Invasion: Colorado Read Online Free Page B

said.
    Romo did.
    Helping each other, the two commandos lurched through the mud, with hovertanks searching for them. Fortunately, the enemy search patterns extended wider and farther afield than formerly, but that could quickly change.
    It took another thirteen minutes before Paul guided Romo to the dirt bikes. They needed to get warm, and they needed to get the heck out of this entire area. By how hard the Chinese were searching, he knew he’d killed someone important. Maybe the smart round had been a mistake, at least in terms of his and Romo’s survival.
    “We’ll know soon enough,” Paul muttered. He whipped away a camouflage tarp and righted his bike. Straddling it, he glanced back at Romo. The man just stood there.
    “Let’s go!” Paul shouted.
    Romo moved to his bike and even bent down. But that was it. He didn’t right the bike or himself. The man was in no condition to drive.
    “Sit behind me,” Paul said, “and hold on tight.”
    It took a second, but then like a robot, Romo obeyed and climbed behind Paul.
    Paul kick-started the machine. The rain had turned into icy sleet. This wasn’t going to be easy or fun. With Romo on the seat, Paul half stood and twisted the throttle. The back tire slewed. Paul straightened the motorcycle and gave it more gas. The back tire spun wildly, spraying mud. Then, with a lurch, it shot forward.
    Working their way through the muddy sea, the two commandos left the scene of the sniper attack.
    Will we survive the night? Paul wondered. The hovertanks could still easily catch them, but right now they couldn’t see them. Well, if they died it wouldn’t be for a lack of trying to escape. Why did the drone operators have to run out of smart bombs? That had to change, or America was never going to win this war.
     
     
    SANTA FE, NEW MEXICO
     
    Soldier Rank Zhu Peng took apart his QBZ-95 assault rifle, sitting on a stool alone in the tent. He belonged to First Rank Tian Jintao’s squad of the Bai Hu Tezhongbing— White Tiger Commandos. Each sleeping bag in the tent was rolled tight, along with each foam sleeping mat. An electric lantern burned on a small campaign table, providing Zhu light. Outside, crickets chirped and occasionally he heard the grinding gears of heavy supply trucks in the distance.
    Zhu’s rifle parts lay on a sheet. Beside it was his dinylon body armor, Qui 1000 jets, jetpack fuel tank, controls and other Eagle Team paraphernalia.
    Although he didn’t look the part, Zhu was an elite Chinese soldier, one of the jetpack flyers. He was thin, practically frail looking, with gaunt cheeks and it appeared, innocent eyes.
    He’d survived a lot since the California campaign. Most of the original members of his squad were dead. In fact, only First Rank Tian Jintao still lived.
    Zhu picked up the skeleton of his QBZ-95 to clean it. The assault rifle was the Qing Buqiang Zidong -95. It had a bullpup configuration, meaning the weapon’s action and magazine were located behind the grip and trigger assembly. It fired caseless ammunition, giving it more bullets per magazine, also meaning the rifle didn’t have to open up after each shot to eject a spent case. With fewer moving parts and less exposure, the rifle jammed less often than other combat weapons. The QBZ-95 was quintessential proof of Chinese battlefield superiority. It was better and more advanced than similar American weapons. The advancement wasn’t overwhelming, but it helped give Chinese soldiers an edge.
    I need more of an edge .
    Zhu frowned thoughtfully. The others of the squad had joined Tian tonight in town. They’d found willing American women to spend a night of pleasure with them. Tian had taken extra food as payment.
    Many Americans in the Occupied Territories were having trouble getting enough to eat. Zhu had heard some terrible stories. Chinese rear-area troops gathered supplies for the fighting soldiers and sent the rest south to Mexico. Some of the food went all the way to China. It left