Gust Front

The fact that the reaction was completely overboard was lost on the lieutenant. Ryan's first reaction, which he suppressed, was sarcastic. He wanted to say, No, it's from having my head somewhere above my waistline. The location was exposed. The first Posleen approaching the bridge would be looking right at them. And if they were even slightly on the ball they would shoot the shit out of this half-ass «command post.»

But he controlled himself manfully. «No, sir. I was just wondering.»

«This is the best location to control the rigging and detonation of the charges, Lieutenant. We have three separate methods of detonation leading to the command center. I would hate to have one of those out where anyone could blow up the bridge at whim. Furthermore, it permits me a clear view of approaching Posleen. Last but not least this is well beyond the standard range of engagement for Posleen forces.»

The lieutenant nodded in agreement at this fatuous explanation. It immediately called to mind Law Seven of Murphy's Laws of War: If the enemy is in range, so are you. «Very well, sir. Thank you very much for that explanation. I was wondering, I have a few issues to discuss with my platoon sergeant. By your leave, sir?» He finished in a ritual request to be excused.

The captain grandly waved him away and went back to watching the last few wires being rigged into the circuit board. The bridge did indeed have three backup systems to drop it. One of the three would be guaranteed to work. Of course, they all terminated at the command post, so it was a point failure source. A minor item that had been glaringly obvious to the trainee lieutenant. A minor item that was pointed out in all the «how not to do it» parts of the manuals. But that had somehow completely escaped the engineer company commander.

* * *

«Echo Three Golf One One, this is Whiskey Four Delta One Five, over.»

Keren glanced at the radio with a puzzled expression and handed the mike to Elgars as he pulled out his ANCD. The device was about to expire, and he had no idea where to find another.

The platoon had stopped on the back side of the Washington Monument mound. It put them hull-down to any Posleen at the level of the Potomac, but they were still in view of Arlington Hill. There were no more fireworks from the Hill, so he had to assume that the Old Guard major was raising one with absent companions. But, for the time being, the platoon was out of it.

They had set up with the guns ready to fire, and Keren had automatically laid them in and set up the plotting board, but now they were just resting. Eventually he was pla

So the radio call, an unknown station trying to log onto their net, was unexpected.

The ANCD listed the caller as the Fiftieth Division Artillery Fire Direction Center. But the hacking on the first day of battle made him cautious. He took the mike back from Elgars. She stepped out of the Suburban with a whispered, «Gotta go.»

«Whiskey Four Delta One Five, this is Echo Three Golf One One. Authenticate Victor Charlie, over.» There was no such authentication line. It was a trick.

«Golf One One, there is no such authentication, over,» said the confused voice on the radio. On reflection the voice sounded a bit rote. It could be a very good voice processor and Keren was suddenly glad he had used the old trick.

«Sure there is, Delta. Figure it out or get off my net.»

There was a brief silence on the radio. Keren suddenly realized that Elgars was striding steadily towards a cluster of soldiers about seventy meters in front of the platoon. From the set of her shoulders there was a problem and as he watched she drew his 9mm Beretta out of her BDU cargo pocket. He had assumed from her words that she meant to find a latrine; that was obviously incorrect. He flipped frequencies.

«Sergeant Chittock,» he yelled. «get somebody out there to cover Elgars!»

The private had walked into the midst of the group and up to a beefy soldier showing the admiring crowd his .50-caliber sniper rifle. As Keren looked on in horror she placed the barrel of his Beretta on the back of the soldier's head and thumbed back the hammer. It appeared that she was about to pull the trigger.

One of the group lunged towards her but stopped at a burst of overhead fire from the .50-caliber machine gun on Three Track. The heavy machine gun would chop the entire group into hamburger if the gu

By this time the crews from the two tracks were deployed and had their weapons out. The array of leveled rifles and grenade launchers convinced the crowd that making an issue of the lady's informal declaration of war would be inadvisable. Sergeant Chittock apparently talked Elgars into walking back to the Suburban. She was carrying on a continuous harangue directed at the now white-faced holder with the sniper rifle. Several of his former admirers were not looking so admiring.

Keren switched frequencies again as the milling crowd, herded by the platoon's weapons and covered by the two machine guns on the tracks, made its way towards the Suburban.

«Whiskey Four Delta One Five, this is Echo Three Golf One One, over.»

«Golf One One, this is One Five,» said a different voice than the previous. «What is this authentication problem? And where have you been?»

«Delta, we got some shit going down here, sorry. Authenticate Victor Charlie or get off my net.» Keren was rapidly tiring of the game but he was bound and determined not to get screwed by orders from nowhere again.

«Echo Three Golf One One, this is Whiskey Four Delta One Fiver. I authenticate Khe-Mother-Fucking-San. Now are there any other stupid radio tricks you want to play?»

Keren smiled. «Negative Delta One Five, welcome to the net.»

«Roger, what is your position and status, over?»

The group of individuals, covered by the rifles of the platoon, had nearly reached the Suburban. Sergeant Chittock was now carrying the sniper rifle and the Beretta. Things had definitely gotten interesting. Keren was spot-on for a bit of boring in the near future.

«Delta, I'm going to have to put you on standby soon. We've got a perso

«Roger, Golf One One,» said the voice, cooly. «Understood. We'll try to scrounge up some supplies for you. Get back to us when you're under control. Out.»

Keren nodded to the unseen fire center and flipped back to the platoon frequency. The confrontation outside had been reduced to fluent cursing on the part of the female soldier. Keren got out of the Suburban and lifted his palms in a calming gesture as Sergeant Chittock handed him his Beretta back. «Okay, one at a time. What the fuck just happened?»

«This son of a bitch . . .» «This lying cunt . . .» «She said he . . .»

Keren lifted the 9mm and fired it towards the Potomac. «I said one at a time. Sergeant Chittock?» He held the pistol barrel up and pointed downrange. If anyone was wondering why a Specialist Fourth Class was ordering around a sergeant, they weren't asking.

The sergeant's round and normally friendly face was creased in hard lines. «She says this is her rifle and that this soldier and some of his friends raped her an' took it off of her.»