by John Ringo
In this case a laser swept the sky until it got a return, estimated the range, found it to be functionally close to the one that Captain Chan had keyed in manually and began a series of calculations. It checked wind-speed, air temperature, humidity and whether the StormPack had been previously fired. Then it ran a rapid series of calculations and adjusted the aiming point appropriately. And the unknown programmer who had originally designed the system had heard of parallax.
For Captain Chan it was simplicity in itself. She pointed the red circles at the descending tenaral and waited until they flashed green. This took approximately half a second. Then she flipped the thumb selector from "safe" to "full," closed her eyes, clamped down on the firing lever and held on for dear life.
* * *
"Holy shit!" Pruitt called. He had flipped to a screen where he could watch the funny looking tanks arrayed along the top of the ridgeline and now they had disappeared in a wall of smoke and fire. "Did they just get hit?"
"Nah," Major Mitchell said, flipping momentarily to the same screen. "That's what they always look like."
The tanks appeared to have exploded. The air above and to the side was nothing, but smoke, fire and smoking plastic shredding itself on the dense air. Somewhere in there, presumably, were people and functional vehicles, but it seemed impossible that they could have survived. After only a few seconds the firing stopped and the air started to clear, revealing the Meemies, apparently undamaged.
"Holy shit," Pruitt repeated. Then: "We gots to get one of them, sir!"
* * *
Glenn sat up, groaning. "Ooooh. I hate my job." She pried her fingers off of her helmet and held her shaking hand out in front of her. "I gotta get a transfer."
The Abrams was never designed to mount the MetalStorm 105. The original Abrams tank was designed to fire a single 105mm cannon that was similar in energy. Until the coming of the Posleen and such monstrosities as the SheVa gun, the concept of a mobile MetalStorm 105 would have been ludicrous. The energy imparted by the gun was sufficient to loft a 747, briefly. Lighter systems were considered possible for mounting on medium armor, but a 105mm, high-velocity penetrator was a different matter. It made the 72-ton tank shake like a mouse in the grip of a terrier and rattled the commander and crew like peas.
"Oh, gee, and miss all this fun?" Captain Chan said, rubbing her shoulder where it had banged into a stanchion.
"Clear sky, captain," the gunner said, sweeping her sight around.
Chan popped the commander's cupola and looked around. The air was still hazy with propellant gasses and the smoke from the thousands of bits of plastic littering the ground and the upper deck of the track. But there clearly were no tenaral in the sky. That didn't mean it was clear.
"All Meemies," she called, dropping back into the tank. "Back off the ridgeline!" She switched frequencies and called the SheVa. "Hey! Big Boy! You've got company south of Dillard."
* * *
"I hate humans," Orostan growled as the link from the tenaral went dead.
"So you have said," Cholo'stan pointed out.
"What were those things?" the oolt'ondai asked. "Esstu?"
"I'm still working on that," the Kessentai admitted. "There is reference to them in combat, but not against flying tenar; they are usually used for ground defense."
"Well, we will deal with them after the big gun," Orostan said with a flap of his crest. The oolt'ondai looked at his battlefield schematic and snarled. "Enough of this playing with them, bring us up so we can engage."
* * *
"Pruitt, two rounds," the commander reminded his gunner.
"That's all Bun-Bun needs," the gunner replied.
"Major," Indy called over the intercom. "I've got the turbines up to speed; I cut a few corners, but it looks like we're going to be okay. Anyway, we're up to full power."
"Great," Mitchell said. "Reeves, when Pruitt fires, back down the ridge. We've always moved next. This time, back down then wait for my word. We'll pull right back into position then head north of Franklin for resupply."
"Yes, sir," the driver said, checking as his telltales went back into the green. "We're up to full power."
"Okay, engage."
Reeves engaged the drive and threw the multiton tank up the 30-degree slope, leveling it out at the top.
"Oh . . . shit," Pruitt whispered; all the landers were up. In the distance he heard the whine of turbines as Reeves cranked the power until the SheVa vibrated with it.
"Target," Major Mitchell called. Reacting to a training deeper than instinct he had swiveled the gun and laid it on the lower portion of one of the two C-Decs in sight.
"TARGET," Pruitt confirmed. "C-Dec, nine klicks!"
"Confirmed," Mitchell said.
"ON THE WAY!" he called, slamming against his straps as Reeves threw the tank into reverse.
"Miss!" Mitchell called as the round tracked under the maneuvering C-Dec. "TARGET, ON THE WAY!"
The second round, fired from the commander's console, entered the ship on the lower quadrant just as the return fire from the ships erupted around the retreating SheVa. The giant tank still managed to slip away as the top of the hill erupted upward under the flailing of the guns. Despite the heavy fire, the detonation was evident and the fire cut down almost immediately as the hills to either side were lit in nuclear fire.
"NICE SHOT, SIR!" Pruitt caroled. One of the Lampreys was just visible over the ridge they were descending; it was out of control and just as they dropped out of sight it slammed into the side of High Knob. The explosion had easily been the largest so far. "EAT ANTIMATTER, YOU ALIEN FREAKS!"
"Reeves, put your foot in it and don't let up until we are north of Franklin," the commander called, manually rotating the turret in that direction. "We've got a reload date to keep." He thought for a moment and frowned. "Swing east of the town; the Sub-Urb is west of it and I'd hate to find out that one of those things acts as a pit trap for a SheVa."
"Oh, damn," Pruitt said suddenly. "The Urb! What about the Urb, sir?"
Mitchell sighed and shrugged. "I think they're on their own, Sergeant. Let's just hope we don't run over any stragglers."
* * *
"I hate humans," Orostan snarled as six icons dropped off the screen and his own vessels pitched up and down in the shockwave; Chylasarn must have been remanufacturing antimatter already. "Their behavior is bizarre, their reproductive methods are frankly disgusting and they use their weakness as a weapon. There should be a law."
"Yes, so I am given to understand," Cholosta'an said, looking down at the obvious trail leading to the north. The SheVa was out of sight and presumably out of ammunition, but they could easily track it down. "Do we follow?"
"We do not," Orostan said. "We'll deal with it later. For now we are well behind the timetable for us to have taken our positions. Have the ships that are left spread out to take their objectives. Keep maneuvering, but raise up to where they can increase speed; the SheVa appears to have retreated."
"Our reports indicate that one of the human underground cities is just ahead," the intelligence officer said. "It was an objective for Aresseen's oolt'pos."
"Detail another to take and hold the entrances," Orostan said looking at the size of his reduced force again in anger. "The ground forces can detail one unit in three into it. There is much booty and, of course, thresh in one of those; we'll need the materials to continue the drive. The other two forces should turn up Highway 28 and Highway 441 as planned."
"Understood," the S-2 said. "The city will be rich pickings."
"I don't know," Cholosta'an said. "At this rate, I have to wonder if it will be worth it."
CHAPTER 29
Newry Cantonment, PA, United States, Sol III
1843 EDT Saturday September 26, 2009 ad
"Sir, I'm looking at this directive and obviously missing something," Captain Slight said. "There's no timetable for the relieving force."
The battalion staff and company commanders had gathered in the bri
efing room to see if there was some way to make the mission less of a nightmare. Instead, they were finding more and more things not to like about it.
"That's because there's not one yet," Mike said with a grim smile. He leaned forward, steepling his fingers and grinned. "You've taken a look at the terrain, right?"
"Yep," Duncan said. "A troop of Boy Scouts with a .22 should be able to bottle them up in there."
"Normally I'd agree," O'Neal replied. "But in this case, the Posleen are fighting smart. The point is that they will be at a really severe handicap; there's not much room for them to maneuver in there and lots of places for dug-in forces and engineers to make their life miserable. But, by the same token, it's the kind of terrain that will eat up assaulting forces."
"So . . . what?" Captain Holder. "They're just going to let us die on the vine?"
"They'll push forces forward until they come into contact," Mike said. "Then they'll hunker down and start killing Posleen. If they kill all or most of them that are in the pocket, they'll push forward. Until they do that . . ."
"We're just going to be left to die on the vine," Captain Slight said. "That sucks, sir."
"Why do you think I lost my temper?" O'Neal said with another grim smile. "The British Airborne in Arnhem kept fighting for nine days when told they only had to hold out for three until relieved; and the relieving forces never did reach Arnhem."
"The Germans did not, by and large, eat their captives, sir," Captain Holder pointed out.
"I don't know of a single instance," Mike agreed. "On the other hand, this is the mission. Hold until relieved. I, personally, plan on stacking the deck as much in our favor as possible." He pushed his AID forward and nodded at it.
"We are going to need all the shuttles we can get our hands on and all the ammunition, power packs and generators available. But the real problem is going to be that we won't have any anti-lander support. Shelly, how many AM Lances are there that can be transported here within the next, say, six hours?"
"Four," the AID reported. "They are scattered around Minneapolis for the support of Northern Plains Front. One of the shuttles that is lifting from Chicago could pick them up and bring them down. To get here in six hours would require ignoring some safety regulations, but it could be done."
"So ordered," Mike said. "What do we have in the way of shuttles, power packs and generators?"
"There are twenty-two Banshee Two shuttles," Shelly said. "Sixteen will be here within three hours. If we wait for the AM Lances, there will be ample time for all twenty-two to arrive."
"Duncan, start working on a load list," Mike said. "You know what to do: Ensure that stuff is scattered across all the shuttles. Start preparing the load for each. That way when they get here we can just load them. Assume that we will lose shuttles on the way in and that we'll be unloading them under fire."
"I thought that we were going to get area denial support," Captain Holder said.
"We are," Mike answered. "Or we're not going. That doesn't mean we won't be under fire both on the way in and after landing. It just means we won't be wiped out immediately."
"Anyway, Duncan, the AIDs can do most of it, but I want you to ensure that scrap of 'intuition,' " he added with a grin.
"Gotcha," the captain said with an abstracted expression. "We've only got a total of five generators and power packs, though. And if the power packs get hit . . ."
"Biiiig boom," Stewart interjected.
" 'There was supposed to be an earth-shattering kaboom, where was the earth-shattering kaboom?' " Gunny Pappas said with a chuckle.
"Don't put anybody on those shuttles," Mike said with a shrug. "I hate to have them be 'noticeable,' but we'll have them fly separately. They can park in the mountains and after we've secured an LZ they can come in and unload. Then we dig the bastards in and hope for the best."
"Like, 'die quick so we don't notice'?" Stewart quipped.
"Something like that," Mike answered. "Duncan, what's operations think we should do?"
"Our best bet for a defensible point is probably the current location of the Wall," Duncan said, flipping up a hologram. "We can dig into its structure and be very hard to dig out. But getting to it is going to be slightly tricky."
"We're going to have three or four SheVas that can fire in support," the operations officer answered. "That means a total of six to eight rounds of antimatter area suppression. And that means that the actual area we can totally suppress will be low; no more than four thousand meters on a side. We need to prevent direct lines of observation of the landing zone, therefore we're going to have to land forward of our objective, up by Black's Creek in what used to be Mountain City. That area is fairly open and flat and what is more important it's a small 'bowl' in the mountains; you can't observe it from the Valley or down on the plains. The only possible observers at that point should be Crispy Critters.
"There's a large enough area that all the shuttles can land together. We take and secure that LZ, then call in the two shuttles with the AM power-packs. Once they are secured, we move up to the Wall and dig in. I'd suggest Charlie Company on the west and Bravo on the east, but that was based on flipping a coin, so feel free to change it around."
He changed the hologram and zeroed in on the Wall structure. "The information we have is that the Posties are doing a number on the wall itself. So until we get there, I don't think we'll know what the actual situation is. But I think we should assume it will be mostly flattened."
"That's a big structure to flatten," Holder said.
"The report said they were using heavy kinetic bombardment and anti-ship cannons," Mike pointed out. "They can pick apart a monitor with those; wiping out the Wall won't be a problem."
"That means C-Decs," Duncan pointed out. "Lampreys can't get their space weapon to bear on a ground target."
"There was report of both C-Decs and Lampreys," Stewart said. " 'A large number.' There was also mention of a surviving SheVa engaging them. There's a Fleet Lurp team on the ground to the west. They're snooping forward, but we'll probably be to the LZ before they arrive. . . ."
* * *
Elgars looked up from her cards and frowned. "What was that?"
Billy looked up from where he was kicking her ass at War and shrugged. He looked at the door, but obviously couldn't hear anything over the sound from the other children.
It was just past dinner time and the kids were still complaining vociferously about the quality of the food. It only took one trip to the O'Neal farm to spoil them. But just at the moment she wished they would quiet down. However, the next rumble from outside the room was loud enough to cut through to Shari.
"Children! Silence!" she called. She had to repeat it three times before Shakeela finally stopped talking, but when she did she looked over at Elgars and frowned. "Is that screaming?"
"Some," the captain said, getting to her feet and moving to the door. As she reached it Wendy opened it from the other side.
"We've got a situation on our hands," she said breathlessly. "It's another Posleen rumor."
"Rumor or fact?" Shari said nervously.
"Right now it's a riot, so I'm not sure," the younger woman answered with a shrug. "I was on my way up when I hit the crowd. But there's no alarm so I'd say a rumor."
"How do we know which?" Elgars asked.
Wendy shrugged and went to the communications terminal. "Call Harmon; he's up towards the entrance. He'll have heard."
She tapped in the code for the range and started to talk as Dave's face came on the screen, but he immediately started into his message. "Hi, this is Dave Harmon with Harmony Ranges. I'm not in right now . . ."
"Well, that didn't work," Wendy said with a frown. "On the other hand . . ."
"What?" Elgars asked.
"Well, that's only the second time I've ever gotten his answering machine," Wendy admitted. "Okay, Captain, I'd suggest you and I head up towards A Sector. We'll see if we can find security for a change; of course they're never available when
you want them."
"And what do we do if it really is the Posleen?" Shari asked. "If they're already in the Urb?"
"Then we go to the designated defense points," Wendy said. "I hope they're not in the Urb, though, because if they came in the main entrances, without a warning, they've got the Armory . . ."
"Considering the condition of your rifle that might not matter," Elgars said, heading for the door. "And neither of us is packed."
"We'll head for the range," Wendy said. "Shari, lock it down; at the least we have a riot on our hands."
"Okay," she said, standing by the door. "Be careful."
"How about 'be back'?" Wendy said. "Here goes nothing."
* * *
Wendy started to take the main route to Sector A, but the primary passages were choked with underground dwellers. The situation wasn't actually a riot, yet. But the groups were all milling around like cattle that smell smoke but are unsure of which way the fire would come. It wouldn't take much of a spark to start them stampeding.
Wendy shook her head and started off down a tertiary corridor then through a series of turns that quickly left Elgars totally confused.
"I thought I was getting used to this place," the captain admitted. "But if it wasn't for the signs I'd have no idea where you were going or how."
"It takes a native," Wendy admitted, opening a door that was marked "No Admittance." "Preferably a native that has emergency access privileges."
The corridor that they had entered was apparently a maintenance access for the innumerable pumps and pipes that moved the Urb's water and sewage. There was a large pump on the left-hand side throbbing and gurgling and a half a dozen gray pipes over a meter in diameter running into and out of it.
Wendy led the way to a ladder that ran from a lower level upward to the next. "Time to climb."
The ladder stretched upwards at least five levels and Wendy quickly ascended with Elgars following. It was clear that whatever other problems she might have had, the girl could climb.
"Where are we?" Elgars asked.