“Get down!” he shouted as he hit the floor—and not a second too soon.

 The interior of the hardware store flashed white, brighter than any natural or artificial light, and a wave of heat washed over him. Seventy yards behind him, the hotel simply vanished, vaporized by what looked like a nuclear blast. Plasma killed with heat, but not radiation, and anyone within forty or fifty yards of the target would either catch fire or be converted to atoms.

Nick sat up slowly and looked out the window behind him. A heat mushroom was already rising from where the hotel had been, but the enemy gun, gunners, and support troops were simply gone, vanished, as if they had never existed.

Sgt. DuBose, shaking like a leaf, got slowly to his feet. He peered across the parking lot at the intersection, where every building in sight was either gone or blazing. The rest of the squad were also on their feet, gazing out at the devastation. Several of them muttered epithets. Avila was giggling.

DuBose turned to look at Nick, who sat on the floor with blood flowing from minor cuts. DuBose was still trembling.

“Walker, you asshole! I ought to ask the Cap’m to starcourt you! You disobeyed my direct order!”

Nick, weak with relief, grinned.

“Go ahead, Sergeant. Since you’re still alive, you can do that.”

“Trouble is, once the evidence is presented at a starcourt, you would probably get a fucking medal instead.”

“Well, I don’t want a medal, so you better hide the evidence.”

 DuBose stared at him a moment, then shook his head and bent over to pick up his rifle.

“Okay, guys, pick up your shit. We gotta move.”

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