Free Guerilla by Mel Odom Page A

two-­wheeled vehicles had fat all-­terrain tires, and both were stripped down to only essential equipment, a magnetic-­powered engine, a powerful driveshaft that turned both wheels, a seat, and enough suspension to survive drops from twenty meters—­if the rider didn’t lose control on impact. Or wasn’t already dead from enemy fire. The matte gray and green paint allowed the crawlers to present a low profile while on the move.
    Reaching his crawler, Sage stripped out of the Makaum clothing and pulled a black hardsuit with Terran Army markings from the equipment saddlebags. He pulled the AKTIVsuit on, then tabbed the sec code into the hidden wrist controller and felt the armor activate, locking into place and hardening up. Medical subroutines came online, comparing Sage’s current condition to what was programmed in the memory. The suit ran on an electromagnetic feed broadcasted from Terran Army satellites in orbit around Makaum.
    The saddlebag yielded a pair of boots and gloves. He pulled on both and felt them lock into the combat suit. Taking out the helmet, he pulled it onto his head, securing it as well. Flexible, ablative scales slid out of the helmet and snaked down around his neck. A reinforced column covered his spinal cord.
    For the moment, the faceshield remained blank. All systems were off-line. Neat letters from the suit’s near-­AI scrolled across the inside of the faceshield.
    State your name and rank.
    â€œSage, Frank Nolan. Master Sergeant Terran Army Charlie Company.” Voice recognition confirmed his identity and the helmet came to life. The 360-­degree view opened on the faceshield and a map overlay of his current location ghosted into view over that, spreading out ten klicks from him in all directions. The top-­down view came from the satellite feeds.
    Welcome, Master Sergeant Sage. Your biometrics scan reveals that you are approaching physical exhaustion. Do you require stims?
    â€œNegative. I’m fine.” Sage didn’t care for the chem cocktails the hardsuit could pump into him. He preferred true clarity of mind.
    He took his weapons out of the armored case strapped under the saddlebag on the right side. He fit the Smith and Wesson .500 Magnum revolver into the shoulder holster under his left arm. The silver reticle that matched up with the weapon instantly dawned on his faceshield, paired by the smartlink in the grip and in the biometric link grain in his palm.
    The Birkeland coilgun triggered a red reticle as Sage slid it into the holster on his right hip. He slung the Roley gauss rifle across his back and made certain the violet reticle for the weapon was present.
    The near-­AI juiced a message across Sage’s faceshield. One member of your present team is not prepared.
    Sage turned slightly. A few meters away, Jahup struggled with his helmet, unable to get the piece locked into place. “Need help?”
    â€œNo.” Jahup sounded irritated. He jerked on the helmet again but still didn’t succeed in pulling it into place.
    Sage ignored the young man’s answer and walked over to him. He took Jahup’s helmet in both of his hands, twisted, and leaned it forward a little, fitting it more precisely into the hardsuit’s collar. The armored plating extended from the helmet and locked into the hardsuit with a series of rapid clinks .
    Through the transparent faceshield, Jahup looked equal parts annoyed and appreciative. “Thank you.”
    â€œNo prob.” Sage dropped an armored fist onto Jahup’s helmet to test the connection. “You have to hold the helmet just right to get it on. Takes time to learn it.” Sage felt guilty because the scout’s training had been abbreviated. Still, having the hardsuit was better than not having it while out in hostile territory. “You keep using it, suiting up will become something you don’t even think about when you do it.”
    â€œOkay.” Jahup