David Sherman & Dan Cragg - Starfist Recon 2 - Point Blank

VIP免费
2024-12-04 0 0 663.46KB 252 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
Pointblank:StarfistForceReconBookII
CHAPTER
ONE
Planetfall in an Undisclosed Location
None of the watchers on top of the shore cliffs paid any particular attention to the meteorite that briefly
flashed down through the sky before it plunged below the horizon.
The AstroGhost stealth shuttle dropped far enough out to sea that the diffused flares of its braking
engines, fired at five thousand meters altitude, weren’t visible from land. A ship at sea, seeing the
diffused flares, might be excused for thinking a meteorite was breaking up in the atmosphere. As soon as
the juddering of the firing brakes began to smooth out, the AstroGhost popped a drogue chute. The chute
tore off after only a few moments, but it was enough to cut the descent velocity; then the AstroGhost
turned its descent from straight down to a velocity-eating spiral, which further slowed its fall. At five
hundred meters, it gained a stable orbit and lowered its loading ramp. A Mark 8 Skimmer, a specialized
version of the standard hopper troop tactical air carrier used by the Confederation Marine Corps, slid out
of the AstroGhost’s bay and fell a hundred meters before firing its engines. In another moment it
demonstrated how it got its name by staying barely high enough above the waves to avoid raising a
rooster tail. The Skimmer was fully loaded with the Marines of first and third squads, second platoon,
Fourth Force Recon Company, and their gear. Staff Sergeant Fryman, second platoon’s first section
leader, commanded. The nine Marines were wearing chameleon uniforms but the screens of their
helmets were up, allowing their faces to be seen.
Fifty kilometers offshore, well out of sight of any watchers on the shore cliffs, the Skimmer stopped,
hovered, and lowered itself closer to the top of the ocean swells. Staff Sergeant Fryman didn’t bother
checking his men to make sure they had all their gear; it wouldn’t have been possible in the cramped
quarters of the Skimmer; besides, he and the squad leaders had done that before they’d boarded the
Skimmer. Instead, he stood out of the way and closely observed through his infrared screen as first
squad, then third squad, acting by feel, each lowered a chameleoned Sea Squirt out of the Skimmer’s
hatch, then followed the Sea Squirts into the water. Each squad leader mounted his Sea Squirt and
operated its controls to extend transparent, bullet-shaped tubes, one on the top, and four more along its
sides. The squad leaders slithered into the open ends of the top tubes, their men into three of the side
tubes. The gear the Marines weren’t carrying on their persons was secured in the fourth tube on third
squad’s Sea Squirt.
When the last of his Marines was wet, Fryman gave an un-gloved thumbs-up to the Skimmer’s crew
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Bureaublad...02]%20-%20Point%20Blank/Sher_034549363X_oeb_c01_r1.htm (1 of 4)26-12-2006 4:55:45
Pointblank:StarfistForceReconBookII
chief, closed his own chameleoning, and followed his men into the water. The Skimmer gently backed
off as Fryman paddled to the farther Sea Squirt, first squad’s. He slipped into his tube, plugged into the
rebreather, took firm hold of the grips, and said into the all-hands circuit, “Squad leaders, report.”
“First squad’s ready,” Sergeant Bingh replied.
“Third squad is go,” Sergeant Kindy said.
“Let’s do this thing.”
Sergeants Kindy and Bingh, the two squad leaders, had already assured themselves that their men were
secured inside their tubes, their rebreathers hooked up. The squad leaders took the controls and sent the
Sea Squirts on a shallow dive path to five meters’ depth, where they leveled off, and, using inertial
guidance, directed the Sea Squirts toward the distant cliffs. In minutes, they were moving at twenty-five
knots; third squad’s Sea Squirt was at wing position, a hundred meters to the left and fifty meters behind
first squad. Everybody settled in for the long ride.
A standard hour later, Fryman signaled Bingh and Kindy, and the squad leaders began slowly edging
their Sea Squirts toward the surface. When Kindy looked over the side of his Sea Squirt through the
light-gatherer screen of his helmet, he could see the sea bottom slowly rising toward them. At another
signal from Fryman, the squad leaders brought the Sea Squirts to a stop on the bottom with the tops of
their upper tubes a meter below the surface of the ebbing tide.
The Marines slid backward out of their tubes and gathered their gear, then paddled to where they could
kneel on the bottom with only their heads above water and observed the shore—half with their infra
screens, half with light gatherers. The squad leaders took a moment before exiting to key the “wait”
instructions into the Sea Squirts, which headed for a designated hiding area in deeper water as soon as
the Marines were all clear.
While the nine Marines were assembling, Fryman gave the beach and cliffs close behind it a scan with
his motion detector. No one there. “Hit the beach,” he ordered.
Keeping only their heads above water, the Marines advanced on a line, propelling themselves with their
fingertips and toes against the sandy bottom. When the water was shallow enough that they were almost
on their bellies, they rose to their feet and surged forward, past the waterline and across the shallow,
boulder-studded beach, to the foot of the cliff. Water streamed off their water-repellent chameleons.
Fryman took a minnie from his waist pack, turned it on, and placed it against the cliff face. The minnie
felt about for tiny irregularities in the rock that would give it purchase, then began scampering upward.
The miniature reconnaissance device was disguised as a type of rodent common to the cliffs in this area
and would easily fool any casual observer. As dark as the night was, a casual observer wouldn’t even
notice the unnatural assemblage hanging off the rodent’s hindquarters. Two more, similarly disguised,
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Bureaublad...02]%20-%20Point%20Blank/Sher_034549363X_oeb_c01_r1.htm (2 of 4)26-12-2006 4:55:45
Pointblank:StarfistForceReconBookII
minnies followed the first.
The cliff at that point was a little more than thirty meters high. It took the minnies only a few minutes to
reach its top, where they skittered about in a most rodentlike manner, looking at their surroundings and
into the middle distance in visible light, infrared, and amplified visible. They raised their noses and
sniffed at the air, seeking airborne chemicals that would telltale hidden watchers. Then waited for
instructions.
At the foot of the cliff, Fryman studied the data his controller comp received from the minnies. Satisfied
there wasn’t anybody directly above the Marines, he transmitted new orders to the minnies. Still
rodentlike, the minnies skittered about until the assemblages on their hindquarters hung at the edge of
the cliff. A faint whirring was the only indication they were doing something unrodentlike; the thin lines
the minnies lowered down the cliff were almost invisible in daylight, completely so in the dark. Except
for the weights on the ends of the lines, which had markers visible in ultraviolet.
Fryman and the squad leaders watched through UV lenses for the lines and caught them when they
reached the bottom of the cliffs. Working rapidly but carefully, they attached lightweight grasping
cables to the ends of the lines. On a signal from Fryman, the minnies skittered away from the edge of the
cliff to small boulders they could anchor themselves to and towed up the lines. Fryman and the squad
leaders let the cables trail through their fingers. When the tops of the cables went over the cliff top, they
tightened their grips and the minnies stopped reeling them in. The three Marine leaders twisted the
cables just so, and the top ends frayed and splayed out, to grip the rocky ground as firmly as a clinging
vine.
The Marines attached a climbing grip to the cables and headed up, half climbing, half towed by the
grips. When the first three reached the top, they rolled away from the cables into defensive positions and
let the climbing grips drop back down for the next three Marines.
In moments, all nine were atop the cliff. Their objective was right where they expected it to be,
spreading out two hundred meters to their left and fifty meters from the cliff edge. They’d studied the
latest images of the objective right before boarding the AstroGhost to make planetfall; nothing they
could detect from the cliff top indicated anything in it had changed. They’d rehearsed the mission
several times before leaving for it and had studied it constantly during transit. Each of them knew
exactly what he had to do and how to do it. Staff Sergeant Fryman said, “Let’s do it,” into his helmet
comm, and the nine Marines rose up and headed toward their objective.
Half an hour later, eight of them returned. They gathered the minnies, then rapelled down the cliff. The
last Marines down twisted the cables just so; the tops of the cables released their grips on the rocky cliff
top and fell over the edge. While the cables were being gathered, the squad leaders signaled the Sea
Squirts to come out of hiding and pick them up. In a few more minutes, the eight Marines were back in
the Sea Squirts, heading for the rendezvous point with the Skimmer that would transport them to the
AstroGhost, which would return them to the starship that had brought them.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Bureaublad...02]%20-%20Point%20Blank/Sher_034549363X_oeb_c01_r1.htm (3 of 4)26-12-2006 4:55:45
Pointblank:StarfistForceReconBookII
As for the ninth Marine in the party…
Staff Sergeant Fryman quietly drew the camp chair from under the camp table and comfortably settled
himself in it before he took off his helmet. He sat quietly for a moment, gazing on the man sleeping on a
cot so close Fryman’s knees almost touched its side. He checked the time, watched the seconds tick off,
then gently reached out and shook the man’s shoulder.
“Hmmpf? Wha—” the man began. He began to sit up before he realized someone was next to his cot, in
a position to block him.
“Sir, I’m Staff Sergeant Kazan Fryman, Fourth Force Recon Company. It’s my pleasure to inform the
colonel that in”—Fryman glanced at the time—“eight seconds your command post and operations center
will be destroyed.”
“What!” the man roared, leaping out of his bed. But before he could do anything, there was a rapid
series of explosions nearby, culminating in a flash-bang inside the tent of the commanding officer of the
Confederation Army’s 525th Heavy Infantry Regiment.
“That one killed you, sir,” Fryman said with a grin, thinking, Gotcha, doggie.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Bureaublad...02]%20-%20Point%20Blank/Sher_034549363X_oeb_c01_r1.htm (4 of 4)26-12-2006 4:55:45
Pointblank:StarfistForceReconBookII
CHAPTER
TWO
En Route, Halfway to Cecil Roads
It was a night of phantasmagoria in the top-floor bar of the Hotel Victoria. But it didn’t start out that way.
Sergeant Jak Daly had departed Camp Basilone in good order. The process of clearing base was one
he’d done before. After twelve years in the Corps, getting those personal belongings he wasn’t taking
with him into storage, turning in his field gear, clearing all the hand receipts he was responsible for,
updating his medical and personnel records, and getting clearances from a dozen other places around the
base—even places he’d never visited like the sports locker—were routine. But by the time he reported to
the base transportation office to get his tickets, his name had to be deleted from all the fields in the
clearance system or he’d have to get last-minute checkouts, always a pain in the nether regions.
Because Daly had to report in to Arsenault in six weeks in order to catch the next OTC cycle, and no
military vessel was available that would get him there in that amount of time, he was booked out of
Halfway on a merchant ship, the SS Accotink. She would drop him at Cecil Roads, where he’d catch an
Earth-bound cargo vessel, the SS Miomai, which would drop him off at Arsenault on the way and in
time to report for his course. His orders specified he’d report in to OTC in dress reds, but while in transit
he was to wear “appropriate casual business attire.”
One of his last stops was the Navy Times Bookstore, where he stocked up on the vids and readers he’d
amuse himself with on the long voyage to Arsenault (and during whatever free time he might have while
at OTC). Among these were the military classics All Quiet on the Western Front, Charlie Don’t Live
Here Anymore, The Soldier’s Prize, and all twenty-two volumes of the Starfist series, books he’d read
when a boy but ones he wanted to read again because they had convinced him he wanted to be a Marine
someday. He also got copies of all the popular vids based on the Starfist novels.
Next he visited the navy finance office, where he drew, in cash, his travel pay, and finally the local Navy
Credit Union, where he drew his account down to only a few hundred credits, to keep it active against
his return. The rest of the money he took with him in cash and a debit chip that would be good anywhere
in Human Space. Daly did not like to travel with only “plastic” money; he liked the feel of security cash
gave him. He’d have a forty-eight-hour layover at Cecil Roads before catching the Miomai so who knew
what use he might find for the money. Besides, during the months he’d be in Officer Training College
he’d be authorized liberty at Oceanside, and he did not plan to go third-class.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Bureaublad...02]%20-%20Point%20Blank/Sher_034549363X_oeb_c02_r1.htm (1 of 6)26-12-2006 4:55:48
Pointblank:StarfistForceReconBookII
It did not take Daly long to discover that the SS Accotink would have been better named the SS
Neanderthal. The captain was a taciturn man who spent most of his time in his cabin. When he was on
deck, he gave orders using as few words as possible. The first mate was a morose slob who never
seemed to change his work clothes, and the crew amused themselves when off duty playing cribbage in
the galley until all hours. They played for money, a decicredit a point, and made it clear the game had
been in progress since the vessel had left her home port and Daly was not welcome. That was just as
well because often fights erupted when someone pegged too many points on the board. The ship’s cook
was a woman—at least Daly thought she was, or had been once—and the food she prepared was
indifferent at best. He laid the crew’s bad temper to her cooking.
Sergeant Jak Daly breathed a sigh of relief when the Accotink at last docked at Cecil Roads and he was
able to catch a shuttle to the surface. That is when he took a room at the Hotel Victoria, which happened
to be the lodging most convenient to the spaceport. “It’s clean and reasonable,” a porter informed him,
“and within walking distance.” The man gave Daly the once-over. He could see Daly was no space bum
and guessed from the way he was dressed and his haircut and just the way he carried himself that he was
a military man between assignments. “How long you gonna be here?” the porter asked.
“I have a forty-eight-hour layover,” Daly replied. “I’m due out on the Miomai on third day this week.”
“Miomai?” The porter nodded. “I know her. Good ship. She’s got good clean lines too. Wait’ll you see
her. The captain and crew are okay. Passenger accommodations too.” He paused and regarded Daly
speculatively. “Looks to me like you been around, son, but I’ll tell you anyways. The Victoria’s on the
Strip, end closest to the port here. But stay away from them clip joints.” The porter nodded affirmatively
and shuffled off.
Cecil Roads was a busy port and the streets outside the surface terminal were full of traffic. A huge sign
glittering a few hundred meters outside the main gate announced the location of the Hotel Victoria, and
Daly, carrying his handbag—the rest of his gear was being transferred to the Miomai (he hoped) and
he’d retrieve it once he was on Arsenault—started walking in that direction.
The porter had been right, Sergeant Jak Daly had been around, he’d seen port-town strips like this one
before. They were not like the strips outside the military bases he’d been on. Those places were full of
the youth and life of the fun-loving sailors and Marines who crowded into the beer joints, tattoo parlors,
bordellos, and restaurants to enjoy their hours of liberty. But this place was depressing, peopled with the
flotsam of Human Space, the most depressing of all those who eked out a living serving the transitory
space bums who sought temporary forgetfulness there. And the most depressing of these were the
women. At least the transients who hung out in the bars and flophouses could get out of the place, back
to the familiar surroundings of their ships and the company of their shipmates and, who knew, maybe
somewhere a home waiting for them. This place, even from the street where he was standing, only
beckoned him to leave as soon as possible.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Bureaublad...02]%20-%20Point%20Blank/Sher_034549363X_oeb_c02_r1.htm (2 of 6)26-12-2006 4:55:48
Pointblank:StarfistForceReconBookII
Given the sleazy neighborhood it occupied, the Hotel Victoria was not bad, so he took a room on the
tenth floor, just below the penthouse restaurant. His only plan was to sleep, eat, and read until the
Miomai was ready to depart. It was morning in that hemisphere of Cecil Roads when Daly arrived. He
had skipped breakfast aboard the Accotink—wisely since the cook’s breakfasts tended to remain on
one’s stomach for quite some time. So after unpacking his bags and washing up, he stretched out on the
bed for a while. As he lay there, his stomach began to rumble, and he decided to try the Victoria’s
restaurant.
The breakfast was quite good, although the bacon and eggs were clearly ersatz. Daly sat at his table for
some time after he’d finished his repast, the only diner in the place, enjoying his coffee. The restaurant
consisted of a small dining area, a dance floor, and a comfortable bar.
“Place picks up at night,” the waitress informed him conversationally as she cleared his table. “We even
have a live band.” She gave Daly a sidelong glance. She could see he was no space bum: neatly dressed,
closely cropped hair. “You in the army or sumptin’?” she asked.
“Nope.” Daly smiled and rolled up his left sleeve to reveal the Eagle, Globe, and Starstream tattooed
there. “Marines, ma’am.”
“Well, we don’t get many Marines in here,” she replied speculatively, then, almost as an afterthought,
said, “We stop servin’ at twenty-one hours, but the bar stays open all night.”
“Thanks.” Daly fished out his wallet and laid several bills on the table. “You keep the change, miss.” He
got up and nodded politely at the waitress, who could not help grinning at the tip, or noticing the wad of
credits in his wallet. She watched him as he strode over to the elevators.
On an impulse, she followed him over. “My name is Maria,” she informed him. “Thanks for the tip.
Most of the bums who eat in here only give me a hard time.” She smiled self-consciously.
Daly regarded Maria curiously. “My name is Jak.” He extended his hand. Is she coming on to me? he
wondered, and grinned to himself. He could see she’d been a pretty woman at one time, but now she
looked old enough to be his mother.
“Well, this place begins to pick up after dark, Jak, and I just wanted to say,” she glanced over her
shoulder at the bar, “I just wanted to tell you, be careful who you sit with if you come back up here
tonight.” With that she hurried back to the table and noisily began to clear it. Daly stared after her, then
shook his head and called for the elevator. He had no plans to go back there that night.
Hotel Victoria, Cecil Roads
Daly spent the rest of the morning stretched out on his bed, reading. He picked up the first volume in the
Starfist series, First to Fight, and read the opening lines. How true to life these novels were! After
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Bureaublad...02]%20-%20Point%20Blank/Sher_034549363X_oeb_c02_r1.htm (3 of 6)26-12-2006 4:55:48
Pointblank:StarfistForceReconBookII
twenty years they still rang true. He scrolled to the author’s pictures and studied them for a while,
wondering what had happened to them all those years ago. They sure had their stuff together when they
wrote these novels, he thought. He continued to read and at some point dozed off. He awoke with a start.
The sun was down. He’d slept away the entire day! He stretched luxuriously. Maybe he’d call room
service and watch a movie the rest of the night. From far away came the thump-thump-thump of a base
drum. It must be the band in the penthouse restaurant. He picked up the reader. He’d left off at the
liberty scene near the end of the book. Suddenly he was overcome by a wave of nostalgia. He realized he
was homesick for Camp Basilone! “Aw, screw it,” he said aloud. He got up and dressed. He’d go up to
the bar, have something to eat, a few drinks, listen to the music, and relax.
Jak Daly liked live music, and the band, incongruously called The Dead Socks, was certainly “live.” But
their female vocalist was pretty good and their repertoire was pretty catchy. One song in particular made
him smile and keep time to the music with his fingers on the bar:
“We were havin’ sex, aft n’ before
“When Death come a-knockin’ at muh door…”
“Lonely?” Daly was startled by a fairly good-looking woman climbing onto the stool next to him.
“Not particularly.” He did not appreciate the interruption, but he looked her over anyway. Barfly he
thought. In Sergeant Daly’s code of conduct, if a woman sat next to you in a bar and spoke to you, you
were obligated to be polite to her. “Have a drink on me,” he offered.
“Thanks. Henri—” She signaled to the bartender, a painfully thin man with a narrow face, long nose,
and pencil-thin black mustache, “gimme a Yellow Basher with a twist of grimmick leaf.”
Daly threw a bill on the bar. “You know good stuff,” he commented. He had no idea what this Yellow
Basher might be and had no intention of switching from beer, but he thought it was the thing to say
under the circumstances. When the drink came, they saluted each other. Daly sipped at his beer. “What’s
your name?”
“Zephyr. Yours?” Zephyr’s eyes had widened when Daly had withdrawn his bulging wallet to pay for
her drink, and he had not caught the glance that had passed between her and the bartender when he
served it. Daly told her his name. “Let’s get a bite to eat,” Zephyr offered. “They’ve got a private room
in the back. We can get to know each other better there.” She gave Daly a significant look.
Daly suppressed a slight twinge of annoyance. He’d come up to the bar to enjoy himself and now this
intrusion. But he was hungry and this Zephyr wasn’t a bad-looking woman for one in her profession.
Besides, Sergeant Jak Daly was not the kind of man to tell any woman to go take a flying leap. So he
gave in to circumstances and what he knew was the woman’s objective—to cadge some drinks and a
free meal off a lonely space bum—and accompanied her to the back of the bar where they entered a
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Bureaublad...02]%20-%20Point%20Blank/Sher_034549363X_oeb_c02_r1.htm (4 of 6)26-12-2006 4:55:48
Pointblank:StarfistForceReconBookII
private booth.
The booth measured about four by five meters. In the middle was a table flanked by two comfortable
benches long enough that Daly could have stretched out fully on either of them. He suspected that’s just
what they were for, but the cushions looked clean. Once they were inside, a soundproofed panel slid
closed behind them and they were cut off from the rest of the bar and restaurant. The music from The
Dead Socks came to them muted through the soundproofed panel. They both had access to small
consoles on which were the food and bar menus from which they ordered. Daly noted a key marked
Privacy Sign, which he deduced correctly could be pressed to insure they were not disturbed; another
indication of what the little room’s main purpose was. The food was served by a waiter. Henri, the
bartender, delivered the drinks. Daly brought his unfinished schooner of beer, which he intended to
make last the evening, but Zephyr eagerly ordered Yellow Bashers one after the other.
Zephyr maintained a steady torrent of talk throughout the meal. “I’m from Euthalia,” she informed him
at one point between bites of steak and potatoes. She ate with so much gusto Daly wondered if she might
not be starving. He tuned out most of her blabber, concentrating on the meal, only offering an occasional
“Um-hum” or “Oh, yeah?” to be polite. The steak, from cows bred on Cecil Roads, as Zephyr proudly
informed him, was quite good.
“So what do you do, Jak?” Zephyr asked, spooning some soup and slurping it eagerly.
“Me? I’m in the Marines.” Daly, who had by this time endured over an hour of Zephyr’s nonstop chatter
about everything but anything revealing about herself, knew this question was coming. He looked at his
watch. It was past 21 hours, time to call it a night. “And you, Zephyr?”
“Marines?” Zephyr echoed. She punched in an order for two Yellow Bashers on the console and almost
immediately Henri appeared, as if he’d just been waiting with them in hand right outside the booth,
which Daly suspected he had been, as with many of the things Zephyr had ordered during the meal.
“Our Jak here is a Marine, Henri, did you know that?”
“Ah?” Henri said. “Have you ever killed anyone?” He smirked as he served the drinks. Daly felt an urge
to flatten the man’s thin nose. The soup had just been served, a viscous brew with chunks of meat
floating in it. At least it was hot. Maria described it as a “speciality of the house” and encouraged him to
taste it. Mentally, he turned up his nose instead. It was high time to finish the stupid meal and go.
“And what do you do, Zephyr?” Daly asked again, after Henri closed the panel behind him. He sipped
cautiously at the Yellow Basher, just to be polite, and wondered how much the farcical meal was going
to cost him. The drink tasted quite horrible and left a strong medicinal aftertaste. He made a face and
shoved the glass aside, not even trying to hide his disgust.
Maria grinned at Daly, sipped her drink, and answered, “Me? I’m a whore, just a fucking whore, Jak, ol’
boy.”
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Bureaublad...02]%20-%20Point%20Blank/Sher_034549363X_oeb_c02_r1.htm (5 of 6)26-12-2006 4:55:48
Pointblank:StarfistForceReconBookII
Daly found himself startled at the frank admission. He stared at Zephyr in surprise. “Well, I—” he
began, but the entire room began to go out of focus and his tongue refused to form words.
Zephyr burst into laughter when she saw the expression that had come over Daly’s face. “Yeah, just a
whore, Marine,” she sneered, “and I make my livin’ rolling dudes like you. And my name ain’t Zephyr,
either, you stupid bastard.”
Daly could only make out blurry movements and heard someone else talking, but the voice sounded
tinny and far, far away. He thought it belonged to Henri and he thought it said, “Do you think he got
enough of it?”
Then Daly’s head plunged straight into the soup. He’d gotten enough of it.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Bureaublad...02]%20-%20Point%20Blank/Sher_034549363X_oeb_c02_r1.htm (6 of 6)26-12-2006 4:55:48
摘要：

Pointblank:StarfistForceReconBookIICHAPTERONEPlanetfallinanUndisclosedLocationNoneofthewatchersontopoftheshorecliffspaidanyparticularatte tiontothemeteoritethatbrieflyflasheddownthroughtheskybeforeitplungedbelowthehorizon.TheAstroGhoststealthshuttledroppedfarenoughouttoseathatthediffusedflaresofit...

展开>> 收起<<
David Sherman & Dan Cragg - Starfist Recon 2 - Point Blank.pdf

共252页,预览10页

还剩页未读， 继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

相关推荐

更多
立即下载
分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：252 页 大小：663.46KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-04

开通VIP享超值会员特权

  • 多端同步记录
  • 高速下载文档
  • 免费文档工具
  • 分享文档赚钱
  • 每日登录抽奖
  • 优质衍生服务

作者详情

相关内容

更多

热门标签

人际关系 动力学连接体 力的合成 配电装置 高考理综 全宋诗作者索引 公务员考试
/ 252
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注