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«Yeah,» Mike agreed. «Remarkable how the Posleen keep doing this to us.» The first expeditionary force to Diess had had its mobile units trapped by advancing Posleen in an Indowy megascraper. The siege had been lifted by then-Lieutenant O'Neal's platoon. In that case the hard-hit American and British units had been reduced to scattered squads.
«What about artillery?» asked Duncan, taking a closer look at the unit data on the screen. Most of the units seemed to be from front-line combat forces.
«Artillery and Service and Support units generally have stayed together better,» answered Shelly. «Although many of them have crossed farther upriver, those that were caught in the Arlington pocket have mostly crossed the river and are assembling in the area of Chevy Chase and Rock Creek Park. The remnants of Ninth Corps's Artillery are actually assembling at the Chevy Chase Country Club.»
The first sergeant snorted. «Hate to see the bill for that.»
«Yeah,» snorted O'Neal. «Anybody sends me a bill, I'll tell 'em to stick it where the monkey put the peanut. Duncan.»
«Sir?»
«This is going to hinge on fire-support. Get with those units. Get them to not just assemble but get ready to fire.»
«Yes, sir,» he said dubiously.
«If you get any guff, call General Horner, directly,» Mike said definitely.
«Okay,» Duncan answered in the same tone.
«Do it.»
«Yes, sir.»
«Gu
«Sir.»
«Start setting up some commo with those units on the mall. Figure out a scheme for assembly and get them assembling. Get the units you can cajole to start making signs for assembly areas. Use the color scheme you've already got.»
«Yes, sir.»
«Try to put some spine into them. We're going to have to get support. Remind everyone and anyone that if the Posleen cross the Potomac, we'll be ru
«Right.»
«Ask your AID for help.»
«Not a problem, sir.»
«Okay. Good.» Mike desperately wished he could rub his face. «Okay, Shelly. Anything else.»
«Just one thing,» she responded.
«Yes?»
«This scenario will require forces that are willing to stand and fight. That is not a normal characteristic of routed forces.»
«Well,» said Mike softly. «We'll just have to hope that the survivors were not just the ones with the fastest horses, but also the best aim.»
CHAPTER 62
Fairfax, VA, United States of America, Sol III
0726 EDT October 11th, 2004 ad
The Suburban lurched as it crossed the toothpick remains of a backyard fence.
The fastest way through the neighborhoods of scattered one– and two-story houses was often the yards. They had had to turn around at Glebe Road and backtrack up Wilson Boulevard until they found a section not completely blocked by cars. The choked roads had overflowed to the point of bursting and the abandoned vehicles were scattered through the strip malls and fast-food restaurants along the major thoroughfares. Once they got across Wilson they stayed as much as possible on yards and side streets, only attempting crossings at the least likely places.
They could have abandoned the vehicles. There were military vehicles scattered throughout the region. But if they left the tracks they would lose the mortars and the .50 calibers. All in all, Keren was willing to chance the Posties catching them to keep the firepower.
But the circuitous route had other problems.
«Where are we?» asked Elgars, leaning out the window and looking back at the two following mortar carriers. Surprisingly, none of the vehicles had broken down in the harum-scarum run from Manassas. Apparently all the deadwood had been left in Prince William County. «You got any idea?»
«Not really,» said Keren, handing her the map. They had switched drivers when the going got bad. She was fine on streets but he had much more experience at off-road.
She found the last notations he had made, back at Wilson Boulevard. «That doesn't tell me much.»
He picked up the microphone. After the third time he had pushed it out the window, Elgars had found a roll of duct tape and fixed it so the ante
«Reed.»
«Yeah?»
«Find a road sign.»
«Right.»
The mortar carrier made a hard left, kicking up a rooster tail of soil from the manicured yard. It trampled a pink plastic tricycle then slipped into the space between neighboring houses. The wooden fence between them turned to splinters as the vehicle ran down its length. As he cleared the house he made another abrupt turn to the right.
The houses were halfway down a block. The mortar platoon proceeded to the end of the street where the ubiquitous green sign finally fixed their location.
«Jackson and Sixth,» said Reed over the radio.
«Damn,» said Elgars. «Not bad. We're nearly to Arlington Cemetery.»
«How far?» asked Keren, peering ahead. There were skyscrapers ahead, which was not good. The damn things drew Posleen like flies. He keyed the mike again. «Anybody see a big hill? Should be at our nine o'clock.»
«I got it,» said somebody from the Three Track. The squad was from another brigade, added on to their nearly intact platoon at Jackson Lake. They still didn't feel like family, but at least they kept up. «Between two buildings. You probably can't see it from there.»
«Okay,» Keren said, «that's our objective . . .»
A tremendous explosion tore the face off a skyscraper to the south and a tracer kicked up and out crazily.
«Holy Shit!» shouted Reed. «Posleen!» The .50 caliber on the top of the mortar carrier tracked to the south down Sixth Street and began to spit fire.
«Goose it!» shouted Keren over the radio, putting action to words as he dropped the Suburban into gear. «Don't just sit there!»
He turned into the road just as the mortar carrier began to move. A hypervelocity missile evaporated a section of roadway to their right as the Suburban slid crazily into the intersection. Elgars had her AIW out and was climbing into the moonroof. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the other tracks cutting across the parking lot on the corner but he put his foot down and accelerated towards the distant hill.
He had just passed forty when Elgars kicked him painfully in the shoulder.
«Stop!» she yelled as another HVM flew by. The shockwave of its passage shook the heavy vehicle like a terrier and the missile itself demolished a gas station on the corner.
«Fuck you!» he shouted back and started weaving. The silver lance of plasma ca
«Stop or we're all FUCKED!» Elgars shouted again. Her feet were braced on the backs of both front seats and the rifle was rock-steady.
He stomped on the brakes and reached in the back for his own AIW. He was no expert, but unless they took out that God King, they were all toast. Two rifles were better than one. The 7.62 rifles had the ability, technically, to hit something at that range. He'd never been able to hit the broad side of a barn at over five hundred yards. But, hell, the horse might sing.