The fastest way through the neighborhoods of scattered one- and two-story houses was often the yards. They had had to turn around at Glebe Road and backtrack up Wilson Boulevard until they found a section not completely blocked by cars. The choked roads had overflowed to the point of bursting and the abandoned vehicles were scattered through the strip malls and fast-food restaurants along the major thoroughfares. Once they got across Wilson they stayed as much as possible on yards and side streets, only attempting crossings at the least likely places.
They could have abandoned the vehicles. There were military vehicles scattered throughout the region. But if they left the tracks they would lose the mortars and the .50 calibers. All in all, Keren was willing to chance the Posties catching them to keep the firepower.
But the circuitous route had other problems.
“Where are we?” asked Elgars, leaning out the window and looking back at the two following mortar carriers. Surprisingly, none of the vehicles had broken down in the harum-scarum run from Manassas. Apparently all the deadwood had been left in Prince William County. “You got any idea?”
“Not really,” said Keren, handing her the map. They had switched drivers when the going got bad. She was fine on streets but he had much more experience at off-road.
She found the last notations he had made, back at Wilson Boulevard. “That doesn’t tell me much.”
He picked up the microphone. After the third time he had pushed it out the window, Elgars had found a roll of duct tape and fixed it so the antenna stuck out the moonroof of the vehicle. It worked remarkably well and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it. Probably because the only time he hadn’t been running for the last three days was when he was dead asleep.
“Reed.”
“Yeah?”
“Find a road sign.”
“Right.”
The mortar carrier made a hard left, kicking up a rooster tail of soil from the manicured yard. It trampled a pink plastic tricycle then slipped into the space between neighboring houses. The wooden fence between them turned to splinters as the vehicle ran down its length. As he cleared the house he made another abrupt turn to the right.
The houses were halfway down a block. The mortar platoon proceeded to the end of the street where the ubiquitous green sign finally fixed their location.
“Jackson and Sixth,” said Reed over the radio.
“Damn,” said Elgars. “Not bad. We’re nearly to Arlington Cemetery.”
“How far?” asked Keren, peering ahead. There were skyscrapers ahead, which was not good. The damn things drew Posleen like flies. He keyed the mike again. “Anybody see a big hill? Should be at our nine o’clock.”
“I got it,” said somebody from the Three Track. The squad was from another brigade, added on to their nearly intact platoon at Jackson Lake. They still didn’t feel like family, but at least they kept up. “Between two buildings. You probably can’t see it from there.”
“Okay,” Keren said, “that’s our objective…”
A tremendous explosion tore the face off a skyscraper to the south and a tracer kicked up and out crazily.
“Holy Shit!” shouted Reed. “Posleen!” The .50 caliber on the top of the mortar carrier tracked to the south down Sixth Street and began to spit fire.
“Goose it!” shouted Keren over the radio, putting action to words as he dropped the Suburban into gear. “Don’t just sit there!”
He turned into the road just as the mortar carrier began to move. A hypervelocity missile evaporated a section of roadway to their right as the Suburban slid crazily into the intersection. Elgars had her AIW out and was climbing into the moonroof. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the other tracks cutting across the parking lot on the corner but he put his foot down and accelerated towards the distant hill.
He had just passed forty when Elgars kicked him painfully in the shoulder.
“Stop!” she yelled as another HVM flew by. The shockwave of its passage shook the heavy vehicle like a terrier and the missile itself demolished a gas station on the corner.
“Fuck you!” he shouted back and started weaving. The silver lance of plasma cannon came from nowhere and he saw the Two Gun track erupt in fire. “Goddamnit!” The mortar carriers were firing their .50 calibers but with the way they were jumping over curbs there was no chance in hell of hitting the Posleen leader that must have fired that accurate blast. He was barely in sight in the rearview, at nearly a thousand yards. The distance was the only thing saving them from the notoriously inaccurate Posleen. Distance, however, helped not a bit with God Kings.
“Stop or we’re all FUCKED!” Elgars shouted again. Her feet were braced on the backs of both front seats and the rifle was rock-steady.
He stomped on the brakes and reached in the back for his own AIW. He was no expert, but unless they took out that God King, they were all toast. Two rifles were better than one. The 7.62 rifles had the ability, technically, to hit something at that range. He’d never been able to hit the broad side of a barn at over five hundred yards. But, hell, the horse might sing.
The vehicle had barely lurched to a stop when there was a single crack from overhead. “Go!”
He looked in the rearview as a storm of fire erupted towards them. The Posleen normals of the company were attacking berserkly. But they were firing at everything in sight, not just the vehicles, and the fire was scattered. There was enough to begin slamming into the Suburban, but the God King was clearly dead. His saucer was barely in sight drifting off to the side. Keren dropped the Suburban back into gear and floored the accelerator. The smoke from the burning gas station was just ahead and if they made it to that obscurement they might just survive.
“Holy Mother of Acceleration, don’t fail us now!” shouted Elgars as she began pumping out grenades. The 20mm rounds pounded out like a metronome, weaving a dance of destruction in the wake of the retreating platoon.
The platoon had torn through Fort Myer as if it weren’t there. Headquarters of the Continental Army Command and one of the most famous facilities in the United States, it was now a ghost town; it seemed that the only sentients in the world were the platoon and the pursuing Posleen. The mortar unit had a blurry view of the commissary and the clinic as they rushed past and then they were at the wall around Arlington Cemetery.
Knowing the barrier was coming up, Keren had slowed to let the tracks catch up. He picked up the mike again. “Three Track. Run that thing over,” he said, pointing at the wall.
“Idn’t there a gate?” asked the person on the radio in One Track.
“You wanna take time to find it?” asked the Three Track commander and waved at the wall. The vehicle snorted forward and put its nose against the low stone wall. With a burst of power a wide section of the wall came down.
“Now, goose it. Three Track, FDC, First. Go!”
Keren fell in behind Three Track as it began to weave a way up through the headstones. The specialist looked around at the white markers drifting off into the distance and shook his head. He suspected that the residents would understand the unseemly nature of the platoon’s passage, but dislike the running away part. Well, sooner or later they were going to find a real unit to rejoin. And they could stop running.
Three Track turned right on the first road and followed it around the hill. The trees in the area shielded them from sight, but until they were on the back side of the hill, Keren wouldn’t feel happy. Mortars are never, ever, ever supposed to see the enemy. It was drilled into them from basic training. Unlike artillery, they could not fire directly at an attacker. Used correctly, though, their big 120mm rounds could be devastating.