.

"Squadron 5-Delta operates from the Civil Airfield," Tir'Shan continued. "Repurposed for military operations when the Vexillari established their beachhead. Twelve fighters. All female pilots."

Zoe felt something settle in her chest. Female pilots. Female commanders. In Varnathi military structure, that meant leadership.

Finally. A culture that gets it.

The hover car banked hard, descending toward a military installation that sprawled across what had clearly been a civilian airfield. Hangars built for cargo shuttles now housing fighters. Landing pads designed for commercial traffic now served as launch rails.

"Your squadron is waiting," Tir'Shan said.

They touched down near a cluster of fighters arranged on launch rails. Zoe climbed out, her boots hitting tarmac that still showed painted lines for civilian traffic patterns.

And there, on the nearest launch rail, was her fighter.

The Stalker Mk-I sat waiting a predator coiled on the launch rail. Single-pilot stealth superiority fighter with a compact twin-boom delta frame. The central bubble cockpit offered full spherical visibility. Two vectoring afterburn engines with folded heat shutters. Low-profile with subtle panel seams. Retractable missile bays under the fuselage.

Oh fuck yes.

"Propulsion-less drives," Tir'Shan said, following Zoe's gaze. "Inertia manipulation rather than thrust. Allows for atmospheric speeds that would tear apart conventional craft. Cruising speed is Mach 6. Combat maneuvering reduces that significantly, but you'll still outfly anything the Vexillari can field."

Mach 6. In atmosphere. With inertia shielding.

Zoe felt a grin spreading across her face.

"Squadron 5-Delta, Commander," Tir'Shan said, gesturing toward a group of pilots standing near the fighters.

Eleven Varnathi females turned to look at her. Most wore expressions of curiosity and professional assessment. They were sizing her up and evaluating with interest.

"Commander of Squadron 5-Delta, Third Army," Tir'Shan announced. "She'll be leading the air superiority operations over the fortress assault."

One of the pilots stepped forward, her fur a deep auburn. "You've flown superiority craft before, Commander?"

"Scout ships. Navigation. Atmospheric insertion." Zoe kept her voice confident. "I can fly anything with engines. Or apparently, anything without them."

A few pilots grinned at that. The brown one nodded. "Good. We need confidence up there. I'm Shel'Kara, your second."

I could get used to this. Competence.

"Mission brief," Shel'Kara said, pulling up tactical displays. "We protect the dropships during their approach. The Vexillari have orbital fighters staging from their carrier groups. They'll dive through the atmosphere to intercept our assault force. We maintain air superiority over the fortress perimeter and keep their fighters from reaching the dropships."

Zoe studied the tactical overlay. Approach vectors for the dropships climbing from the staging ground. Expected Vexillari fighter intercept trajectories diving from orbit. Defensive patterns to maximize coverage while maintaining fuel efficiency.

Emily's going to be in one of those dropships. Danny and Joey on the ground. If Vexillari flyers break through...

"Understood," Zoe said. "What's our fighter complement?"

"Plasma cannons, forward-mounted. Missile racks with mixed loadout: anti-fighter and anti-ground ordnance. Electronic warfare suite." Shel'Kara gestured toward the supply depot. "Flight equipment first. Then modifications."

The supply depot was smaller than the ground force armories, but no less organized. Racks of equipment lined the walls, everything specifically designed for fighter pilots.

Tir'Shan pulled a flight suit from its rack. Sleek, form-fitting, integrated with neural interface ports and pressure regulation systems. The Stalker Mk-I standard issue. She held it out to Zoe.

"Your flight suit, Commander. Neural combat helmet is there." She pointed to a helmet with a full-face visor and exposed interface connectors.

Zoe looked down at her Centauri Phantom Scout Suit. Light armor that had kept her alive through Midnight Veil and New Dawn. It was comfortable and familiar; it was hers.

But it's not designed for this.

The flight suit was purpose-built for high-G maneuvers and neural interface integration. Her scout armor was designed for ground operations, for sneaking through hostile territory and evading detection. Different tools for different jobs.

And if I eject at Mach 6, my scout suit won't save me.

She started stripping her armor, piece by piece. Chest plate. Arm guards. Leg sections. Each piece came away and revealed her undergarments beneath.

The flight suit slid on easily, automatically adjusting to her proportions. It was lighter than her armor, more flexible, with pressure points that would support her body during extreme acceleration. Neural interface ports lined the spine and base of the skull, ready to connect with the fighter's systems.

Zoe sealed it, feeling the suit activate. Environmental controls engaged. Pressure regulation systems came online. The HUD in her peripheral vision showed diagnostics.

Okay. This is mine now.

She grabbed the neural combat helmet, examining the interface connectors. More advanced than anything in her scout suit. This was a direct link to the fighter's systems.

Tir'Shan moved through the options efficiently. "[Reactive Gel Layer] for impact protection. [Auto-Seal Patcher] in case your suit breaches. [Combat Stim Injector] for maintaining focus during high-G maneuvers. [Thermal-Regulation System] because cockpit cooling can fail."

Zoe grabbed each one, attaching them to the flight suit's hardpoints. The modifications integrated seamlessly, expanding her survival capabilities beyond what her scout armor could provide.

"Walk-through," Tir'Shan said, leading her toward the Stalker. "Twenty minutes to learn the systems."

The fighter was even more impressive up close. Every surface optimized for aerodynamics and stealth. The cockpit canopy sat open, revealing a pilot's seat surrounded by controls that looked both alien and somehow intuitive.

"Neural interface," Tir'Shan said, pointing to the helmet mounted inside. "Standard integration. Your navigation and pilot skills will translate directly."

Neural interface. Like the armor. Like everything else.

Zoe climbed the access ladder without hesitation. This was what she did. This was what she was good at. Piloting. Navigation. Speed and precision in three dimensions.

She settled into the pilot seat, and the cockpit molded around her automatically. Displays flickered to life, showing diagnostic data and tactical overlays.

The neural interface helmet was waiting. Zoe pulled it on.

The connection was immediate and clear. The fighter's systems opened to her like a book she'd already read. Propulsion-less drives operating on principles that would take human engineers decades to figure out. Inertia shielding that let the craft pull maneuvers no conventional fighter could survive. Weapons systems integrated with targeting protocols that fed directly into her visual cortex.

This. This I can do.

"Status check, Commander," Tir'Shan's voice came through her comm.

"Perfect," Zoe said, running her hands over the controls. "This thing is beautiful."

"Good. Your squadron is boarding now. Launch in ten minutes."

Through the canopy, Zoe could see the other pilots climbing into their fighters. Eleven females taking their positions, each one a professional preparing for combat.

"T-minus thirty minutes to assault commencement," a voice announced across the command channel.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Ground forces were moving. Artillery preparing. Dropships staging for launch. The entire Third Army was mobilizing, and Zoe's squadron was going to own the sky above them.

Her comm crackled with the team channel. Luca's voice was tight and strained. "Everyone... be smart out there."

"Try not to crash, Em," Ryan added.

"Try not to blow yourself up, Ryan," Emily shot back.

"Squadron 5-Delta is wheels up in five," Zoe said, her voice steady and confident. "See you in the sky, Em."

"See you up there."

The channel went quiet. But knowing her team was out there, all heading toward the same objective, made this feel real. They were scattered across the battlefield, but they were still together.

Time to show them what I can do.

"Squadron 5-Delta, this is Command," a voice announced. "You are cleared for pre-flight sequence. Launch on my mark."

Zoe's navigation and pilot skills translated perfectly to the flight control systems. Pre-flight checks. System diagnostics. Weapon status. Everything reported green.

"Canopy closing," she said.

The bubble canopy descended with a hiss, sealing her inside the cockpit. Environmental systems activated.

"Squadron 5-Delta," Zoe said, her voice carrying across the command channel. "Sound off."

Eleven voices responded in sequence, each pilot confirming readiness.

"All craft report ready," Tir'Shan confirmed from her position as second. "Awaiting launch clearance."

"T-minus ten minutes to assault commencement."

The launch rails hummed with power. Zoe could feel the magnetic accelerators charging beneath her fighter.

Above them, the space battle raged. Flashes of light as starships exchanged fire. The Varnathi fleet buying time for the ground assault.

"All assault elements, this is Third Army Command," the voice announced. "Ground forces are advancing. Air support, begin your approach. You are cleared for combat operations."

Zoe's heart rate increased, but her hands stayed steady on the controls. This was it. Just her, eleven professional pilots, and the sky above a battlefield.

Time to own it.

"Squadron 5-Delta," she said, feeling the launch rail activate. "Stay tight. Protect the dropships. Clear those skies."

"Squadron 5-Delta, you are cleared for launch."

The magnetic accelerators engaged.

G-forces slammed Zoe back into her seat as the fighter rocketed forward, zero to combat speed in under three seconds. The inertia shielding compensated, keeping the acceleration from crushing her, but she still felt the power of it.

Then the fighter was airborne, climbing hard toward the toxic sky.

Through her canopy, she could see the fortress. See the dropships beginning their approach, and she could see the ground forces advancing in a relentless wave.

And above it all, see the Vexillari fighters diving toward the assault force.

"Squadron 5-Delta, engage at will," Zoe said, her voice calm and focused. "Those dropships get through. No exceptions. Tir'Shan, you're on my wing. Don't let me do anything stupid."

Plasma cannons charged. Missiles locked. Electronic warfare systems activated.

Squadron 5-Delta dove into the battle.

And Zoe had never felt more alive.

Ryan stood in the middle of controlled chaos, and he'd never been happier.

The sapper staging area was an armory on steroids. Shaped charges arranged by yield and penetration depth. Plasma cutters with different blade configurations. Breaching rams that could punch through reinforced walls. EMP grenades. Thermite charges. Nanite foam dispensers for armor repair reinforcement.

Everything an engineer could ever want for the specific purpose of blowing shit up.

"You look like you're in love, Commander," his attaché said, stepping up beside him.

The Varnathi had introduced himself as Dren'Koss, and Ryan liked him immediately. Demolitions expert, missing two fingers on his left hand, whiskers twitching with barely contained enthusiasm.

"This is beautiful," Ryan said, running his hand over a rack of shaped charges. "These are beautiful."

Dren'Koss laughed, his whiskers bristling. "You can't carry all that, Commander."

Ryan turned, already loading equipment onto a cart. "Watch me."

He moved through the armory with purpose, his engineering mind cataloging everything. Precision charges for targeting weak points in fortifications. Heavy breaching explosives for secondary walls. Plasma cutters for cutting through locked doors. EMP grenades for disabling shield generators.

"Armor modifications," Dren'Koss said, gesturing toward another section. "Standard sapper loadout."

He pulled what looked like a heavy harness from the rack. "Breacher Rig Mark Eight. Attaches over your armor."

Ryan examined it. Charge harness with quick-release pouches for shaped explosives. Portable exo-lift integrated into the back for hauling heavy equipment. Tool spine mount for plasma cutters and breaching rams. Heat shielding layered across the chest and arms for working with active charges under fire.

"This goes over my armor?" Ryan asked.

"Designed for it," Dren'Koss confirmed, his whiskers twitching. "Your base armor provides protection. The rig provides functionality. Plus, overshield generator here." He tapped a module on the harness. "Extra protection when you're placing charges in the open."

Ryan grinned. "I love it."

The rig attached to his armor's hardpoints with satisfying clicks, distributing weight across his frame. The exo-lift engaged, and suddenly the heavy equipment on the cart felt manageable. The charge harness positioned explosives within easy reach. Tool mounts held everything he'd need.

"One more," Dren'Koss said, holding up a HUD module. "[Structural Analysis HUD]. Real-time assessment of building integrity and weak points. Critical for identifying where to place charges for maximum effect."

He attached it to Ryan's helmet visor interface. The HUD flickered, then stabilized, overlaying structural data onto Ryan's vision. When he looked at the fortress in the distance, weak points highlighted automatically. Load-bearing sections. Shield generator connections. Optimal breach locations.

Oh, this is beautiful.

His comm crackled. Command channel updates. Fleet status reports. The assault countdown ticking down.

"T-minus forty-five minutes to assault commencement."

Forty-five minutes. Less than an hour and we're charging a fortress.

"Your platoon is waiting, Commander," Dren'Koss said. "Time to meet your sappers."

Ryan followed him out of the armory, his armor now heavy with equipment. Shaped charges on his belt. Plasma cutter on his back. Breaching ram mag-locked to his thigh.

Perfect.

Sapper Platoon 23-Theta was assembled in the staging area, thirty Varnathi engineers checking their own equipment. They looked up as Ryan approached, their whiskers twitching with nervous energy, their expressions ranging from curious to professional assessment.

"Sapper Platoon 23-Theta," Dren'Koss announced. "Your commander."

Ryan studied them, noting the details. Combat-worn armor. Well-maintained equipment. Scars that spoke of previous assaults. These weren't fresh troops. These were veterans who'd done this before.

And survived.

"Sappers," Ryan said, his voice carrying across the staging area. "I'm your commander for this operation. I'm an engineer. I understand structures. I understand explosives. And I understand that our job is to blow a hole in that fortress big enough for Heavy Assault to pour through."

He paused, meeting their eyes. "We're going in first. Before Heavy Assault. Before the main force. We clear the mines, disable the traps, and breach the outer walls. Which means we're going to take the heaviest fire."

A few sappers nodded, their whiskers settling into determined stillness. They knew the job.

"But we're also the reason Heavy Assault survives," Ryan continued. "We open the door. They walk through. And everyone gets one step closer to taking that fortress."

He pulled up holographic displays, projecting the fortress schematics for the entire platoon to see. "Tactical briefing. The fortress outer wall is composite construction: three meters of reinforced material with integrated shield emitters. Our job is to disable the shield generators here, here, and here." Red markers appeared on the schematic. "Then breach the wall at these coordinates."

The shield generators were positioned at load-bearing points. Taking them out would weaken the wall's structural integrity even before the breaching charges detonated.

"Estimated defenses?" he asked.

"Heavy. Automated weapons. Defensive positions. Chemical agents." Dren'Koss zoomed in on the wall. "Expected casualties for first-wave sappers: forty to sixty percent."

The number hit Ryan like a punch to the gut.

Forty to sixty percent. Twelve to eighteen of these thirty soldiers aren't coming back.

He looked at the platoon. At the veterans with scarred armor. At Dren'Koss with his missing fingers and steady whiskers.

These people are going to die. Some of them. Maybe most of them. And I'm leading them into it.

"Questions?" Ryan asked.

No one spoke. They knew the job. Knew the risks. And they were going anyway.

"T-minus thirty minutes to assault commencement."

The command channel exploded with activity. Ground forces moving into position. Artillery beginning ranging shots. Dropships launching in waves.

Ryan's team channel crackled. Emily's voice, distant through interference. "Dropships are launching. See you on the other side, Ryan."

"Don't get shot," he replied.

Chris's voice joined in. "Mechs are moving out. Got your back if you need heavy support."

"Appreciated."

Zoe's channel activated. "Squadron's launching. We'll keep the sky clear."

The team was scattered. All of them heading toward the same fortress from different directions. Ryan felt the absence like a physical weight.

We're alone. All of us. For the first time since we started this.

"Sapper transports are here," Dren'Koss said, pointing toward three armored vehicles approaching. Ugly, functional, bristling with weapons and shield generators.

"Load up," Ryan ordered. "Weapons check, equipment check. Final diagnostics before we roll."

The platoon moved, filing toward the transports while each sapper checked their neighbor's gear, running final systems tests, preparing for combat with the precision of professionals.

Ryan climbed into the lead transport, taking his seat near the front. Dren'Koss sat beside him, his whiskers twitching as he checked his plasma rifle one more time.

The transport's engines roared to life. Ryan could see the other two transports loading up, their platoons boarding with the same efficient precision.

Through the viewport, the fortress loomed in the distance. Its shields flickered under sustained orbital bombardment. Chemical clouds rolled across the battlefield. Thousands of troops were advancing, all part of the massive Third Army assault.

And Sapper Platoon 23-Theta was going in first.

"T-minus fifteen minutes to assault commencement."

Ryan checked his shaped charges one more time. Verified the plasma cutter's charge status. Made sure the breaching ram was properly secured.

"All sapper units, this is Third Army Command," a voice announced across the tactical channel. "You are cleared to advance to assembly positions. Prepare for final approach on my mark."

The transport lurched forward, carrying them toward the edge of the battlefield. Artillery fire screamed overhead, impacting the shields in brilliant flashes of light. The ground shook with each detonation.

Ryan watched through the viewport as they approached. Saw the fortress walls looming higher. Saw the defensive positions bristling with weapons. Saw the chemical clouds that would kill anyone whose suit failed.

The transports slowed, then stopped at the tree line where they'd first emerged from the forest. The same path they'd taken to reach the staging ground, now leading them back toward the fortress.

"Disembark," Dren'Koss ordered. "Move to the forward dugouts."

The ramp dropped. Ryan stepped out into mud and chemical fog, his boots sinking into churned earth. Around him, Sapper Platoon 23-Theta filed out, moving toward hastily dug positions at the forest edge.

The dugouts were crude but functional. Reinforced trenches dug into the earth, offering minimal cover from the energy weapons that would soon be targeting them. Ryan could see dozens of other sapper platoons taking similar positions along the perimeter, all of them preparing to rush the walls on command.

He dropped into the nearest dugout, his equipment clanking against the muddy walls. Dren'Koss landed beside him, followed by the rest of the platoon. Thirty sappers pressed into cover, waiting for the signal.

Energy bolts streaked overhead, the Vexillari defenders firing blindly into the tree line. Plasma impacts vaporized mud and shattered tree trunks.

"T-minus five minutes to assault commencement."

Ryan checked his equipment one last time. Around him, Sapper Platoon 23-Theta did the same. Weapons charged. Explosives armed. Armor seals verified. Their whiskers were flat against their faces, bodies coiled for the sprint.

"Platoon," Ryan said, his voice carrying through the dugout. "We're going in first. We're going to open that wall. We're going to give Heavy Assault their breach. And we're going to make sure this fortress falls."

He paused, meeting their eyes through their visors. "Let's show them what sappers can do."

The sky above the fortress suddenly brightened. Ryan looked up, his breath catching.

Four massive energy beams lanced down from orbit, converging on the fortress shields.

The shields held for three seconds. Then they shattered.

The explosion sucked the breath from Ryan's lungs. A shockwave rolled across the battlefield, slamming into the dugouts with physical force. Sappers braced against the walls, equipment rattling, mud cascading down around them.

When the light faded, the fortress shields were gone. The walls stood exposed, vulnerable, waiting.

"All assault elements, this is Third Army Command," a voice announced across the tactical channel. "Shields are down. Commence assault. Go, go, go!"

Ryan was up and moving before the order finished, scrambling out of the dugout. His boots hit mud, and then he was running toward the fortress walls.

Energy weapons opened fire from the fortress walls. Plasma bolts streaked through the chemical fog. The ground exploded around them as defensive systems engaged.

The assault had begun.

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