"Get him on the com," Dickenson ordered. "And get Colonel Fowler in here too."
"Yes, sir," Horshell said, turning quickly to his computer screen.
While he waited Dickenson quickly panned the telemetry screen he had been viewing the advance on westward, to the area where the artillery guns were deployed. His breath caught in his throat when he saw that all of the escort tanks and more than a third of the guns were no longer transmitting position reports. The only reason for this would be a catastrophic vehicle failure of some sort — like being blown to shit. He began to get very worried.
"Colonel Dallas on screen, General," Horshell told him.
He switched the view and found himself looking into the terrified eyes of the artillery commander. "Steve," he said. "What the hell is going on out there?"
"We're under attack, General!" Dallas said. "Hundreds of Martian tanks came out of nowhere and start blasting us to shit! They killed all the escort tanks and now they're chasing down all the guns and slaughtering them."
"Hundreds of tanks?" Dickenson asked. "How is that possible? Where in the hell did they come from?"
"I have no fucking idea, sir!" he said. "But they're sure as shit here! You need to get me some tanks out here right now!"
"They'll be on the way in a few minutes," Dickenson said. "Try to save as many of your guns as you can."
Dallas didn't answer. He simply signed off. At that moment Colonel Fowler — commander of the 27th and the 29th armored divisions (the two battered units had been combined after the bloody first phase) entered the room. "You called, General?"
"I need you to break free two regiments of tanks from the advance and turn them around. They need to get back to the refuel point at best possible speed."
"Sir?" he asked. "Why would I do that?"
"Martian tanks have somehow gotten into our rear," he said. "We don't have exact numbers but there could be as many as six hundred of them. They're slaughtering the mobile guns as we speak."
"What?" Fowler said. "Martian tanks in our rear? That's impossible! They would have had to have gone through our lines in order to get there!"
Dickenson flipped his screen back to the telemetry view. "Look at this, Fowler," he said, pointing to the conspicuous absence of more than one hundred and fifty of the blue dots that should have been there. "Does that look like a figment of my imagination? Now get that goddamn regiment turned around right now!"
"Yes, sir," Fowler said, paling.
"How long until they can get back there?"
"At least twenty minutes, sir."
Dickenson shook his head. "I don't think that's enough time," he said. "Not at the rate those blue dots are disappearing. Get on it though. We need to engage those tanks and wipe them out."
"Yes, sir," Fowler said, grabbing the nearest computer screen and going to work.
The mobile guns continued to scatter about in a panic, some zigzagging about, some trying to straight out run for it, some going in circles, a few trying to head for the foothills. It made no difference. They were much slower than the tanks pursuing them, much less maneuverable, and completely defenseless. They were chased down one by one, in groups, and they were dispatched with shots from the laser cannons. Soon some of the crews began to realize the hopelessness of their situation and brought their machines to a halt. They then jumped out through their hatches, got as far away as they possibly could, and held up their hands in surrender. Most thought the Martians would simply shoot them down but this only happened once, when a crew jumped out with M-24s in their hands. A single shot from an eighty-millimeter main gun mowed them down.
The tanks continued to blast away at the unoccupied guns and to chase down the few remaining ones that were still moving. It was when there was less than twenty of them left that the message came across the net.
APPROX ONE THOUSAND (1000) MBT'S HAVE BROKEN LOOSE FROM MAIN WESTHEM ADVANCE AND ARE HEADING AT HIGH SPEED IN YOUR DIRECTION. ETA APPROX 15 MINUTES.
"That's not good," Zen said when he read the message.
"What's not good?" Xenia asked as she sighted in on one of the immobile guns and blasted it.
"A thousand WestHem tanks just broke loose from the main column and are heading back this way. ETA fifteen minutes."
"Jeez," Belinda said. "You blow up a few of their arty guns and they get all pissed off at us."
"Yes, they do have quite the temper," Xenia agreed. She was tingling with an excitement that was almost sexual in nature.
"So what now?" Belinda asked. "It doesn't sound like we really want to hang out here, does it?"
"No, you wouldn't think so," Zen said. "Let me check with command."
He did and he was told to stand by. He stood by for another three minutes, during which time Belinda managed to chase down another straggler and Xenia managed to kill it.
"Okay, new orders coming in," Zen said. "We're to disengage from the mobile guns immediately and head west at full throttle."
"We're going after the secondary target?" Xenia asked.
"Fuckin' aye," Zen said with a grin.
In less than five minutes the entire group of tanks turned around and formed up into a loose line stretching across more than two kilometers of the valley. They rumbled to the west, moving once again at more than ninety kilometers per hour.
Chapter 24
Eden Theater — behind the WestHem line, 16 kilometers east of the Jutfield Gap
September 14, 2146, 1612 hours
Five hundred and eleven Martian tanks had entered the valley from the Sierra Madres to the north or from the Overlook Mountains to the south to make the surprise attack on the WestHem artillery guns. The mission had cost them sixteen tanks in the brief, but violent exchange with the battalion of tanks guarding the guns. The rest, having completed their primary mission, were now heading west at the best possible speed, their intent to go after their secondary target: The WestHem supply trains, which were sitting back towards the gap in case resupply of the main force became necessary.
Inside one of the tanks toward the middle of the formation, Zen Valentine sat in the commander's chair, looking at the telemetry on one screen and the Intelligence briefing on the other.
"Targets are eleven klicks away, stationary, spread out over one and a half klicks of ground," he told Belinda and Xenia. "The supply column consists of sixteen trains with fifteen cars per train. Each train is towed by six modified tanks. Do not waste time or energy engaging the towing tanks. They are pulling engines only and they have no defensive or offensive capabilities. Xenia, you'll know them when you see them because they will be stationed at the front of each train and they have no cannons."
"Got it," Xenia said, looking at an identification photo of a towing tank on her own screen.
"The column is protected by twenty-four mobile SALs," Zen went on. "They are currently deployed in a circle around the formation. Don't worry about them either. They're bad news for the Mosquitoes but they can't hurt us."
"Right," Xenia agreed. She already knew this, of course — it was basic armor school training — but it was good to go over such things for clarity before going into battle.
"Now, onto what we do have to worry about," Zen said. "There is a battalion of main battle tanks and a battalion of infantry guarding the column from ground attack. The tanks are grouped into squads and platoons and deployed throughout the perimeter of the column. The infantry is mounted in APCs and they are grouped in the middle of the column. Intelligence says the infantry units are equipped with portable anti-air and portable anti-tank lasers.
"Our platoon is assigned to armor suppression on the northeast side of the column. When we engage, our primary targets will be the tanks, the APCs, and any dismounted infantry troops. Xenia, remember to stick to your zone. There are a thousand WestHem tanks fifteen to twenty minutes behind us so if we're going to do any damage to that column, everyone has to stick to their assignment. Got it?"