He leaned closer. "Outsiders get just one chance to cooperate. Savvy? You answer our questions, we take you back to the officer and you get a nice warm blanket and a safe trip to Base One, everything real nice, you can sit out the war in a cell. Maybe we even exchange you. You don't answer… well, you will. Up to you, smooth or rough."
"Lieutenant Deborah Lefkowitz, Falkenberg's Mercenary Legion, 11A7732-ze-l," she began. Then she closed her eyes and clamped her mouth tight as he gripped the collar of her jacket and slit it open down the front.
"Hey, Sarge," one of the guerillas laughed. "Goosebumps-maybe she likes it rough."
There was a shark's amusement in his voice. "I always got the pliers to fall back on."
Deborah Lefkowitz remained silent when a boot tripped her. She only began to scream when they stretched her legs wide and slashed the pants off her hips.
"Goddamn it!" Lysander swore to himself in quiet frustration, as the cry of incoming echoed across his position. The engineers stayed at their positions long enough to fire the breeching charges, stubby mortars that dragged lines of plastic tubing stuffed with explosives through the air across the minefield.
Then they copied everyone else and dove for cover, many of them rolled under the bellies of the six armored cars that had come forward. The assault company of infantry had no such option, nor had there been time for it to dig in. They hugged the earth and prayed or cursed according to inclination; a few managed to roll into already occupied holes dug by the Scout company.
"Overshot," he murmured a moment later; there were mortar rounds falling on them, but the rockets… on Peter, he thought. Well, he has those armored cans…
"Sir." The Legion helmet identified the speaker, Junior Lieutenant Halder, Fourth Platoon, the ones he had sent down to scout the woods. "We're engaged, ran into an enemy unit in the thick bush. They were moving south, sir, hard to tell how many, but they're loaded for bear. I'm getting heavy rifle grenade and antipersonnel rocket fire, sir."
"Calderon, switch the company mortars to support Third Command."
"Owensford here."
"Sir, Code-" he punched at the keyboard woven into his cuff. "Code ALGERNON, repeat Algernon.
Code MOSEBY." Enemy forces in large but unknown strength west of my position.
"Copy. The land-line should be connected now; link to Sastri to call in fire support. Hurt them, Kicker Six, that's what you're out there for."
Another blast of shrapnel from the antipersonnel bomblets swept over the command caravan. Goddamn it, I'm an Infantryman, not a turtle, Owensford thought. Although there was a certain comfort to having 20mm of hardened plate between you and unpleasantness.
Movement in the ravine. Hmmmm. Up north around Slater's column, the enemy had been using infiltration tactics down the wooded corridors. Potentially more of a problem here than there, since the proportion of forest was greater.
He looked at the map; squares were beginning to fill in for enemy units. The tiltrotor's sacrifice had been worth a lot; now they knew where to fly their drones, and they were getting more data.
So. What do we know?
The Fifty-first out on his flank had been hit hard, infantry attacks in strength right on the heels of the first bombardment; now they were gradually turning front as parties of the enemy tried to work around their rear. The Third on his left was moving east and north to cover the flank of his probe through the minefield, the Second on the far left was getting hit-and-run skirmishing and snipers and moving slowly to close up with the 3rd.
"Andy, link me up with Barton and Alana. Can we do that securely?"
"Sure can. Got a new fiber thread laid five minutes ago. Stand by one-got it."
"Ace. Jesus. Stand by to trade data sets." Peter slapped the function keys, and lights blinked. His map screens changed subtly.
"All right, Jesus," Peter said. "What are they trying to do?"
"It depends upon whether or not they are fools."
"What do you think?"
"Don't look like fools to me," Ace Barton said.
"They are not fools," Alana said. "Their plan is well executed. The problem is that they have not enough force to accomplish what clearly they believe they can do."
"Say that again."
"Colonel, they look to be trying to cut through to your base camp and destroy it. All their movements point to that. Yet they have not enough force to do it, and the result is that they expose themselves to attrition, and then to counterattack."
"First they build a pocket for you, now they stick their own dicks in the garbage grinder," Ace Barton said.
"Not fools but acting like fools."
"That's close enough," Alana said.
"Secret weapon, Jesus? Nukes?"
"It is a possible explanation."
"Damn high cost, using nukes," Peter said. "If anything would unite the CoDominium from the Grand Senate down to the NCO Clubs, that would do it. Ace, do you get the impression that things are not what they seem?"
"I sure do, Boss."
"OK," Peter said. "Here's what I'm seeing. We have three elements, two real attacks and a feint. The feint is left alone, the two real attacks are under fire within a few minutes of each other. Conclusions, Jesus?"
"Our plan, at least in outline, was known to the enemy."
"Sounds right," Barton said.
"Now they are committing major portions of their strength in what appears to be a hopeless attack. It's not a feint, they're in too far for that already."
"Correct again," Alana said.
"All right. New mission for Task Force Wingate: fall back and regroup as mobile reserve. While they're doing that, Ace, you scramble your four companies in the hovertrucks, and get the Dodona militia moving too. I want reinforcements moving toward the Bridgehead Base soonest. That's where they're heading. But hang back, don't get in there and make a big target of yourselves. It's time we started playing this according to our own script."
"Aye aye. I don't like this secret weapon deal."
"Nor I. Jesus, put somebody smart to thinking about the situation: what could they have that would justify what they're doing? Use drones as you need them. This is a priority one mission. Report as soon as you've got an idea."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"One thing," Ace Barton said. "We've learned something about the enemy commander."
"Yes?"
"Devious mind, Pete. Devious. Atlas out."
He paused for a second. Right. One damned thing after another, like a picador driving spikes under the hide of the bull. Nothing deadly, but designed to disorient and enrage, while the sword stayed hidden in the cloak… or better still, a cat playing with a mouse. There was an almost feline malice to the whole setup; whoever was in charge on the other side was inflicting damage for its own sake. He looked at the map again. Particularly on the Brotherhoods. Who were well-trained troops, but civilians-in-uniform, with families and communities that depended on them.
This is as much a terrorist operation as a battle, he thought, with a slight prickle at the back of his neck.
You had to be a bit case-hardened to be a mercenary anyway, but…
"Get me Morrentes." Back at the river base-camp.
"Colonel," the militia officer said. "Hear you're having problems. All quiet here, so far. No sign of the force the 'plane reported."
"Yes. I'm sending Lieutenant-Colonel Barton and the Legion companies up to join you," he said.
"Possibly I'm being nervous, but I don't think so."
"I see, sir," the rancher said; his voice was slow and thoughtful.
"You're already dug in good," Owensford said. "Stay that way, but now I want you to be ready to move fast. I don't know what they have, but they're acting like it's going to turn the battle around for them.
Like they can wipe you out with one blow."
"Nukes?"
"It sure looks like it, but we don't know," Peter said. "We just don't know."
CHAPTER TWELVE