Read Online Out of the Black (Odyssey One, Book 4) by Evan Currie - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Evan Currie
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no apparent reason.
Inside the tank the crew crossed their fingers and hoped real hard that the enemy wouldn’t take notice of that particular oddity.
“Why did you stop?”
Eric glanced back, noting that the woman wasn’t winded. That was impressive, given that she was keeping up with him and he was in enhancing armor. Okay, he wasn’t going all out by a longshot, but even so.
“See the spy drones there?” He nodded up.
Lyssa looked for a moment, then finally caught one of them as it banked and a glint of sun flicked off one of the propellers. “Yeah.”
“Short range, probably launched from a tank,” he said. “In a city like this you don’t need line of sight, but it’s close unless you’ve got a good uplink, and I’m pretty sure they don’t have that.”
“Oh? How come?”
“’Cause I don’t have one,” he said with a grin, which vanished quickly. “Probably because the enemy took out the bird.”
“Oh.” She grimaced. “So where are they?”
“At a guess? Camouflaged,” he said. “Probably tucked in between those buildings up there, or maybe in the tree line. I don’t want to surprise the gunner, though. That could get ugly.”
That was a sentiment that she wasn’t about to argue with, not even remotely.
They moved out again, Eric leading them around the likely area as he began looking for the tank. As they reached the edge of the trees, he motioned her to one side.
“Hold tight here. I’m going to go ahead.”
“I don’t see any sign of the enemy.” Garibaldi scowled, looking through the feed from the drones.
“After that blast I’m surprised you can see a sign of Central Park,” Tate countered dryly.
The lieutenant snorted, shaking his head. “Oh, there’s lots of signs of the park. All over the city from what I can tell.”
Tate was about to answer when a series of clanging sounds on the armor of the tank nearly caused both men to jump out of their skin. They looked at each other, wide-eyed for a moment before Tate spoke up.
“You think it’s the enemy sir?”
Garbaldi shot him a dark look. “Did those
things
strike you as the type to knock?”
Tate appeared to consider this while Garibaldi just shook his head and reluctantly flicked from the drone feed to the external fiber optics. He frowned when he spotted the armored figure lounging on the top of the tank, looking far too casual for someone in a war zone.
The lieutenant sighed and dogged the seal on the hatch, shoving it open so he could pull himself out.
“Hello, Lieutenant,” the man in armor said. “I was wondering if I might borrow a cup of ammo.”
The sheer oddity of the statement caught him off guard. “Excuse me?”
“You have a munitions truck in your platoon, Lieutenant?”
“Who the fuck are you?” Garibaldi growled. “I’m not giving you dick . . .”
“Eric Weston, Captain, Confederation Marines. Check my bona fides if you must, but I’m low on ammo and need to top up.”
“We’re an
armored
platoon, jarhead,” Garibaldi snarled. “We don’t carry bullets for whatever popgun you’re . . .”
Weston casually hefted a gun unlike anything Garibaldi had ever seen, a ceramic white color with free-floating arcs that extended along the length of the weapon.
“I’ll take anything you’ve got up to eighty millimeter,” Weston said, looking over the camo surface of the tank he was sitting on. “This baby packs a sixty-millimeter rail gun, right? I’ll take a supply of DPU rounds.”
Garibaldi shook himself. “Look. I don’t know who you are . . .”
“You’re probably the only person on the planet right now who doesn’t, then,” Weston cut him off. “Just run my ID, son. I need those munitions, ’cause I’m almost out of diamonds.”
Garibaldi just stared for a moment, then slowly ducked back into the vehicle, resealing the hatch, to run the name and ID of the madman sitting on his tank. It really was better not to talk to lunatics in his
Inside the tank the crew crossed their fingers and hoped real hard that the enemy wouldn’t take notice of that particular oddity.
“Why did you stop?”
Eric glanced back, noting that the woman wasn’t winded. That was impressive, given that she was keeping up with him and he was in enhancing armor. Okay, he wasn’t going all out by a longshot, but even so.
“See the spy drones there?” He nodded up.
Lyssa looked for a moment, then finally caught one of them as it banked and a glint of sun flicked off one of the propellers. “Yeah.”
“Short range, probably launched from a tank,” he said. “In a city like this you don’t need line of sight, but it’s close unless you’ve got a good uplink, and I’m pretty sure they don’t have that.”
“Oh? How come?”
“’Cause I don’t have one,” he said with a grin, which vanished quickly. “Probably because the enemy took out the bird.”
“Oh.” She grimaced. “So where are they?”
“At a guess? Camouflaged,” he said. “Probably tucked in between those buildings up there, or maybe in the tree line. I don’t want to surprise the gunner, though. That could get ugly.”
That was a sentiment that she wasn’t about to argue with, not even remotely.
They moved out again, Eric leading them around the likely area as he began looking for the tank. As they reached the edge of the trees, he motioned her to one side.
“Hold tight here. I’m going to go ahead.”
“I don’t see any sign of the enemy.” Garibaldi scowled, looking through the feed from the drones.
“After that blast I’m surprised you can see a sign of Central Park,” Tate countered dryly.
The lieutenant snorted, shaking his head. “Oh, there’s lots of signs of the park. All over the city from what I can tell.”
Tate was about to answer when a series of clanging sounds on the armor of the tank nearly caused both men to jump out of their skin. They looked at each other, wide-eyed for a moment before Tate spoke up.
“You think it’s the enemy sir?”
Garbaldi shot him a dark look. “Did those
things
strike you as the type to knock?”
Tate appeared to consider this while Garibaldi just shook his head and reluctantly flicked from the drone feed to the external fiber optics. He frowned when he spotted the armored figure lounging on the top of the tank, looking far too casual for someone in a war zone.
The lieutenant sighed and dogged the seal on the hatch, shoving it open so he could pull himself out.
“Hello, Lieutenant,” the man in armor said. “I was wondering if I might borrow a cup of ammo.”
The sheer oddity of the statement caught him off guard. “Excuse me?”
“You have a munitions truck in your platoon, Lieutenant?”
“Who the fuck are you?” Garibaldi growled. “I’m not giving you dick . . .”
“Eric Weston, Captain, Confederation Marines. Check my bona fides if you must, but I’m low on ammo and need to top up.”
“We’re an
armored
platoon, jarhead,” Garibaldi snarled. “We don’t carry bullets for whatever popgun you’re . . .”
Weston casually hefted a gun unlike anything Garibaldi had ever seen, a ceramic white color with free-floating arcs that extended along the length of the weapon.
“I’ll take anything you’ve got up to eighty millimeter,” Weston said, looking over the camo surface of the tank he was sitting on. “This baby packs a sixty-millimeter rail gun, right? I’ll take a supply of DPU rounds.”
Garibaldi shook himself. “Look. I don’t know who you are . . .”
“You’re probably the only person on the planet right now who doesn’t, then,” Weston cut him off. “Just run my ID, son. I need those munitions, ’cause I’m almost out of diamonds.”
Garibaldi just stared for a moment, then slowly ducked back into the vehicle, resealing the hatch, to run the name and ID of the madman sitting on his tank. It really was better not to talk to lunatics in his
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