Stewart snorted faintly and smiled in his armor. “Why, Juan, I didn’t think you cared about anybody but the gang!” The sarcasm was gentle and ironic.
“Well.” Wilson looked at the symbol across the street. “I guess maybe I figure this is as much my turf as anybody’s. And you know damn well that if you’re standing still, sooner or later the Bloods are gonna find you!”
Atalanara had been part of Kenallurial’s charge across the Potomac. But, unlike most of the other Kessentai, he had marshaled his oolt by the bridge, ready to cross. So the force had made it across relatively intact. Seeing the massive confusion near the Memorial he had struck out on his own.
A very junior battlemaster, he had no interest in facing well-prepared forces. His first movement to the north along the great river had been rebuffed by fire from thresh dug-in among the buildings of a large complex. Although the complex had looked desirable, he doubted his ability to drive the force of thresh out of their positions.
Taking a side street he sent teams of oolt’os into the buildings lining the roads. They reported nothing of value. Some of the buildings had fine artwork or well-made equipment, but nowhere were the heavy metals, refined chemicals or production facilities that he craved. Such a find would assuredly be assigned by the Net to the first to capture it. And it would permit him to equip his oolt with much better weapons.
Of course, the threshkreen had already helped in that regard. The oolt had exited the lander equipped mostly with the cheapest of shotguns along with a few missile launchers. The tenar that he had started off with sported the company’s sole 3mm railgun.
The tenar was the same, but it now was mounted with a gigawatt laser and a new sensor suite. The Kessentai that had “improved” his vehicle would never miss the equipment. And their oolt, scattered in death from the threshkreen’s ballistic weapons, had yielded a mass of weapons. So, now, the normals of the company were armed with a decent mix of weaponry. He had been able to double the number of hypervelocity missile launchers in the company and most of the remaining normals were now armed with railguns. True, many of those were 1mm rather than 3mm. But there were several plasma cannons to make up the lack. There was not a single shotgun left in the oolt; he was as well armed as a senior battlemaster. Now if he only could avoid using all that might!
The map that Kenallurial had been using indicated that there was a “Treasury” around here somewhere. The translation of that term had been more than satisfactory. That would be a prize worth fighting for.
“Okay,” said Nightingale over the leader’s circuit. “I know you’re wondering why we’ve stopped. I’m not happy with running around without scouts further out. We don’t know what is out there and we could get hit at any second.”
“In that case,” said Lieutenant Rogers, angrily, “we should be moving, not stopped. And, in case you haven’t noticed, the rest of the battalion is about to engage the enemy. They are expecting us to hit them in the flank and cover the holes on that side! Which we are not doing standing around with our thumbs up our butts!”
“Watch your tongue,” snapped Nightingale. “I understand your concerns, but we need a good op order on this.” She paused for a moment. “This plan is not complete. We don’t have good intelligence on the enemy’s dispositions.”
“Ma’am,” said Sergeant Bogdanovich, “that is the Infantry. We’re always the people who are gathering the intel the hard way. And this isn’t about intel, it’s about assault. We have to move.”
“We will move when I am ready to move,” said Nightingale angrily. “And not a moment sooner!”
“Boss,” said Arnold, over a side channel.
“Yeah,” sighed O’Neal. “I see it.” Bravo had stopped at the intersection of New York Avenue and Fifteenth Street. Although it was not where he would have had a pre-rally, a stop made sense. If they had moved on. But they hadn’t.
The battalion had finally cleared the detritus on the Mall and was preparing to cross Fifteenth Street. The forces on the Mound were getting hammered so he had brought the unit up to a lope. As they cleared Fifteenth, Alpha Company opened out like a fan. The edges of the company were already taking fire from distant God Kings and as soon as they cleared the mound it was going to be a firestorm. He needed to get Nightingale going. Fast.
“Top,” he said, letting the AID switch him automatically.
“Yes, sir,” said the first sergeant. According to the schematic he was not far from Bravo, in the company of a platoon of tanks. “I got a more or less intact battalion to move over to the Watergate. They got a brush from Posleen but beat them off. I’m taking these tanks over and there’s some more forces that might trickle along behind. If we get artillery and not too many bad guys we should be fine.”
“That’s great, Top,” said Mike quickly. “Just one problem. Look where Bravo is.”
Mike waited a moment then snorted faintly at the fluent swearing that the AID faithfully broadcast.
“Shit,” the first sergeant finished. “I’m sorry, boss.”
“You get one suggestion,” Mike answered. He was not terribly happy with the situation he was in. Pappas was normally to be depended on for a logical evaluation of personnel. In the case of Nightingale it had obviously failed and he was beginning to suspect why.
Pappas thought about the question furiously. If he left the Abrams unit they would take off like a scalded cat. But if he tried to persuade Nightingale over the radio it would be a waste of breath. He could see as clearly as the Old Man that she had frozen, whatever she was telling the company. There was only one choice, as painful as it was personally and professionally.
“Relieve her, sir,” he said after the brief moment’s thought. “Put Rogers in charge. If they’re stopped and get hit by a Posleen company, you’ll have a hell of a time getting them started again.”
“Concur. Out here,” said O’Neal, coldly.
Pappas knew he was going to get his ass kicked at some time in the near future by the little fireball. But that was only if they survived the upcoming battle.
Atalanara was nearly there. All he had to do was take this “Treasury” building and survive the battle. If he could, he would be set for all eternity; the treasury of such a rich nation would be bulging with loot. As he cleared the intervening bulk of the Old Executive Office Building the long-sought building came into view. And so did an oolt of metal threshkreen.
“Posleen!” shouted a private in First Platoon and sent a stream of relativistic teardrops towards the Posleen company that had appeared around the corner.
The fire was obscured by the fences and trees at the back of the White House as well as the bulk of the government office building. This gave the company enough time to react to the sudden appearance.
“Okay,” said Nightingale, looking at her readouts, “we can do this.” She tapped her gauntlets together and thought for a moment. “Okay, First platoon. Dig in and prepare to lay down a base of fire. Second, swing to the right and prepare to hit them in the flank. Third, get ready to pass through First to lay down more fire. Mortars—”
“No, no, no, no!” shouted Stewart over the command channel. “Kick their ass don’t piss on them! The battalion is about to get fucked because we’re out of position!”