He put the thought aside and ordered the NCOs to assemble for move out. As the platoon started towards the locks he updated the schematic of the encirclement. Then he had to ask Michelle if it was accurate.
There were too many breaks in the chain. The fighters in the encircled building were a hodgepodge of units from five different countries. Although there was a clear road out, the infiltrated Posleen and broken communications meant that none of the units could reinforce the panzer grenadiers on the open side.
In that brief glance at his monitors Lieutenant O'Neal saw the end of his life and the lives of those around him. He considered for a moment ignoring the results. He and the troopers from the 2/325th had done their share and more. But, it is not enough for a soldier to simply do his best. A soldier has to continue the mission until the mission is completed or he is no more. The mission of the Armored Combat Suit units was to break the encirclement and relieve the armored units. The fact that the conventional units' inability to maintain communication created the situation was beside the point; the mission was incomplete.
"Hold it." Mike called up a keyboard and began running scenarios. As he did the troopers held their collective breaths, not knowing what dark angel had dropped into their midst but gut certain that the promised haven was retreating.
"They're still pinned," Mike said into the silence. The troopers shuffled their feet and began checking their virtually unused weapons. Feed tubes just so, grenades in place, swivel launcher. Mike tapped a command and a clear route out of the basement to the sea was displayed. The large seawater intakes would be more than adequate to the task.
"The panzer grenadiers can't dislodge the Posleen straight on. Look." He threw the image outward where the red and blue icons floated in the darkness like an evil kiss. Sip of water, check ammo levels.
"The Posleen are the ones with their backs to the wall now, but they have enough forces to hold in both directions and there isn't a good way to break that stalemate, not in time for it to matter." Mike threw up a schematic of forces driving into the Posleen from either side.
"Something has to hit them in the flank, preferably from the sea, and drive them inland to open a corridor to the walls." The landward arrow disappeared and the seaward arrow drove in, pushing the Posleen out of position. The lines of friendlies drove forward in support and the Posleen symbols were gone.
"And it looks like that's gotta be us," he concluded. He took a sip of the chilled suit water and smiled ferally. Dropping buildings on the bastards was just numbers; he could call up the estimates if he cared. But this was going to be one on one, at ground level. Point-blank slaughter. It was time and past time to build the samadh. Pile it high.
"Why us?" asked one plaintive voice. "What about the Germans?"
"Their ACS is shoring up the MLR inland," Mike answered, checking that status of that unit. He was careful to keep the low snarl out of his voice. "And it's nearly as beat up as our battalion. We are it, people."
"Fuck that, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"
"Shiiit!"
"At the fuck ease!" snarled Sergeant Green. "The LT was talkin'."
"Hell, Sarn't," Mike laughed. The sound was just a bit on the high side. "I agree. But like the man said, `ours is not to question why.' On your feet, troopers. It's time to follow the bouncing ball."
Mike wondered when one of them would get the idea to frag him, but so far so good. He suddenly felt a wave of energy enter him and his fatigue fell away like a cloak. He feared it was because he saw the future of glorious battle this morn'.
His sudden desire to close with the enemy frightened him. He had no purpose leading troops into battle if he could not control his hatred. But he also could not see any alternative. The German ACS unit was well and truly engaged and could not be redeployed. An ACS unit was the only effective unit under the circumstances and his platoon was the only remaining mobile ACS unit. So, time for some payback.
"Okay, here is how we are gonna skin this cat," he said as the platoon filed into the lock. "We are going to go out to sea through the intakes and come up on the beach. The Schwerpunkt, the point of emphasis, is the Boulevard Alisterand which is being traded back and forth. We will deploy in close formation and move forward taking the Posleen under marching fire.
"There is no way to do this except brutally. I've got a couple of tricks up my sleeve. They might keep us undetected even after we fire.
"When we deploy it will be no place for scouts, your lighter armor'll be useless. Stay under water until we open fire, then lift up under AG and enter the buildings. Go up a few stories and move to sniper positions. When you reach them start snipering the God Kings. I can't believe their targeting is going to detect directed fire in the heat of battle, but I'll take the first targeted shot at them just to be sure. Oh, yeah," he chuckled for a moment, "no grenades without my call." Some of the troops laughed grimly. "We're here to pull the Germans out, not kill 'em all." The platoon had hit sea level and ducked into the still, black water, their inertial compensators flying them through the muck towards the intake.
The water was packed with siphonophores feeding on the detritus of the plant's backwash. When the pumps failed, the water that had been in process flowed backwards and stirred up thousands of microscopic fungi that lined the walls. The jet-propelled siphonophores had rushed in to partake of the unexpected bounty, and the water was a mass of darting jelly creatures, each intent on getting its share of the feast. As they fed they vibrated internal organs that pulsed low-pitch sonar through the waves. Much of the sound was in the audible spectrum, a caressing wave of soprano cries.
Slashing through their midst were the oversized carnivorous polychaetan worms. As the suits brushed the jellies they gave off multihued luminescence and little distress cries so that the platoon seemed to be flying through singing fire. The flash of a jelly's death as it disappeared into the maw of a worm was a contrapunctuation to the symphony.
The unalloyed beauty of the moment was lost on the platoon. They had entered the narrow straits between normal life and battle and in that chastened realm there was no room for distraction.
"Now, when we were fighting our way over here," Mike continued, "I saw God Kings break and run twice, so they can be routed. I want to scare the shit out of these bastards as we come out of the water. They just lost hundreds of thousands of troops and God Kings under those buildings and when we come out I want it to be the last fuckin' straw.
"We are going to maintain camouflage until we are on the beach, using holograms of the waves. Once we are fully emerged I'll kick in a special hologram program for camouflage during the battle. Remember to let your barrels drain for just a moment before you open fire. At that point we will give them the whole can of kick-ass. Clear?" He finished the brief operations order just as the platoon reached the intake. The light beyond dimmed the flashes of light from the dying siphonophores and the water transmitted thunder of battle overwhelmed the delicate creatures' subtle cries of distress.
"Clear, sir," they sounded off as they flew through the shallow water to deploy parallel to the shore.
"Engineers, we're gonna use a shit-load of energy here," O'Neal continued. "Once we secure a beachhead, go into the building with B team Third squad and get to the reactor. Run us a heavy-duty line out to refuel us." He paused and tapped a control.
"And that my bonny boyos is the fuckin' plan. Are you with me?" he asked, wondering at the precision of the moment. He hefted his grav rifle as his boots settled in the muck, the water only a meter over his head.