The silence that had followed Noah Eclipse's disappearance had long since been replaced by the grim reality of prolonged tactical engagement.
Martinez crouched behind crystalline formations that provided scant cover, his rifle trained on the mining facility below. Six hours of continuous combat had transformed him from a soldier who followed orders into a field Noah making life-and-death decisions for thirty-seven people.
"Sir," Maya Melendez crawled up beside him, her uniform torn and bloodied from hours of fighting. "We've got a serious problem. Ammunition is down to fifteen percent across all positions."
Martinez nodded grimly. The hostiles—because they'd stopped pretending these were refugees hours ago—had been using hit-and-run tactics, wearing down their defensive positions through attrition. Every time his soldiers thought they'd cleared a sector, more enemies would emerge from the crystalline terrain like they were spawning from the ground itself.
