While resending their coordinates and waiting for a response from command, Augustus dispatched four soldiers equipped with radios and binoculars. Two were sent to the eastern and western ends of the railway track. Hank had brought a pair of backpacks from the cargo bay—one filled with portable radios, the other stuffed with high-powered binoculars.
The sentry posts had already been chosen by Augustus and Jim in advance. Tucked between steel beams, streetlights, and heaps of metal junk, they were well hidden.
But Augustus barely had time to rest before bad news came in. Just a few minutes later, one of the sentries stationed on the platform radioed back: a Kel-Morian unit riding in light reconnaissance vehicles was approaching fast. The grisly banners of severed heads flapping from their vehicles confirmed it—they were the infamous Wasteland Wolfpack, known formally as the Kel-Morian Assault Cavalry.
"How far are they from your position? Can you count how many vehicles there are?" Augustus asked the sentry, a soldier from 2nd Platoon.
"I—I'm not sure. Maybe two thousand meters. I think there are four recon vehicles... maybe more," the soldier replied in a rush. Augustus could tell he was nervous, but even so, he held his ground, awaiting the order to pull back.
"Have they slowed down?" Augustus asked.
"I don't think so. If anything, I think they're speeding up," the sentry answered.
"Fall back. Take everything with you—leave nothing behind," Augustus ordered. "And stay hidden during your retreat. Don't let the Kel-Morians see you."
"Yes, sir," the sentry replied.
Earlier, Augustus had ordered everyone to gather in the same location—an empty waiting hall with a U-shaped corridor. During this time, he had also appointed acting squad leaders for Platoons Two through Four.
"Form up!" Augustus barked as he stepped into the hall. "A Kel-Morian assault squad is approaching. They're probably no more than twenty strong. Grab your weapons and report to your squad leaders!"
"Well, that's just fantastic," Jim muttered, eyes wide. The worst part? These recruits had just graduated from basic training—they didn't even have powered armor yet.
The other soldiers looked equally stunned. No one had expected their first combat experience to be against a seasoned Kel-Morian unit. That said, while fear was written across their faces, none of them looked ready to give up.
The Kel-Morian Assault Cavalry operated mainly on Rendain III. They weren't traditional army units, nor were they affiliated with the Marine Corps or the fleet. They were, in the truest sense, a cavalry force.
They fought from the fastest recon vehicles the Kel-Morians had, often launching lightning-fast raids across Rendain III's sparse plains, striking Terran Federation outposts and settlements, then vanishing just as quickly.
Although official records from the Terran Federation didn't consider the assault cavalry particularly skilled in frontal assaults or siege warfare—and they certainly weren't the most terrifying part of the Kel-Morian military—they were undoubtedly the most maddening. These cavalry units never participated in large-scale operations. Their missions were strictly recon and sabotage. They slipped in and out like eels—slippery and impossible to catch.
Rumor had it that some assault cavalry on Rendain III even took mercenary work on the side. When credits were tight, they moonlighted as raiders or interstellar pirates.
They seemed to show up everywhere, infiltrating behind enemy lines to wreak havoc on logistics convoys, artillery units, and even field hospitals. One training instructor had once scoffed at them, calling them flies buzzing around corpses—maggots feasting on the dead.
Easy to swat, he said, but disgusting all the same.
He'd drilled it into the recruits' heads: the Kel-Morian Assault Cavalry might be notorious, but they weren't invincible. They could be defeated.
"Those bastards coming straight at us?" Jim asked, loading rounds into his E-9 magnetic rifle.
"Not sure," Augustus replied. "But based on their direction, they'll definitely pass through this relay station."
"We're seriously out of luck," Omer muttered, voicing exactly what Augustus was thinking.
By now, everyone had regrouped. Aside from two soldiers left behind to tend to the wounded, Augustus still had thirty-eight troops at his command.
"I remember Instructor Tavis saying that a Kel-Morian assault cavalry squad usually doesn't have many members," Augustus said. "To stay fast and mobile, they don't wear heavy power armor or carry heavy weapons. Assault cavalry aren't suited for prolonged engagements or ambushes—and I doubt they have the courage or determination to fight to the death."
Augustus already had a plan forming in his mind. Escaping at this point was out of the question. Given the assault cavalry's usual tactics, they wouldn't attack unless they had an overwhelming numerical advantage. The best—and most likely—scenario was that they had no idea a transport ship full of Terran soldiers had crash-landed here at all.
His troops were armed, and they had enough people. Using the height difference between the platform and the tracks, they could set up a high-ground ambush—maybe catch the cavalry completely off guard.
"This is an order: First squad, deploy to the left platform. Third squad, to the right. Second squad will support First as reserves. Fourth squad will back up Third. Use chairs, tables, and wrecked trucks to build cover along the edge of the platform," Augustus commanded, his tone crisp and clear.
"As soon as they enter the tower station, wait for my signal—then open fire."
The soldiers moved immediately, following Augustus' orders to the letter, fast and efficient. At that moment, the scouts Augustus had sent out returned, bringing even worse news. Not that Augustus needed them to say anything—he could already hear the roar of reconnaissance engines in the distance.
He and Raynor rushed into First Squad's cover position. Augustus pulled out a military-grade binoculars that Hank had salvaged from the transport and aimed it toward the approaching sound.
Four Kel-Morian recon vehicles rolled into view. These weren't hovercraft, but low-slung, four-wheeled jeeps, clad in dark camouflage that blended perfectly with the urban ruins. Their flags flew high—alongside the KM insignia of the Kel-Morian Combine was a withered skull.
The hollow eyes of the skull were painted red, and the flag's deep navy background symbolized Moria's heavily industrialized, polluted atmosphere.
Augustus's stomach dropped. Behind those recon vehicles came a truck. He couldn't tell if it was a troop transport or a regular cargo vehicle—it had clearly been modified by the cavalry from a civilian heavy-duty truck.
The Kel-Morian riders seemed completely unaware that a fully armed group of Terran Federation soldiers was lying in wait. They showed no sign of slowing down. If nothing changed, they'd pass through the base in under two minutes. Augustus estimated they were no more than 150 meters from the entrance.
He raised his right hand and made a silent gesture for quiet. Then he took an E-9 rifle from Raynor. The safety was already off. He shifted into firing position, laser-focused.
The first recon vehicle came barreling into the base. Mounted on it was a light autocannon, and standing on an elevated seat was an assault rider, his face smeared with paint, black goggles covering his eyes, scanning the scene with growing suspicion.
Before the rider could shout a warning, Augustus pulled the trigger.
"Fire!" he roared, the rifle's stock slamming hard into his shoulder.
Dozens of electromagnetic rifles and shotguns lit up at once. Fiery gold muzzle flashes swallowed the first recon car. The gunner—riddled with dozens of rounds—was shredded by steel spikes and shot pellets, torn into a bloody mess.
The driver didn't last any longer. The unarmored vehicle was shredded to bits, spinning wildly before skidding to a halt in the middle of the road.
The second recon car swerved hard, trying to dodge—but crashed into a guardrail by the tracks. The rest slammed on their brakes and started to return fire, but by then Augustus's squads had already set up overlapping lines of fire from above—there were no blind spots.
The assault cavalry were instantly turned into moving targets. But the recruits—still green—just kept shooting, emptying their magazines in a frenzy. Not even Augustus's shouted orders could stop them. His voice was drowned out by the roar of gunfire.
By the time they realized what had happened, the Kel-Morian cavalry had been blown to pieces. It was almost like a live-fire drill back in basic training.
Even Augustus was stunned by how successful the ambush had been. But he knew this wasn't a real victory. It had been a desperate preemptive strike—a necessary one. To avoid being slaughtered by the Kel-Morians, he'd been forced to lead a squad of inexperienced recruits into battle.
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