Origins Read Online Free Page B

dashed as one. I slid into cover behind the crawlers; pumped my grenade launcher and fired two frag grenades out into the snow. I caught a Chino soldier, but several others retreated back into cover at the other end of the road.
    â€œEveryone intact?” I asked.
    â€œAffirmative,” Mason said.
    â€œI have eyes on the target,” Jenkins said. She poked her head from behind the crawler, looking to the fence and the guard tower.
    â€œWe’ve got to bring that thing down,” I said. “Lay down frag grenades, move up to the foot of that tower.”
    â€œI’ll take the right,” Jenkins replied.
    My M95 plasma rifle – now ancient by military standards, performance far surpassed by the later upgraded M110 model, but still my preferred long-arm – illuminated the area.
    I dashed for another snow-crawler, took up a position behind it. Mason and Martinez hunkered down beside some cargo drums: from the fence, a heavy automatic weapon of some description began to fire, throwing rounds against those. I saw Jenkins from the corner of my eye, moving fast between burning crates. More Chino troopers were flanking us. Her null-shield lit as she moved.
    â€œI’m on this,” she panted.
    â€œStay in cover! We’ll take the tower from the eastern ridge, move back around—!”
    â€œI said that I’m on this,” she hissed.
    The guard tower anti-air weapon swivelled on its mount, slowly sweeping over the compound.
Fuck.
That was a big-ass laser: if it hit Jenkins, combat-suit or not, she’d be wasted.
    â€œGet back into cover!”
    Brazenly, Jenkins pumped her grenade launcher.
    The volley of grenades traced a clear, delicate trajectory; barely slowed by the wind. The tower was supported by four thin legs, planted into the snowy ground, and one of those was caught by the exploding ordnance. Jenkins kept firing. Her face, behind the visor of her helmet, was contorted in abject rage. Rounds hit her torso, bounced off her chest-plate. The combat-suit camo-field failed, illuminating her outline very precisely. It was as though sheer determination was repelling the enemy.
    The structure wobbled.
    From my position, I could just see the tip of the sentry tower: could see the soldiers crewing it yelling and waving below. They began to drop from the nest; to jump rather than fall.
    Jenkins charged her underslung launcher again and again. The grenades whistled as they fired, peppering the foot of the guard tower.
    â€œShe’s bringing it down!” Mason said.
    The tower slowly toppled into the snow. It was tall enough to catch a series of gantries as it went; throwing the scream of metal-on-metal to the wind, the pleasing concussive boom of another explosion. The gorge around me echoed with the sound. Snow began to slide from the steeper mountainsides, cascading against the perimeter fence.
    Jenkins just stood there for a moment. The Directorate troops had ceased firing and started to fall back – moving inside the compound.
    â€œYou okay?” I asked, as I jogged over to her position.
    She nodded at me grimly. “I’m fine. I just needed to work out some stress.”
    Martinez exchanged a glance with me but said nothing. This was Jenkins now. She was different; had been changed by what had happened in Damascus.
    â€œThis is still a military operation,” I said. “Follow orders.”
    Jenkins looked irritated behind her face-plate; as though she had forgotten that this wasn’t personal, that this was supposed to be a rescue operation rather than some opportunity to vent our anger on the Directorate. The expression was fleeting though, and she nodded in agreement.
    â€œSolid copy that.”
    Scorpio One flew low overhead. The Jaguar fired a volley of Banshee missiles from hard points under each of its stubby wings, and various positions inside the compound ignited in brisk blooms of yellow light.
    â€œJames has the airspace under