Gust Front

«Get . . . the . . . gun . . . laid . . . in. Now. And don't ever try to cross me again.»

The gu

The ammo bearer shook herself and hissed. «We could shoot up that piece-of-shit Suburban. See it make it through some Ma-Deuce fire!»

The gu

As Keren strode towards the Suburban he noticed that One Track had been watching the whole show. Sergeant Chittock was on the .50 caliber and the weapon was pointed more or less towards the Three Gun track.

«Point it that way!» he raged, pointing towards the Potomac, «and get ready to fire the gun!»

Chittock just watched him as he headed to the SUV. The rest of the crew flew to getting the weapon trained towards the enemy; nobody was going to get in the way of the sulphurous specialist. As Keren reached the truck Sergeant Chittock caught his eye with a lifted chin. The specialist stopped and looked towards him with fury in his eyes. But Chittock just saluted, very precisely. Keren stopped and nodded. Then returned the salute, just as precisely. As he stepped into the truck he realized that the stench of urine he was trailing was not from the gu

CHAPTER 70

Washington, DC, United States of America, Sol III

1053 EDT October 11th, 2004 ad

The private bit her lip and caressed the unfamiliar rifle on her lap. There was still a shortage of the Advanced Infantry Weapon, so rear area units were issued the venerable M-16A2. She had shot it in the abbreviated basic course, but once she reached her permanent post the situation was so messed up the chain of command was not about to let soldiers have weapons. So the first time she had actually had one in her hand since basic was three days before, when the ammo supply unit scrambled out of Fort Indiantown Gap.

She looked at the selector now and considered her options. There was the easy one, which was to go along with the actions of the driver. That made a lot of sense, really. Who the hell wanted to drive a truck full of ammunition towards Posleen.

But then there was the fact that they'd been ordered to go resupply a mortar unit by the Washington Monument. The platoon had shot out all their ammo, which meant they'd at least been fighting. And they were probably still there, whatever Lee thought.

Let's see, she thought. How hard can it be. It says «semi» right there.

«Turn around,» she whispered. The voice was barely audible over the scream from the overstressed engine of the five-ton truck.

«What?» snarled Private Lee. The stupid bitch was always whispering shit. Just like she never pulled her goddamn weight when they were unloading. He'd thought half a dozen times about dropping her off as a present for the fuckin' horses. One of these days . . .

«Turn around.» The voice was a bare whisper again, but something about the quiet click as the rifle was taken off safe penetrated the thunder of the engine.

Lee turned to look at her with disbelief in his eyes. «Are you fuckin' nuts? Point that goddamn thing somewhere else before I make you eat it, cunt!»

The slightly built private looked like she had swallowed a lemon. Her mouth was dry with fear, but she slowly lifted the rifle until it was pointed at the temple of the driver and snuggled it into her shoulder. Take a breath and let it out, just like the drill instructor said.

With a jerk she pointed it to the side and shot out the driver's side window. The blast from the rifle tore the glasses off the driver's face and peppered his face with burns. «Turn us the fuck around, you bastard,» she screamed, «or I will spread your brains all over this cab.»

As the truck rocked through a U-turn she felt that that was insufficient. «There, was that loud enough for you? Asshole!»

* * *

There was a snort of diesel behind Elgars as a Bradley troop carrier spun around and started disgorging troops. The squad spread out down the mound, using the reverse of the gentle slope for cover. The guy in the lead was real young for a lieutenant colonel, but as he dropped to the ground not far away she saw he was wearing a dress uniform Combat Infantryman's Badge with two stars. Either the «fresh-faced» kid had been in three wars already and was working on his fourth or he was a «PX Ranger.» From the calm expression on his face and the expert way he surveyed the battlefield she was fairly certain which one it was.

The Bradley spun on its axis again and moved to the other side of the Monument, well away from the squad. The mound was just a bit higher than the top of the vehicle but that was no problem. The barrel of the Bushmaster ca

Elgars watched with glee as the rounds drifted up and then down, splashing without particular note into the Potomac. She nodded her head as the lieutenant colonel «squad leader» whispered into a radio, directing the fire of the gun.

«Hey!» she called, catching his eye. «Those mortar tracks behind us are on sixty-three-seventy!»

He gri

There was a thonk! from the rear and she realized that a 60mm mortar team had set up right behind her. The squad leader, another «fresh-faced kid» with master sergeant's chevrons, was lifting his head up to spot the fall of the shot then adjusting with hand and arm signals. It was the crudest of fire control, but with the mass of Posleen forming on the sward it was effective. Elgars saw a splash of Posleen thrown away from the fall of the one-pound shot and nodded in satisfaction.

At least she wasn't go

If she fired at a God King without more covering fire she was doomed. But maybe if she didn't fire at a God King? Just one of the «normals?» She had to re-zero the damn thing somehow. She used the splinted forearm to support herself as she took a calming breath.

* * *

«Duncan?»

«Yeah, boss?» the NCO responded, his breathing deep and regular.

Certain anomalies of armored combat suits had modified long-standing military practices. One of them was the ubiquitous «jody» calls, chants paced to a ru

What had been discovered, however, was that certain popular music, especially «hard» seventies and eighties rock and roll and the rhythm-similar «raker» rock of the turn years fitted the pattern with remarkable congruity. Thus, units usually pumped one or the other type of music through to the perso