Hoth occupied the command module onboard the crescent-shaped bridge of his battleship. From there he accessed computer screens, monitors, and communications to gather information and control every ship function. Whoever stood in that module became the “Brain” of an Imperial Dreadnought.

The heavy-set General with the stoic voice relayed his work to the crew, “Proceeding to firing range. Charging the belly boppers to eighty percent.”

Ahead waited the Leviathan, unfazed by the approaching war machine.

Hoth delegated one duty to his XO. “Contact Command, tell them we’ve spotted Battle group North’s Leviathan. We will engage the target in less than two minutes”

“Good,” Trevor said in reaction to the message from the Phillipan. “They’ve shown most of their cards so far.”

“Kaufman has yet to engage Battle group South’s Leviathan.”

“She will,” Stone answered. “Voggoth is getting greedy, trying to punch through three spots at once. Trying to spread us too thin so we can’t stop him.” Trevor returned to the view of the battlefield from the hayloft. Even from a few miles away he could see the lumbering giant coming through the mountain pass. “But if we can beat him decisively here, we can roll him back on the other two fronts.”

While Stone spoke confidently, Fink knew that the opposite of that scenario also held true. If Voggoth broke through at Wetmore, then the sparse number of ground troops in Denver to the north and Cimarron, New Mexico to the South would make the line untenable.

Stone grew transfixed by the far away cloud of battle and the gargantuan beast, its lower half invisible behind a horizon of rooftops and foothills. It appeared to Fink that the sight mesmerized Stone. As if maybe he saw more there than what met the eye.

Trevor spoke in a steady, quiet voice, “I used to think mankind was so good at making war that it was scary. Then I see Voggoth’s beasts, and I realize we don’t know shit.”