Gears of War: Anvil Gate Read Free Page A

his wheelchair away from the console. “Two confirmed dead by Sigma Squad.”
    “And where’s Lieutenant Stroud?”
    “Out on patrol. Testing canine units with Sergeant Mataki. Remember?”
    Yes, he did. He’d promised Anya more frontline tasks and now he had to honor that. “I’m all in favor of low-tech solutions.”
    “And I need to task that woman who used to be in Major Reid’s EOD team.”
    Reid. Two-faced asshole
. “Which woman?”
    “Private Byrne.” Mathieson paused. He had a habit of punctuating with silences, and the longer the silence, the more negative adjectives he seemed to leave unsaid. “Sam Byrne. The one who does everyone’s tattoos.”
    “Ah. Her. Yes, it’s a Kashkuri thing.”
    “You knew her father, didn’t you? She mentioned it.”
    Knew him? One of my own. Twenty-sixth Royal Tyran Infantry. Anvil Gate just isn’t going to let me forget it today
.
    “I did,” Hoffman said. “Team her up with Mataki and Stroud. I pity the Stranded asshole who runs into that gang of harpies.”
    Hoffman never openly expressed concern for a female Gear’s safety, but Mathieson probably knew him well enough to decode the comment. There was no allowance for gender. Either women could do the job as well as a man or they couldn’t, and if they couldn’t—then they didn’t serve on the front line. But Anya Stroud lacked experience, and Sam Byrne always had to prove she could take more risks than a man even when she didn’t have to. Bernie would have her hands full keeping an eye on two liabilities at once.
    Bernie knows what she’s doing. She’ll be a steadying influence. Stick Byrne with the men, and she’ll be too busy picking fights with them
.
    “Indeed, sir,” Mathieson said. “I’ve always thought that women are a lot worse than us when they get going.”
    Maybe it was a general comment. Maybe it was about Bernie, because her line in rough justice had evolved from common knowledge into regimental mythology now.
    Either way, Hoffman didn’t take the bait. “Wise to steer clear of the ladies. How many patrols have we still got out?”
    “Eight, sir. One more thing—probably nothing, but I took the precaution of monitoring the Indie ship-to-ship channels. One of their frigates is in trouble.”
    “They’ve only
got
one. What kind of trouble?”
    “It struck something submerged, radioed for assistance, and then lost contact.”
    “Ran aground? What kind of goddamn weekend sailors are they?”
Quentin’s going to be pissed off. He really wanted that frigate for NCOG
. “Have you told Captain Michaelson?”
    “Not while he’s with Commander Trescu. I don’t think the Indies know we can eavesdrop on that frequency. And I don’t know how Trescu keeps in touch when he’s ashore, because he doesn’t route calls through here.”
    “You’ll make a politician one day, Donneld.”
    “No need to be insulting, sir …”
    Hoffman would have taken that entirely as a joke if he hadn’t known how badly Mathieson wanted to return to a combat role. With the limited prosthetics available now, that wasn’t going to be anytime soon. The COG had sunk most of its technology along with Jacinto. Everything that could have helped Mathieson walk again was under a hundred meters of seawater.
    There was a hell of a lot of rebuilding to do, and it wasn’t all bricks and mortar.
    “Keep me posted,” Hoffman said. “I better go see how our gallant captain is getting on.”
    CNV
Sovereign
was the navy’s flagship, but that wasn’t sayingmuch these days. She was overdue at least five major refits. The daily struggle to keep the carrier running showed, from the rust streaks on her superstructure to the broken jackstaff at her stern. She was an equally sad picture below decks.
    As Hoffman made his way through the passages to Michaelson’s day cabin, he had to duck to avoid jury-rigged cable conduits sagging from the deckheads. The wiring was exposed in some places and even routed through vent