“Conquest,” he whispered to himself, tasting the word like ash. “We wanted to conquer Earth.”
Thorne didn’t flinch. He had memorized the brief: Three billion human lives lost in the first hour. Another two billion displaced. Ninety-seven percent of military assets vaporized. The numbers had lost their meaning somewhere between the fall of the Atlantic Wall and the surrender of the Pacific Fleet.
He sat down in the command chair, suddenly feeling every one of his fifty years. Conquest Earth
“God help us for what comes next.”
Then he added, so softly only the stars could hear: “Conquest,” he whispered to himself, tasting the word
“Order the flag to half-mast,” he said quietly.
“All sectors report compliance, sir,” said Ensign Vell, though her voice trembled. “Ground forces are securing the capital. Casualties… are catastrophic.” Another two billion displaced
He turned from the viewport. His face was carved from the same stone as the war memorials back on Mars. “Did we?”