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“There’s still strat and digi-comm.”

“Don’t forget about Search & Rescue,” Marion joked.

Though Grace loved combat, her dislike of the aftermath was no secret.

“Please. It’s too early,” she said with a shiver.

As they walked over to join the other competitors, Blythe stepped in front of the girls, glaring at them with her icy eyes. She secured her quiver and bow around her wide shoulders. “Look what the coyotes dragged in,” she said.

“Move it.” Grace tried to step around the behemoth, but Blythe held out her arms to block her.

Blythe smirked. “You think you’re real special, don’t you? Think you’re a shoo-in for the program—the General’s daughter, whose mother saved the world.”

“She’ll get in because she’s good.” Marion tried shoving Blythe out of the way, but she didn’t budge.

“Shut up, Red.”

Grace looked up at Blythe and held her stance. She wasn’t about to let this weak intimidation tactic spook her. “The judges are looking for team players; you know that, right?” she said.

Blythe dialed it back a notch. “I’m a team player. But how would you know?” She was right about that. Grace had always kept her at arm’s length, making sure the safe distance between them remained intact.

“Can we have this heart-to-heart after tryouts?” Grace faked a smile.

“You might do good, but once they figure out you’re a wimp who can’t stand the sight of blood, you’re smoked.”

Marion stepped up to Blythe. “Why don’t you take one of your arrows and stick it up your—”

“Competitors, please take your seats. Tryouts will commence in five minutes. The first segment will be combat.” The announcer’s voice filled the room.

“Come on, let’s sit down,” said Grace, walking around Blythe.

The thirty competitors sat in their section and waited for their names to be called. Grace watched each contender as they went to the floor to perform some sort of combat demonstration. Most had a specific skill set within combat, but a handful just had the basics down because they were more versed in other categories. Many of the guys that year were physically fit and as tough as bulldogs, but a lot of them hadn’t put in the time and effort to develop their prowess. It wasn’t just about strength; the art of combat required shrewdness—Grace’s father had taught her that. It seemed this batch of combat-focused males didn’t care about going to the academy; they’d be fine with getting stationed somewhere at entry-level soldier status. The females were striving for a higher level of training because they had more to prove. Grace knew her real competition would be Blythe, maybe Ally, and, unfortunately, Marion.

It was Ally’s turn. She stepped up to the mat and placed her target boards directly in front of the judges. Bold move. She flung one knife after another with precision and speed, hitting her mark every single time. She did some maneuvers in between tosses to show off her speed and agility. Grace felt a pang of nervousness, but breathed through it, remembering to focus on herself.

“The squirt’s a real pro with those pigstickers,” said Marion.

“She’s quick, but not very clever. She won’t do well in strategy.”

Grace watched as Blythe took the floor. Right off the bat, she tripped and looked like a clumsy oaf. Instead of hitting her typical bull’s-eye, her first arrow hit right outside the ring. She was cracking under pressure. Grace almost felt sorry for her, but she knew Blythe would do extremely well in the digital communications segment. That was her specialty.

Blythe took a confident bow and walked off the mat. Marion was up next. She didn’t start on the mat; instead, she started on the benches, darting up between the villagers and climbing up the wall with a rope. She straddled one of the rafters, took out her slingshot, and aimed for her target, which she nailed. She grabbed a rope, swung from the rafters, and landed on the mat, then hit three consecutive targets with her slingslot, knocking down all three boards. The judges were obviously impressed as they nodded and made notes. She took a bow. Grace couldn’t believe what she had witnessed—Marion had just stolen the show.

Grace was up. She passed Marion on the way to the mat.

“I’m supposed to follow that?”

“You’ve got this, Gracie.”

Grace approached her target—a stuffed practice dummy, hanging from a wooden pole. Her routine seemed bland now. If she didn’t outperform the others, she’d have to make up for it in the remaining categories. Before she reached her target, Sam ran to the mat. He was wearing combat gear and holding a sword. He stepped in front of her, challenging her to a duel.

“What are you doing?” whispered Grace.

“I’m here to help.” He lifted his sword, then came down hard.

Grace blocked the blade and stumbled backward, caught off guard.

“How’s this helping?”

“Just focus,” he said.

She locked her stance and held her sword tightly with both hands, wondering if her mother had hired him to screw up her chances of getting into the academy. There wasn’t time to figure out the motives; she needed to get focused, and fast. A surge of adrenaline charged through her body. She was ready to kill him out of spite, and a few other things, like always, he was invading her privacy. She steadied herself and lifted her sword, then came down hard onto his, knocking him back a few inches. They moved in a circle, sizing each other up.
Eyes on your opponent,
she reminded herself. Sam lunged toward her with his sword aimed at her gut. She flipped around to her right and came around behind him, but he was quick and turned to block her swing. The impact knocked her backward onto the mat. He raced over, leaping into the air to land on top of her, but she sprang up to her feet and met him midair. Their swords clanked, repelling their bodies apart.

Sam stumbled and fell to the mat. Grace used the moment of vulnerability to thrust forward, but he rolled up to his feet and blocked her swing, knocking her right hand loose from its grip. She had entered the danger zone: trying to maneuver the heavy sword with only her left hand. Sam came at her again, scooting her backward toward the edge of the mat near the table of judges. He was pushing her beyond her limits. Her left wrist grew weak, and she did the unthinkable and dropped her sword. She never dropped her sword—well, except once or twice in the virtuals, but that didn’t count. Her heart thumped as she stood there, assessing her next moves. Blood from the wound on her forehead dripped into her eyes, but she stayed calm and centered. She couldn’t let Sam win this battle and ruin her chances. He approached her and she did a roundhouse, kicking his fists so he lost his grip and dropped his sword.

Now they both were weaponless.

They faced each other, arms stretched out, ready to engage in unarmed combat. Sam grabbed Grace’s right arm and yanked her down where he straddled her, pinning her to the mat. She stretched out her right foot to pull her sword closer toward her, then slammed her knees into Sam’s lower back, knocking him off to the left. She rolled to the right, grabbed her sword, and flipped around to kick Sam down flat on his back. She stood over him, pressing the tip of the sword against his chest, maybe a little harder than necessary because she tore a small hole in the fabric.

The match was over.

The audience cheered. Grace bowed to the judges while they made their notes. She looked down at Sam, wanting to leave him there on the mat, but since that wouldn’t look very sportsmanlike, she helped him up.

“Nice work,” he said as they walked off the mat. “I think you made a solid impression.”

“You could’ve warned me,” Grace said.

“What fun would that be?” Sam gave her a stealthy wink, then went to sit back on the benches next to Ava. Grace wasn’t clear on the motives; maybe it was sabotage, or maybe it was to elevate her to the next level. Either way, she had given a stellar performance.

“You did it! I knew you could.” Marion gave Grace a victory pump.

“We still have two more segments,” Grace said, plopping down into her chair, exhausted from the match.

The next segments would test strategic and technical abilities. Both required a lot of brainpower, and Grace felt slightly depleted. Everyone was expecting her to do well in technology because of her mother, but she wasn’t a fan of that world. She preferred living in the real one. Instead of watching the remaining competitors’ performances, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the lessons she had been studying. Strategy was next, and she wanted to be prepared.

Grace entered one of the rooms off the main hall to begin the strategy portion of tryouts. The segment administrator, a thin man with long features and squinty eyes, pointed to a glass table where Grace would take her test. He leaned down and started the program. The table’s surface lit up with a map of the southwest.

“Your objective, Miss Strader, is to map out a war scenario and take back leadership in the New Mexico region,” he said.

No problem,
she thought. She had studied her father’s war strategies for the southwest battles that had taken place a few years back. This wouldn’t be too difficult.

He drummed his bony fingers on the table and grinned. “Miss Strader, I suggest you forget everything you know about your father’s war tactics during the southwest battles. You’ll have to come up with a completely new strategy.”

The confident buzz fizzled. Nevertheless, she had been studying war strategies for years, picking up books from the library and reading about historical wars. The story she found most fascinating was Sherman’s famous “march to the sea” across Georgia during the Civil War. His approach was harsh and brutal, but total war proved to be the fastest way to succeed. She had read B.H. Liddell Hart’s
Sherman: Soldier, Realist, American
so many times the ink was fading away in certain parts.

“You have sixty minutes.” The administrator walked to the front of the room, where he perched on a stool.

Grace didn’t like the lanky man who seemed to have some prejudgment about her abilities. She didn’t need to rely on her father’s background. She had plenty of her own ideas, and she was ready to put them to use.

She read over the summary:

– Base camp stationed at Gallup

– 2,500 troops

– Transport: on foot

– Weapons: 2,000 M9 Bayonets, 400 Berettas, 300 M4 Carbines, 200 Remingtons, 120 incendiary rocket launchers, 200 multi-shot grenade launchers

– One supply line

– Target: two enemy base camps. Santa Fe (approx. 2,300 troops) and second in Albuquerque (approx. 3,500 troops)

– Approx. 4,000 civilians dispersed between both cities

She studied the map and the trails leading to each of the cities, as well as the neighboring towns and civilian dwellings. The obvious and expected approach would be to focus on the smaller city of Santa Fe first, then move down to Albuquerque. But she chose to do an unexpected and indirect approach. The plan would be to divide up her troops, sending the first group to the outskirts of Santa Fe to begin the destruction of the nearing towns, drawing those troops out of their camp and taking control. Simultaneously the other group would launch a surprise attack on Albuquerque. No one would be expecting such a bold move, which is why she believed it would work. Total war. She mapped out a trail with mini base camps that lead directly between the two cities and the location where they’d split up; one heading north to Santa Fe and the other south to Albuquerque. The supply line would also be divided to follow behind each company. She made a chronological list of towns the first group would hit to draw out the northern troops. From there they’d consume supplies, destroy the infrastructure, and devastate the enemy’s morale. Then, she drew up a plan to surround Albuquerque and attack in the early morning hours before dawn, when they were least expecting an attack.

Completely immersed in typing out the details of her strategy, she hadn’t heard the chiming of the bell. The administrator touched the screen, shutting down the program.

“Time’s up,” he said.

“I wasn’t finished.”

“You’ll be judged on what you accomplished in the time allotted.”

Grace left the room feeling she had done well enough to impress the judges. All those years of study paid off. Of course, it didn’t hurt having the same genes as one of the most strategic minds in the military. Two down, one to go. The last test would be the toughest—technology was her mother’s thing, not hers. She swallowed down the boulder of fear in her throat and ignored the biting voices of negativity.

In the middle of the main hall, thirty loungers had been set up in a circle so that the competitors faced each other. Everyone took their places. Grace looked around and saw Blythe, who winked with blatant cockiness. Unlike Grace, Blythe had nothing to worry about.

The announcer stood in the middle of the circle and addressed the competitors. “For the final segment, individuals will be tested for their aptitude inside the mainframe. You will have five minutes to exhibit your level of coding competence.”

Grace was confused. He said the mainframe. She thought the final segment would be a virtual aptitude test, not actually connecting into the network of servers. This was not something she had prepared for. She had only been in the mainframe a few times, and her coding knowledge was bordering nil. If she failed this segment, her scores would plummet, costing her acceptance into the academy. Grace put her hand into the connector panel and saw her mother smiling from the benches. She wanted to hit pause and tell her how sorry she was for everything—not just their argument the night before, but for always pushing her away. It was too late. Grace slipped into the blackness of the mainframe . . .

Inside the mainframe, Grace jetted through what looked like space—bright flashes of galaxies zipped by at warp speed. This was far more intense than any virtual. This was the real deal. She shot through a tunnel of cascading white light. When she looked closer, she realized it was coding. Millions of strands of coding. Her objective was to engage and manipulate the coding instead of just ripping through the endless tunnel. She had less than five minutes to make something happen. Whatever that meant.