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* * *
The scout's eyes were flared wide to drink in every bit of luminance. The battle to the north occasionally caused painful flares in his vision, but he paid it no mind. He paid mind to few things, he was focused on the link between himself and his god and the question of where the thresh were. He hungered for them, for the approval of his god in the gathering and the harvest. Well down the hierarchy was self-preservation or pain.
He paused, dust-flaps lifting off his nostrils to scent the air. Behind him his pack-brothers paused as well, scenting. The smell was an acrid mixture of chemicals and organic respirations. He turned to look towards his god.
* * *
Arnata'dra studied his readouts for a moment and then cross-linked them to Kenallurial.
* * *
The Kessentai studied them for a moment and winced. «My edas'antai, we have a problem.»
Kenallai studied the readout for a moment and flared his crest. «Indeed.»
«We could attempt to bypass them . . .»
«Gutless babe . . .»
«Stop!» Kenallai studied the readout again. The signatures were clearly the metal-clad thresh and already they were extending their line. The next thing would be to drive forward on his oolt'ondai. In addition they were supported by regular troops lightly dug in. They appeared to be the warriors, thank the spirits of the land, rather than those bastard military technicians. But there would still be explosives and the ballistic weapons.
«No. There is a time to maneuver and a time to strike. We must drive into the rear of the thresh. Drive hard. If we maneuver around these thresh, the main body will attempt a retreat. We will drive through these and destroy the resistance in the pocket. The Net will recognize the worth and grant us extensions to our fiefs.»
«Yes, my edas'antai.»
«Ardan'aath.»
«My oolt'ondar?»
«Destroy them.»
Ardan'aath had studied the reports from Barwhon and Diess. These threshkreen were tricky and capable, more of a challenge in their way than the Po'oslenar in orna'adar. But there were only three things present to fear. The ballistic weapons, the fact that they dug like abat, and the metal-clad thresh.
The only way to deal with the ballistic weapons was to close with the thresh. Once his oolt'ondar was among the harvest, the ballistic weapons were forced to cease fire. And, if he was among them, they could be dug out like the abat that they were. The metal-clad thresh remained the only problem. However, they too were vulnerable to the Posleen blades and, as usual, they were few. He could overwhelm them with numbers, especially if he extended his line and concentrated on them.
Everything called for a wide front charge. It could not have been more perfect.
«Telaradan! Forward! Assarnath! To the left. We shall eat their get! Forward! Spread out. And kill the metal thresh first! Tel'enaa, fuscirto uut!»
* * *
«Dig in!» The Charlie Company first sergeant was striding down the line of suits, pushing them into position or juggling firepower. And giving a few hasty lessons.
«No! God dammit!» He yanked a cratering charge off the belt of the trooper who was shoveling dirt with his armored gauntlets. The suits could move a massive amount of dirt in a surprising hurry, but the digging charges were still faster. «Use your foxhole charges!» the NCO snarled over the company push, snatching another off a belt and slapping it into the gauntlet of a confused trooper.
* * *
«Here they come!» one of the outpost troops shouted and jumped out of his shallow hole to try to make the security of the lines. He almost made it to safety before his chest erupted in red. In the darkness a parachute flare floated upward with a hiss. There was a pop overhead and the field in front of the infantry company was lit like day. It was covered in centaurs.
* * *
The first to fire was the Third platoon machine-gun post. The orange tracers drifting lazily through the still night air towards the unexpected company seemed to trigger a firestorm.
* * *
«Three gun! Traverse flares. Preset five!» shouted Keren.
The gun crew startled awake and stumbled to the gun. When the remnants of the Corps were reassembled there were enough gun tracks to scatter them around. As a reasonably intact unit, Alpha Mortars had received two orphan tracks to replace their maintenance losses. They had also been offered an FDC track. Keren had demurred. The Suburban was much more comfortable.
At Keren's suggestion the platoon had left their mortars set up to support the company. Three gun's mission was to fire flares and all that they had to do was begin dropping rounds.
The assistant gu
The next round was a flare.
Lieutenant Leper ran forward towards the front-line CP. He was not only in charge of the mortars, but of the company as well. That being the case he had completely scrambled normal procedures. The mortars were well forward with his CP closer to them than the line. He had pla
As he reached the large hole scraped out of the Virginia loam, he got his first clear view of the enemy and despaired. The company was in no shape to face that mass; the Posleen must outnumber them a hundred to one. It looked like a full Posleen brigade was charging them at a gallop.
He dove into the hole and reached for the radio.
* * *
If there was one thing that Keren had learned along the way, it was that there was no such thing as too much information. Which was why he had one radio set to the company frequency, another on the fire control frequency and two «off the books» radios that he had picked up along the way set to battalion and brigade. So he was the first person in the company to hear the lieutenant condemn them to death.
«Papa One Five, this is November One Five, over.»
The distant crack of railguns and the hammer of machine guns was echoed in the transmission.
«November One Five, this is Papa One Five, over.»
«Papa One Five, we are in contact with approximately a regiment of Posleen. I do not estimate that we will be able to hold them off, over.»
«Roger, understood. ACS support is on the way. Over.»
«Papa, they are already here. I still don't estimate we'll hold. The Posleen look fresh and they are charging the line even as we're talking. The ACS is spread out and looks pretty confused. I don't intend to do the bug out boogie, but I don't see us stoppin' these guys, either. Tell corps to get ready to run. Over.»
«November One Five. All of corps's reserves are on the line. You are ordered to hold. Over.»
«You're dreamin', Papa. November out.»
* * *
«Tango Three Six, this is November One Five, over.»
There was a pause. The fire control center for the defense was busy; they were still scrambling to replace the central fire net.
«Calling unit say again callsign, over.»
«Tango three six, this is November One Five. Final protective fire call, designation One-One-Bravo. Posleen in close-contact. Final protective fire. Over.»
«November, be advised we are tapped out for artillery at this time. We are in final protective mode for the entire Ninth Corps, over.»
«Well, if we get overrun you're go
* * *
«All guns!» yelled Keren, out the back of the Suburban. «Final Protective Fire! Continuous fire!»