Fort Howe

"This is my order to you, Laird." Augustus pointed toward the exit of the A-220 commercial street: "Move out in that direction."

"Yes, sir." Laird gave a model military salute, turned, and sprinted toward the exit.

Augustus watched as Laird passed the squads ahead. Amidst their confusion and shouts, the marine—a former murderer transformed into a resocialized soldier—stepped out of the entrance with a steady gait.

"Get ready, Rick."

"Understood, Mengsk. I'd bet my sniper badge on it; I won't miss."

Rick Kidd tightened his grip on the sniper rifle. The armor's internal computer calculated temperature, humidity, altitude, and air pressure on the eyepiece display, assisting him in calibrating for elevation and windage. In the time of a single heartbeat, Rick pulled the first stage of the trigger. At that moment, the sounds of the outside world—everything—seemed to be cut off from him.

Now, he had to watch for the momentary flash of a sniper rifle firing from the high-rise opposite, then catch that sniper and kill him before he could retreat and relocate.

As Rick focused all his energy on the crosshairs of the scope, a faint, pale gold shimmer appeared in his wide-open eyes—a detail he could not perceive, and one of the hallmarks of a psionic individual manifesting their power. Stronger human psionics could cause their eyes to surge with the color of molten gold when using their abilities.

At this moment, the rain began to fall more slowly.

In Rick's world, the flow of time had slowed, as if he were in a deceleration space overlapping with the real world.

This allowed Rick to seize the timing of the shot with greater ease; with just a slight twitch of his finger, he could blow the skull off any target. To date, unless interrupted by irresistible external factors, Rick had never missed.

In a single instant, Rick caught a fleeting glint from an electronics building across the way. In less than a breath, he locked onto the target. Before the sniper in the hooded gray robe could pull away, the butt of the rifle slammed heavily against his shoulder plate, and the flow of time returned to normal.

A sense of satisfaction and accomplishment welled up within him—a feeling he had never experienced in the eighteen years he grew up as the heir to the Bennett family. The thrill of the kill fascinated Rick, and it was gradually transforming him into a sophisticated and ruthless assassin.

Rick had accepted his new identity and was satisfied with it.

"I got him. I'll keep watching that area while you cross the plaza." Rick quickly abandoned his original position.

"Very good," Augustus replied on the other side of the comms channel.

As Rick set up his sniper rifle on another floor, he watched through his eyepiece as a unit in silver-gray Power Armor jogged across the central plaza, seeing the last of them pass through the plaza entrance and onto the more open Highway 40.

Suddenly, Rick began to wonder how Augustus had made that sniper fire so decisively. But he quickly pushed the question to the back of his mind; in Rick's heart, there was nothing Augustus could not do.

After Augustus's unit stepped onto Highway 40, they gradually converged with the 5th Battalion and other companies. On this road, the Confederacy forces encountered only minor resistance from Kel-Morian troops and a few tanks.

The Kel-Morian tanks were less like tanks and more like tracked heavy armored vehicles modified from mining tractors. These tractor-tanks were welded with Plasteel plates, and their side skirts and front track guards were covered in sharp spikes. The turret styles were eclectic, with varying calibers.

Some Kel-Morian tanks even had two main guns—one front, one rear—but the turrets were immobile.

The tractor engines were cooled by external water tanks, and as the engines roared like giants, bursts of steam rose from the tank hoods.

The combat style of these Kel-Morian tanks was also incredibly wild; the crazed tank drivers preferred to charge their vehicles directly at the Confederate marines while they still had plenty of shells left, crushing them alive.

However, a small number of tanks were not enough to break the Confederate forces, and these tanks were soon destroyed by the Confederacy's anti-tank weapons. The road to the city center was now clear, and Augustus's unit followed the other companies westward.

Meanwhile, Confederate offensive forces from different directions had already entered the city, and the fortresses and defensive positions the Kel-Morians had built around the command center, satellite communication base, and heavy factories were captured one after another.

The fleet battle in the synchronous orbit of Turaxis II was also drawing to a close. Under the strikes of nearly ten Leviathan and Behemoth-class battlecruisers from Alpha and Delta Squadron, along with a massive fleet of assault ships and frigates, the last three Kel-Morian battlecruisers warped out of synchronous orbit.

In deep space, the wreckage of warships fell into eternal silence after burning through the last traces of oxygen within them. Thousands of shattered steel fragments orbited the planet, each crushed, molten cabin and deck becoming a cold tomb burying dozens or hundreds of souls.

Due to the lack of fleet and air support, the few troops closest to the Pride of Boke were also engaged with Confederate forces. By 14:00, even the most hardline war overseers in the Kel-Morian command center believed their defeat was inevitable.

By the time Augustus's squad arrived at the city center, the few remaining Kel-Morian troops had begun to surrender to the Confederate forces under their commander's orders.

At 17:00, the last Kel-Morian unit still putting up a desperate fight was routed by the Confederate forces.

The 5th Battalion of the 4th Brigade assembled on a landing pad at the Kel-Morian command center, where Augustus and the somber-faced Raynor and others sat waiting for the transport ship.

At 19:00, a heavy APOD transport ship carried Augustus's squad across the Paddick River to return to the 5th Battalion base. As soon as they stepped off the transport, a sergeant second class from the camp called to tell Augustus that Omo's condition had remained critical after being sent to the marine hospital on the Pride of Boke.

Augustus immediately boarded a supply truck with Raynor from the 5th Battalion base to the hospital. Along the way, he was uncharacteristically exhausted and silent. The grief and pain Raynor displayed were far greater than Augustus's; he didn't even know how to bring this up to his own family or Omo's parents.

Even if Omo survived, he would likely have to rely on artificial organs and mechanical prosthetics to live a normal life in the future.

More realistically, they were only making this trip to see Omo one last time.

Originally, before entering the hospital, Augustus and Raynor had steeled themselves, determined not to let Omo be affected by their own poor moods. But when the nurse pushed the flatbed cart carrying Omo's remains past them, both men broke down and shed tears.

A week later, the ashes of Benjamin and Omo were sent back to their hometown for burial. The 5th Battalion of the 4th Brigade was transferred away from the Pride of Boke. Augustus's squad traveled with the company by train to Fort Howe, a thousand miles away, and moved into the fortress on the night of their arrival to alleviate the mounting pressure on the local garrison as they dealt with the increasingly active Kel-Morian Haigolong Legion in the vicinity.