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WE MARCHED ON CRESCENT City the following morning. I had received reports that the fleet was beginning to eat away the Phelb battlegroup, and the ships in orbit had been recalled assisting the fleet.
As I walked through the archway on the highway marking the edge of the city, I ordered a halt for the entire column of soldiers. Over the last three days of fighting, we had taken twenty-three hundred casualties, and inflicted ninety-eight percent casualties on the enemy. Our scouting party estimated under a hundred Phelbs, Marauder or otherwise left in the city.
They met us on the edge of the city, under the archway, weapons stacked in piles and with arms raised. I marched up to the man I presumed to be their leader. “Who are you?” I demanded.
“My name is Commander Jennisk.” He replied, his voice cultured and fine. “This is Lieutenant...”
“I don’t care about him.” I replied. “You’re in command here?” I demanded.
“Yes. Who are you, infidel?” He sneered at me, and maybe it was just because I’d been having a rough day, but my patience suddenly expired, and I dropped my fist across the bridge of his nose and watched as he crumpled at my feet.
“Colonel Destota Valentine, 160th Special Forces of Vandor.” I replied. “You’re on my fucking planet.” I turned to Ivata. “Round this scum up and put them in the nearest secure facility you can muster.” I pointed at Commander Jennisk. “And bring this piece of shit to my office.” I strode off towards our headquarters building while the rest of my soldiers marched up the highway and into the city to retake possession of our home town.
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