"Sir," Ross raised his voice to be heard over the chatter of the many techies in the circular control center. "Denver ARC is reporting a sighting." There were still enough intact communication towers between Denver and Hayden's covert UAC facility here in Switzerland to receive regular transmissions.

The ten-foot-tall Dr. Hayden clomped over to look at Ross's screen, shaking the floorboards. Ross wasn't very tall, so when Hayden was standing and he was seated, the reinstated chairman of the UAC towered five feet above him.

"One of the marines?" he asked in that disquieting half-computerized voice.

"Yes, sir. The merchant marines in the green prototype armor." Ross gestured to the light blue text on his dark screen. There were no pictures. There never were, which was starting to make Ross suspicious. Maybe the ARC had been infiltrated by cultists as well, and they were inserting fake reports into their regular data transfers to Dr. Hayden. Maybe these were red herrings designed to waste his valuable time. But Hayden seemed like a hard person to fool. "He was seen in Boulder yesterday," Ross continued.

"He?" Dr. Hayden's deep, metallic voice had a hint of warning in its tone.

"The one they spotted, sir. Boulder and Denver are less than an hour's drive apart, so I think it's the same group of marines."

What these "merchant marines" were doing so far inland instead of serving the Military Sealift Command on an aircraft carrier was still a mystery, although Ross had a feeling Dr. Hayden knew. Even stranger was that the half-formed Super Gore Nests along the eastern edge of the Rocky Mountains had all experienced catastrophic failures shortly before or after one of these "marine sightings." The reports had started three weeks ago in Edmonton, Alberta, and kept coming in as recently as yesterday in Boulder, Colorado.

It certainly seemed less like a couple of paramilitary marines were wandering aimlessly around in areas that had Gore Nests spontaneously implode, and more like an elite civilian commando unit was being driven city to city with the express purpose of destroying Nests. All military frontal assaults against Super Gore Nests had ended in disaster. Maybe the President had decided that outfitting one- or two-man infiltration teams with high explosives was preferable to sending thousands of soldiers into a meat grinder. Especially when those soldiers could be getting ground into meat at one of the invasion fronts instead.

"Perhaps," Dr. Hayden mused, half to himself, "this unit has been summoned to defend NORAD."

The North American Aerospace Defense Command was what the military referred to as a "hard target." The hardest of targets, even for these demonic creatures. They could probably get to the facility eventually if they dug through the mountain, but then they'd only have uncovered a gigantic box made of 25-foot thick chromium-tungsten alloy, the hardest material on Earth. That kind of metal could take a 30-megaton nuke to the face and not even blink. Granted, with enough time and mining explosives, they could dig around and underneath NORAD and destabilize it to the point of tipping the box on its side, and that would definitely kill everyone in there. But that was going to take them a very, very long time, meanwhile they were getting bombarded by all types of non-nuclear artillery. Even if they had one of those twenty-stories-tall Titans helping, it wouldn't be too efficient with both eyes punched out by ramjet missiles hitting it at Mach 3.

"I'm not so sure about that, Chairman. Why would they be going to a locked-down facility that can't open up for them without also letting the enemy in? And a small civilian unit wouldn't make enough of a difference to the battle going on outside. Plus you communicate with NORAD almost hourly; why wouldn't they tell you they were recalling auxiliary forces to protect them?" Ross could no longer contain his curiosity. "Sir, what would paramilitary security officers for US cargo ships have been doing in the middle of Canada in the first place? Why have ARC operatives been spotting them and sending us reports, but there are never any pictures? Why do they have sophisticated prototype armor that our own troops don't have access to? Why would -"

"Come with me, Mr. Friedmann," said Dr. Hayden, turning abruptly and striding off toward his office.

"Now you've done it," said Philips from his station next to Ross. "You're either getting 'disappeared' like those staffers who were secretly demon-worshipers in their spare time, or fired."

"Why, for asking questions? Aren't we scientists? Isn't asking questions our whole thing?" Like Ross, Philips had worked in the research labs before being re-tasked as an intelligence analyst.

"That's not what I meant. Ross, you ever wonder why you're still an intern?"

"Every damn day, Philips."

"Because you don't respect the chain of command."

"Sure I do."

"You just told Dr. Samuel Hayden that his theory about the marines heading to NORAD is wrong."

"It is wrong. So?"

Philips raised an eyebrow. "If he kills you, can I have your gaming laptop?"

"Shut it, Philips."

Ross hadn't been that nervous about meeting a fellow scientist in his office for a chat, but he was now. He became even more nervous when he stepped inside and the chairman immediately darkened the windows to 100% opacity.

"Uh, yes, sir, how can I help you?"

"Mr. Friedmann." Hayden sat and steepled his four-fingered hands together. Ross was pretty sure sitting was just a power play to get people to notice his hyper-advanced command chair with all the blinking blue lights, because why would a cyborg need to sit down otherwise? "If the marines aren't going to NORAD, then where are they headed?"

"Where are they headed next, or what's their ultimate destination?"

"Both."

"Sir, I think they'll hit the Super Gore Nests forming in Colorado Springs, Pueblo, Santa Fe, Albuquerque and then go to White Sands Missile Range to pick up experimental weapons before turning around and making their way back up to Montana, rinse and repeat. I think they're an anti-Nest strike unit assigned to the Interstate corridor."

"And why would they be assigned to Interstate 25?"

"Sir, I think that the unit is part of an operation to secure a strip of the continent from Montana to New Mexico."

"And why would they do that?"

He swallowed. It was the first time he'd be voicing this fear out loud. "Dr. Hayden, I … I think the USA and Canada are going to fall back to the Rocky Mountains. I think they're going to let the coastal regions go. New York is finished. Los Angeles is gone. San Diego will go in the next couple of days. Seattle will fall next week. Then Phoenix. Houston. Dallas. Miami. DC. Montreal …"

Ross hadn't realized his voice was rising, almost hysterical, until Dr. Hayden cut him off with a quiet, "Yes, I quite understand the progression, Mr. Friedmann. Why the Rocky Mountains?"

Ross closed his eyes for a minute and breathed through his nose. Hayden stayed surprisingly silent. "Sir," he began again. "I have noticed that the demons seem to have serious difficulty with their flying units, the Gargoyles and Cacodemons, at elevations over one mile. Cities above five thousand feet in elevation have been able to pick them off with relative ease compared to cities at sea level. The demonic ground units also seem to move much more slowly. They don't even try bringing Titans up that high. I think these Hell creatures require quite a lot of oxygen, and they're struggling in the thinner air at high elevations. That's why Mexico City has been able to put up such a fight; they're seven thousand feet above sea level."

"You seem to have given this a lot of thought."

"Yes, sir, I have. Such as -"

"No need to get into more detail right now, Mr. Friedmann. Let us focus on what started your train of thought: the marines. Perhaps you're right, and NORAD isn't telling us everything. I believe there is a solution for both of us. You can satisfy your curiosity, and I can glean more information about this paramilitary unit and their purpose."

"What would that be, sir?"

"I'm sending you to Colorado Springs to observe the Super Gore Nest. I want to know if the marines show up to validate your theory about the Interstate 25 corridor. There will be a helicopter waiting for you above-ground. You have ten minutes to pack whatever you need for a week's field work. The Denver ARC will be hosting you while you are in Colorado. That will be all."

'Well,' Ross thought. 'Shit. Maybe Philips was right and I'm being "disappeared" via being eaten by a Gore Nest.'

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

As Ross left Hayden's office, he thought he heard the chairman muttering words that included 'should have' and 'South Pole instead.'