The voice on the line was not Officer Myriano, and that gave Granger pause for a moment. The tone stopped him even longer, something he’d last heard when he was in the war, though he didn’t recognize the voice itself.

“Who is this?” Granger demanded, a tone of caution in his own voice.

“Captain Eric Stanton Weston, Confederate Marine Corps. I say again, what’s your name, soldier?”

“Ian Granger. Look, Captain, I don’t know what you’re up to but I’ve got better than twenty thousand people here to protect. I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

“Granger, let me put to you this way . . . I’m sitting on about a hundred and twenty tons of military grade hardware and firepower. First come, first served.”

The channel went dead a moment later, leaving Granger gaping in shock.

“Sir?”

Granger stood up from his sniper position, eyes sweeping the skies. “When is that chopper due back?”

The NYPD had taken the brunt of the early fighting, losing dozens of men and women, quite possibly hundreds in the initial battles as they threw themselves into the fray the same way they would against any terrorist or violent offender. Unfortunately for them, they were facing no offender like they had ever dealt with in the past, and despite several heroic charges and stands, the dead showed little for their sacrifice aside from a handful of grateful citizens.

Those who survived learned the hard way that their sidearms, even their small artillery pieces, were of no value against the invaders tearing the city down piece by piece.

So it was that when the call went out, talking about military hardware available for the taking, it spread fast through the police channels. In a very short time a veritable tide of blue was sweeping through the city toward Ferry Point Park, confusing everyone who saw them pass.

FERRY POINT PARK, BRONX

“THIS IS A BIT higher tech than I was issued in the Corps,” Lyssa said as she clenched and unclenched her fist in the enhancing armor.

Eric snorted. “The Corps does more with less than anyone else on the planet, so they always get less to do more with.”

She laughed outright at that.

“That said, this is higher tech than almost anything on the planet, so it’s not exactly a shocker. Enhancing armor is expensive but, more importantly, it’s generally not terribly useful. Special Operations have been using unsealed versions for over a decade, mostly for fast hit-and-run operations deep inside Block lines.”

He helped her stand up, letting her walk a couple of steps to get used to the feel of the armor, and remembered another woman taking her first steps in the bulky gear.

“Flex your legs,” he said.

Lyssa picked one leg up off the ground, clearly straining a little. “That’s some stiff.”