Shawn's POV
The morning sun painted the camp in pale gold. From the hospital's half-finished frame, I could hear the hammering of beams, the sawing of planks, the rhythm of a people building. For the first time since our boots touched Ethiopian soil, I didn't wake to the chorus of coughing. That silence meant more to me than a hundred speeches.
"Medical Specialist Rose," Virginia called, jogging up the slope, sweat streaking her brow. "The Ethiopian delegation is here. Their leader wants to meet you."
I wiped dust from my gloves, already bracing myself. Politics had never been my strong suit. But these weren't foreign diplomats in suits. This was their land, their people. I followed her down toward the ruins of what had once been a school.
Inside, a long table had been patched from scavenged boards. At its head sat a tall man with tired eyes but a spine of steel. He rose as I entered, clasping my hand with both of his.
"Commander Rose," he said. "I am Tesfaye Bekele. Provisional leader of this region. And I owe you thanks."
"Not me," I said, glancing back at Virginia and the medics at my side. "Them. And the Ethiopians who've stood with us these past days. I just pointed. It's just Medical Specialist Rose, by the way."
Tesfaye smiled faintly. "Humility suits you. But Ethiopia remembers. Our children live who would have died. Our people build who would have despaired. Still, hospitals alone are not enough. You know this."
I nodded. "Food. Water. Power. Without them, this camp won't last the month."
His eyes sharpened. "That is why I asked you here. My scouts have tracked Bastion units roaming the countryside, strays from Anubis' army. They wander into our convoys and kill farmers, but their power cores remain strong. Your engineers tell me they could replace the destroyed generators in our hydro stations. If we gather enough, Ethiopia will have light again."
He leaned forward, voice low. "I ask for your help. Hunt them. Bring us their cores. Let us reclaim our rivers."
The room fell silent. I looked at the cracked chalkboard on the wall, at the faded equations left behind by children long gone. A war machine turned into a generator. A weapon turned into hope.
I met his gaze. "We'll do it. But I won't send all my medics. They're builders, healers. I'll take a strike force. We'll neutralize the Bastions and bring the cores back."
Relief softened his features. "Then Ethiopia will remember you not only as healers, but as bringers of light."
I stiffened at the phrase. I didn't want legends. I wanted results.
"We start at dawn," I said.
The countryside was a graveyard. Ash fields stretched for miles, broken only by the skeletons of farmhouses. But it didn't feel empty. Not with Bastions lurking somewhere ahead, their sensors still locked on patterns of war long after their master had fallen.
My strike team moved with precision. Eighteen medics in combat harnesses, weapons checked, packs light. These weren't just healers anymore. They'd trained under me, learned to steady their hands in battle as well as in surgery. They weren't killers. They were precise. That was enough.
The first Bastion crouched at the lip of a dry riverbed, scanning the horizon with its glowing eye.
"On my mark," I whispered.
It shifted, cannon rising but too late. Felix's shot punched through its optic before it finished locking. I vaulted the ridge, katana sparking, and split its chest with one clean strike. The core dropped, thrumming hot in the dirt.
"One," I said, hefting it. "Next."
The hunt turned into rhythm.
On the plains, a tank-form Bastion dug in, cannon swiveling. Marco lobbed a charged blast that staggered it, and Spencer's follow-up rifle fire cracked its armor. I closed the distance, blade humming, and cleaved through its chest plate before it could adjust.
In the hills, two Bastions were together. Leslie initiated this time, engaging on the first before the second had time to counter. Once the second noticed, it was too late as it attempted to transfigure. My blade finished it before it could transform.
Each fight was short, sharp, decisive. We'd fought these things for years. We knew their flaws, their tells. They weren't gods anymore. They were machines without masters, and we dismantled them one by one.
By dusk, fifteen Bastions lay in ruin behind us. Their cores hummed in the trucks, heavy as bottled storms. My medics sat in the dirt, armor scorched, but grinning, alive. The recently joined medics who didn't accompany us on the relay purge had successfully integrated into our team. Pretty soon, I would decide to give them their names back and awaken them.
I stood among the wreckage, katana still faintly sparking, and let myself feel it.
This wasn't tedium. This wasn't slaughter. This was reclamation. Every machine we put down meant another hospital powered, another village lit.
We weren't fighting to survive anymore. We were fighting to build.
As the convoy loaded the last core, I looked back at the horizon, where the skeletons of dead Bastions dotted the fields like gravestones. Unfortunately, the war changed my views on the Bastion units. I couldn't feel any pity towards them, despite knowing what their fate was to be.
"Load up," I said. "Tomorrow, Ethiopia sees light again."