The nebula was quiet, but Admiral Elara Vance knew the silence was deceptive. The enemy had retreated, but their phantom fleet was still out there, hidden in the gas clouds. She had seen their ships on her sensors—faint, flickering, like ghosts.
"Command, this is Vance. I'm tracking a phantom fleet."
"Copy, Vance. They're using cloaking technology. Be careful."
Elara adjusted her course, following the faint energy trail. The phantom fleet was fast, but she was patient.
"There," she said. "I've got them."
She fired a volley at the lead ship, and its cloak flickered, revealing it
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The names on the list burned in Sergeant First Class Marcus Webb’s memory. Twelve traitors, embedded across three continents. Each one a soldier he might have trusted. Each one a knife waiting to strike.
“We hit them simultaneously at 0600,” he said, pointing at the holographic map. “Chen, you take Europe. Miller, Asia. I’ll handle the States. No warnings. No second chances.”
Chen studied the faces on the screen. “They won’t see us coming.”
“That’s the point.”
The helicopters lifted off before dawn, ferrying teams to safe houses, barracks, and command posts. Marcus’s target was a
“We hit them simultaneously at 0600,” he said, pointing at the holographic map. “Chen, you take Europe. Miller, Asia. I’ll handle the States. No warnings. No second chances.”
Chen studied the faces on the screen. “They won’t see us coming.”
“That’s the point.”
The helicopters lifted off before dawn, ferrying teams to safe houses, barracks, and command posts. Marcus’s target was a