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The day was as clear as a bell, one of those beautiful fall days when it seemed that from a high hill you could see creation. In this case the NCO could easily see all the way to where Interstate 85 used to be and Clarkesville was more than a tad easier.
The Posleen had covered the area with a smoke curtain, but the smoke pots, hundreds of them, were located on hilltops and left a "side" view of the area only lightly obscured. There were thousands of figures moving in the area, but that was only to be expected. What he hadn't expected to see was a gaping hole in the side of one of the hills just to the north of Demorest.
"Damn, they're digging in."
The humans had observed that behavior before, but only on Earth. Although the God Kings invariably lived above ground, usually in large stone or metal pyramids—although there didn't seem to be any evidence of those here—most of their manufacturing facilities seemed to be underground.
Apparently this was a "late conquest" activity. After an area had been fully reduced and all the human evidence cleaned up the Posleen generally put in farms. They primarily grew local crops having, apparently, none of their own. While this was going on the local God King's pyramid was constructed and the multitude of items necessary for that and day-to-day existence was created from the "factories," mostly na
The evidence for this process was gleaned mostly from overhead imagery observing the digging process and what went into and out of the caverns. The process was probably going on on Barwhon as well, although there was no way to get overhead on that planet. On Diess, which the humans had mostly retaken, the Posleen had not dug in their facilities. But the entire arable area of the planet was covered in megalopoli so they had just occupied the Indowy megascrapers. Digging them out of them had been interesting.
Most of the Earth though was in Posleen hands and thousands, millions, of the manufacturing facilities were scattered across the planet at this point. When it came time to reclaim the world, digging the centaurs out of the holes would be tough. On the other hand, it was expected that most of the factories could be put back in commission so Earth was looking at a whole new world of productivity. Usually, though, such facilities were in well-settled areas outside the war zone and Clarkesville was inside the artillery envelope. So seeing them digging in like that was unusual.
And so was the column of Posleen pouring into the dugout.
"That's not a factory, then," he muttered, working a big wad of jerky into his cheek. He wondered just what those sneaky yellow bastards thought they were doing. The Posleen under certain conditions dug like gophers; they apparently had very good mining technology, along the lines of the Galactics' ionic miners. But they generally left their normals on the surface farming, strip mining and gathering.
Then he saw what was following the column into the cavern and nearly choked to death.
* * *
Ryan looked over at the fire control officer and tapped his monitor. "Send a sensor round in the next volley."
As the day had progressed more and more people had gotten in on the act but, by and large, that had been good. Controlling this many artillery batteries, and their care and feeding or at least resupply of rounds, was no job for a single engineer major. Among other things, dozens of intelligence specialists had gotten into the act, massaging every bit of data collected for hard evidence of the Posleen's intentions.
So far the information was ambiguous. There was no question that the Posleen seemed to be acting in a more "logical" fashion than they usually did. But that didn't mean they were a greater threat. With the exception of the EMP grenade, there had been no new weapons. And while there were some improved tactics, they had not notably improved as shown by their chase of Mosovich.
It had been quite a while since the sergeant major's last call for fire and they had been desultorily pounding the hilltop, with only one battery now, for the last two hours. But there had been lulls like it throughout the day and it was, judging from past experience, just about time for another call.
"Sensor round inbound, sir," the lieutenant said, shunting the data to his monitor.
The round was based on a standard 155 millimeter round. But instead of explosive it carried more dangerous weapons: a camera and a radio.
As the round left the distant artillery gun, a shroud fell away and the camera was uncased. Using an internal gyroscope it compensated the sensor mount against the spin of the round and kept the camera pointed at the indicated target, which in this case was the ground.
The camera was only a sophisticated visual light system; transmitting systems such as millimeter wave radar were engaged by every God King and lander in sight. But the visual light system was able to pick out the shapes of Posleen and Posleen devices from the background clutter, sending the data back to the intelligence center in narrowly directed, short, encrypted bursts.
Despite the short, directed transmissions, the Posleen were able to detect and destroy the rounds most of the time in flight and they did so in this case, catching the round as it passed over Lake Burton, but leaving all its non-transmitting brethren, who only carried high explosives and lethal shrapnel, alive.
Ryan shook his head in bafflement. None of the humans could understand why the Posleen were so damned effective at destroying anything that maneuvered or transmitted, but left "ordinary" artillery alone. He checked the FireFinder radar, which actively worked with the gun targeting systems to ensure accuracy, and, sure enough, the rest of the rounds went on their way to the target.
The picture that had come back from the round was interesting enough. The artillery had reached over fourteen thousand feet in its parabolic arc, and the "visual footprint" had stretched from Dahlonega to Lake Hartwell. There were red traces of Posleen throughout the area, but the majority of them were concentrated around Clarkesville and Lynch Mountain. In other areas the centaurs were scattered. Clarkesville was still obscured because of the angle of flight of the round and the resolution on the Posleen around Lynch Mountain wasn't all that great.
"Get the intel guys to massage this as much as they can," Ryan said, scrolling his view around the snapshot of the battle and zooming in on the area around Mosovich. "In the next volleys I want you to have them set the sensor rounds so that they don't go active until they are a few seconds out. That way we may not have as wide a field of view, but we'll at least be able to see what we're hitting. Or not hitting. It's pretty clear that the Posleen are beyond our current fire point."
"Should I adjust fire, sir?" the lieutenant at the artillery control station asked.
"No," Ryan answered. "When Mosovich wants it, he'll call for it." Ryan pulled up a topographic map of the area, zoomed the resolution and then laid on recent overhead. After scratching his chin for a second he grunted. "But take everything that's not tasked and put it right . . . there," he continued, pointing to the saddle with a feral grin. "It's the only place there's a path the Posleen could use."
"Do you think that the sergeant major is up on the mountain?" the lieutenant asked, sca