Mitchell found himself giggling again and got it under control quickly. “There is probably some truth to that, Captain. ‘Onward, onward rode the six hundred…’ ”
“Major,” the general corrected. He reached into his cargo pocket and rummaged around until he found a pair of major’s leaves. “Before you know it you’ll have enough rank to actually be in command, Major.”
“But I’ll still be MI,” the major said, pinning on first one leaf and then the other. “And a female. Two strikes against commanding an infantry battalion.”
“That, my dear, is why there are waivers,” the general said loftily. “There will be orders and awards to go along with that later — I’ve told both the corps commander and General Keeton about your performance on this drive — but for now we’re not done. What was your damage?”
“I’m down about twenty percent,” the commander replied, abruptly sitting down on the ground. “But body count doesn’t cover all of that and I’m missing at least one company commander. Some of them might still be mixed in with other units but I think a few did the bug-out boogie.”
“If so the MPs will round them up.” Simosin pulled out a notebook and made a notation. “I’m going to give you two companies from the Second Brigade; one of ’em’s a mech team, the other is motorized. They were in the lead for the first assault and have done some reconsolidation since then so at least they’re not green. Consolidate what you have got into three companies. That will make you overstrength in each, but I’m sure that will take care of itself.”
“Yes, sir,” LeBlanc replied. “What then?”
“Get refueled and rearmed,” he continued with a sigh. “That may take some doing; my inherited staff has not yet grasped the basic concepts of maneuver warfare such as forward deploying logistics elements…” He looked at her face quizzically. “Why the smile?”
“Ah, well,” she laughed. “Refuel and rearm will not be that much of a problem, General. I sent one of my NCOs out to find our supply trucks. And he did.”
“Your fuel trucks?” the general asked.
“Close enough. Somebody’s. Might as well be mine. And when he pointed out that he had two fully armed Bradleys, with crews, and all they had were some dinky fifty calibers, they got amenable to reason. Alpha and HHC are all refueled and rearmed and the rest of the unit is pulling maintenance.”
The general shook his head and sighed again. “Maybe I should make you my chief of staff. No, forget I said that, I don’t want to explain to General Keeton why other divisions are out of fuel and supplies.”
“Speaking of other divisions,” Mitchell said, “isn’t this about the time that somebody else is supposed to pass through while you reconsolidate?”
“It would be, if there was anyone else to pass through.” Simosin grimaced. “There’s a division coming down from Knoxville but it’s green and short a brigade. I’ll probably get it, in which case I’m going to mix it in by battalions and use them carefully. So it’s just us.”
He looked over at LeBlanc and smiled grimly. “Which was why my operations officer thought I was nuts to send my main mechanized unit off on detached duty.”
“Oh?” the major queried then looked up at the SheVa. “I don’t think so!”
“Major LeBlanc, you and your reinforced battalion are detached to duty in support of SheVa Nine as it makes a flanking maneuver through the Tennessee Valley,” the general said formally.
“Oh, shit,” the major said, shaking her head. “We’re fucked.”
“I need you alive and at Franklin,” Simosin said to Mitchell’s raised eyebrow. “I don’t need a smoking wreck sitting in the lower Tennessee.”
“Yes, sir,” the colonel replied then shrugged. “What the hell, if we get stuck again Abrams are jim-dandy field-expedient unstickers.” He turned to the major and grinned. “We’re going where eagles get nosebleeds, you understand?”
“Oh, yeah,” the major replied bitterly. “But, what the hell, if that big old bastard can make it, so can we. I hope.”
“I’ll see you both in Franklin,” Simosin said, scooping up the last of his stew and climbing laboriously to his feet. “SheVa supported,” he said, licking the spoon and dropping it in his cargo pocket as he tossed the empty MRE packet to the side, “fuel getting to tanks, troops moving forward, now I have to go back and straighten out that cluster-fuck of a headquarters I inherited.”
“Drop a bomb on it, sir,” LeBlanc replied. “It’s the only way to be sure.”
“Nah, think of the paperwork. I’ve got enough headaches.”
“Move, move, move, move, MOVE!” O’Neal shouted, bouncing down the scorched side of Black Rock Mountain.
It was a race against time. Somewhere to the south there were undoubtedly Posleen racing to reach the Mountain City line before the ACS. But the suits needed to not just reach the gap before them, but to have enough time to get dug in and set. If they were caught in the open by the advancing Posleen, they might as well slit their own throats.
“Bastards,” Stewart muttered. “They filled in all our positions!”
The Posleen had driven a road through the former defenses of the battalion and all but the outermost holes had been filled in. In addition, all the laboriously constructed communications trenches were gone.
The spare ammunition and power packs had been distributed to the platoons of the battalion but they were with individual suits. If they didn’t get a way to move the ammo around it was going to be cut off as soon as the Posleen arrived and created a “no movement zone” above ground.
“Back to work,” O’Neal said. “Bravo, Charlie, start digging in. Reapers and tech suits, make yourself some holes then start digging trenches. Everyone get below ground level as fast as possible.”
Duncan looked at the area designated for his company and began detailing platoon sectors. “Marauders on the line, command suits to the rear,” he said, detailing individual zones for the platoons. “Move people!”
He reached a point halfway between the designated area for the battalion command team and dropped a digging charge on the ground, glancing down the defile as he did so. There was still no sign of the Posleen, and that bothered him.
“Stewie, scouts?” he asked on a discrete channel to the battalion S-2.
“I’ve only got two left,” Stewart said, irritably. “I was going to move them up the flanks.”
“Be nice to know when the boys were coming to tea,” the company commander said.
“Agreed,” Stewart replied.
Sunday waited until all his Reapers were dug in and then dropped three more digging charges, opening up the area and connecting a couple of the holes to the consternation of the occupants.
“That was a little close, sir!” Pickersgill called; the charge had blown the side of his hole in on him.
“I could have dropped it on you and it wouldn’t have mattered,” Sunday replied, dropping into the middle of the combined Reaper section. He had carried the disguised box down the hill and now opened it up, pulling out the weapon inside. It was in three pieces and he carefully assembled them below ground level, ensuring that none of the other suits saw what he had concealed in the oversized hole.
“Get started on the trenches,” he said when the suits had finished opening out and finishing their holes. “I’ll be here.”