"Nein, Herr Major, Amerikaner. Die Rüstung hat einen Übersetzer. Bitte, Herr Major, ich muss gehen." (No, Major, American. The suit has a translator. Excuse me, Major, I have to go.) The platoon bounded off leaving a short set of combat armor behind. It stumped over to the major and saluted with a clang of gauntlet to helm.
"Leutnant Michael O'Neal, Mein Herr," the suit boomed loudly. "Tut uns leid dass es so lang gedauert hat. Wir hatten unterwegs eine Störung." (Sorry we took so long. We had a spot of bother along the way.)
"Better late than never, Lieutenant. Do you need to move out with your unit? Where is your commander?"
"I'm it, sir. The rest of the battalion is either dead, buried under Qualtren or in the MLR." O'Neal suddenly had a pistol in his hand. The weapon spat a stream of fire into the darkness of the far building's lower story. There was a dwindling scream and by the time the major looked back the pistol was in its holster again. The whole action happened in less time than Steuben could have pulled a trigger.
"Well," Steuben said, shakily. "You are looking at the last of the 10th Panzer Grenadiers as well. We don't even have enough left to bury our own dead, if we could find them."
"Yes, sir," said the suit of armor, stoically. "We'll all face the reaper someday but just too damn many met him today."
"Ja. What are your orders?" asked the major. He began to blink with fatigue as the adrenaline rush of the last few minutes wore off. He felt a sudden urge to vomit, barely suppressed.
"I have verbal orders from General Houseman to relieve the units in this building and expedite getting them to the MLR, sir."
"Well, we are fairly relieved and I think that the fallen buildings will be a relief to the British, French and Americans as well," said the major, sitting down abruptly on a convenient pile of rubble. "But we are completely out of contact with them. We can't even tell them that the way out is clear."
"Well, technically it isn't, sir. We will have to fight our way to the MLR."
"Yes, but we can, now that the main bulk of Posleen have been pushed out of position. Anyway we can if we leave before they counterattack in force and that I cannot guarantee. The avenue to the west is open and we have three more buildings and two avenues to contend with on the way."
"Hold on a moment, sir. I gotta do some handling." The combat suit was immobile and featureless but something about the set of it told the major that this young, he thought young, lieutenant was as tired as he.
"We've secured the intersection, Major," Mike continued after a moment, "and are in contact with your units there. I submit that we should move up there, at least I should. We need to get this wagon train a-rollin', sir."
"Ja, verstehe." Steuben's head swiveled around and spotted the Leopard that had blocked his retreat. The commander and driver were now up out of their hatches, as the battle moved out of their sector, surveying the piles of Posleen dead. The tank commander was a lieutenant from Third Brigade with whom he was only distantly familiar. No matter. He stood up, walked over and grasped the handhold. He swayed for a moment from a head rush then planted his foot and on the second try managed to boost himself onto the front deck. He took a deep breath.
"Lieutenant," he barked, "we are going to a mobile phase. I need transportation and this sector needs to be secured, the wounded dealt with and the personnel prepared to pull out. I am taking your tank and you are taking command of this sector."
The lieutenant gulped and prepared to protest but swallowed it manfully. "Jawohl, Herr Major. I understand." With that he hopped out of the TC's seat, unbuckled his helmet, traded with the major and hopped off the panzer to begin organizing the survivors.
Major Steuben slumped into the comfortable seat gratefully as the armored womb of the Leopard enfolded him. He had come up through panzers and loved the days he had spent as a TC. He wished that was all he were now, with only the responsibility of his tank and survival. But no, greater and greater responsibility was a drug to him, something to be sought not shirked. He must face this moment as so many others had in history, as a German, and a Steuben. Head up, shoulders back and thinking.
"Driver, head up to the intersection, schnell."
* * *
When Mike reached the intersection the situation was well in hand. The street to the north was entirely blocked by the fallen megascraper to the east. The few remaining panzers with dozer blades had shoved debris into a line, and a hasty barricade of masonry now blocked access to the road east. The wall was shored with structural membranes ripped from the buildings by the MI troopers and was lined with Panzergrenadiere mingled with a squad of MI. The Posleen were in evidence in the distance, over a kilometer away, but those groups seemed to be in full retreat. Mike wished he had the forces to harry them but he could not even think about that now.
The street to the south was also blocked but a large sally opening had been left. Here the Posleen were still in evidence, as the groups between the intersection and the MLR were firing heavily in both directions. Most of the remaining platoon was here, exchanging long range fire with the Posleen. Most of the HVM fired by the Posleen were detonating in the barricade, requiring constant reinforcement but again the situation for the time being was well in hand. The MI were maintaining fire like the veterans they now were and scouts even now entering the flanking buildings were beginning to pick off the God Kings, ruining the force's command and control. Mingled with them were the snipers of the Panzergrenadiere, nearly as effective with their scope-mounted G-3 rifles.
"Sergeant Green," Mike called and the platoon sergeant moved back from the southern barricade.
"What's the breakage, Sergeant?"
"We lost Featherly and Simms, Meadows is badly injured but his suit took him under and he's stable."
"Not bad considering what we did." Still, Mike now knew that each loss would ache at him in the depths of the night. His casual approach to combat was as gone as Wiznowski. From here on out each counter on the screen was a real person and he would not forget it.
"We need to reestablish contact with the other units in the building. The Germans are out of contact with them and they say that Corp is too. Send Duncan's squad with two scouts into the building and have them find those units. We will hold here until I order us to retreat. As each unit exits the building it will temporarily reinforce the lines to cover the retreat of the other units."
"Yes, sir."
"I'll get with this Kraut major to make sure they'll hold here until we can pull the other units out. Then we'll skeedaddle, daddy-o."
"Yes, sir, good luck." Sergeant Green headed over to the barricade to pull out second squad calling for two scouts on the platoon push.
As he left a Leopard snuffled forward, its main gun questing to the east. With a crash and a burst of flame a distant saucer flipped into the air. Mike noted that the TC was the German major and hopped onto the turret. He checked his energy levels but he was still at over twenty-five percent.
"Sergeant Green, call for a general energy and ammo check. Redistribute ammunition and check on the engineers' progress. See if you can raise higher for some evac for wounded—they can come in from out to sea through the secure vector. Push some troops into the building to the south and make sure this avenue remains secure."
He tried to think if there was anything he was missing, but he was so tired. He felt his eyes start to close as he stood on the tank and knew it was time for another stim.