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«Hold on, by 'we' you mean you were on that team?» asked the cav trooper, his eyes round.
«Me, Ersin and Mosovich. We were the only survivors.»
«Jesus, sorry, man. I, well, you know . . .»
«Yeah, you didn't know. It's all right. But the only reason we went into the camp was on orders. The real bitch of it was the whole mission was out of date by the time we did it. They wanted a Posleen to study, but by the time we got back with it there were captured Posleen and frozen Posleen bits out the ass coming in from Diess. Total and complete fuckup.»
Mueller paused, his face hard as he remembered the results of following incompetent orders. The general whose bright idea it had been had never even commented, not even obliquely apologized. Just handed out the medals, tapped them on the shoulders and went on to his next star. «Anyway, the point is, I agree with the scouts staying out of sight.» He looked down the road. «AID, how's the installation coming?»
«Engineers report all claymores installed, all wire run and all blasting caps are in place and ready to be co
«Okay, tell the engineer lieutenant to move all the civilians back to the buses and on to the next ambush. What's the status on claymores for that?»
«Tractor-trailers are unloading them as we speak, however, we have received only seven hundred, since the rest have been diverted to the defenses on U.S. 1 and U.S. 301. If time permits, more will be sent forward when a shipment arrives from the plant. The factory is emptying its storage as fast as it can move the material out.»
«Where's Ersin?»
«Master Sergeant Ersin is with the forward scouts.»
«Hell. Well, tell him to be careful.»
* * *
Mark Ersin adjusted the focus on the purely optical binoculars and let out a soft sigh. He and the cavalry scouts with him were wearing ghillie suits, coveralls sewn with dangling fabric strips that made them almost impossible to see against the scrub pine they were nestled in. But Ellsworthy had been wearing a similar suit when she bought it. Up against Posleen sensors, a ghillie suit was cold comfort.
The Posleen, a God King and about thirty normals, had obviously been left behind as security for the lander. The numbers were far under the normal number of troops associated with a God King, though, and Ersin was nervous about where the rest might be.
The lander loomed on what had previously been a tobacco farm. A tractor jutted out from under one edge. The God King and normals had begun surveying duties soon after the scouts came on site and, with the exception of the arrival of a small anti-grav tank that was parked on the interstate, no changes had occurred.
«Three Five Echo Two One, this is Nine Eight Bravo One Seven, authenticate Whiskey Tango, over,» came a whisper over the scout's radio.
«What?»
«I say again, Three Five Echo Two One, this is Nine Eight Bravo One Seven, authenticate Whiskey Tango, over,» the transmission repeated.
«AID, who is that?» whispered Ersin.
«Master Sergeant Ersin, that is the Twenty-Ninth Infantry Division's division artillery fire direction center.»
«What? Direct?» asked the NCO, his faintly Eurasian face wrinkling in puzzlement. His nose twitched like a rat sniffing cheese.
«Yes, Master Sergeant.»
«What's the authentication?»
«I've got an ANCD here,» whispered one of the cav troopers, pulling a box out of his thigh pocket.
«Don't worry about it,» said Ersin.
«Authentication is Mike.»
Ersin picked up the handset and keyed it. «Niner Eight Bravo One Seven, this is Three Five Echo Two One. Authenticate Mike, over.»
«Echo Two One, require fire mission, over.»
What? «Say again, Bravo One Seven?»
«Echo Two One, do you have the enemy in sight?»
«Roger, over.»
«Require fire mission, over.»
Ersin wrinkled his brow and took a deep breath. «Bravo One Seven, this is Echo Two One. Negative, say again, negative. Stay off this net in the future. Out.»
«Echo Two One, this is Bravo Five Nine Actual, over.»
«Okay, AID, who's that?» queried Ersin, angrily.
«The Division artillery commander.»
«Shit.» He thought about it for a moment then keyed the radio anyway. «Bravo Five Nine Actual, this is Echo Two One. Negative fire. I say again, per corps orders, negative fire. Get off my net. Out.»
«Echo Two One, this is Bravo Five Nine. This is an order. Call fire, I say again, call fire, over.»
«AID, contact corps, send these transmissions with explanation. Do it now. Bravo Five Nine, require electronic authentication and link. AID, don't accept the link.»
«I have to. Bravo Five Nine outranks you.»
«Not really, haven't we been transferred to Fleet Strike?»
«Your team has not been officially transferred yet.»
«Okay, what about divided command authorities? I fall under CONARC, not corps and we are under a corps command not to fire.»
«Most recent orders of a superior officer overrule previous orders. That's Ground Forces General Regulation One Dash One Zero Five. Link confirmed, Posleen positions transmitted.» There was a brief pause. «One-Five-Five fire on the way. Your position was noted as well. They are using close support rules as stipulated by doctrine.»
«Goddamnit! Have you contacted corps?»
«I am unable to contact corps at this time due to message traffic. Material transferred to e-mail and sent to queue.»
«Get me Sergeant Major Mosovich,» he snarled at the recalcitrant machine as the sky began to scream.
* * *
«He what?» shouted the normally mild-ma
«General Bernard ordered his artillery to engage the Posleen positions near Virginia 639.» The corps operations officer looked like he had taken a drink expecting water and gotten unsweetened lemonade. In a way he had.
«Send the corps provost to the Twenty-Ninth Infantry Division headquarters. Order him to place General Bernard under arrest for insubordination and disobedience to direct orders. Send General Craig to take command.»
«Craig isn't from the Guard, sir.»
«Fuck 'em. This is the last irresponsible action I am allowing that rat-fuck division command and staff to undertake. Tell George to put a leash on those idiots. Contact Division Arty, tell them that the order is countermanded. Relieve the commander, have him report here, replace him with his XO pending final disposition. Tell the XO he can figure on finding a new home unless he justifies staying in command.»
«Yes, sir.»
«Get me Colonel Abrahamson. He needs to know we may be kicking off early.»
CHAPTER 42