“Simms just eyeballed their Leviathan,” Fink relayed with none of the jokes, Looney Tunes references, or Mel Blanc inspired voices that served as his calling card. Times had changed. Trevor Stone had changed.

“Our guns ready?”

“Yes.”

He considered reminding Trevor that Woody “Bear” Ross commanded those guns, but that would serve only to re-emphasize the point that Ross now commanded a mobile artillery unit instead of serving as the Excalibur’s first officer. That, in turn, would conjure unpleasant images of The Empire’s flagship full of holes, burning, and limping away from the battlefield last year, barely reaching the Pittsburgh shipyards where she remained out of action.

Fink strolled closer to a portable table on which rested several maps and papers. Those maps and papers showed the positions and plans of Trevor Stone’s last chance at defending the Rocky Mountain passes. If Voggoth broke through this time, then it would become a race to the Mississippi, the next and essentially last great barrier between the advancing hordes and the population centers of the East.

Trevor had spoken confidently about this plan, all while dispatching General Jon Brewer east to build a defensive line along the Mississippi.

Stone interrupted Fink’s thoughts, “Any news from Kaufman?”

Casey Fink answered, “She’s engaged a small advanced force outside of Cimarron. So far her boppers and the infantry there are holding the line.”

Stone let the glasses drop, pinched his nose, and joined Fink at the folding table.

As he had done ever since his return, Trevor spoke in a tone that lacked any real emotion but felt heavy with concentration: “You did a hell of a job helping Rhodes transfer 3 ^ rd Mech down to Rye last night.”

“Thank you, sir,” Fink acknowledged as he thought about the troops of both his Third Corp and General Rhodes’ 2 ^ nd Corp who squared off against one of a trio of forces punching through the Rockies that day.