The captain snorted, sounding amused. “Tell me about it, Major. It was one hell of a fall. That said, we don’t have time to swap stories. We’re moving deeper into the city. The Drasin have engaged another armored platoon on Pelham. Can you provide cover for my supply train?”

Curran considered the request quickly and nodded. “Can do, Captain. We’re heading that way as well. It’s going to take us a while, though, with all the vehicles clogging up the roads.”

“Understood. We may have a partial solution to that. My force will move on ahead. You follow as you can. My supply train will catch up shortly.”

“Roger that. Uh, Captain, our IFF board doesn’t have access to your systems . . .”

Eric paused, half turning back, then walked over to Curran’s tank. He reached out and touched one of the transmitters, making a close proximity connection, and Curran watched as someone took over his computer for a moment.

Well, he’s got to be at least a flag officer if he’s got my codes . . .

A moment later the board lit up, now showing more than forty new IFF signals on top of his position, and several more coming up from behind them.

“There,” Eric said, “you now have access to the Odyssey’s codes. You’ll see what we see.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Eric nodded, then turned and gestured to the other armored figures before bounding off in a roughly northerly direction. One by one and in groups the others followed, leaving Curran and the rest of his platoon alone.

“Alright, we’re moving out in five!” he called. “First I want to check our fallen. Do whatever you need to do now because once we’re moving, we ain’t stopping!”

With that he popped the hatch of his tank and pulled himself out, intent on checking for any survivors from the two tanks he’d lost. The bodies would have to wait, but if there was anyone breathing, now was the only time they’d have.

NATIONAL GUARD HQ, INTREPID SEA, AIR, & SPACE MUSEUM

“SIGNALS FROM SEVENTH Platoon, sir. Enemy destroyed and they are proceeding to back up the Ninth.”

Potts grumbled, but for once it wasn’t an annoyed sound.

“Good. Any word on the unknown IFF signals?”

“Major Curran says that they’re a team off the Odyssey, led by Weston, General.”

Potts frowned deeply, considering that. It both made sense and yet didn’t. He walked over to his own station, calling up files as quickly as he could. The new IFF signals were certainly consistent with what a team from the Odyssey would be using, but unless he was misremembering . . .

There it is. Potts glared at the memo he’d pulled up. According to reports, Weston was the only man on that ship when she went down. So who the hell did he put in those suits?