The transport ship climbed through the atmosphere, the facility below a smoking ruin. Lieutenant Kaelen Voss sat on the bench, his rifle across his knees, his body aching. Around him, his team checked their wounds, counted their ammunition, tried to process what they'd just survived.

Mira sat across from him, her face pale, her hands steady. She was cleaning her knife, the blade gleaming in the low light.

"Casualty report," Kaelen said.

Corporal Diaz looked up from his datapad. "Three wounded. None critical. All accounted for."

Kaelen nodded, let himself breathe. Eleven had gone in. Eleven had come out. That never happened.

"The core?" he asked.

Mira didn't look up. "Destroyed. The facility is offline. They won't be powering their weapons any time soon."

Kaelen leaned his head against the bulkhead, closed his eyes. The mission was over. They had succeeded. But the war wasn't. There would be other facilities, other cores, other missions.

"Kaelen." Mira's voice was quiet.

He opened his eyes.

She was looking at him, her expression unreadable. "You did good in there. The way you handled the ambush. The way you kept us together."

"It wasn't just me."

"No. But you led." She paused. "That's why they picked you."

The ship shuddered as it entered orbit, the transport vessel appearing ahead, its docking bay open. Kaelen stood, stretched, felt the ache in his muscles.

"We're not done," he said. "There's more."

Mira stood beside him. "There's always more."

The ship docked, the hatch opened, and they walked into the bay. Officers waited, their faces grim, their clipboards ready. Debriefing. Reports. The business of war.

Kaelen walked toward the command center, Mira beside him, the rest of the team following. They had survived. They had succeeded. But the war was far from over.

And somewhere in the darkness, the enemy was already planning the next battle.