“Granite! Granite! Granite!” Filson yelled over RaiderNet.

  He could feel the wave of worry radiate through the small force as quickly as his strident radio call. The operation was going well. They had the enemy on his heels. Initiative, he had told them. Seize it and hold it. He knew the Raiders had been disappointed when he pulled them back to Alpha. Now he was calling Granite?

  The Raiders would realize he was trading initiative and maneuver space for defensibility.

  Filson knew it would scare them.

  Order issued and his unit falling back, he took a moment to compose a SitRep while Paredes worked his own radios. Hatch stood by.

  Ike, summarize current situation. Include all relevant. Commander’s intent is to hardpoint and defend in place. Filson’s heads-up display glimmered and flashed as Ike grabbed and spliced data sources.

  “Ready, sir.”

  Filson scanned it.

  Good. Send it.

  A second later, the updated situation and orders were displayed on every Centaur’s HUD, glowed on every Lobo’s data tablet, and simmered inside every Mauler’s electronic brain.

  Everyone knew the situation now.

  And knew it was bad.

  Filson called the tactical map back up and zoomed out.

  Dammit. The huge cluster of red triangles was even closer.

  Gotta slow those tanks down somehow.

  Filson checked his unit counts. They still had over two dozen aerial drones. Other than the two remaining Valkyries, none of them carried anything potent enough to take out a tank.

  But the Chinese didn’t know that.

  “Raider One Six and Raider One Seven,” he said, calling Merko and McGowan. “Put all aerial drones over those tanks.”

  “All of them, sir?” Merko responded. Filson understood the question. Sending them all would take eyes off the rest of their perimeter.

  “Roger. All of them. I want them to think we’re bigger than we are. Get them overhead and harass the armor. Targeting lasers, false gun runs, whatever. If you get a good angle, kamikaze the bastards. We have to slow them down.”

  Merko broke squelch twice, signifying he got it.

  “And get your ass back, One Six. We won’t be able to help you if you get cut off. Fall back to Granite!”

  Merko broke squelch again.

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  Less than a minute later, the Raiders’ aerial drones were hurtling south, just above the rooftops, on an intercept course. Filson watched them close on the armored column and hoped it would buy them a little more time. Remotely piloted by Centaurs, they dove on the advancing tanks in aggressive, swooping gun runs.

  The PLA armor swerved off the road seeking cover and popped their drone nets.

  Filson studied the drone POVs and cursed. It was one of the PLA’s “Tread and Leg” battalions—a combination of heavy tanks on conventional treads and lighter quadruped robots. The Quads performed high-speed recon, screening, and target designation while the heavies blew the shit out of things. Not that the Quads were slouches in terms of firepower. Fielded together, the combined units were very effective.

  A Quad burst into flames as Filson watched. A Valkyrie had found its mark. A short-lived smile broke across Filson’s face until he saw the Raider ammo status on his HUD—just one more air-to-ground missile.

  He switched his HUD back to the perimeter map.

  It was forming up. Only Merko and his small fire team were not yet in position. They had a way to go.

  Filson could picture his men frantically improving their fighting positions and getting their bearings on their fields of fire. Centaurs and Lobos would be inventorying designators and ammunition, and the Maulers maintaining watch.

  A pang of bittersweet pride ran through Filson as he pictured his men getting ready to slug it out. The Raiders had been together from the beginning—summoned by name by Havron in the run-up to the invasion. Then all those months training together as Havron iterated on the plan over and over. They all went in together when it finally kicked off, part of the airborne drop—the craziest night of Filson’s life—and fought side by side as they pushed the PLA south and nearly out of Santiago before the lines solidified on the Mapocho and Maipo.

  Filson shook his head. Damn shame. After all that. Everything we’ve survived together. To go out like this. Under the tread and foot of PLA tanks.

  Goddammit!

  Think of something!

  Staring at the tactical map, Filson shook his head in resignation. It was over. He could picture the PLA commander looking at his own display, licking his chops. At this point in the battle, the Raiders’ signature was unmaskable. Like them, the PLA would have satellites and stand-off platforms scouring the AO. Centaurs and Maulers, metal machines throwing off electromagnetic and kinetic energy, were unmistakable signatures on a battlefield. Almost as glaring as tanks. And after a battle was joined, it was even worse. There was no hiding. Not even underground. Not even in that damn Metro tunnel. They would—

  Filson looked at Hatch.

  The soldierbot stood motionless, maul-shaped head looking back at him impassively, his scar a line of thick shadow in the school’s dark hallway.

  Could it work?

  Probably not.

  But defending in place is a death sentence for sure.

  He checked his tactical display. The Valkyries had managed to take out two Quads and one Tread in missile and kamikaze runs. Not bad. But not enough.

  The PLA had eliminated all but a handful of the smallest harassing aerial drones. The Quads were fanning out. The column was starting to move north again.

  We have a window. But we’d have to move now.

  And it’s a one-way trip. Once we’re committed. That’s it. We’re committed.

  Filson looked up at Hatch.

  The soldierbot, as if sensing his gaze, shifted on its feet.

  To hell with it. I’m out of ideas.

  Have to try it.

  Filson took a few seconds with Ike to compose a text and data order. He sent it and then called over RaiderNet, “This is Raider Zero Six. All elements assist the wounded and fall back to the closest breach! I repeat. Assist the wounded and fall back to the closest breach! Rally in the Metro tunnel.”

  Looking at the tactical map, Filson could see the unit perimeter already collapsing as the unit moved toward the breaches. He also noticed Merko’s location and tried not to think about what this meant for the captain.

  He’s got to make it.

  He will make it!

  Filson walked over to Hatch.

  “Need your guys to help move the wounded.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  Filson put a hand on the soldierbot’s shoulder.

  “Then I’m gonna need one last favor out of you and your guys, Hatch. And it’s a big one.”