DROP THIRTY-NINE
Canvas prayed to the war god, Ares. He was breathing hard, back against the wall. Angelo was down and bleeding, a mere three metres to the side, yet he couldn’t reach him.
Bullets whizzed and ricocheted around him, cover fire from a sentry landrone. It was high calibre, tearing through walls and cover as if it were cheese.
There were twelve hostages inside, two of them underage. Canvas injected a stim in his thigh. He peeked around as fast as he could and seared their positions in his mind. He was so fast that his combat veil didn’t have time to register the non-combatants, he had to do this old-style.
It was good that he had ducked, because the sentry drone shot the very spot his head had been a fraction of a second later.
Michael was further back, pinned down as wel
