Gust Front

The AID sketched out probable movement rates for the scattered evacuees in Arlington. Then the time for the Posleen to reach them, assuming that the Ninth Corps lasted as long as anticipated. Then it sketched in the best possible movement time for the MI battalion. The three washes of color clearly missed proper intersection.

«We'll be too late,» Mike said quietly. Everyone expected the cavalry, yellow flags flying, to come rushing in at the last moment. Well, this time the cavalry was just too far away and scattered to the winds. After all his careful preparations, it was coming down to too little, too late.

«I'm ordering the movement anyway. I've got a gut that the worst point is going to be around the Fourteenth Street bridge.»

«Yeah,» Mike nodded, «makes sense. It's almost the last one in the line going east, it's a chokepoint and everybody knows where it is.» The bridge was overlooked by Arlington Cemetery and led directly to the Lincoln Memorial.

«Yeah. I'm expecting that once the refugees are in contact, that will be where the biggest backup is. And the Third Infantry is pla

«Let me guess.»

«Yeah, the CO more or less said that the Posleen could have Arlington Heights over his dead body.»

«And he meant it literally.» The Old Guard was fanatical about Arlington. Much more so than about any passing President or minor monuments. However, the unit was primarily ceremonial and had virtually no heavy weapons. «Well, I suppose one more stupid symbolic action won't hurt any more than all the others.»

«He's our President, Captain O'Neal,» the general said quietly. The rebuke was clear but Mike could tell the general's heart wasn't in it.

«Your President,» Mike said just as quietly. «We renounce our citizenship when we join the Fleet. Remember? Sir?»

The statement was greeted by silence.

«Have you told the battalion they're moving, yet?» Mike asked, changing the subject.

«No, I'm going to call Major Givens right after we get done.»

«I need to be there, General.» Mike flicked the hologram away with a wave of his hand and puffed out a breath of air. The fog from his breath was misty white in the light from the following truck.

«Well, I don't see how, Captain.»

«Helicopter.»

«Are you nuts! The Posleen'll destroy it before you're halfway to Indiantown Gap! Hell, look at the ambush of Second batt!»

«Fluke,» snapped Mike, pulling up the map again. This time he took command of the display, tapping on vectors and assigning threat levels. «Shelly, cross-link this to General Horner.»

At those words, heard throughout the compartment, the troops realized who the Fleet captain had been arguing with. Their heads ducked as if he were going to be hit by lightning at any moment. Mike paid them no mind.

«We're almost to Winchester. Have a bird meet me there. Blackhawk, Kiowa, I don't care. We'll stay low by slipping through the gap at Harper's Ferry. I'll intercept the unit somewhere on Interstate 83.»

There was silence on the other end as Horner studied the schematic. The hologram had the plotted positions of Posleen and probable fields of fire. If an aircraft stayed below one hundred feet, all the lines ended well short of the route he had sketched in. «You're assuming two things that are not true. One: that the Posleen will not take off. If a lander lifts it throws this whole thing away. Two: That there are no more landers coming in. We've had three landings in the past hour.»

«And if one is coming in, or lifts, the schematic changes. Shelly will keep it continually updated. That's what she's for. We land if we have to until the threat is past.»

«I don't like this, Mike. I feel it is an u

Mike swallowed a lump in his throat. He considered Horner an alternate father but he was never really sure what the general felt. That was about as good a compliment as any son could want. «Were you talking about me, or the helicopter?» he joked. «Never mind. I'm not vital, sir. But I do think that it would be a good idea if I was in on this operation.»

Again there was a long silence on the line. «I'll get you the helicopter. I agree we probably don't have much time.»

CHAPTER 56

Brentsville, VA, United States of America, Sol III

0446 EDT October 11th, 2004 ad

«L-T,» Keren hissed.

Lieutenant Leper lurched awake, AIW in hand. Keren grabbed the barrel and pointed it upward and away.

The lieutenant shook his head a few times, then peered blearily at Keren. «What time is it?» The inside of the Bradley was pitch black.

«Four thirty, L-T. The ACS just got in. They're assembling up behind us. The colonel, he'd like to talk to you. I told him you was sleepin' . . .»

Leper snorted. Knowing Keren he'd done more than just tell the colonel. «It's okay. I was just back when we lost Three Track.»

«Yeah. Like you said, L-T, we're fine until we're on charge zero.» Keren shuddered. Mortar platoons aren't ever supposed to see the enemy. Those that do rarely survive the experience.

The lieutenant lurched upward and automatically checked his AIW. He jacked a grenade into the chamber, checked that both the rifle and grenade launcher were on safe and scrambled across the scattered gear and sleeping bodies to the troop hatch.

It was black as pitch outside, the stars glittering in the clear sky. They added nothing, however, to the illumination. Leper could hear the chuckle of Kettle Run nearby. The run took a turn to the north as it approached the Occoquan reservoir, then looped back. The remnants of the company were assembled in the middle of the loop astride Brentsville Road.

He regretted not grabbing a pair of night-vision goggles. The power had been sundered to Manassas and the surrounding area, so the backscatter that was so difficult to avoid, that contributed at least an erg of illumination on the darkest night in the eastern United States, was entirely absent. He could barely see his hand in front of his face.

He took a step forward and his Kevlar ran into a metal wall.

Leper could vaguely make out a looming presence. «Lieutenant Leper?» the apparition asked.

«Yes,» said the lieutenant, rubbing his forehead where the Kevlar helmet had gouged him.

«Lieutenant Colonel Bishop, Fleet Strike.»

«Yes, sir,» said the tired lieutenant. Two hours sleep after all that they had been through was simply not enough.

«What's the situation, Lieutenant?»

Leper tried to digest the question and had a sudden urge to scream at the fresh, technologically sophisticated officer. What's the situation? The situation is we're all fucked! The word from Ninth Corps was that they couldn't hold out much longer. How anyone was going to retreat with the Posleen right at their heels was a good question. It was going to be ten times as bad as Occoquan. Then at least the Posleen had been scattered. In this case they would be massed and right up the corps's backside.

And his units were on the wrong side of the Ninth Corps. Since they were guarding the south flank, if the corps broke the Posleen would be swarming in behind them. And that was just a matter of time. There was a pretty strong rumor that MP units had been stationed behind the line with orders to shoot deserters.

None of it would matter for much longer. When the levee broke, none of it would matter a hill of beans.

«We're holding the south flank of the corps, sir.» Actually they were holding the south flank of Lake Jackson. Lake Jackson itself was anchoring the south flank of the corps. «The area has been quiet. We had one God King come this way with one of their companies, but we took care of it without significant casualties.»