The mud-slicked battlefield at the mouth of the Skyfield Forest seemed to hold its collective breath as the dust from the Bloodthirsty Moon Wolf’s initial charge slowly settled. Wyatt Wainright, the battalion commander who had been reduced to a bloodied, gasping wreck by the previous onslaught, watched the scene with a look of profound, agonizing disbelief. He was a Tier-4 veteran, a man whose skin had been hardened by the winds of the Netherlands and whose will had been tempered by years of the The Long March. Yet, as he leaned against the dented hull of an armored transport, he felt like a mere child watching the movements of a god.
“Keep your head down, Captain,” Leo Shaw said, his voice a smooth, baritone rumble that carried a weight of absolute authority. He didn't look back; his ame
