by John Ringo
He'd worked around them a couple of times but he'd never seen one tricked up like this. It had what looked like MetalStorm 105s on top of its turret and the front was some sort of add-on armor. And the water fountain had been spectacularly visible for miles around. Obviously they'd been doing more than a hasty battlefield repair up Scott's Creek.
If the thing could take direct fire, and it looked as if it could, and if it could fire into the valley, together with an assault from their present positions he might be able to push the Posleen all the way to the end of the Savannah Valley. The terrain there was even better for stopping the Posleen and together with the nuke rounds the SheVa had fired up towards the gap they might be able to push through.
If, but, might.
Time was awastin'.
"Son, drive up to second battalion," he said. He had taken to driving around the battle in a Humvee and the word had already gotten out that no matter where you were, The General, two capitals, might show up at any time. "Let's see if we can find the battalion TOC."
"Yes, sir." The battalion commanders had taken to getting right up on the front lines. It was the only way to be sure that most of what you ordered was getting done. And since you were likely to see the general there, too, hiding back in a rear-area CP was just not done.
Which meant that he was going to have to go drive a friggin' Humvee into the teeth of Posleen fire. Again.
But he wasn't about to tell this cold, angry officer "no."
Better to take on the Posleen with a pocket knife.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Green's Creek, NC, United States of America, Sol III
1725 EDT Monday September 28, 2009 AD
"We got a crunchy walking around right by the left track," Reeves snarled. The terrain he had to cross was bad enough, worrying about a crunchy was not what he wanted on his mind.
The direct route from their current position to where Colonel Roberts wanted the SheVa was not much farther than the SheVa was long. But it might as well have been on the moon for all he could just drive there. If he went straight he was going to end up nose down in what anyone else would call a valley and a SheVa considered a ditch.
So first he had to slowly go down the easier slope to the west then make a hard turn to the left, hoping that the tracks would dig through one of the cliffs rather than get stuck, and then drive up the slope. Simple. Sure. It was like parallel parking a Suburban with two inches to spare in either direction.
And if the crunchy stayed where he was when Reeves reached the bottom, he was going to get turned into stew.
Colonel Mitchell glanced at the monitor and frowned. "I think he's headed for the personnel door." He looked around and spotted the civilian. "Mr. Kilzer, can you find . . ."
"I designed it, Colonel," Paul said, getting to his feet with a grin.
* * *
It was a general, all right, dragging an oversized briefcase, what used to be called a sample case, and accompanied by a female captain. The general seemed below normal height, but Mitchell realized when he stood up that that was due to his broad bulk. He was probably about five-ten, but seemed damned near as broad across; his BDUs were filled out enough to strain the seams. Some of it was fat, but most of it just looked like muscle.
The captain was fairly short, maybe five foot max, with brown hair and green eyes. What was most notable, however, was that the front of her BDUs were swelled out to an incredible degree. Either she had a sleeping bag tied to her chest or she was stacked like a brick shit house. After a moment Mitchell tore his eyes away and met hers only to realize that plain as she looked, other than her chest, her eyes were even more arresting than her figure. After another moment he tore his eyes away from the entire encounter and saluted the general.
"That's a long damned walk for an old man," the general commented, returning the salutes of the crew. "Arkady Simosin. For the time being, I'm the commander of the 147th."
"General, you didn't have to come up here! If I'd known it was you down there I would have come down myself."
"Not a problem, Colonel, you've got a better briefing area in your hold than we could have gotten anywhere else." He gestured at the officer with him. "Captain LeBlanc is the local battalion commander."
"Captain?" he said. "The battalion commander? She's MI!"
"There has been a rash of reliefs lately," she said coldly. Her voice was quiet so that he had to strain to hear it, which for some reason added emphasis.
"And a few deaths," the general added. "Captain LeBlanc ended up in temporary command and it turned out she was the best choice for the job."
"Repeat that if we pull this off," the captain said. "So, I understand you want to run over some of my men, Colonel?"
"Not if we can help it," Mitchell said, calling the local area map up on the main viewscreen. "We need to get up on this ridge," he continued, highlighting the point. "We're going down off this hill to the southwest then up the ridge." He used a light pen to draw in the projected movement.
"Nice gear," she commented. "I'm glad you got with me; you would have run right over my forward TOC." She thought about it for a moment then shook her head. "All my companies along that ridge are in heavy contact. I can't pull them out; they'll get shot to shit. Even if I bring up their APCs."
Mitchell removed his helmet and scratched his head for a moment then shrugged. "We can lay down denial fire just ahead of their retreat. We . . . might tag a few of your troops. But at that point you'll be out of contact. Once we get up on the ridge we'll be in control of the situation."
"If they don't flank you," General Simosin pointed out. "And if they don't eat through your armor. You're not invulnerable, you know."
"Darn near, frontally," Kilzer pointed out. "Sides though?" He shrugged then looked at the captain. "Has anyone ever told you you have magnificent breasts?"
"Yes," she snapped. "Just before I dragged their testicles out through their nose." She turned back to Mitchell and shrugged. "You really think you can stop the Posties before they eat my guys?"
"General, what sort of artillery can we call?" Mitchell temporized.
"Everything," the general said. "I'll redirect it. If you can push up that ridge then lay down heavy fire on the far valley, we can push forward again."
He turned to the captain and shrugged. "You've got all the tracks. Can you pull out and then counterattack. I mean, just like that?"'
"I'll try," LeBlanc said with a shrug. "I've got the tank platoon in reserve anyway. They'll take the gap while the rest are reassembling. I need to get a good op-order out, though; this won't work with a frag. How long do I have?"
"Thirty minutes," Simosin said. "No more."
"Thirty minutes to get the order out, sir?" she snapped. "Or thirty minutes to effect the movement?"
"No more than thirty minutes for each," Simosin replied.
"It'll have to be a frag order!" she argued. "And a short one at that! Half my company commanders are lieutenants! I've got one company 'commanded' by a staff sergeant! I don't think it's possible. Seriously."
"It has to be," Simosin ground out. "Do it."
"Shit," she snarled. "Yes, sir!" She turned around and dropped into the exit hatch then stopped. "And, Kilzer, my face is up here," she snapped, pointing towards it. Then she was gone.
"I suppose saying 'va-va-va-voom!' would be out of line?" Paul asked.
"Yes, it would," the general snapped. "Okay, one hour. Be ready to move."
"Sir, it's going to take more time than that . . ." Mitchell said, quietly. "She's got to move her TOC among other things."
"It's four Humvees parked in a yard," the general said, equanimously. "I'll give her a bit more than an hour. What I really should do is turn over the tracks to another battalion and let them perform the assault."
"And what's wrong with that, sir?" Mitchell asked.
"She's the one that carried the lead battalion this far. Or, rather, she's the one that ended up carrying it this far," the general said with a
sigh. "I've got more colonels relieved than still in command and the ones that are in command . . . I'm going to end up relieving most of them."
"So she gets to carry the spear some more?" Mitchell said doubtfully. "It's your division, General."
"It's my division if I can get to the Gap in time," the general corrected. "And I intend to do that. Not only to keep the division, but because that's my mission. Now, how are we going to get there?"
"As I said, sir," Mitchell replied carefully. "After we assist your unit in clearing this valley, we're going to have to go over the mountains." He pointed to the west and shrugged. "That won't be easy, but we'll get it done. At that point, however, we'll be out of contact for all practical purposes; the trail we leave won't be traversable by most of your division. We'll be especially cut off since we don't have secure communications."
"As to that." The general opened up the sample case and extracted a small folder. "This is your Communications and Electronics Operating Instructions for communicating with my units. Actually, it's only good for communicating with the division headquarters. I'll try to get you a CEOI for Glennis' battalion before you go into action. But in the meantime use this to maintain commo."
"Sir," the colonel said delicately. "We don't know how far into our commo security the Posleen have dug . . ."
Simosin smiled thinly and shook his head. "This isn't 'our' commo security, by which I mean it's not from Ground Forces. I've carried that around since shortly after Fredericksburg. An officer in General's Horner's staff wrote the code but I ran the program on my own computer, one never connected to a network." He tapped the briefcase again and chuckled grimly. "Most people just thought I was crazy, but I always knew there would be a day that it would come in handy."
Mitchell looked at the sheets in his hand and shrugged. "So this is clean?"
"As clean as human technology can make it," the general replied. "I want you ready to move in forty-five minutes. I think it will take Captain LeBlanc a little longer than an hour to get ready, but not much. I'll signal you when the time comes."
"We'll be there," Mitchell said.
"Once more unto the breach, dear friends," Pruitt said with a chuckle. "Once more unto the breach."
* * *
Elgars raised her head at the racket of fire from the ridgeline. "Problems."
"No shit," Mueller replied, breaking into a run. The fire was coming from well off the line to the cache. "Who is that?"
"Cally," Wendy said, trotting right behind him. "It has to be."
"That's not where the children are, though," Shari said, her face strained. They had crossed the open area around the former farmstead and were up into the fallen timber behind. In the two passages through the area, and with the help of Sunday's team, they had partially cleared a path. But it was tortuous and slow going.
"The big problem is that she's way the fuck over there," Mosovich said, gesturing to the west. "And that bomb is coming in any minute."
They reached the ridgeline and Mosovich tried to get some idea where the firing was coming from. But it had died down and in the hills with the echoes he could get no sure direction.
"Shit. AID, get me Major O'Neal." He looked at Elgars and shook his head. "We have to get that nuke stopped. Or at least slowed down."
* * *
"No."
Mosovich stared at the AID for a moment in shock. "Sir, we're talking about Cally." He looked around the outer cache and shook his head. "We can find her and retrieve her in no more than an hour or so."
"Sergeant Major, have you taken a look at the operational situation on the eastern seaboard?" O'Neal asked.
"No, sir, I haven't," Mosovich replied angrily. "But we're talking about Rabun Gap."
"So am I, Sergeant Major. There's now an incursion headed for Sylva. That has the division that is coming in to support us cut off. I don't know how they got through the defenses up that way but with everything else going on I'm not surprised. There are incursions over the Blue Ridge in Virginia as well; Staunton is toast and so are the SheVas that were under construction around it. The Ten Thousand is getting pushed back into a pocket. We're talking about a full-scale breakout in the Shenandoah. Horner should be using this nuke there, but he's chosen to use it here. Care to consider why?"
"Because if you can hold out for another few hours, the SheVa will get here," Mosovich said, expanding his tactical map. "But not if it's got heavy opposition."
"Bingo," Mike replied. "If the SheVa can plug the gap, and it will do it by demolishing it and then parking if it has to, we can fly out to another hopeless battle. But we can't do that if we don't have this nuke, here and while we can still catch most of the Posleen before they deploy against the SheVa. Once it reaches Franklin it's in range and it can scratch our backs all the way in. But we need this nuke, now, actually about an hour ago. So, no, I'm not going to stop it for another hour, or forty-five minutes, or even five minutes while you go look for one singular refugee civilian."
"Who is your daughter," Mosovich said, coldly.
"No shit Sherlock," O'Neal replied, furiously. "I would very much like to care about what happens to my daughter, Sergeant Major, but I have a fucking world to save. And if that means that Cally dies, then Cally dies," he finished.
His reply had been cold and furious, but Mosovich heard the anguish buried in it and lowered his head into his hands. "Yes, sir."
"Get in the cache, Sergeant Major, close the door. Twenty minutes."
"He's just writing her off?" Shari asked. "He can't do that!"
"He just did," Mueller said, pushing the door closed.
* * *
"We can't just sit out in this one, boss," Stewart said.
"I know," O'Neal replied, looking around at the remnants of the battalion. "So we dig." He bent down and started pulling dirt up out of the side of the mountain. "Bury the resupply then dig as far as you can, and fill it in behind you. What the hell, keep digging until the rounds hit."
In moments the entire battalion was busy burying itself in the earth.
* * *
"Billy, you have to take the Hiberzine," Shari said softly.
"I won't!" the boy said, backing up to the cache wall. "I'm not going to do that again!"
"Son, we all do," Mosovich said reasonably. All of the other children, Wendy, Elgars and Mueller were already out, laid on mattresses across the spread-out remaining boxes. The biggest fear was that something would fall on them; if the walls of the cache failed nothing would save them anyway. And if anyone remained out of hibernation in the room the oxygen would quickly be used up; already Mosovich felt the air getting close and fetid. "There's not enough air in here for us to stay awake."
"I'm not going to do it," the boy said stubbornly, shaking his head.
Shari's face was strained and tired but just as determined. "Everyone's going under this time, Billy. Even me." She shifted to the side and spread her empty hands wide. "You just have to trust me. Somebody will come."
"I don't want to," Billy repeated, trying not to whine. "I can't."
Mosovich waited until he was outside the boy's peripheral vision and then struck like a viper, injecting him in the side of the neck. He caught him as he twisted and started to fall, laying him out carefully on the boxes.
"Just us," he said.
"I guess so," Shari said, lying down and taking Billy and Susie in her arms. "I don't like this any more than he did," she added, her face pinched.
"Like any of us do," Mosovich muttered, injecting her in the neck and watching as her face slackened. He replaced the disposable container in the injector then lay down next to Elgars, looking at the injector and then at his watch.
"Oh, well, here goes nothing."
In another moment the cache was still.
* * *
"Well, Dr. Castanuelo, you're sure this thing isn't going to blow?"
The control center for the experimental cannon looked like NASA. There were at least fifteen operators in the cente
r, all of them busy monitoring various aspects of the gun. The weapon itself was mounted in a building the size of a large observatory placed at the edge of the UT campus and surrounded by fences keeping out the curious and suicidal. It had finally been loaded and now, with the ACS battalion resupplied, it was time to find out if Knoxville was going to disappear, or North Georgia.
"Yes, sir," the academic said. "Almost definitely."
"How reassuring," President Carson said. "General, if you give us another hour we can have most of the region evacuated."
"In another hour one hundred thousand Posleen are going to pour through the Gap, Mr. Carson," Horner replied. "Dr. Castanuelo, are you sure enough to push the firing button?"
"Yes, sir," Mickey replied.
"Then do it."
Mickey flipped up the cover of the firing mechanism and sounded the preparatory warning. "Preparing to fire," he announced over the intercom. He hit the controls to begin the liquid propellant cycling then turned the key activating system. Last he hovered his hand over the actual firing button. Then he screwed up his eyes and stabbed downward.
Horner was amused to watch the reaction. He, himself, simply turned to the video cameras monitoring the event and watched it eyes open. He figured that if it was a screw-up, he'd never know it.
* * *
The gap they were crossing was not much larger than the SheVa was long so they ended up straddling the road, nearly three meters in the air.
"This is not good for the frame," Indy commented idly as the SheVa creaked and groaned its way from one hill to the next.
"It'll take it," Kilzer replied. "We ran it through trials on things like this."