A Hymn Before Battle, page 29
"You can't bring them in here," said the CQ, nastily.
Pappas finally lost it. He reached out with one hand and picked the overweight sergeant up by his collar. Without looking he slammed him into the door of the trailer then pulled him up until they were eye to eye. "I will tell you this one more time," he said icily. "If I hear one more word out of you that is not an answer to a direct question, I will personally frag your ass. Do-you-under-stand-me?"
The quivering NCO began blubbering but nodded his head in agreement. When Pappas let go of him he collapsed into a heap.
"I can take you to someone who can help," said Lewis, calmly. "It's not far."
Pappas regarded him thoughtfully for a moment then nodded. "Okay, let's go."
Lewis gestured with his chin at the quivering sergeant by the door. "Um, we might want to take him along." He paused and considered what he was going to say carefully. "Let's just say that there are people we don't want him calling," he concluded.
Pappas nodded at the logic. It was obvious that the situation in the company was substandard; surprising this Sergeant First Class Morales might be for the best. He did not even look around. "Adams. Handle it."
As he led the platoon off into the maze of trailers he shook his head in disgust. "Lewis, or whatever your name is," he said calmly, "maybe you could explain what the fuck is going on around here?" Does anybody in the Fleet have a clue? he wondered.
32
Andata Province, Diess IV
0714 GMT May 19th, 2002 AD
"First thing we do," said Mike on the platoon push, "we kill all the lawyers. But shortly after that, we gotta power-up."
"And we do that how, sir?" said Sergeant Green, immune by now to the vagaries of his abruptly imposed commander. It was bound to be harebrained, but on the other hand "it just might work!"
"Set the suits to search for power supplies in general; we'll scavenge as we go. As we move upwards keep an eye out for mobile equipment. They all use the same energy sources, they're usually on the righthand side in a green painted compartment and they look like large green gems. When they're fully powered up they glow brightly then fade as the power falls off. They'll fit in that secondary power receptacle on the rear right of your suit. When we find them, they get distributed to those with the lowest power levels.
"Also, look for very heavy machinery, like the stuff Captain Wright was trapped under. The power receptacles for those can be jury rigged to bleed off to the suits. The problem is that the suits will recharge with a heavier draw than all but the heaviest machinery. Now, give the pistols and their ammo to the scouts. Put them on point and we'll move out.
"If we can't avoid a group of Posleen, charge 'em, concentrating on the ones with the heavy railguns. The light guns can't penetrate our armor so don't bother with them. After we take down the ones with the heavy weapons, we can finish off the rest like killing fish in a barrel. If we can, we want to completely avoid them, though, so move fast but quiet. Once we power-up, crank up your compensators, it'll cut down on that elephantlike thumping. We gotta be swift, silent and deadly. Okay, that pretty much covers it. Scouts out, follow the bouncing ball."
The four remaining scouts caught the grav pistols tossed to them and moved out of the door to the room, following a heads-up projection of a green will-o'-the-wisp ball, bouncing ten feet in front of them. The ball would lead them on without their having to constantly refer to a map. It was dim enough to not impair their target line and, of course, invisible to the enemy since it was a projection in their helmets. Wiznowski stopped just before exiting the maintenance area beyond their sanctum and tossed a small sensor ball into the next room. Satisfied by the take from the sensor he motioned the first scout through the door. Moving out of the maintenance area the scouts spread out through the manufacturing section beyond. Gigantic looms rose on either side, metallic forests of industry.
Mike tapped one trooper on the arm and gestured to a general-purpose lifter abandoned in the midst of a repair project. The trooper found a faintly glowing gem which he waved around triumphantly. It was passed to a third squad trooper with an energy readout blinking in distress. When the gem had been drained by the power receptacle his energy reading was still blinking, albeit slower, and the gem was dark and cold. Mike gestured and the trooper tossed him the discharged gem. If they ever found an opportunity the gem could be recharged.
Sergeant Green made a hand gesture at the looming machinery to either side but Mike shook his head and made a wide gesture indicating that it had to be much bigger. As they progressed towards the building core they twice stopped to let randomly looting groups of Posleen pass.
Although the platoon was hardly silent in its movement, between the suit systems and Michelle's tap on the security systems, they were able to detect the Posleen well in advance. When they neared the power plant, Mike called a halt. The scouts fell back as the platoon dropped into a perimeter. It was time for a council of war.
"All right, I want some opinions," Mike said on the platoon push. They were in a large open area, another storeroom, this time for some type of large parts. The shelving loomed three stories above them, and rank on rank of structures marched away into the distance. Mike tapped a command and all the enhancements changed to Posleen Normal. The light level dropped to nearly nothing. There was a distant illumination near one end of the warehouse, probably an office or entryway. Another command bypassed the ventilation system and adjusted the hearing to normal. The ring of suits around him was totally silent, the gray camouflage skins fading into the darkness making it nearly impossible to see them. There was a faint smell of organic solvents and ozone. There was no indication of any activity in the area but it never hurt to check with normal senses. He turned his sensor suite and ventilators back on and continued.
"I won't say that I'll take the advice but I will listen to it," he continued. "We are about five minutes away from this building's power station. We can get all the power we want there, but there are Posleen there taking it apart. It is still fully functional for our purposes but to take it means we'll have to fight and we may attract attention.
"Inter-Posleen communication is not fully understood nor is Posleen territorial activity in the immediate post-battle period. What that means is we may have two billion Posleen around us at the first shot. Or we may not see any.
"There are multiple exits and we can probably cut our way out but we may use more power than we gain. On the other hand, there may be no response, especially if we hit hard and quiet. Now, I want the opinion of the NCOs, most junior first. Sergeant Brecker?"
The young third-squad leader raised his hands palm upward. "I'm down to about two hours normal use, sir. And one of my troops is lower. We haven't scavenged enough to matter. As far as I'm concerned there's no choice."
"Sergeant Kerr?" First squad.
"Can we, like, redistribute the power, sir?"
"No, the suits can scavenge but not share, that's why I was distributing it on the basis of lowest power first. It's a subject there was a lot of technical debate about; ask me about it if we both survive. Basically, if you have an open power output, it can be tapped under certain circumstances. On the other hand, whether we live or die the technical report on this will go to Earth and I'm sure this will tip the debate some other way. Too late to help us, however. So. What's it gonna be?" he asked.
"Attack, sir, no choice."
"Noted. Sergeant Duncan?" Second squad.
"Why not just go where there is heavy machinery, Lieutenant?" Duncan asked with a note of interest.
"It would take us about an hour, at our present rate of movement. Too far out of our way." Mike noted his tone. The council of war had more than one purpose, it was the first time he had conducted a two-way communication with his NCOs. He was learning a lot from their responses. "What's your vote?"
"Attack." The response was clipped but almost enthusiastic.
"Sergeant Wiznowski?" he asked.
"Kill 'em all, sir," said the Wizard with uncharacteristic savagery. "I don't think there's a choice and I wanna kick some butt."
At that there was a muted growl on the platoon net.
"Sergeant Green?"
"Go for it, sir."
"Right, I'm glad to have your opinions. We go for the power. Now, by squads, who has real experience in knife fighting, wrestling or serious martial arts? Oh, yeah, if you've won more than your share of bar fights. I want somebody to back you up, not just your word for it. Squad leaders, get that information on the squad push. Three minutes."
He watched in amusement as the squads broke up into gesticulating groups. He could tell by the arm movements that several of the troops were defending their personal brawling skills but when he switched on the exterior sound systems the only noise was the occasional foot stomp until one of the arguing troops banged a fist into his palm with a resounding clang.
"Second squad! Quiet!" snapped Sergeant Green, before O'Neal could say anything.
"Sorry about that, Sergeant," said Sergeant Duncan. It was only then that Mike realized it was Duncan who had made the noise. With a command to Michelle the name of each trooper was blazoned on them momentarily as Mike looked at them. Fifty-eight human beings depending on him to make the right decisions and he knew maybe six or seven of their names. Two minutes left, enough time to contact higher.
"Michelle, try to access General Houseman."
"I've got headquarters," she said after a moment. "General Houseman is on the way."
"Okay, thanks."
"You're welcome."
"O'Neal, what's your progress?" the general asked tersely.
"We're nearly out of power, General. We have to take a short detour to scavenge. It will push our ETA back by about an hour. On the other hand, we'll be able to move faster once we power-up."
"All right, it'll have to do. How are you going to get to the pocket?"
Mike told him.
"You're fucking crazy, O'Neal," the officer chuckled grimly. "Will it work?"
"No reason it shouldn't, sir. I can't analyze the likelihood of Posleen resistance, but we should be able to outrun organized resistance. The only thing I'm worried about is resupply. Any chance?"
"I'll punch out the shuttles whenever you're ready for rendezvous. I will tell you, there's gonna be casualties; those shuttles are sitting ducks for the God King vehicle weapons."
"I need the weapons more than I need the troops, sir. Keep the troops with you."
"I'd hoped you'd say that," said the distant general with a relieved tone. "I'm not sure I was going to renege, but the more I thought about it the less I liked it."
"Just load each of the shuttles down with ammo, rifles, grenade launchers and power packs and let us do the rest, sir. Send them on remote, for that matter."
"That's how we'll do it. Call me again when you have a rendezvous."
"Yes, sir."
"Out."
" 'Kay, troops," Mike continued, Michelle automatically switching him back, "who's the lucky winners in the Diess Fantasy Lottery Drawing? Second squad?"
"Just me, sir," said Sergeant Duncan.
"I think I have a vague memory of you having some capability in this arena," Mike said with a chuckle. "Actually, thinking back about ten years I remember you having a punch like a mule. Glad to have you. Next, First squad?"
"Lyle, Knudsen and Moore, sir," said Sergeant Kerr.
"Sounds like a Minneapolis law firm."
"Yes, sir," chuckled Sergeant Kerr. "Well, Lyle and Knudsen both do kung-fu. I went to a couple of their tournaments, back when. They're okay. And Moore . . ." He gestured at an exceptionally large suit of armor standing next to him that the AID dutifully highlighted with "SP4 Moore, Adumapaya."
" . . . was obviously the biggest one in his class," finished O'Neal.
"Ah played some ball too, sah. Ah kin hold mah own," said the velvety bass.
"Righto, third?"
"Well, sir," said Sergeant Brecker, "none of us really fit the criteria, but I am coming. I wrestled in high school and I'm sure I can hold my own."
"I won't deny you, your squad needs to be represented. Scouts?"
"I'll go, sir," said Sergeant Wiznowski. "Just try to stop me."
Mike scanned the team's power levels and approved; all of them were in the yellow, but none of them were approaching failure. "Okay, here's the plan," Mike said, casting a map to each of the platoon members. "Scouts lead to the room second layer away from the power room," he said, highlighting it.
"Between it and the power room is a hallway, right turn, ten meters to the power room on the left. We check the hallway then the team moves to the door to the power room while the rest of the platoon stays in that location. Order of movement is Wiz, Moore, myself, Lyle, Knudsen, Duncan, Brecker.
"Wiz, down corridor security. The door reads as sealed on the building sensors. Moore, take the door, then down. I'll take out anything moving on immediate entry then Lyle, Knudsen and Duncan move past. I move. Wiz pull back and past. Moore move. Brecker, hold the door. I'm downloading the vectors of movement to your systems.
"The Posleen have removed or destroyed some of the sensors in the room so we don't have perfect intelligence on where they are. If one of you is rendered ineffective the vectors will automatically update. We'll move the rest of the platoon in on my command. At that time I will designate corridor security. Questions?"
"How many Posleen in the whole power-room area?" asked Duncan.
"About thirty," Mike said.
"Thirty?" Duncan choked, "and only seven of us?"
"Yes," Mike said, "magnificent isn't it?"
"Sir . . ."
"Can it, Sergeant. There is not time for debate. You may decline to be on the entry team at any time. It is totally voluntary," Mike waited for the response.
"Never mind," said Duncan after a few moments' thought. "I don't think it can be done, though, Lieutenant."
"Noted. Any other questions?" There were not.
"Scouts out."
The movement to the corridor outside the power room was successful, but when they reached the last corner there was a snag.
"There's a sentry," Sergeant Wiznowski whispered.
"That cans it," whispered Duncan.
"They can hardly hear us through the armor, Sergeant Wiz. And it hardly `cans it,' Sergeant Duncan. I considered this. Okay, the rest of you hunker down and quiet. Quietly, team, line up." Mike dialed up his compensators and moved to the door. Fortunately there was a certain amount of masking noise from the roar of the fusion reactor in the far room. He studied the door for a moment to ensure it would open easily and popped his belly armor. He drew out the discharged power gem the soldier had given him and tossed it to get a good grip.
"Michelle, throw aiming grid. Left arm on automatic, visual targeting." He whipped open the door, stepped into the corridor and looked at the Posleen normal guarding the power room. "Fire." The pseudomuscles of the armor swiveled the left arm of the suit to vertical and delivered the one-kilo gem at two hundred meters per hour to the forehead of the Posleen. The centauroid dropped like the rock that hit him.
"Move." Wiznowski ghosted past him down the corridor and he fell in behind Moore. When Moore reached the door, Mike checked that everyone was in place, stooped, drew the dead Posleen sentry's palmate blade with his left hand and said, "Do it."
Moore took a half step back and threw himself through the door and down; his charge carried him several feet into the room. Mike was suddenly happy they had not charged in guns blazing as he realized he was looking at the primary cooling system of the fusion reactor.
"No grenades," he snarled as he picked out Posleen in view. As each one came into view his AID popped a round out of his ready storage bin eject under the left arm and threw it with a Frisbee motion. The rounds were three-millimeter needles of depleted uranium. They arrived at the target at over one hundred meters per second with deadly precision.
There were seven Posleen in the room ranged neatly side to side with the exception of one almost directly in front of him that was masked. The five across the room from him were worrying over the primary coolant controls while the one to the left had just entered the area and the one directly in front was moving right to left. The moving one was targeted first. The teardrop of depleted uranium only weighed two ounces, but it was traveling at the speed of a .45 caliber round and struck dot accurate.
The teardrop entered the Posleen's crocodilian head at the juncture of the chin. It continued upward, passing through the cranial/spinal juncture and lodged in the rear of the skull. The neck of the Posleen squirted yellow blood as it began to fall, dead as a pithed frog. The three at the coolant controls were eliminated just as efficiently, dead before the first target had hit the ground. But the Posleen entering the room was a senior normal with improved reactions and weapons.
Mike grunted as a three-millimeter round passed entirely through his left leg, and flipped a round off-hand at the aggressive Posleen. It avoided his fire by diving for cover behind the secondary controls. Mike took out the last standard Posleen and bounced left while drawing his pistol. He did a gunslinger's toss, switching pistol and sword, still hoping to keep the noise and energetics down. He was not sure if there was a point; the hypersonic "crack" of the railgun rounds must have been heard throughout the building.
Suddenly the Posleen popped back up several feet from where he had gone to cover and three-millimeter railgun rounds caromed off Mike's heavier cuirass, smashing him backwards. Mike spun on his left foot, the impact of the rounds turning him around in a controlled spin, and released the blade. The three foot, monomolecular blade whistled through the air and into the chest of the Posleen with the sound of an air lock closing. The Posleen stuttered for a moment, dropped the railgun and settled to all four knees, coughing yellow blood.
Mike yanked the knife out, kicked the rifle aside and took off the Posleen's head to make sure. He checked the room but all the Posleen were down and his entry team had already spread out. The only thing left to do was set out on his vector.
