Страница 47 из 134
"Well, sure, but . . ." Cutprice paused. The captain had apparently been a pretty good shooter and she might be a good addition. He read the postscript and frowned. "She says she knows Keren and it got forwarded by Sergeant Sunday. Both of those are recommendations in my book. Better than any fucking shrink's."
"That is one of the reasons I'm here, sir," Mansfield noted. "I talked to Keren and he really went off. He didn't know she was out of her coma and he wants to go see her. Now. He really had good things to say about her. 'Greatest shooter on Earth. Natural leader. Crazy as a bedbug . . .' "
"But I can't afford to send him to North Carolina just to straighten this out." Cutprice picked up the bottle of bourbon and poured himself a drink. "I'll tell him that myself and why. Next suggestion."
"Nichols," said the S-1. "He's not an officer, but I cross-checked the records for any of the Ten Grand who have been in contact with her and they both went through the 33rd sniper course before the Fredericksburg drop. In the same class no less. He transferred to the LRRPs and he's stationed down in Georgia or North Carolina, in that corps zone. If you send him orders to go see her, he could stop by and talk. Get an idea if she's nuts or what. But he'll need written orders; they won't let the riff-raff in the Sub-Urbs."
"Nichols?" the sergeant major replied dubiously. "He's a decent troop, but for one thing he's not Six Hundred and she is and the other thing is he's . . . just a troop. Nothing against Nichols, but he's just a spear-carrier."
"Well, the other suggestion is that I know his teamleader," Mansfield said. "And Jake Mosovich ain't just a spear-carrier. If I ask Jake very nicely, he'll probably even do it."
"I know Mosovich too," Cutprice said with a chuckle. "Tell 'im if he doesn't, I've got pictures from an SOA convention he doesn't want to see the light of day. And video from a certain AUSA convention elevator. Okay, send Nichols and ask Jake to backstop. Tell Nichols you just want him to stop by and say 'Hi,' but tell Mosovich the real reason they're there. It's pointless to add, but tell him to handle it as he sees fit and ask him for an after-action report. Also, put him in touch with Keren. If she's not crazy, according to Mosovich, I'll tell her psych to take a ru
"As a bell," Mansfield said with an evil grin. "I'm sure that Mosovich could use a little authorized 'comp' time away from his daily rut. He's probably getting bored at this point."
* * *
Mosovich swallowed the last of the jerky and washed it down with a swig of water from his Camelbak just as there was a "crack" and a puff of smoke from the saddle.
The device he dropped on the trail had started life as a scatterable mine. The devices were packed into artillery rounds and fired into battlefields to "scatter" and create a problem for the enemy to deal with.
The Posleen response to minefields was to drive normals across them. It was an effective method of clearing and, from the Posleen's point of view, very efficient since they would scavenge the bodies for weapons and equipment then butcher the dead for rations.
Therefore, generally the humans didn't use scatterable mines. While "every little bit helped" in killing Posleen, by and large minefields were pretty inefficient. There were, generally, and with the exception of Bouncing Barbies, better uses for artillery.
Scatterable mines themselves, however, were a different story. In bygone days the sergeant major probably would have stopped to set a claymore. While that might have been more effective, it also took more time. Or, if he was in a real hurry, he would drop a "toe-popper," a small mine that would detonate if stepped on. But toe poppers were, at best, wounding. And, unless you dug a small hole and hid it, which took time, they were also easy to spot.
One of the modified scatterable mines, though, was just about perfect. The "fishing lines" were monofilament trip-wires. They threw out the hooks then pulled them in until there was a graduated resistance. At that point, the mine was "armed" and if the lines were disturbed in any way, either by pulling or cutting, the mine would detonate.
No matter how it was dropped, the first thing the mine did was right itself. So when detonated, as in this case when the lead oolt'os of the approaching company charged up the saddle, it would fly up one meter and send out a hail of small ball bearings.
A claymore had a similar number of bearings in it, and sent them in a single line, which made it more deadly. But the "Bouncing Betty" tore the head off of the Posleen and scattered it over the trail. Good enough.
And it alerted Mosovich. Who lifted his AID.
"Ryan, listen up."
* * *
Ryan leaned forward as the distant AID poured information into the net. The Posleen charging up the saddle were clear and so was Mosovich's position.
"Are you going to be able to get out of there?" Ryan asked.
"I'll be fine," the sergeant major said. "I want fire on that saddle, right now, please, sir."
"On the way," Ryan said, sending the fire commands to the prelaid guns. "Twenty-seven seconds. I figured you'd fire up the saddle."
"Right," Mosovich said, leaning into the rifle and taking his first shot as the Posleen came into view. "Until we're done here my AID will give a continuous feed; keep the fire on the pass, though, I don't want you to follow the Posleen up the hill. And, if you wouldn't mind, sir, pass this on. I can see Clarkesville from here and I figured out why they're trying to keep us from observing them. They're digging in, like they do with their factories, but these are apparently barracks."
"That's not a surprise," Ryan said, watching the artillery flight clock. "Why would they be so worried about that? I mean, we have a pretty fair count on their numbers, so it's not like they're hiding anything."
"Well, they're barracks and motorpools, I should say," Mosovich added. He knew that firing the Barrett was giving his position away to the God King's sensors, but apparently they were all still in the trees. He saw one plasma round hit a poplar and turn it into a ball of fire.
"Motorpools?" Ryan asked suspiciously. "Splash, over." The rounds were only a few seconds away from impacting.
"Yes, sir," Mosovich said, as the first rounds started to land in the trees. "For the flying tanks. Splash out."
* * *
"A kenal flak, senra, fuscirto uut!" Orostan shouted. He shook his arm and glared at the flash burn. "I am going to eat that human's GET."
"Perhaps," Cholosta'an said, ru
The two Kessentai along with the first oolt of Orostan's force, by pure luck, had been off of the saddle and out of the beaten zone by the time the first round hit. But behind them the sound of superquick detonating in the treetops was mixed with the scream of oolt'os and Kessentai caught in the barrage. That included what was left of Cholosta'an's oolt, but he wasn't going back for it either.
A normal ahead of Cholosta'an grunted, slapped at his side and fell sideways screaming down the slope.
"The artillery is masking the fuscirto fire," Orostan snarled, pointing his plasma gun towards the hilltop. He had had a bead on the sniper earlier, but the thrice-damned trees had gotten in the way. His crest on his left side was scorched so badly it might have to be cut away.
He fired at approximately where he thought the sniper was and the normals around him followed the target point slavishly.
"Uh, Oolt'ondai," Cholosta'an said, darting past the older Kessentai, "you might want to move around a little."