“Um, speaking of which,” Mueller said. “We’ve got AIDs. Do… You could talk to him if you want.”
“That’s an interesting idea,” Cally said. “But I don’t want to joggle his elbow.” Even in the concrete reinforced cave the slam of distant explosions could be more felt than heard. “Just… let him know that I’m alive.”
“Major O’Neal?”
Mike’s arm was actually getting tired. It was mostly supported by the armor, but just holding it over his head for this long was getting hard. And not only was power going down like a waterfall, even the ammunition supply was starting to take a hit. The teardrops rounds were tiny and, unlike the power packs, most of the resupply had survived. But the battle had already expended over sixty million rounds; suits had had to reload onboard ammunition at least once, in one case twice. But that didn’t mean the Posleen were running out of bodies.
“Yes,” he asked tiredly. “What horrible news or emergency is it now?”
“Not horrible at all, sir, more mixed. Cally O’Neal is alive. She is in contact with Sergeant Major Mosovich from Fleet Strike Long Range Recon and they and some other refugees are in a shelter near your father’s farm.”
“And Dad?” Mike asked, suspecting why the news was mixed.
“Your father is presumed dead, sir,” the AID said tonelessly.
Mike wrinkled his head at the tone and the wording. “Presumed?”
“Yes, sir, he was last seen in a bunker near the explosion of a lander.”
Again, that toneless reply. Mike had noted that AIDs got all toneless when he hit a security baulk, at which point they became non-communication devices with remarkable alacrity.
Mike thought about a couple of things he’d like to say but skipped them all. “How many able bodies at that shelter? And is there any ground transportation?” was what he asked.
“Five adults and no, everything was destroyed by the blast.”
“Hmm…” He looked at the power graph and shook his head. “Give me General Horner.”
“Jack, it’s Mike.”
The major and the general went back farther than either of them cared to remember, but the casual familiarity was a sign of insult, not respect; Mike O’Neal had not yet forgiven the general for sending him on what was looking more and more like a forlorn hope.
“Yes, Major?” Jack Horner was a tall spare, man with cold blue eyes that belied his apparent age. He keyed the AID to throw up a hologram of the battle around Rabun Gap and shook his head; the image showed a solid tide of red going out of sight.
“We’ve got a little problem,” Mike said.
“I can see that.”
“Oh, it’s not the Posleen, per se. After trying a few fancy tricks, they’re coming at us in the same old way and we’re stopping them in the same old way. We’re taking casualties, but mostly to weapons-systems. No, the problem is we’ve got about three hours’ worth of power left.”
“What?”
“I blame it on Gunny Thompson,” Mike said lightly.
It took Jack a moment to remember who Mike was talking about. Gunny Thompson had been on the design team for the ACS weapons system, along with a recently recalled web designer named Michael O’Neal and General Jack Horner.
“Why Gunny Thompson, who the last time I heard was on Barwhon?”
“Well,” Mike said with a sigh. “He wanted a ray gun and the best I could do with the technology that was offered was a grav-gun that shot fast enough it looked like a ray gun. The problem of course being that that meant it was a power-hog.”
“Your guns are being used that much?” Jack asked. Even in the hottest battles the Posleen could only take an hour or so of being turned into offal; then they retreated.
“No artillery to slow them down, Jack,” Mike responded. “They’re just piling themselves up, literally. And they’re not really going forward, just piling. It’s… it’s insane, even for the Posleen.”
“Maybe not,” Horner replied. “Maybe…”
“Maybe they know we have a power problem?” Mike asked. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Well, I got an intelligence report recently that suggested the Posleen might, I say again might be able to penetrate the AID network.”
“So… they’re listening to this conversation?” Mike said. “That explains the ambush.”
“What ambush?”
“When we landed the Posleen seemed to be laying for us, but they concentrated their fire on the support shuttles. That’s when most of our spare power went away.”
“Another datum,” Jack replied, running his hands through his hair. It had been white, then, after rejuvenation, black again. Now it was turning white at the temples. And he was still a physical age of about twenty. Command was hell.
“So if they can listen in to the AID network, what in the hell are we going to do? I can’t disconnect my AID, it runs my damned suit!”
“I’ll think about it. Tell me what your answer to the power problem is in the meantime.”
“There’s a cache near here, one that’s not on the network, come to think of it,” Mike replied. “It’s got ammunition and a power-pack, standard ammo with its own power.”
“From when you were laying down caches?” Horner asked.
“Correct. Here’s my question, are there any more heavy weapons available? Can the SheVa range?”
“Do you want a direct answer?” the general replied.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. The SheVa is out of range and it will be for some hours yet. I don’t know of anything else.” Horner smiled broadly, a sure sign that he was angry about something. “What I normally would do is ask my AID, which gives me the impression our enemies might know more about our capability than we do.”
“If we’re penetrated,” Mike replied.
“Yes.” Horner looked around the temporary headquarters and suddenly realized the AID could see everything that he could. The human senior officers had come to depend upon the systems, which was suddenly starting to look like a bad dependency.
“So who’s coming to relieve us?” Mike asked, bitterly. “I seem to remember you promising that the Ten Thousand would be on their way in a jiffy. But I notice they’re still up in Virginia.”
Horner smiled thinly. “I’ve got forces on the way. We’ve got penetrations all up and down the East Coast, Major. This is not the only emergency on my plate. I had to divert the Ten Thousand to handle a major incursion in the Shenandoah. I know that you think your battalion comes first, but when I’ve got a big thrust headed right for six SheVas that are almost finished construction and two Sub-Urbs I have to decide where to allocate my assets. And in this case, the Ten Thousand is allocated to hold between the Posleen and the Sub-Urbs, Major. There is one spot of bright news; I’ve been informed that a reconnaissance force has been detached from the Barwhon fleet. I don’t know how large it is, or what its priorities will be, but we might get some support from them.”
“So, what do you have on the way, General? For sure? Not pie in the sky ‘reconnaissance forces’ that are probably one frigate and a drone.”