As he ran full out, Rude scanned the docks for potential dangers. He was in the middle of a wide wooden dock, exposed. The crane was closer, and just as hope sprang up, it was immediately quashed by the appearance of Enmen running in from the west. Then, as from the ashes, hope sprang anew as a Con Isle Rasp screamed overhead, flying low and strafing the enemy. Rude was breathlessly happy to reach the crane. The many stacked transport containers were like a maze. He planned to work his way north and east, but he was not at peace. There was a real possibility that Enmen might also be working the maze.

Bruce stood like a statue before the screened wall. Core Command was cool, dark, and efficient. With his hands clasped behind his back, the Granite General studied the advance of the lone hero. That hero, without a helmet, rendered aid to his elite forces. The aim was uncannily accurate, and the result was one lethal shot per enemy combatant. Bruce would not lower his standard to praise the man, but he was impressed.

The admin building took an artillery hit, and the northern end was blown away. Still, the man without a helmet took down even the combatants running in from the west. Bruce almost nodded in appreciation. Then, the screen lit up white, and the General averted his eyes. When he looked back, the hero was chasing a robed figure across the dock. Core Bank 3-A spoke softly.

“Enmen on an intercept course from the west,” said the attendant.

The moves of the young soldier seemed superhuman. Bruce wondered if the man might somehow be enhanced. He watched the soldier take the robed individual in hand and somersault across the crates, immediately leaping back on top to take down more of the enemy. Another blast caused the General to look briefly away. The hero charged the Enman, leaping from the side of a destroyed container to backflip across the enemy's head, firing as he fell into a roll. The Enman fell, the soldier ran north, and a hooded head peeked over the crates.

“Magnify on the hooded person,” Bruce commanded.

“Aye,” said the attendant from Core Bank 3-A.

Bruce asked calmly, “Can we get a face match?”

Core Bank 3-A answered, “Diverting the drone.”

Bruce turned his attention back to the running soldier and noticed a dozen Enmen running to intercept. “Give that hero cover,” ordered the General.

Core Bank 3-A replied, “I have a Rasp in the area.”

Rude was working to calm his breathing as he made an uncertain and wary path through the maze of stacked containers. He walked slowly to muffle the noise of his boots, while his hearing strained ahead of him to pick up the slightest disturbance. The sound of distant battles reached his ears, most of them from the north. Carefully, Rude crouched by an exit, looking north across the ruined docks. Nearby were the corpses of heroes and Enmen berserkers. The dock was littered with ruined heavy armor; Trashers, and Skats. In his path north was a burning Enman aircraft. Far beyond, Rude could make out the flashes of artillery on the docks, and tracer fire from overhead ships. Naval vessels along the extreme curve of the pier burned, giving an orange glow beneath oily black billows.

The immediate area was clear; still, there was no good reason to get cocky. Rude ran quickly to a position behind the burning aircraft, and scanned the north. He headed next to a tumble of Skats and Trashers. Rude stopped behind an overturned tank, taking stealthy care to remove the Ma-La canon. It was roughly the size of an APE and was a self-contained unit with its own power source. Rude had only to bypass some internal wiring to fire it manually.

Rude's next stop was beneath a pile of destroyed containers. Hiding below the twisted wreck that lay atop two others, Rude had a clear view both north and south. The noise of battle from the north was louder. Rude checked west and sprinted to the next wreck, taking cover. It worried him that he had no helmet; that made finding Marq much harder. While his chances were fifty-fifty, Rude held out hope of finding his friend.

Rude looked left and right. The west was calm and the east was open ocean with a wet wind blowing in. Crawling to the edge of his cover, Rude looked north. He spied a large tangle of ruined metal containers stretching west to east. It was a good five-minute run over scorched docks. There were a few corpses but nothing else; until he reached the containers, there was nothing to hide behind. It was a difficult choice; he didn't like the exposure. However, there was no safe way north.

Rude said to himself, “We can do this.” But, was he voicing self-encouragement, or talking to his silent host?

Rude took two quick breaths, and jumped to his feet. He was running through the open; the containers were ahead. He could sense no movement to the west; all he had to do was make it to the line of containers in one piece. He kept his pace quick and steady as he held the canon beneath his left arm. In his mind, Rude was ticking off the distance; he would soon reach the halfway point. Barring a random missile strike, Rude was sure he could make it. Just a little further.

Rude took a glad breath at the estimated halfway point just ahead. The breath was deep, and released slowly. Then, his heart dropped. From behind the line of containers ran two dozen Enmen. They were dressed in full armor that included a full tech helmet with exposed oculars. Twelve came around the left end and twelve came around the right end. Rude could feel the heavy vibration their boots sent through the dock. Suddenly Rude was face to face with the enemy, and there was no cover. In seconds, all guns would be aimed at Rude's exposed head. There was only one thing Rude could do at that point. As he continued charging, Rude slipped a finger into the belly housing of the Ma-La canon. It was a Hail Mary pass with less than favorable odds.

Rude tacked right, raking the Ma-La to the left with a white stream of destruction, but the right flank was firing. Rude jumped forward on his belly, and as the enemy fire screamed over his head, Rude slid along the dock sweeping the canon right. Then, rolling over and up to his feet, Rude used his sandman on an enemy knocked down by a falling body. He picked up speed, but the cover was still two minutes away.

Bruce watched from Core Command. The room had cheered as the running hero took down two dozen Enmen without flinching. Bruce allowed it; the young man was remarkable, but screen I-1 displayed a troubling development. Enmen were turning south from their main body on the northeastern end of the dock, where the remaining heroes were pinned under fire. A single destroyer was moored just north of their position. The main body of Enmen was impressive.

Core Bank 3-A said in animated fashion, “Sir, I think Yavle will win this war single-handedly.”

Bruce replied calmly, “Contain that elation, Captain. Give him a Rasp.”

The extreme north end of the pier housed not only the larger warehouses, but a fueling station, and three moored ships. A crane and transport center was southmost, below two burning barges. Flames from the high stacks licked the black sky, while the destroyer was hidden behind the fueling station. The troops had suffered major losses, and help was inbound, but would be late. The front row of stacked containers below the crane had taken extensive damage, but the back rows acted as a buffer between an incessant enemy barrage and the surviving heroes. The Enman position was behind a rail terminal of solid cement and brick.

Bruce could see Enman reinforcements arriving from the west. They included captured Consortium heavy arms, and damaged though still operational ZMAVs. The troops were getting an old-fashioned spanking; there was little they could do more than small arms return fire. As Bruce watched a Rasp strafe the southbound Enmen, he noted that the lone hero had turned east toward the crane. Still, his canon played hell with the Enmen.

Rude ran around the eastern end of the containers. He had two immediate choices. He could run north into a new wave of Enmen, or he could head for the northern crane. He chose the crane; Marq would be there. A Rasp flew in, strafing the southbound advance, and Rude was glad not to be the center of their attention. He saw artillery originating from the rail terminal but was in a poor position to help. However, there were two containers just ahead. One lay on its flat side against one that was upright.

An easy somersault took Rude atop the lower container, and a second somersault took him atop the upright container. As he ran the length of the upright container, Rude's canon raked across the enemy stronghold, igniting stacked munitions and heavy arms. A bright fire ripped across the stronghold and into the nested Enmen.

As Bruce watched the lone hero leap from the upright container and make a dash toward the pinned troops, the bunker's quiet efficiency was interrupted by applause. Bruce nodded; quite possibly, the hero had saved the day.

Core Bank 3-A called to the General. “Sir. General Saxe is on a private line from Onones.”

Bruce turned to his office, smoothing his jacket. As he passed, he said, “Captain, eyes on that hero.”