“Do we have the codes yet for the contingent from the Odyssey?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yes sir. Not from Command, General. Captain Weston gave them to Major Curran directly.”

Potts grunted. “Good man. Bring them up.”

The map of the battlefield, of New York City, was a confused mess and that was being kind. The impact explosions of the Drasins’ insertion vehicles had toppled skyscrapers and blown craters into the very foundation of the city itself. Those were ugly scars on the computer display Potts was now looking at, scars that he doubted would ever be healed.

His own platoons and squadrons were represented by blue division patches, and they were now arrayed around the city with fairly deep penetration despite the traffic issues. The new icons, also blue, were of the Odyssey’s own patch, a starship against a starry background, eclipsing a planet and its moon.

There were several dozen of those signals, moving north as he watched, heading for where the Ninth Platoon was embroiled in a nasty firefight and had lost three of their number already. Potts gritted his teeth, but didn’t see many options open to him.

“Give me a direct link to the commander of Ninth Platoon.”

“Yes sir.”

Potts leaned forward, eyes on the map. “Major, this is General Potts. You have reinforcements inbound from your six. Hold the line son, help is coming. When they arrive, Captain Weston has tactical command. Do you understand?”

When the major acknowledged, Potts cut the channel and nodded to his aide.

“Send them the IFF codes for the Odyssey contingent.”

“Yes sir.”

Running rooftop to rooftop was tricky business, even in full enhancing armor, but in a city like New York it also permitted a course almost straight as the crow flies, one that would cut entire seconds, perhaps even a full minute, off their travel time. For anyone looking from below, or above, the sight of forty-plus armored men and women running full tilt across the roof of the city had to be surreal.

Eric had a full overlay up, which made the maneuvering even harder, but he had little choice. He needed a plan of attack before they got there, and with only seconds to put it together he had to lean on every skill and trick he’d ever picked up in multitasking.

“We’re going to hit them hard and fast,” he ordered. “The Guardie armored platoon has already lost three tanks and as many as nine men, and they’ve only taken out one of the Drasin drones. First squad, you’re with me. We’ll take them from ground level. Everyone else is to deploy across the rooftops according to Commander Granger’s orders. Watch your lines of fire. I’ll be very irritated if I die because one of you mistook me for an alien.”