Read Online The Heart of Matter: Odyssey One by Evan Currie - Free Book Online
Authors: Evan Currie
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contingent was prepping and found the leader of the motley group.
“Colonel Reed.”
“Captain.” The small, wiry man nodded as he packed his gear and secured it to one of the automated tractors that would carry it all to wherever they needed it. “We’ll be ready to move out in five minutes.”
“That’ll be fine, Colonel. How did you and your men handle the trip?”
“We’ve had worse.” The wry grin belied the remark as the colonel used his thumb to clear a layer of perspiration from his forehead without dislodging the green beret perched on his head.
“I’d doubt that, except that I’ve seen some of the places you people work,” Eric replied with a matching smile, then turned serious. “You have everything you’re going to need?”
“I hope so, Captain,” Reed replied, shrugging. “The key to our work is to figure out what the locals have access to and give them the best training we can manage to incorporate it. Used to be that pretty much meant starting with bows and arrows and working up from there. I’m hoping it won’t be that bad this time.”
Eric shook his head. “I think that you’ll find that they probably have the base to create a lot of very advanced gear, just not the concepts to use it the way we would.”
“We can work with that,” Reed replied. “I was assigned to Russia during the ‘Mongrel Invasion.’ Most of our duties then were digging out the military equipment the old USSR had buried almost a century earlier.”
Eric snorted slightly, mostly at the soldier’s informal nickname of the Block’s push on Moscow. The remnants of the Soviet military at that time had been largely working counter-smuggling operations for the better part of three decades and didn’t have the training, let alone the equipment, to match themselves against a serious invading force.
The cached equipment from twentieth and early twenty-first century military caches weren’t the equal to the Block’s modern technology, but a 125mm howitzer was still a force to be reckoned with in modern warfare.
Especially when the US Airforce was busy airdropping FAE, EMP, and micro-nuke shells for the antique weapon.
The Block learned pretty quickly that the method of delivery wasn’t as important as the package arriving on your doorstep.
“All right”—Eric nodded—“get your team packed and gear stowed. We’ll be leaving in fifteen.”
“You got it, sir.”
Admiral Tanner stepped out onto the landing platform a little ahead of the estimated arrival time of the shuttle from the
Odyssey
. He’d taken time to change his uniform from the utilitarian one that they still used for most duties to the cleaner, more impressive black “dress” model he’d commissioned after his last meeting with Eric Weston several months earlier.
They’d discussed a great many things over the few days that they had had, and one of them was the drab utility coveralls that all members of the Colonial military wore. Weston had pointed out that, while utility was a primary concern for soldiers, there was a sense of morale and confidence thatcame from wearing a distinctive uniform that separated one from, say, an apprentice service specialist.
Rael had decided to implement Captain Weston’s suggestion, and while it was still going into effect, he’d begun to actually see a certain difference among his own people.
The admiral was thinking about that when a rumbling roar from above him announced the arrival of his guests.
As last time, the Terran shuttle made an impressive sight as it came into sight, slowing to a sweeping glide that brought it to a halt about thirty feet above the platform. The immense lander swayed slightly from side to side on its thrusters as its pilot keyed down the counter-mass field that “hid” its weight from the normal universe, then settled into a slow descent as its landing braces extended.
There was a groan of metal on metal as its weight settled completely in, and the big shuttle
“Colonel Reed.”
“Captain.” The small, wiry man nodded as he packed his gear and secured it to one of the automated tractors that would carry it all to wherever they needed it. “We’ll be ready to move out in five minutes.”
“That’ll be fine, Colonel. How did you and your men handle the trip?”
“We’ve had worse.” The wry grin belied the remark as the colonel used his thumb to clear a layer of perspiration from his forehead without dislodging the green beret perched on his head.
“I’d doubt that, except that I’ve seen some of the places you people work,” Eric replied with a matching smile, then turned serious. “You have everything you’re going to need?”
“I hope so, Captain,” Reed replied, shrugging. “The key to our work is to figure out what the locals have access to and give them the best training we can manage to incorporate it. Used to be that pretty much meant starting with bows and arrows and working up from there. I’m hoping it won’t be that bad this time.”
Eric shook his head. “I think that you’ll find that they probably have the base to create a lot of very advanced gear, just not the concepts to use it the way we would.”
“We can work with that,” Reed replied. “I was assigned to Russia during the ‘Mongrel Invasion.’ Most of our duties then were digging out the military equipment the old USSR had buried almost a century earlier.”
Eric snorted slightly, mostly at the soldier’s informal nickname of the Block’s push on Moscow. The remnants of the Soviet military at that time had been largely working counter-smuggling operations for the better part of three decades and didn’t have the training, let alone the equipment, to match themselves against a serious invading force.
The cached equipment from twentieth and early twenty-first century military caches weren’t the equal to the Block’s modern technology, but a 125mm howitzer was still a force to be reckoned with in modern warfare.
Especially when the US Airforce was busy airdropping FAE, EMP, and micro-nuke shells for the antique weapon.
The Block learned pretty quickly that the method of delivery wasn’t as important as the package arriving on your doorstep.
“All right”—Eric nodded—“get your team packed and gear stowed. We’ll be leaving in fifteen.”
“You got it, sir.”
Admiral Tanner stepped out onto the landing platform a little ahead of the estimated arrival time of the shuttle from the
Odyssey
. He’d taken time to change his uniform from the utilitarian one that they still used for most duties to the cleaner, more impressive black “dress” model he’d commissioned after his last meeting with Eric Weston several months earlier.
They’d discussed a great many things over the few days that they had had, and one of them was the drab utility coveralls that all members of the Colonial military wore. Weston had pointed out that, while utility was a primary concern for soldiers, there was a sense of morale and confidence thatcame from wearing a distinctive uniform that separated one from, say, an apprentice service specialist.
Rael had decided to implement Captain Weston’s suggestion, and while it was still going into effect, he’d begun to actually see a certain difference among his own people.
The admiral was thinking about that when a rumbling roar from above him announced the arrival of his guests.
As last time, the Terran shuttle made an impressive sight as it came into sight, slowing to a sweeping glide that brought it to a halt about thirty feet above the platform. The immense lander swayed slightly from side to side on its thrusters as its pilot keyed down the counter-mass field that “hid” its weight from the normal universe, then settled into a slow descent as its landing braces extended.
There was a groan of metal on metal as its weight settled completely in, and the big shuttle
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