Meanwhile, inside the colossal "Emperor's Scepter," already far from the fortress and being towed toward the gravity well by a tugboat, no one was celebrating the victory.
After communications with the rearguard were cut off, the atmosphere grew so heavy it was almost suffocating.
The cramped command cabin was packed with people, but no one spoke. Most of the assault team sat or stood in silence, badly wounded and tending to their injuries. The air reeked of blood and sweat.
They silently watched the cyborg pilots expertly operate the colossus—but by now, the engines of the colossus and the workship were running in perfect sync, and there was no longer any need for them to keep piloting it.
The sorrowful mood lingered in the cabin until the communications channel opened and Colonel Chester Rozers appeared on screen. His expression was calm, but a trace of hoarseness crept into his voice. "All combat activity inside the fortress stopped three minutes ago... However, we haven't detected any response from the enemy fortress's main cannon. The Imperial reinforcements have stopped advancing, too. The Independence will disengage and rendezvous with the colossus shortly."
Everyone understood what he meant.
In the most extreme theoretical sense, they hadn't yet reached safety. But from a purely tactical standpoint, they could already celebrate their victory.
It was a glorious victory, but it always came with the bitter drink of sacrifice.
Babaru silently poured half a cup of terrestrial rock liquor. His voice was heavy, and his words trembled at the end. "He was a true hero. Ugh... I'm not good with words. He had plenty of flaws, but he lived with all his heart. Everyone here had a reason to choose death, but he was the one person who didn't. And yet he was the one who chose