With a kick at the ground Eric was airborne in an assisted jump that took him twenty meters up and over seventy ahead. Behind him the others followed suit, most using smaller and more controllable jumps, but catching up quickly as the slower assault landers and construction loader rumbled into action and began to make their way into the city.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

National Guard HQ, Intrepid Sea, Air, & Space Museum

“GENERAL! I THINK you need to see this, sir.”

Potts cursed under his breath. Those words boded nothing but ill if he were to judge from the way things had been going so far. He headed over to the center of the tactical communications and command setup, leaning over the man’s shoulder.

“What is it, son?”

The young enlisted man gestured at the screens. “Sir, we’ve got forty-three new IFF signals that just lit off in South Bronx. They’re moving north in a hurry. Lead elements will hit the expressway anytime now.”

“Ours?”

“No sir. I’ve got no hits on their ID, just Confederate signals. It’s over my security clearance, General.”

“What the hell is going on?” Potts grumbled under his breath, reaching over to scan his biometrics into the system. It took a moment to register, but nothing changed. “Oh, who the hell are these people?”

“No idea sir, but they’ll reach Seventh Platoon in less than three minutes at their current rate.”

“Great. Curtz!”

“Yes sir!” A lieutenant appeared behind him.

“Get on the link to Command. I want those codes.”

“Yes sir.”

The best Potts could say about this was that at least they weren’t more of the enemy, but he wasn’t terribly happy about having a bunch of unknowns about to join into one of his combat zones. The sooner he learned just who the hell they were the happier a man he’d be.

Eric Weston skidded as he landed on the Cross Bronx Expressway, planting a foot on the concrete edge to brace himself as he paused to wait for the others to catch up. They weren’t a smoothly operating machine by any means, but they were better than some boot squads he’d run with in the past.

That’s not saying a lot, but I suppose it’ll have to do.

He looked northwest, eyes and HUD locking in on the IFF signals coming from the Guards’ Seventh Platoon. The armored regiment had managed to tear their way through the city enough to finally find a few of the enemy to engage, and he rather suspected that they were in the process of regretting it.