Out of the Black (Odyssey One, Book 4) by Evan Currie Read Free Book Online Page B

thought you just blew the gear to hell?” she demanded, chasing after him.
    “No, that was the command habitat,” he said as he walked. “There was only a small security office there, nothing major.”
    “Then where is the rest?”
    He looked down at the park and then well out past it to the city beyond. “Out there. Past the Drasin.”
    “Oh, just fucking perfect,” she muttered disgustedly. “Can it get any worse?”
    “Tell me, Lieutenant,” Eric asked mildly, “do you swim?”
    She just groaned.
    Eric smiled in his armor, though the situation didn’t hold much real humor. He knew that it wasn’t going to be remotely as easy as he’d just implied, which wasn’t very. No, they had to cross the park first, and he didn’t dare use the chute to fly over it. They’d be very slow-moving skeet for enemy fire if they tried that.
    They had to cross the park on foot, and from the looks of it the action had drawn the attention of every single one of the alien bastards. Worse, they were all converging on where the
Odyssey
module had rested.
    Bastards must really want a piece of her,
Eric thought grimly.
Well, too late, you pricks
.
    He’d burn every last piece of his ship to cinders before he let her be eaten and turned into more of the enemy.

UNDER 1600 PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE, WASHINGTON, D.C.

    “SIR, YOU NEED to check this.”
    General Caern scowled, an expression that was becoming increasingly familiar on his visage, but headed over to the call without comment.
    “What is it, Sergeant?”
    “Report out of NYC, sir. We have an asset on the ground calling in Stryker teams, putting paint on target for them.”
    “I thought the Guard was having trouble getting to the hot zone?”
    “They are, sir. Look at the call sign attached to the orders.”
    Caern looked closer, his eyes widening in surprising. “Is that confirmed?”
    “Voice print and bio-implant countersigned, sir.”
    “Well damn, that son of a bitch is like a cockroach.” Caern chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, give him whatever he needs, son. Weston knows more about these bastards than any man on the planet and maybe off it.”
    “He has a kit request in the system, but we’ve got nothing available,” the sergeant said. “Most of our advanced tech is overseas and we’re light here.”
    “How light?”
    “Cupboard’s bare, sir,” the sergeant admitted grudgingly. “We’ve got plenty of armor, the old school kind, but modern kit is in demand and we’re stretched thin.”
    “We’ve got nothing then?”
    The sergeant hesitated, his expression twisted almost painfully. Caern recognized the beginning of an evasive answer and just shook his head.
    “Belt it out, son.”
    “Weston’s is Double A qualified, sir.”
    “Right, I know that.”
    Hell, the entire
planet
knew that. Eric Weston was the one name that was forever more associated with the Archangel squadron. You’d have to find a soul who’d not watched a media device in the last two decades to find someone who didn’t know Eric Weston was Double A.
    “Yes sir. What I mean to say, sir, is that we have a few advanced combat units sitting this one out sir,” the sergeant said. “No trained NICS qualified people.”
    “Right. Those.” The General nodded. “Are they field ready?”
    He hadn’t paid a lot of attention to those. They seemed like advanced tinker toys, but then he was an old-school soldier at heart. Wars were won door to door, not by knocking over buildings and blowing great massive holes in things.
    Of course, these things could do with some great massive holes
.
    “Yes sir, cleared last quarter.”
    “Check one out and offer it up,” Caern said, turning away. “If he wants it, hand deliver it if need be.”
    “Yes sir.”
    Caern made his way back over to the central war table, a conference table surrounding a tri-D holo imager.
    “What was it, General?” the President asked, looking over. “More bad news?”
    “Some good news, I would say.” The