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seasoned marine emerged from his own shelter with his carbine held in one hand. The marines didn’t hesitate upon spotting him, and as quickly as they had dispersed, they were back into action. Teresa walked back to the recessed command bunker and went inside. As always, the two marines at the entrance ignored her.
    About time, somebody remembered to stop saluting!
    Once inside, she headed to the tactical unit and looked at the mapping information. The two captains were still busily running operations, and four more junior officers assisted with the air support and logistics. It was a small number of personnel for such an important role. Off to their right was a large control unit that extended up into a massive antenna. Every single order that was issued was dispersed via the digital communications network, as well as being repeated directly to Admiral Lewis and General Rivers.
    We’ve got a lot of eggs down here in this basket.
    It was only partially true, of course. In reality, combat command could be transferred to any part of the network. It was the beauty of the system, in that redundancy was built in from the ground up. An atomic weapon could wipe out Colonel Morato and her entire staff, and in less than a minute ANS Ticonderoga could take over the same role.
    “Finally, we’re making progress.”
    A tracked vehicle trundled past her, pulling a large wheeled trailer full of dirt and debris. The marines and engineers had dug three or more meters down in places, creating a separate world that was hidden from direct line of sight. Many sections were completely covered while others dug down to join the myriad of underground tunnels, road and rail systems. The one saving grace for Helios Prime was that during their long war with the machines, they had been forced to dig down. Over months and years, the vast cities littering the surface began building both above and below the surface. There were now entire parts of Helios Prime known derisively as iceberg cities; unusual urban zones where more existed below the surface than above it. The ground began to shake, and Teresa lifted her armored arm to cover her face.
    “It’s Captain Devon, Sir. He’s taking the next patrol out.”
    Teresa looked to her left and watched six Bulldogs move out. The first and last were the mobile gun variants, whereas the other four were standard troop carriers. She made a silent prayer for them, knowing full well that ambushes and improvised roadside bombs were more likely to maim or kill them than an actual standup fight. The young Lieutenant approached while checking both left and right as he closed the distance. He stopped, saluted, and then handed her a secpad. It was all very old fashioned; the man could just have easily sent it directly to his helmet. Instead, this man reverted to a system that was millennia old.
    “Colonel, here are the latest arrival reports.”
    She looked up and down at the man. Teresa had no idea of his name, but he was definitely one of the few that had survived the original orbital bombardment. She moved her eyes a little to the right where the visor on her helmet began to put up information on the man. Even though the unit details said he was from logistics, she could also see that his armor bore the marks of months of combat. The reports often told just part of the story, and right now she was intrigued by the two long scars on his chest that looked suspiciously like the weapons swung about by Decurion war machines. Colonel Morato looked down and then spotted a familiar face from the corner of her eye.
    “Captain Tycho, about time you got back. I assume your mission was successful?”
    The Captain approached, along with a pair of protective guards. He stopped and saluted with much gusto. The man moved with an awkward gait that betrayed the horrendous injuries he’d sustained years earlier. It didn’t stop him continuing his duties, however.
    “Yes, Sir, we’ve done it. The last assault by the Vanguards