RONAN I answered with a single, careful nod. The meaning was clear enough. The army as a whole now knew about the lies being spread by hostile AI. Those lies were flooding social media across the continent and the rest of the world. The officer did not linger on it. “Welcome back, sergeant,” he said. “Make your way to the checkpoint. They will get you cleared and moved onto post.” Mateo Nguyen stepped forward. “I need to speak with Captain Alvarez.” The answer came immediately. “Alvarez is dead. I will pass your request along.” The pause in Nguyen’s body was brief, almost invisible. I still caught it. His shoulders locked for half a second before he cleared his throat. “Understood.” The drone lifted straight up, rotors whining, then shot down the long line of vehicles as it resumed its patrol. Boots started moving again. Gravel crunched beneath us as we walked forward. I let the others move ahead by about a hundred yards before speaking. “Sounds like you knew Alvarez.” Nguyen slowed just enough to notice. His words came after a short delay. “He was a damn good man. Losing him hurts all of us.” The road angled downward. The Interlink Highway interchange came into view. An overpass loomed ahead. Sitting on top of it was a Siege Crawler. Its short barrel was pointed directly toward us. No, not us exactly. Toward the long line of vehicles waiting below. The distinction did not matter. That gun could turn fast enough to erase it. Below the overpass, several smaller armored vehicles blocked the highway itself. Their barrels were angled slightly outward instead of directly at the cars. The choice felt deliberate and pointless at the same time. Those weapons could rotate in a heartbeat. The clustered barrels told the rest of the story. Once they started firing, they would not need to stop. United States Army soldiers searched every vehicle. Each Compact Cruiser. Each Mobile Hauler. Each Utility Rover. Drones slid beneath frames and axles, scanning for bombs. Passengers were ordered out. Interiors were searched. Front and rear storage compartments were opened and inspected. The smaller vehicles moved through fairly quickly. I could tell as we approached. The shipping containers were another story. Those took time. Soldiers opened them and climbed inside, weapons raised. Each container stood eight feet tall and stretched close to forty feet long. Men disappeared into the steel boxes, tension thick in their posture. “They hunting insurgents?” I asked. Nguyen looked ahead. “Probably. That or bombs.” A memory pushed its way forward. Sharp. Unwanted. “Ever hear how Fort Meade fell?” I asked. “No,” Nguyen said. His head turned slightly. Interest cut through his exhaustion. Fort Meade was supposed to be untouchable. “I was inside during the first wave,” I said. “After the robotic killers broke in and forced us out, security herded us toward the loading docks. Evacuation point.” My eyes tracked the containers beside us. “I stood there shaking. Then those containers came racing toward the docks. Security opened fire. It did nothing. Doors blew off. Hundreds of drones poured out like insects.” Nguyen let out a low whistle. His gaze locked on the container we were passing. “You saying some of these could be trojan horses?” I nodded. He picked up his pace. “Then my people up there need to hear this. Right now.” ***** Nguyen’s back was ramrod straight inside the makeshift office. The best I managed was a harmless slouch, one shoulder resting against a cubicle wall that had been dragged into place to form an office. I made a point of keeping my eyes anywhere but on the floating data in front of the major. Major Davis watched a holographic replay of the fight inside the Sanctum Complex. The footage showed Nguyen, me, and the drone. Helmet camera video captured every frantic second. When the drone self-destructed and Nguyen’s life was spared, the major shut the projection down. He sat on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. A slow, deliberate breath left him. “So they were not rumors after all.” The words sounded heavy. Like he wished reality had chosen a different outcome. His gaze drifted up to the hangar ceiling. Massive lights hung from steel trusses, flooding the space with harsh white light. Each time artillery fired from the fields near the runway, those lights swayed slightly. It was subtle. Impossible to ignore.The major rubbed his face with both hands. Stress clung to him. The weight of command did not sit right on his shoulders. This was a mid-level officer being crushed by a war that refused to slow down. Nguyen’s eyes flicked toward me for a split second. I knew he was thinking the same thing. Davis looked back at Nguyen. “This needs to go straight to Cheyenne Mountain. Was that the only drone you encountered?” Nguyen gestured toward me. “Ronan was at Fort Meade when the drones overran it.” Surprise crossed the major’s face. “I am honestly shocked this is news to me. We had one of those things on a table when my unit retook Meade. I assumed the intel was shared.” “It wasn’t,” I said. “At least not with me.”“Which unit were you with?” Davis asked. The answer slipped out before I could stop it. “No idea. I never joined the army.” Nguyen closed his eyes. The major straightened immediately. I raised my hands. “Sorry. Stress talking. I remember their patch though. Eagles.” “101st,” Nguyen and Davis said at the same time. Understanding settled over the room. “That explains it,” Davis said quietly. “They were wiped out a day or two ago.” The silence that followed felt heavier than the artillery fire outside.