The armored beasts hit the ground with a violence that threw men against straps and rattled ribs.
Composite skin screamed as webbed parachutes snapped taut, then snapped loose, and the E-series hulls skidded across churned sod, spitting up clay and grass.
Erich nearly crashed into the wall of his command vehicle. The impact had jarred him, and he needed a moment to breathe.
The armored vehicles of his combined arms battalion lie scattered around his own.
Sleek, low-slung, angular, these were not the lumbering beasts of an older age.
Their composite casings flexed, absorbing shock.
"Form up on me!" Erich barked into the transceiver. Voices answered: quick, clipped, practiced.
Men moved with purpose. Parachutes flapped like ragged flags behind them.
From the hedgerow ahead there came the pop and staccato rattle of French automatic rifles.
