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"Let's move out, Sar'nt."
They headed to the nearest lock along with a fire team following the same path. Mike checked the locations of all the teams and breathed a sigh of relief. The plan had invited defeat in detail: a gut-wrenching terror that was now off his back. It was a central military axiom that you never divide your forces in the heat of battle, but the intelligence conferred by the suits as well as the disorganization of the Posleen rear area permitted enormous missions to be accomplished in record times. Without a doubt, if a practical method could be found for passing through Posleen lines, the deep strike was the premium method for battling the Posleen. Outside their hordes they were as dangerous to a man in a suit as so many mosquitoes, painful but hardly life threatening. The difficulties would be finding a way to attack the Posleen rear area and viable methods of disruption. The fate of the shuttles was graphic proof that the traditional techniques of deep strike would be impossible.
The teams slid through the tu
The building was technically in Posleen hands, but the formed units of Posleen were fully involved trying to dislodge the battered survivors of the 10th Panzer Grenadiers in the nearest megascraper and the only Posleen in the basements were unbonded stragglers.
Mike triggered a fatal burst at a Posleen that wandered into the processing floor, and popped off his helmet. The basement smelled of seaweed and smoke, but not of rotting organics; the hygiene was surprising under the circumstances. The troops around him starting popping their helmets as well and before long there was a cluster of alert soldiers sca
"All right troops," Mike said, for the first time seeing the faces of the soldiers he had been leading for almost twenty-four hours. The troopers in turn studied the diminutive officer who had carried them through hell. They were so far beyond any human reaction that Mike was unable to decide what was in their expressions. They faced him like so many sharks, eyes dead and uncaring in their carnage. He shivered for a moment, showing it no more than the troops around him.
He had seen many of these soldiers only two days before suiting up in preparation for the battle to come. Most had been frightened, covering it with bravado. Some had been so brainwashed with the airborne mentality that they were awaiting the moment of contact with eagerness. Some had been openly fearful, but ready to do their duty. Now they were one and all automatons. He had taken them from childhood to some region beyond and at this moment he feared the Frankenstein monster he had created. But the professional dies hard and he carried right on.
"In a minute and a half the remaining charges will blow," he continued in a soft but carrying voice. There was distant gun and ca
"When the buildings drop, the armor units should be able to break out to the MLR. After they pass through the lines we'll sneak back to the MLR ourselves and hopefully get a well-earned rest." He smiled tiredly at the half-hearted cheer. "Now, helmets on, unless you want to miss the show." He ducked back under his helmet like a turtle. The eyes were on him still there but at least he could no longer see them.
"Michelle, get me General Houseman."
"Okay, Mike." The circuit crackled with static; General Houseman had to be away from his command post, using a shunt through a regular Army frequency.
"O'Neal? What's the hold-up?" the general asked impatiently. Mike could hear the freight-train roar of artillery in the background and a nearby jackhammer sound of a heavy machine gun.
"The charges are laid and about to blow, sir," he said, glancing at the countdown clock. "We ran into a few snags."
"Yeah, we saw what they did to the shuttles through the monitors. Was that you leaving your position?"
"Yes, sir."
"Don't get carried away, son, this is go
"Yes, sir." Mike could not begin to explain over this open circuit the red tower of rage that had overrun him at that moment.
"When do they blow?"
"In . . . twenty-five seconds," Mike answered. He split the screen to give him an overview of the trapped divisions. The numbers were not looking good.
"Very well, the armor forces really need the help. Good luck, son, and carry on."
"Roger that, sir, Airborne."
"Out here."
Mike shunted the view from the remote sensors into the platoon's helmets, each squad overlooking its own building. In the upper quadrant was a count-down timer. Precisely at zero there was a gout of dust, fire and less definable things out of the lower floors of the buildings. Slowly they began to topple, gaining speed and finally crashing to the ground in a shower of rubble.
There was cheering on the platoon net with the troops laughing and swearing in relief. Until that moment Mike had not realized their level of disbelief. Only a couple of them had thought that the buildings would really fall. He shook his head in wonder that they had not simply evaporated to the rear.
He put the thought aside and ordered the NCOs to assemble for move out. As the platoon started towards the locks he updated the schematic of the encirclement. Then he had to ask Michelle if it was accurate.
There were too many breaks in the chain. The fighters in the encircled building were a hodgepodge of units from five different countries. Although there was a clear road out, the infiltrated Posleen and broken communications meant that none of the units could reinforce the panzer grenadiers on the open side.
In that brief glance at his monitors Lieutenant O'Neal saw the end of his life and the lives of those around him. He considered for a moment ignoring the results. He and the troopers from the 2/325th had done their share and more. But, it is not enough for a soldier to simply do his best. A soldier has to continue the mission until the mission is completed or he is no more. The mission of the Armored Combat Suit units was to break the encirclement and relieve the armored units. The fact that the conventional units' inability to maintain communication created the situation was beside the point; the mission was incomplete.
"Hold it." Mike called up a keyboard and began ru
"They're still pi
"The panzer grenadiers can't dislodge the Posleen straight on. Look." He threw the image outward where the red and blue icons floated in the darkness like an evil kiss. Sip of water, check ammo levels.