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"O'Neal! Answer me!"
"Yes, sir, sorry sir!" Mike snapped back to the bitter reality with a shock.
"Are you okay?"
"Fine, sir, couldn't be better. I'm just fine, sir. Just fine." Mike's head swiveled from side to side, trying to reacquaint himself with the situation. The lack of normal input, the feel of a breeze or the smell of the battle, made the situation even more unreal. He felt that he was sinking into an electronic simulation and tried to remember which one it was. The German major was staring at him with a blank expression.
"O'Neal!" snapped the general, sensing that the lieutenant was drifting again. "Don't you crack on me now. Get those units back here then I'll give you a break, but don't lose it in the middle of a battle. Can you get some rest?"
"I'll be fine, sir, really. All of us are a little tired. And I think I overdid the stimulants."
"You can't crack, son. If one of your troops loses it it's one thing but if the commander cracks all hell's out for noon, you of all people should realize that. Get some shut-eye if you can, even a few minutes would help."
"Yes, sir. I'll try," said Mike, taking a deep breath. The wall started pulsing again.
"Now get to work."
"Yes, sir. Work. Right. Out here, sir."
* * *
Mike knew that part of the problem was the suit, so he popped the helmet. The overwhelming stench of Posleen dead assaulted his senses and he gagged for a moment.
"Er ist eine Geruch, nicht wahr?" said the German major.
"Ja, er sind. Sorry, but without the suit closed it's hard to keep up with the translation and I don't speak much German. Do you know English?"
"Yah, I was assigned to an American Armor unit as a junior officer," the major answered with a distinct English accent. "Major Joachim Steuben, by the way, pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Likewise, sir. I was just talking to General Houseman. If I may suggest a course of action?"
"Certainly, Leutnant."
"If you could hold here until we start getting the other units extracted. Then as units come on line we could replace your unit with the relieving unit. My platoon will cover the rear as we retreat along the boulevard. General Houseman stated that we could be covered by artillery as we pulled back to the MLR, so my platoon should be enough."
"Sounds like a good plan, Leutnant. But how are we going to fight through to the MLR?"
"Hmm, well when the first unit comes up of sufficient size, one or the other, yours or theirs, could, with my platoon, push the line through to the MLR, placing blocking forces at the intersections and patrolling the building fronts. My platoon would, I submit, remain in a mobile supporting role. Once all the units were out we would pull back with the last unit."
"I agree with this plan, Leutnant. Now, can I make a recommendation?"
"Of course, sir."
"Get some sleep. You look like death warmed over. I have told off my unit to get some rest as possible. You should do as well."
"If the major will permit the liberty," Mike chuckled, "the major doesn't seem so hot his own self."
After obviously struggling for a moment with the idiom, Major Steuben laughed. "Well, I'm going to sit in this comfortable seat for a bit and if I happen to drift off I'm not going to feel remiss. After I ensure everything is secure."
"Yes, sir, well I'm going to go make a quick check of my positions and then, if I am still for an unusually long time you can draw your own conclusions." Mike flipped the major a sketchy salute, resquelched his helmet and bounced over to the barricade.
"So, Sergeant, what's the word?" he asked Sergeant Green as the latter leaned against the rubble wall, rifle pointed downrange. The only fire was a distant hammering from inland on the MLR. It was as quiet as Mike had heard it since the first moment of contact.
"The Posleen don't seem to want to come right back, sir," answered the NCO. "They're retreating along both boulevards now and infiltrating to the east and north. They may be pulling back from the MLR as well; those units are reporting less activity. They seem to be backing far off from us; I guess we really scared the shit out of 'em.
"The engineers will be here in about five according to their last ETA. They ran into a couple of Posleen, but nothing the team couldn't take care of. Second squad is in contact with the Frogs and they're moving back. There's a French general still in command but the unit apparently is down to about a brigade. I passed on the plan for them to relieve the Germans and they're okay with that.
"Duncan is trying to find a senior officer of the British right now. He reports that the Brits are pretty much trashed. They're having to clear out a lot of Posleen in the Brit sector that got through. Still no word on the American unit, Williams is out looking for them."
"By himself?"
"Yes, sir. He should be fine, he's slick as a cat. When he finds the Americans he'll contact us. He thinks maybe they're in better shape than the Brits 'cause there's less Posleen in the area."
"Right, well, fine then. Do you put a medal on him or court-martial 'im? Fine, great, fine, let him write his own damn letter."
"Sir?"
"What?"
"You're babbling," said the sergeant. "Can I make a suggestion?" he continued, diffidently.
"I know, get some rest. That's what everybody is saying. The general, the major, the sergeant. Before you know it the fuckin' privates are go
"Yes, sir, we should be able to get you up in time if anything happens. Let's go siddown over by the wall, sir." The platoon sergeant turned the lieutenant with a tactful hand on his shoulder and led him to a block of masonry along the wall. There he pushed him to a sitting position and patted him on the shoulder. "Just catch a quick nap, sir."
He had long experience of the stresses of leadership. A private just has to do his duty, follow the flow. He can often rest standing up or walking, his senses on alert but otherwise checked out. The leaders have to constantly be thinking, feeling, paying attention. They have to be ru
"Okay, Sar'nt, okay. Oh, put the platoon on thirty percent stand down and, and, umm . . ." Mike trailed off. He knew he had forgotten something but it just wouldn't come.
"Yes, sir, we'll take care of it." Sergeant Green stood by the officer until he was sure he had gone to sleep, the depletion of the constant strain of command as sure as any drug. "AID, is he asleep?"
"Yes, Sergeant."
"Okay, leadership push. Squad leaders, put your troops on thirty percent stand down, one third on guard, the other two out, and I want you O-U-T, asleep, not playing fuckin' spades! Sorry second, we'll let you get some sleep when you get back. Scouts, divvy it up between you. First and third squad leaders, turn it over to your Alpha team leader and rest dammit! AIDs, administer Wake-the-Dead antidote and if the sleepers don't, report it to me. And tell your people to continue to prepare these positions, this can't last. Thirty minutes rest only then rotate. Any questions?"
"When do we get to pull out?" asked Sergeant Brecker.
"When the LT says so, anything else?" There were no further questions. Sergeant Green looked around trying, like his commander, to decide if there was anything undone. He considered telling the Kraut major what the situation was but the officer in question was oblivious, head cradled on the TC hatch and asleep. There were no Posleen in view on either boulevard, the occasional straggler marked by the hammer of a machine gun or grav gun, depending on whose reflexes were faster. He shrugged his shoulders and decided to take a walk around the perimeter.