“Are any of the others starting to extract themselves?”
“A few. The AIDs are sharing the technique. It was initially hard to start without a pistol, but Sergeant Duncan of Bravo company suggested using grenades. So far, that is working.”
“Get me Captain Wright,” said Mike, happy to have someone else find a solution.
“Yes, sir.” There was a chirp and the sound of muted and futile swearing.
“Ah, sir?”
“Yes! Who is it?” Captain Harold Wright checked his heads-up display. “Oh, O’Neal. Your splendid idea worked like a charm. Congratulations.”
“It would have been fine if it weren’t for the fuel-air explosion, sir,” Mike said with chagrin. A drift of dust dropped out of the ceiling of the rubble pocket.
“That is what contingency plans are for, Lieutenant. As it is the battalion is combat ineffective, not to mention trapped in this damn rubble! Any more brilliant ideas?”
“Work our way to the periphery, gather the survivors and head back to friendly lines?” Mike asked rhetorically.
“And we start how?” asked the captain.
“Your AIDs have the plans, sir. I’ve moved to an open pocket and am preparing to move to the periphery. Basically, we’ll blast our way out.”
Hal Wright took a moment to consider the plan mapped out by the AID. “Okay, that might just work. I need to start rounding up the NCOs…”
“Sir, the AIDs can sketch out a TOE based upon who we’ve got and who can make it out. My AID has significantly more experience than yours. If you wish, it can conference with yours and help it along with some of the rough spots…”
“Like a certain helpful lieutenant?”
“That was not in fact the idea.”
“Well, whatever the idea, according to this schematic your helpful AID just supplied, you are the only surviving lieutenant under here. Congratulations, XO,” he concluded, wryly.
“I’m not in the chain of command, sir.”
“You are now. Also, according to this schematic, we will end up widely separated. You’ll have about thirty-five soldiers gathered in your area. When you’re concentrated we can try to use these utility tunnels to rendezvous. First, though, we have to actually extricate ourselves. Contact your personnel, they include Sergeant First Class Green, platoon sergeant of my second platoon. Get them sorted out and moving, then get back to me.”
“Watch your energy level, sir,” Mike warned, checking his own decreasing waterfall display. “Mine is well down already. We can scavenge power if we find sources, but in the meantime…”
“Right. Make sure you emphasize that. Get moving, XO.”
“Airborne, sir.”
For the next few hours soldiers and NCOs were contacted and units worked out. Personnel who were mobile were sent to free thoroughly trapped comrades. The grenade idea worked well except in the case of one unfortunate private who discovered after arming the grenade that he could not retract his arm. Fortunately GalTech medical technology could regenerate the missing hand if they ever got back to friendly lines. Given that the pain was quite brief, the suit sealed the breach and pain-blocked the damage almost instantly, it caused a certain amount of black humor at his expense. It only got worse when he told them his last words were, “This is gonna huurt.”
Despite the occasional setback, by seven hours after the detonation all the personnel who were going to be recovered had reached the utilities tunnels. This did not, unfortunately, include Captain Wright or three other personnel from Alpha company. They were trapped within a tremendous pile of heavy machinery. In spite of repeated attempts to reach him, troops had been unable to make a significant penetration of the machinery. After all the other personnel were withdrawn Captain Wright ordered the remaining trapped troopers to activate their hibernation systems and then, placing command in the hands of Lieutenant O’Neal, he activated his own.
O’Neal surveyed the group of dispirited soldiers gathered in the water main. The end of the two-meter-tall oblate tube was shattered and dangled over a manmade cavern the troops had hollowed out over the last few hours. One of the squad leaders had gone up the tunnel and stated that it was sealed at the other end. Cross that path when they came to it.
“Sergeant Green.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Get the men fed and do a weapons and systems check. Cross load ammo. All the usual post-battle chores. By then I should have a handle on the environment and I’ll give an operations order.”
“Yes, sir.”
Okay, one problem down. Just take them one at a time and everything would be fine. “Michelle, who is left in the command structure?” Mike tapped the configurable controls on his left forearm and pulled up a colorful schematic of the troop’s energy levels. He took one look and winced. Charge or die, he thought with grim humor. The Energizer Bunny we’re not.
“Major Pauley is currently in command of the remainder of the battalion.”
“Okay, get me in contact. Where are they?”
“The unit has retreated approximately six kilometers in a direct line towards the MLR.”
“What? Where is the cav?”
“The American cavalry units are engaged in a general retreat towards the MLR. They are at less than thirty percent of their nominal strength. In any other conditions they would be considered combat ineffective.”
“Show me.” The local schematic drew back until it showed a mass of red, broken directly above, but otherwise nearly continuous, in contact with a thin line of green. There were breaks up and down the green line but the landward portion was entirely open with a large gap to the rear and another small portion of green well separated from the remainder. The gap was opening and it was obvious that the red of the Posleen would shortly flank or encircle the beleaguered green armor units.
“He’s still pulling back,” said Mike, watching the ACS unit make another bound towards the dubious safety of the MLR.
“Yes.”
“Is he in contact with higher authority?” the lieutenant wondered aloud.
“I am not at liberty to discuss communications with higher headquarters,” said the AID primly.
“Great. Connect me.”
“He is currently in communication. I will connect when he is available.”
“Okay.” Mike studied the schematic again, flexing his hand idly. The AID automatically adjusted the resistance of the glove to that of the torsional device he normally used. “Is that solid mass of red accurate or are there any clear areas?”
“The information is based upon a survey of visual and auditory sensors thoughout the affected areas. It is fairly accurate. I would recommend drawing further away from the edge of the battle area before emerging on the surface.” The AID highlighted probable areas of low Posleen presence on the map.
“Well, where is the nearest sewage main?” Mike asked. “We need a way out of here.” He stopped for a moment then did a double take. “Hey, how the hell did you find that out now but didn’t know it before the assault?” he asked angrily.
“What do you mean?” queried the AID.
“When we were waiting for the Posleen assault the only information we could get was bits and pieces from the Indowy and the Himmit.”
“You refer to the battalion intelligence briefing,” said the AID.
“Yes,” replied Mike, hotly.
“You never asked me,” said the AID. Mike could almost hear the sniff.
Mike thought about the statement and had a sudden urge to just quit. It was moments like this that made him hate suits. If he was not in a thousand pounds of ceramet and plasteel with a three-inch-thick helmet he could do such things as slap his forehead, bang his head on the wall or, at least, shake it from side to side. As it was he just had to stand still as a statue as the adrenaline released by feeling like such an utter fool coursed through his system. He took a deep breath. Blowing it out created a tiny amount of back pressure in the small open area in front of his mouth. It was as close as he would come to tactile feedback.