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The first explosion at Angelia’s nuclear power plant, caused by the meltdown of its reactor, is not like that of an atomic warhead. It stutters outward from the domed building, first as steam, then as fire, lifting the roof of the complex and engulfing the city in a rolling wave. Those impaled soldiers disappear in a cloud, their flesh melted from their bones by the steam, and the rest consumed by the slow rippling tide of fire.

I will see you in the Vale, brothers.

I patch in to Central Command in Tyche. Panic creeps into the professional clip of officers as they report multiple reactor explosions around the Waste of Ladon, stretching all the way to the Petasos Peninsula and the whole of the Plains of Caduceus. Six cities have lost power. More will follow in a chain reaction. Without power, the whole northern shield chain will fall. I wanted a window, but Atlas just kicked in the sky.

Atalantia is coming.

“Someone betrayed us,” Thraxa growls.

Or Atalantia is smarter than her father.

“How many generators will fall?” I ask Thraxa. She stares at Marbles’s information readout and makes a mental calculation. Too slow. I toss it to Alex. He barely blinks before he has an answer.

“It’ll be everything north of Erebos, except Red Reach and Tyche. Their domes are locally powered. They’ll hold.”

Heliopolis is safe, then. Still protected south of Erebos. Which means the escape route through Tyche is viable if Tyche holds. But six million men will be cut off from the city by bombardment. How do I get them back?

“By the Vale itself…” someone whispers.

The Howlers watch in despair out the back of the shuttle as the translucent shield that protected us from the might of the Gold Armada flickers and then disappears one panel at a time until the whole northern sky is naked to the armada above.

My com pings with incoming transmissions. Rhonna fields a call. “Harnassus requests orders of retreat.”

Thraxa steps between me and the other aides fielding calls. “Let him think.”

In her shadow, I watch the sky. Flashes in orbit. Friction trails scar the blue horizon. The first bombs begin to fall.

The vanguard legions will come soon after. Bloody Peerless cohorts in fast boots and starShells, dropships packed with veteran Gray shock troops, Obsidian slaveknights stoked to mind-melting bloodfrenzy by the drugs of their masters, tanks, titans, esoteric war machines, the full might of a militarized empire out for revenge.

We are out of position. Our mobility will be frozen by bombardment. Legions and static defenses erased by atomics. Those who don’t die will be hopelessly shattered and fragmented. Then Atalantia’s forces will flank and encircle the marooned remains of my army before we can attempt a breakout.

There is only one option, and it isn’t retreat.

“Thraxa.” She steps up to me. “We must take the punch.”

“Can we?”

“Yes. Atalantia needs Mercury. She won’t nuke the Children cities. Red Reach and Tyche are independent of the shield chain. Their domes will hold. And soon we’ll have the storm—”

“It will take hours for the—”

“I started the engines two hours ago.”

She blinks in surprise. “And the First Army? They won’t make it to the cover of Red Reach.”

It comes out in a cold rattling of sentences. “Then I’ll bring them a shield. Atalantia will likely land south of Pan with at least a third of their army. She’ll bottle up the Children and take the cities one by one, trapping our garrisons. If we abandon the cities and mass the garrisons from the Children at Kydon, we can sally to Pan and make an oblique front. It won’t hold, but if we hit them from behind with the Second Army out of Red Reach and drive them toward the sea, we can hurt her while the First Army clears a route to Tyche from the north.” I grip her shoulder. “Take all six starShells. Go to Kydon and lead the tank legions.”

“You need the starShells.”

“You need them more. I’ll find a skyhook.” I look at the darkening sky. “You’ll have cover soon. Hold, and I’ll gut them from the southwest, then we haul ass to Tyche together. A double atomic burst will signal my coming. Go.”

Stalwart Thraxa, spine of the infantry, favorite of her father, knows I send her into the teeth of the enemy. She smiles at me nonetheless. “Hail Reaper.”

“Hail Telemanus.”

She rushes for the starShell spitTube, taking five of her Golds.

“Sevro, call Harnassus…” I turn and find Rhonna at my shoulder instead of my trusted shadow. She looks like I’ve slapped her. “Rhonna, tell him to send reinforcements to Tyche via the loop. I want every single reserve ripper in the air and bound for the plains. Interdiction protocol. If they don’t take out some of those missiles, we’re done. Go.” It will leave Heliopolis naked, but she isn’t their target.