The corridor was so bright it hurt, but shadows killed. This was the doctrine that seen Col. Dillard through ops blacker than the Devil’s soul. Dillard told Lt. Gibbs to bring up additional floods, including any UVs and broad-spectrums they could get their hands on.

Because you couldn’t have too much light.

Chokepoint 17 was so crucial, Dillard had come down here himself: you could deny control to half the facility from here. He was impressed despite himself—Gibbs had good lines of fire down the corridors, his SPOs were already trancing and his NTFS was creating a barricade with graveyard salts. Gibbs had even managed to get those damn useless MiBs out of the way.

The only sore spot Dillard could see was that the little Nazi, Hoven, had appeared at some point and wouldn’t leave. Wasn’t he Winters’ pet and shouldn’t he be with her?

“Lieutenant!”

“Sir!”

“What the hell is he doing here?” Dillard pointed at Hoven.

“Winters had him pop a Drac in CSF , sir, then he came here.”

“Get rid of him.”

“Yessir.”