Second platoon was in the lead as they approached the back side of the White House. Lieutenant Fallon had pushed his point out well in advance of their location, but they were running without flankers, an invitation to ambush. That was not a comforting feeling to the XO.
«Lieutenant Fallon,» she said, carefully controlling her voice, «hold up at the intersection of New York and Fifteenth Street. I don't like this running blindly towards the enemy. We need to get some scouts forward.»
«Ma'am,» said the lieutenant, diffidently. «With all due respect we're behind schedule as it is. We need to be in position to support the battalion's assault.»
«I am aware of the plan, Lieutenant!» snapped the acting commander. «But if we get ambushed it will not help the battalion either!»
«Yes, ma'am,» said the officer, tightly.
The company stopped in the open area to the east of the Treasury annex and automatically trained weapons out. The unit had been moving in tactical formation, the suits spaced twenty meters apart, weapons trained out to either side. If any Posleen unit had ambushed them it would have been toast.
* * *
Wilson tapped a grav-gun to get the rifleman on the correct axis and walked over to where Stewart was standing, one foot tapping a rhythm on the concrete. He leaned into the squad leader and set his communicator to private mode.
«Manuel, we're not supposed to be stopped here,» he hissed.
«No shit,» snapped Stewart. He did not even correct the use of his former name. The alias James Stewart was a bit of comedy that the gang had managed to keep secret to everyone but the first sergeant. But right now he was worried more about the colossal screwup the company was engaged in than in keeping his former existence a secret.
«Well, do something!»
«What would you have me do?» he asked in exasperation. «Off the XO?»
The response was resounding silence.
«Oh, great,» Stewart responded. «Do you have any idea what a really bad idea that is? No? You think that Rogers or Fallon would just pick up the ball if we shot Nightingale? Or, maybe, they would have to deal with whoever shot her first? Bad, bad, bad idea.»
«Okay,» relented the former gang member. «But what the hell are we going to do?» he asked plaintively. «We were supposed to be in position by now, not standing by the White House with our thumbs up our butts!»
«Muy trabajo, buddy. I know that, you know that, the L-T knows that. The only one who doesn't know it is the fuckin' XO. So, when the Old Man figures out what's going on he'll kick her ass and get it in gear. No problemo.»
«Sure, sure, Jim,» snapped Wilson. «No problem for us. But the rest of the battalion is going to get corncobbed.»
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.»