If the thing could take direct fire, and it looked as if it could, and if it could fire into the valley, together with an assault from their present positions he might be able to push the Posleen all the way to the end of the Savannah Valley. The terrain there was even better for stopping the Posleen and together with the nuke rounds the SheVa had fired up towards the gap they might be able to push through.
If, but, might.
Time was awastin’.
“Son, drive up to second battalion,” he said. He had taken to driving around the battle in a Humvee and the word had already gotten out that no matter where you were, The General, two capitals, might show up at any time. “Let’s see if we can find the battalion TOC.”
“Yes, sir.” The battalion commanders had taken to getting right up on the front lines. It was the only way to be sure that most of what you ordered was getting done. And since you were likely to see the general there, too, hiding back in a rear-area CP was just not done.
Which meant that he was going to have to go drive a friggin’ Humvee into the teeth of Posleen fire. Again.
But he wasn’t about to tell this cold, angry officer “no.”
Better to take on the Posleen with a pocket knife.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Green’s Creek, NC, United States of America, Sol III
1725 EDT Monday September 28, 2009 AD
“We got a crunchy walking around right by the left track,” Reeves snarled. The terrain he had to cross was bad enough, worrying about a crunchy was not what he wanted on his mind.
The direct route from their current position to where Colonel Roberts wanted the SheVa was not much farther than the SheVa was long. But it might as well have been on the moon for all he could just drive there. If he went straight he was going to end up nose down in what anyone else would call a valley and a SheVa considered a ditch.
So first he had to slowly go down the easier slope to the west then make a hard turn to the left, hoping that the tracks would dig through one of the cliffs rather than get stuck, and then drive up the slope. Simple. Sure. It was like parallel parking a Suburban with two inches to spare in either direction.
And if the crunchy stayed where he was when Reeves reached the bottom, he was going to get turned into stew.
Colonel Mitchell glanced at the monitor and frowned. “I think he’s headed for the personnel door.” He looked around and spotted the civilian. “Mr. Kilzer, can you find…”
“I designed it, Colonel,” Paul said, getting to his feet with a grin.
It was a general, all right, dragging an oversized briefcase, what used to be called a sample case, and accompanied by a female captain. The general seemed below normal height, but Mitchell realized when he stood up that that was due to his broad bulk. He was probably about five-ten, but seemed damned near as broad across; his BDUs were filled out enough to strain the seams. Some of it was fat, but most of it just looked like muscle.
The captain was fairly short, maybe five foot max, with brown hair and green eyes. What was most notable, however, was that the front of her BDUs were swelled out to an incredible degree. Either she had a sleeping bag tied to her chest or she was stacked like a brick shit house. After a moment Mitchell tore his eyes away and met hers only to realize that plain as she looked, other than her chest, her eyes were even more arresting than her figure. After another moment he tore his eyes away from the entire encounter and saluted the general.
“That’s a long damned walk for an old man,” the general commented, returning the salutes of the crew. “Arkady Simosin. For the time being, I’m the commander of the 147th.”
“General, you didn’t have to come up here! If I’d known it was you down there I would have come down myself.”
“Not a problem, Colonel, you’ve got a better briefing area in your hold than we could have gotten anywhere else.” He gestured at the officer with him. “Captain LeBlanc is the local battalion commander.”
“Captain?” he said. “The battalion commander? She’s MI!”
“There has been a rash of reliefs lately,” she said coldly. Her voice was quiet so that he had to strain to hear it, which for some reason added emphasis.
“And a few deaths,” the general added. “Captain LeBlanc ended up in temporary command and it turned out she was the best choice for the job.”
“Repeat that if we pull this off,” the captain said. “So, I understand you want to run over some of my men, Colonel?”
“Not if we can help it,” Mitchell said, calling the local area map up on the main viewscreen. “We need to get up on this ridge,” he continued, highlighting the point. “We’re going down off this hill to the southwest then up the ridge.” He used a light pen to draw in the projected movement.
“Nice gear,” she commented. “I’m glad you got with me; you would have run right over my forward TOC.” She thought about it for a moment then shook her head. “All my companies along that ridge are in heavy contact. I can’t pull them out; they’ll get shot to shit. Even if I bring up their APCs.”
Mitchell removed his helmet and scratched his head for a moment then shrugged. “We can lay down denial fire just ahead of their retreat. We… might tag a few of your troops. But at that point you’ll be out of contact. Once we get up on the ridge we’ll be in control of the situation.”
“If they don’t flank you,” General Simosin pointed out. “And if they don’t eat through your armor. You’re not invulnerable, you know.”
“Darn near, frontally,” Kilzer pointed out. “Sides though?” He shrugged then looked at the captain. “Has anyone ever told you you have magnificent breasts?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Just before I dragged their testicles out through their nose.” She turned back to Mitchell and shrugged. “You really think you can stop the Posties before they eat my guys?”
“General, what sort of artillery can we call?” Mitchell temporized.
“Everything,” the general said. “I’ll redirect it. If you can push up that ridge then lay down heavy fire on the far valley, we can push forward again.”
He turned to the captain and shrugged. “You’ve got all the tracks. Can you pull out and then counterattack. I mean, just like that?”
“I’ll try,” LeBlanc said with a shrug. “I’ve got the tank platoon in reserve anyway. They’ll take the gap while the rest are reassembling. I need to get a good op-order out, though; this won’t work with a frag. How long do I have?”
“Thirty minutes,” Simosin said. “No more.”
“Thirty minutes to get the order out, sir?” she snapped. “Or thirty minutes to effect the movement?”
“No more than thirty minutes for each,” Simosin replied.
“It’ll have to be a frag order!” she argued. “And a short one at that! Half my company commanders are lieutenants! I’ve got one company ‘commanded’ by a staff sergeant! I don’t think it’s possible. Seriously.”
“It has to be,” Simosin ground out. “Do it.”
“Shit,” she snarled. “Yes, sir!” She turned around and dropped into the exit hatch then stopped. “And, Kilzer, my face is up here,” she snapped, pointing towards it. Then she was gone.