Operation Dynamo. More than 338,000 British and other Allied troops waited on the beaches of France. Surrounded by the Germans, the only way out was on the sea that trapped them.
But the beaches were too shallow for destroyers to reach. So, the British Admiralty sent out the call for small vessels to ferry the men to safety.
“Your testimony is unfinished, Ensign Duffy. Sit.”
Duffy’s knees, already wobbly from stress, buckled, dumping him back down in the witness chair. He faced the unblinking Commodore Brice and her investigative panel.
This isn’t a trial. They promised me I wouldn’t be on trial. Which was true. Besides, I haven’t done anything wrong.
July 4th, 2050
I didn’t think my husband and I would qualify for the program. Things don’t usually go our way, especially since Gavin’s release from active duty and the months of trauma that followed. He sits next to me, his fingers playing with his ID badge. The word ARMY is emblazoned across it.
The mecha’s armor plating groaned as another giant twelve-legged spider slammed against it. I shoved back. My megabot’s left arm swung out, smashing the monster into the hard-packed snow. Two more spiders replaced it, stepping over the twitching remains of the first.
I took a step back. The mecha’s foot slipped into open air.
“Kaiju activity in quadrant E74-Delta. Standby for launch, I guess. Ugh, what a pain.” Bossa had no eyes to roll, but the wonky AI’s tone conveyed annoyance well enough.
I settled into the cockpit of my forty-ton mecha, determined to ignore the cold spear of doubt slicing through my mind as the walls of…
Gravity is merciless. My brittle-boned body—courtesy of decades in the Space Force—hurtled toward what could be a disastrous collision with the floor.
But I was wearing a Belt. Once its sensors registered my loss of balance, its anti-grav went into action, halting my descent and raising me gently until I was again upright.
Jeff blinked at the sun, wondering where his shades had gone. Dust settled around him to the tune of ringing in his ears.
The Jeep rumbled in vain. He shut off the ignition. Considering the hood was ripped open like a sardine can, it probably wasn’t going anywhere.
“So much for an easy
“I don’t know what to do.” Margo peeked around the doorframe.
Her son lounged in his hammock, one leg dangling over the edge.
She adjusted the conch shell against her ear. “All Birch does is sit in his room and listen to fairy pop. Neither of his brothers were this—”
“Lazy,”
Yesterday, I declared war.
On a bugle.
0600. Time for “Reveille.” Our base commander, Wizard-General Lytton, won’t waste even the newest recruit mage on that duty. A simple spell makes the bugle perpetually hovering by the flagpole sound any required call at the proper time.
Until yesterday. Ten seconds into the silence
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Something was coming. Renard raised his hand, calling for a halt. His men stopped instantly, and he cocked his head, listening for the sound of their prey.
Breaking branches and pounding hoofs in full charge approached them through the woods. A large, tusked boar nigh on five hundred pounds burst into view.
“Running off to the Navy? You selfish coward!”
Her mother’s last message rang in Mira’s ears. Blinking hard, she refocused on the junction where the optical data lines for this section converged. Normally protected by the conduit pipes that lined the corridors, they cast a glow from the open panel.
Senn needed a human host soon. His pickiness this time did not help. He had skipped at least seven compatible targets, but he did not have time to work with a child. If he could not find an adult worthy to live in soon, the mission would fail.
He zipped down to a
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