At the same time, the mood inside the General Graham’s island had completely flipped. The crew’s earlier confidence—victory already in hand—collapsed into the opposite extreme.
They couldn’t believe the sudden reversal. This had been a guaranteed win. How had it turned into this?
First, Deep Space Base No. 2 somehow produced a massive number of ground units, sealing off their forces that hadn’t evacuated in time and trapping them inside the base. The data suggested at least half their people didn’t make it out—and the defenders’ numbers might not be any lower.
Next, several Metal Storm Defense Towers that had supposedly gone silent started rotating again, spraying furious fire into the warships hovering above the base. Missile towers hidden along the six arms flipped in unison and began hurling Banshees from their bays…
In an instant, the Deep Space Base No. 2 that had seemed conquered looked like it had regained its teeth. Worse, the Third Fleet around the base consisted mostly of transport ships and carriers—far less firepower than the First, Second, and Fourth. They were also busy receiving evacuees. Caught completely off guard, ships ignited and exploded one after another.
The bridge crew was still reeling—
—when a far greater threat slid up from behind.
Only a minute later, someone reported that recon fighters had detected enemy warships behind the Fourth Fleet.
At first it was four or five. Then a dozen. Then dozens. The number of warships and fighters multiplied geometrically until the feeds were packed with dense red blips.
The Fourth Fleet had been running the encirclement. Its formation was a huge sphere, with ships spread widely apart. The enemy, by contrast, concentrated at a single point—like a knife tip—driving in with brutal speed. In barely ten seconds, dozens of their warships were already blown apart.
Soon the entire visible space was nothing but attack beams, swarming missiles, and fighters—explosions everywhere. The enemy’s numbers were impossible to estimate. By the time the vanguard engaged the First and Second Fleets, more warships were still pouring in behind it.
Graham noticed something else: whether it was the units that had “appeared” from Deep Space Base No. 2, or the warships attacking from the rear, the majority were Plando models.
He demanded Ogen try to seize control.
Ogen attempted it—then shook his head. No.
Now, the three fleets closest to Deep Space Base No. 2 were attacked from both sides. Adelaide, Neris, and Lahong all sent urgent requests for assistance. But the Fourth Fleet was fighting for its own life. It couldn’t spare anything.
“Where did these ships come from?!” Graham roared, furious and rattled. “Blin can’t possibly have this many forces!”
“Genesis!” someone screamed, pointing at a cross-shaped warship on the feed, unleashing a titanic laser beam. “It’s Phantom Forge! Phantom Forge isn’t dead!”
“Or they found Phantom Forge’s space base,” Ogen said, brow knotted.
…
“Yes, General,” Ogen answered.
The robots on the feed were eliminated quickly. Ogen rushed more units to the area, trying to bottle Little White in the corridor outside the transfer bay—only for Wyatt and a Firecaller to appear beside her.
Panic rippled across the island. If the general hadn’t still been sitting there, apparently “calm,” people would’ve bolted for the escape pods. But Graham looked like he was only pretending—fat beads of sweat kept seeping down his forehead.
“There are still nearly a thousand machine soldiers aboard,” Ogen said under his breath, leaning close. “And Gunnar, Gandio, and Sili are on their way. General… if you want to withdraw, I can have an assault craft ready within five minutes.”
“Withdraw?” Graham scanned the screens: swarms of enemy ships and fighters rushing in, swarms of allied ships doing the same. Around the flagship, it had become a churning grinder—small units entering the area were surviving less than ten seconds on average. But the General Graham had the strongest armor and shields; it shouldn’t take serious damage in the short term.
“When Edean was surrounded by hundreds of thousands of robots, I never thought about withdrawing,” Graham snapped, heat rising into his face. He smoothed his hair—using the motion to wipe away sweat—then settled his cap back on and shouted so the whole bridge could hear:
“By my order: human and machine alike will fight the enemy to the death. Anyone who dares flee in battle—if he survives, I’ll make sure he regrets it!”
…
***
“247… 248…”
Somewhere in a corridor only three to four hundred meters from the island, Wyatt was also locked in a brutal fight with intercepting robots. Every time it killed one, it recorded a number.
It desperately wanted to know how many enemies this ship actually held.
Wyatt had been aboard for twenty minutes, and it still hadn’t made much progress. The corridors leading to the island were long, narrow, and easy to defend. With enemies streaming in nonstop, every meter forward was a struggle.
Wyatt finally cleared one wave—rounded a bend—and immediately ran into a fresh storm of gunfire.
It ducked into a corner until the fire slackened, tossed a grenade, and charged in with blade drawn as the blast went off. A few rapid cuts later, it terminated seven more.
But as the 255th enemy dropped, two new groups arrived from both ends of the corridor and opened fire together. Wyatt took several hits. It snapped its light shield open and pushed forward through the barrage…
This group was spread too wide. It took longer to finish.
Wyatt began to worry. As soon as it cleared them, it keyed the common channel.
“Big Blue—are our people aboard?”
“No,” Big Blue replied. “This ship’s firepower is crazy, and enemy warships have closed in too. Do you feel the vibration? The fight outside is intense. Our mothership tried to approach several times and couldn’t. What about you—are you at the island yet?”
“Not yet. Too many enemies.” Wyatt’s voice tightened. “Tell Blin to watch for any craft leaving this ship.”
“That’s going to be hard,” Big Blue admitted. “We still don’t control the nearby airspace. Even the link to Blin is unstable.”
“Fine.” Wyatt forced the words out. “Then I just have to move faster.”
Little White cut in on the common channel. “Are you dealing with a ton of enemies too? I thought they were all coming for me.”
“I’m guessing you still haven’t found Cole,” Wyatt said. Even through the comms, it could hear the violent gunfire on her end.
“Obviously.” Little White sounded livid. “We haven’t even made it far. How about this—I go grab Graham. You search for Cole.”
“Why?”
“Because grabbing that bastard has a clear destination. When you find him, you can beat him up and feel better.” Her voice was tight with barely controlled rage. “But looking for Cole means opening every compartment and checking every room—and today my mood is so foul I’m seriously lacking… Watch out!”
The last two words came out as a sudden shout.
A scream followed—one of Cole’s people, by the sound of it.
…
“Hah. I’m a bastard. And what does that make you?” Sili sounded amused, then let the word fall like a blade. “Patricide.”
Little White shuddered.
“Shut up! Die!”
Her black eyes looked ready to burn. With a sharp cry, she planted one foot on the wall and launched forward, wrapped in a storm of blue blade-light, slashing straight at Sili…
…
The instant Little White cut the connection, Wyatt heard a faint click.
A hard spike of danger slammed through its systems. It dropped and rolled along the floor—
—and the next second, a barrage so dense it was nearly solid chewed through two walls, shredding the steel where Wyatt had just been standing like wet cloth. The rain of rounds chased it all the way to the corner before finally stopping.
The corridor went dead quiet. Only shell casings rolling on the floor, and heavy, giant footsteps approaching.
Wyatt leaned against the wall and tried to peek—
A grenade nearly took its head off, blasting a huge crater out of the corner.
Then a laugh echoed down the corridor—raw and abrasive, like metal grinding on metal. Wyatt had to concentrate to make out the words inside it.
“Wyatt… I’m going to tear you into pieces.”