Gust Front

The colonel favored him with another cold look and nodded. «Very well. I am aware that there have been certain exigencies of service in the last two days.» His face twisted into a sour expression that ended as contempt. «Your division has been on the run for quite a while.»

Keren suppressed a deep angry breath as a last tiny trickle of adrenaline made it into his overloaded system. After a brief pause he nodded. «Yes, sir. We have.»

«Well.» The officer smiled coldly. «Lucky for you. Your ru

Keren nodded respectfully and reached for his map. «Yes, sir. Sir, might I point out two items of mortar doctrine . . .»

The officer's face hardened. «I am quite aware of mortar doctrine, specialist. I gave you an order.»

« . . . which point out that in close contact mortars are to be maintained on the mortar vehicles. We can be in operation in four minutes after we stop if we stay in the vehicles, sir. It will take time to dig in.» He looked the officer right in the eye. «We were in contact less than two miles from here, sir.»

The officer's face tightened at that. He could not have missed the hypervelocity missile impacts, but apparently he had hoped that the enemy was farther away. «Where?»

«The Posleen unit was at Arlington Hall, sir. Their God King was using a plasma ca

«Yes. Specialist, we don't have time to argue . . .»

I've got all the time in the world, you jackass. If you put us on that hilltop we've got maybe fifteen minutes of life left. «Sir, we were heading for a traffic circle on King Drive. One-hundred-and twenty–millimeter mortars have a minimum firing distance of nearly eight hundred meters. I ca

And he was right.

«Very well,» the officer snapped. «But if you attempt to move out of position once we are in contact, I will have your vehicles destroyed. Your ru

«Yes, sir!» said Keren. «What is your fire control frequency?»

The officer was desperately attempting to not look over his shoulder towards the encroaching Posleen. So his sudden look of shock was comical. «Uhhh . . .»

«We're on Sixty-Three Seventy, sir,» said Keren, helpfully. He pulled out his leader's notebook and made a note. He tore the sheet of paper out and handed it to the colonel. «Here, sir. We'll go set up then?»

«Yes. Go, I'll . . .»

«Call us.»

«Yes.»

Keren saluted again and picked up the mike. «Three Track. Hold up. I'll ground-guide into position.» He was glad that the receiver was turned down and to his ear.

«What? We're stopping?» said Three Track. One Track responded similarly but the response was garbled by Three's response.

«Yes, we're going to the roundabout. I've got the map and the colonel has our frequency. I'll lead in. Get ready to get set up.» He smiled at the colonel and saluted him without taking the mike out of his hand. Then he put the Suburban into gear and gu

* * *

«You dumbfuck,» snarled the specialist, leaning in the window. Third squad's leader was not happy about stopping. Keren glanced up from his board and saw first squad's leader headed over to the Suburban as well. The sergeant was from another battalion in Third Brigade and outranked Keren. But he was originally a rifle team leader and did not know much about mortars. He also was not much of a leader. He had been happy to defer to Keren throughout the entire flight. Keren finished setting up his board just as the sergeant arrived.

«Yeah, maybe,» Keren admitted. Then he jerked his chin towards the hill. «There's Dragon antitank missiles up there. And maybe those big goddamn sniper rifles. If we try to run you want one of those up your ass?» He looked third squad's leader in the eye. «The fuckin' Posties are go

The squad leader was a big man, with fine blond hair that was cut down to the stubble. The stubble on his face was nearly as long. His nostrils flared as he clenched and unclenched his hands. Then, with a glance up the hill towards the rifle positions and a curse, he turned around and stomped back to his track, shouting for them to get the gun into action.

First squad's leader was an older guy, balding, fat and black as an ace of spades. He stood with his arms crossed as the other squad leader stomped away and looked at Keren somberly.

Keren looked back. «Yeah?»

«How long we go

Keren shook his head in resignation. «The smart answer is until they,» he said with another jerk of the chin towards the battalion, «have got it well and truly stuck in the horses. When they don't have any time to spare for a mortar unit that is ru

The sergeant nodded his head. «In other words, we go

Keren looked down at his shaking hands as they spun the board. «I've never been accused of being smart,» he answered. «Stubborn, yeah. Stupid, yeah. A pain in the ass. Oh yeah. But not smart.»

The sergeant smiled faintly and nodded his head. With that he started walking back to his track.

CHAPTER 63

Washington, DC, United States of America, Sol III

0817 EDT October 11th, 2004 ad

«Mr. President,» said Captain Hadcraft, «this is stupid.»

The commandeered Bradley Infantry Fighting Vehicle crabbed sideways as it fought its way up the road embankment. The platoon from the One Hundred Fifth Infantry Division had been reluctant to give up the vehicles. But the combination of a direct presidential order and a platoon of Armored Combat Suits had won out. Now the suits had transportation that was all-terrain to an even greater degree than the Suburbans they had started out in.

But that wasn't going to help a bit if they were overrun by an angry mob.

U.S. 29 and U.S. 50 on the north side of D.C. were being ruthlessly cleared of vehicles. Anyone who had not made it to the Beltway by this time was ordered out of their car, truck or van and the vehicle pushed to the side by dozerblade-mounted tanks. The refugees from this and the battles to the south were being trucked to parks around the Veterans' Hospital where a tent city was forming.

The Presidential Unit had been headed by the area when this came to the attention of the Commander in Chief. And he had ordered that they detour immediately.

The problem from the point of view of the Secret Service, and the Marines for that matter, was that the President's approval rating was not the highest at the moment. By a result of a direct presidential order, the United States had just lost more soldiers in a forty-eight–hour period than at any time in the last century. There was a formless anger about this that had already been observed on the still-functioning Internet. What form it had was directed at the President. Add to this the anger of people forced from their homes and it meant a good chance these people would attack the Chief Executive.

The President turned the helmet over and over in his hands and finally shook his head. «Maybe. I've never been called smart. Stubborn, yes. A pain in the ass, yes. But not smart.» He looked up at the Marine officer hunched forward on the crew seat. Bradleys were never designed to accommodate combat suits and it was obvious. The squad in this one was crammed in like sardines. He looked directly at where he figured the captain's eyes would be. «But these are my people. This is part of the job. Put it to you this way; when one of your soldiers is in the hospital, do you go see him?»