THE WIND WHISTLED around Taps's ears as he climbed the mountain. He could see the Communications Station on the ground below, abuzz with activity as the occupying Sovereignty forces carried out their duties.

Taps hung from a pair of pickaxes high above the ground, a satchel full of rockets dangling from his shoulder. On his back was a bag containing an ancient parachute, which felt unnecessarily heavy. The rockets did nothing to ease Taps's burden as he slowly worked his way ...