by John Ringo
"Tango," Mitchell answered. He sounded tired, too.
"Scouts report a major concentration near Windy Gap Church," she replied. "I'm deploying my troops along the ridgeline to establish a base of fire and have contacted division for artillery support. They're still in movement so we only have a battery, but we have to pass through this gap. I can patch a visual. Over."
* * *
Mitchell glanced up at the screen and shook his head. There was a solid mass of Posleen moving down Highway 28 with a gathering on the hill occupied by the church. There was a good chance they were also using Windy Gap Road for transportation. Which meant that even when the SheVa and the battalion took them under fire they would have, in effect, reserves ready to counterassault. He had discovered that the worst part of a battle was when the MetalStorms were reloading but that seemed to be the nature of the weapon's system. And he was down two Storms on his front plate, not to mention the plate itself being sort of shredded.
He was getting really tired of these damned skirmishes. Just once he would like to be able to skip to the end, smoking holes in the SheVa and all. He brought up the map and looked at it but that was no help. Right now the battalion, and the SheVa, were concealed by the ridge. Once they moved on towards their firing point they would be in view and all hell would cut loose. The best bet seemed to be to go with LeBlanc's implied plan; lay down a base of fire and then assault the Posleen with the tracks, tearing them up with direct and indirect fire.
That would leave a force at their back, though, and they'd still be taking fire as they moved forward. Shitty choices all around.
The Windy Gap Hill was relatively steep but covered in roads so the Posleen could move on it easily. And while it was in range, now, of the MetalStorms they couldn't direct accurate fire on it until it was in view.
On the other hand, it really stood out . . .
"Pruitt," he said thoughtfully. "You ever watch the movie Raiders of the Lost Ark?"
"A couple of times," the gunner replied. "Why?"
"You know that scene where the big bad guy comes out of the crowd and Indy shoots him?"
"Yes, sir?" the gunner asked.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
T'was sad I kissed away her tears
My fond arm round her flinging.
When a foe, man's shot burst on our ears
From out the wild woods ringing.
A bullet pierced my true love's side
In life's young spring so early.
And on my breast in blood she died
While soft winds shook the barley.
But blood for blood without remorse
I've ta'en at Oulart Hollow.
I've laid my true love's clay-cold corpse
Where I full soon must follow.
Around her grave I've wandered drear
Noon, night, and morning early.
with breaking heart when e'er I hear
The wind that shook the barley.
—Dr. Robert Dwyer Joyce
"The Wind That Shakes the Barley"
Porter's Bend, NC, United States of America, Sol III
0648 EDT Tuesday September 29, 2009 AD
Tenalasan looked to the north, waiting for the great tank, the "SheVa" to appear. It had so far cut through two groups that were supposed to stop it and was expected to come down the road at any moment. But so far there had been no shooting from the north, much less signs of the great beast.
The moon had set and the night would have been pitch black to humans. It was quite dark to the host as well, but their eyes expanded to drink in what light there was from the stars glittering overhead. The skies had cleared and the temperatures dropped, but as with most physical conditions that was of little interest to the Po'oslena'ar; they could survive temperatures that would kill an unprotected human.
Snow was bad not so much for the cold or the way it slowed them but because it meant little to forage. Away from their bases the Po'oslena'ar generally depended upon forage for food. They were designed for pure efficiency and could move for days on the food that a human would need for one. Eventually this caught up with them and they would have to feed, but in the meantime they would keep going.
His oolt had not properly fed in two days and it would probably be another day before he let them rummage in their food bags. They had been given a few scraps of flesh from the human thresh and more lately from the battles over the mountains, but it was not enough to build them back up. With luck the coming battle would go to them and then there would be much thresh upon which to feed.
But until then they must wait.
"I hate waiting," Artenayard said. The younger Kessentai shifted his tenar from side to side idly and flapped his crest. "We should be moving out to find it."
"We agreed to obey the estanaar," Tenalasan replied. He had been in enough fights against the humans to appreciate waiting in ambush rather than throwing himself on their defenses. He didn't like it, but it was better than dying.
"We should be moving with them," the Kessentai snarled, gesturing at the solid line of Po'oslena'ar moving up the road. "They are taking the way to the riches! An untouched land is just over the mountains!"
"And if the SheVa reaches Franklin the entire advance will be cut off. So we wait."
"Human ways!"
"Ways that work," the older Kessentai replied. It was Artenayard's first battle and so far it had consisted of lining up to pass through the Gap and then walking through the night. He would learn soon enough that humans were no joke to fight.
* * *
"It's another ambush group," Pruitt said, adjusting the angle of his gun.
"Yep, they're learning," Mitchell mused. "But they forgot something that less control would have given them."
"What?"
"Flank security."
* * *
The ground was starting to rumble and Bazzett leaned into his rifle as the first flight of 40mm went overhead. Since it was near its maximum range the spread was wider than normal but in a way that was good; it spread though half the Posleen force, throwing them quickly into disarray. A disarray to which the hastily dug-in infantry began to add.
"Who needs a Barrett?" he whispered as he zoomed in his scope on one God King that was just beginning to move and stroked the trigger.
* * *
Tenalasan backed his tenar and gestured to the east as Artenayard's head exploded in yellow blood and brains.
"To the east!" he yelled, waving at his oolt'os as he began bonding Artenayard's. "Attack to the east!"
* * *
"Pretty," Mitchell said as the first monitor came in view of the Posleen. The force was splitting its fire between the SheVa and the troops on its flank, which was just fine by Mitchell. But that wouldn't last long.
"Major LeBlanc, tell your troops to withdraw to their vehicles. Now."
* * *
"Fall back!"
Bazzett looked over at the platoon sergeant and shook his head. "We're good!"
"Orders!" the sergeant called. He was only an E-5 but he was the senior remaining NCO in the platoon. And the hard-core fucker was serious.
"What the fuck?" the specialist called, slithering out of his hole. The trees were being stripped of their branches by the fire pouring into the wood but most of it was, fortunately, going high. He slung his rifle and did a leopard crawl to the rear as fast as he could, noting other gray shadows in the trees. The Brads had pulled right into the edge of the wood, pushing over the saplings at the edge; the L-T must have been serious about pulling out.
"Into the Brads!" Wolf was running down the line slapping at stragglers. "Do NOT look towards the Posleen!"
* * *
"Colonel, we're mostly loaded," LeBlanc called dubiously. "And the Posties are coming hell bent for leather."
"Works," the colonel said. "Button up and prepare to move. Pruitt, fire."
* * *
"Demon-shit!" Tenalasan shouted as the blast from the giant tank's fire flipped scores of oo
lt'os and Kessentai through the air. But that was the least of his problems. Because this time the penetrator dug itself into Windy Gap Hill and blew the top off.
Besides the human buildings, the hill had been surmounted by Posleen, oolts that were trying to get reestablished after the fire from the snipers and MetalStorm packs and the reinforcing units just cresting the hill. All of them disappeared with the hilltop which now was dished out in a rather nice reverse hemisphere.
The majority of the granite at its heart was pulped to dust but the outer sections came off in the form of fast-moving rock, from gravel to boulders the size of cars, all of which lifted into the air and began flying in every direction.
As the silver-cored avalanche blasted outwards, Tenalasan flapped his crest in momentary wonder at human ingenuity in the field of killing.
* * *
"Quebec Eight-Six, move forward to finish off the survivors then sweep south."
"Next stop, Franklin," Pruitt said, loading another penetrator.
* * *
Glennis twisted the controls on her TC's viewer and highlighted a group of Posleen that were still trying to move north on 28. It was pretty evident that the aliens hadn't seen the tanks as they nosed out of the woodline and she preferred to keep it that way.
"Target, Posleen company."
The battalion had moved through the remnants of the Posleen force then turned to the south, screening the SheVa and probing for resistance. There were still scattered forces both on the hills and moving up the road. But so far they hadn't hit anything that managed to return fire, much less do damage. For once the humans had the Posleen off balance and that was just the way she liked it.
The gunner slewed the combo guns onto the target and fired a burst, turning most of the oolt into dog-meat. A few got off rounds in their general direction but the tank was still outside their range of accurate fire so all of their fire flew high or wide. Another burst finished those off and the unit rolled out of the thin covering of scrub and on towards Franklin.
They were beginning to hit the fringe of the small city. Houses and buildings had been thickening as they approached and most of the open fields had been replaced with houses and light industrial buildings or facilities for the support of the local corps. There was a smattering of trees around the buildings but much of the area was still open fields or roads.
"Quebec Eight-Six, this is India Three-Niner."
LeBlanc keyed her microphone and glanced up the hill where a scout team of Bradleys had taken position; a small suburb occupied most of the hill and she guessed from the map that it had a view of the town of Franklin itself. Which was why she'd sent the Brads up there.
"Go."
"You probably want to come eyeball this, Major."
She looked up at the hill and shrugged her shoulders. They were probably right.
* * *
LeBlanc slid off the front of the tank and walked up through the backyard of the house to where two of the Charlie Company troopers were hunkered by a picket fence. The house was apparently deserted; the back door was torn from its frame and tossed into the yard and a brief view of the interior showed the sort of mess the Posleen normally left in their first pass through an area. As she passed the back patio she trod on a teddy bear, still fairly fresh despite the rains. She looked down at what had caused her ankle to turn and then walked on; after ten years of battle the pathetic tale told by the doll was an old and worn one.
"Morning, ma'am," the senior trooper, a specialist, said, handing her his thermal imaging scope. "Take a look at the town."
"Horse-dicks," she muttered after a glance through the scope. "Don't these guys know they're beat?" The town was swarming with Posleen and more seemed to be pouring in from the east and south. Furthermore, many of them were working on some sort of underground structure near the center of the town. It looked very much like they were "digging in."
"Apparently not, ma'am," the scout answered with a chuckle, taking the scope back. "What are we going to do this time?"
"My guess is blow up the town with the SheVa," she said after a moment's thought.
"What's that thing they're building, ma'am?" the junior trooper asked.
"At a guess it's a command bunker of some sort," LeBlanc answered. "No, I take it back," she said, thinking like an S-2 instead of a battalion commander. "Most of the Posleen infrastructure is underground. I'd say that's either a factory or a food processor. Maybe both."
"Like they're getting ready to move in?"
"Or they're trying to establish a logistics point," the major replied. "Whatever it is, it's about to receive a ten-kiloton retirement present."
* * *
Orostan looked over at the Kenellai that was running the resupply effort. "How is the work progressing?"
"The tunnels will be completed soon, oolt'ondai. After that perhaps twelve hours to complete the basic factory."
"Too long," he growled, looking around at the massed oolt'os and Kessentai. "We'll be out of ammunition and thresh by then."
"It can progress no faster, oolt'ondai. But I will see what I can do."
"Oolt'ondai, the SheVa approaches." The operations officer gestured to the north. "And the forces with it. The force at Windy Gap . . ."
"Is gone, I know," the warleader growled. "Well, they cannot attack us the same way. Send two oolt'ondar out to engage the tracks around it and have the others spread out on this ridge; we will not allow it to reach its firing point."
"As you command, oolt'ondai."
The warleader looked to the north then keyed his communicator, waiting as it hunted for the distinct address of Tulo'stenaloor.
"Orostan, here," he said when it pinged acceptance.
"Orostan, how goes there?" Tulo'stenaloor asked.
"Like the Sky Demons were driving the war," the oolt'ondai said with a flap of his crest. "When I arrange forces to attack the SheVa from the side, it comes in on their flank. When I arrange them in front of it, it turns to the side. For something so large it is being infernally hard to pin down."
"Will it reach Franklin?" the estanaar replied.
The warleader thought for a moment then rippled his skin in a sigh. "Perhaps, estanaar. Perhaps. It is . . . difficult to stop. No . . . I will stop it before it reaches Franklin. But I don't know at what cost."
"The cost is no matter," Tulo'stenaloor said after a moment. "If you have to take it in a tenaral charge of the last of your forces, stop it. We will have the Gap back shortly. Then I can pour forces through. But you must stop it; we cannot take the Gap in the face of nuclear fire."
"I shall, estanaar," Orostan said. "I'll stop it."
"Do so," Tulo'stenaloor replied. "And then, we will own this world. Good luck."
"I will stop you," Orostan growled. "By the bones of the Alld'nt I will stop you."
* * *
"No can do," Pruitt said, shaking his head.
"Why?" Mitchell asked, glancing at the map.
"The other shot, the hill was pretty steep; there was a real target. This one, the hill is a long, winding slope on our side. Not a steep one, either. I can't put a round in unless I've got something like a bluff in the immediate area."
"That's a hell of a lot of Posleen," Mitchell said, pointing at the map. "And they're not just going to sit on their hands."
"I know, sir," the specialist replied. "But we don't have a shot. If we were on the south side we would, but I don't think you want to swing around to there, do you?"
"Not with the force structure in the area," the colonel replied. "Suggestions?"
"Hmm," Pruitt looked at his display and made some adjustments then did some measuring. "If we back up to our last FP . . ."
"Minimum distances of four thousand meters," the colonel said with a glance at the map. "We can make it, barely. What about drift?"
"That . . . will be a problem," the gunner admitted. "In general the winds aloft are from northwest to southeast. Who knows, we might have to fire twice!"
&nb
sp; "We'll be firing practically straight up; if the damned round comes back on us we won't be firing ever again!"
* * *
"Quebec Eight-Six, pull your advanced units back. We're going to have to back all the way up to damned near our starting point. Please detach a sub-unit to cover us."
LeBlanc thought about the combination for a moment and shivered despite the heat pouring up from the interior of the tank.
"Am I to assume that your answer to this problem involves something that is danger close at four thousand meters."
"Roger, over."
"Even at our starting point, if we don't cross the river we'll be less than four thousand meters from the target, over."
"Roger. Recommend we back up and hunker down."
"This ain't gonna be good."
"No, it's not."
* * *
"You know the problem with the SheVa gun?" Utori said. "No damned finesse."
"What do you mean?" Bazzett replied, cutting open an MRE as the track lurched from side to side. If they were going to be stopped for a few minutes, might as well eat.
The battalion had rapidly backed up, retreating over ground they had captured at cost. Only a single Abrams had been left behind, hull down in a revetment, with all its electronics shut down and turned away from the blast. All of the troops had been pulled into their vehicles as well; if a Posleen force came through they were probably toast.
But it beat being out in the cold with a nuke going off over the next hill.
"Look at this thing. It's got a choice of nuclear annihilation or nothing." The Squad Automatic Weapon gunner had broken down his SAW and was brushing at the breech with a worn, green toothbrush.
"It's got the MetalStorms," Bazzett argued. Both of them were ignoring the fact that at any moment an antimatter round could land on their heads. Part of the reason for the four thousand meters minimum range of the SheVa area effect round was that it was notoriously inaccurate at short ranges. Because it was designed for a fifty-plus kilometer range, firing at short ranges meant firing practically straight up in the air. At that angle, it was practically a matter of luck where it would land.