“How many have we lost?” Tulo’stenaloor snarled. “Four million here and in the valley?”
“Four point three as of last count,” the essthree replied.
“Four point three,” the commander snapped. “Thank you!” He looked again at the human map and shook his head. “The road over the mountain is well and truly gone, but send at least six oolt’ondar up here on this hill called ‘Hogsback’ and tell them to try to climb over the mountain. Perhaps that will distract the humans.”
He looked at his list of available assets and frowned. “And put out a call for anyone who wishes to try their hand with an oolt Po’osol as well. Usually humans would have retreated by now. We will figure out a way to destroy them!”
“Or else we’re all doomed,” the essthree muttered. But quietly so that the raging warleader wouldn’t hear.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Porter’s Bend, NC, United States of America, Sol III
0442 EDT Tuesday September 29, 2009 AD
Indy pulled her arm out of the sleeve of the antiradiation suit, into the still-sealed interior, and used a paper towel to wipe condensation off her faceplate. It was a technique she had picked up while doing a short stint in high school working in a nitrogen chamber and it stood her in good stead today. Now if something else she had learned over the years would just permit her to come up with a miracle, they might even be able to fire again.
“I think we’re pretty much doomed,” she said to the engineering officer below.
Colonel Garcia looked up at the shock absorber of the SheVa’s main gun and admitted privately that she might be right. The gun had been hit by something, with all the damage it was hard to tell what, but the weapon, an HVM or maybe a plasma bolt, had dug a half-meter hole in the side of the massive shock absorber, spraying the area with hydraulic fluid.
“We’ve got replacement fluid,” he said doubtfully, thinking of the parts and supplies the repair brigade had with them. “But we don’t have a replacement shock, short of bringing one in by blimp. And that’s not going to happen. It kind of ticks me off; we’re engineers, we’re supposed to be able to figure problems like this out!”
The SheVa was hull down behind a low line of hills, just south of Rocky Knob. The 147th had fought its way down to the valley and now was spreading out along a line roughly delineated by the Tennessee River and Oak Ridge. They had mostly cleared the Posleen on this side of the river, but the far side was still strongly held by scattered groups and any blimp coming over the mountain would be Public Target Number One to an estimated two hundred thousand remaining Posleen.
The line of hills was one of the anchors in the defenses and the SheVa, with its surviving supporters, had scuttled for cover behind it as soon as they made the turn around Rocky Knob. If “scuttled” could be used as a term for a four-hundred-foot mass of metal that had lost fifty percent of its power.
“I don’t think a welded patch would work,” Garcia continued as Kilzer walked out from under the gun. “The pressure on firing is too high. It would just blast it right off.”
“There’s welds and welds,” Kilzer said, rubbing a smear of red hydraulic fluid off his suit. “You got any plate sections with you?”
Plate patches were not the standard six-inch steel but ranged from one to three inches.
Garcia looked up at the shock again and shrugged; the structure was the size of a mini-sub and the pressures were high enough that it was unlikely any sort of weld would hold.
“We’ve got them,” he temporized.
“Okay, I need a section of replacement plate, three meters wide and exactly nine point four two three meters long.”
“Exactly?” the colonel said with a grin and a raised eyebrow.
“Exactly. And, hmm, a track replacement vehicle, a hull cutter, two platoons of technicians in rad suits, an engineering officer, sixteen vertical work harnesses, four welding kits, two hundred kilos of C-4 and a cup of Kona coffee.”
Garcia thought about it for a moment and shrugged. “I can do it all except the Kona.”
“Damn the Posleen for cutting us off from our supplies!”
Kilzer had exited the vehicle, still wearing his rad suit, and now walked around the section of hull plate, marking on the surface.
The plate had been cut into a long rectangle, exactly nine point four two three meters in length, by one of the hull-plate cutters. The devices used a chemical-pumped laser that had the ability, among other things, to cut to very precise depths and angles. Which was useful when, for example, a section of hull abutting a nuclear reactor had to be cut away.
After cutting the section of plate, the same vehicle had then opened up a six by six meter hole in the side of the SheVa, then wandered off to find other work. There was plenty to do.
While Kilzer and Indy worked to repair the damaged main gun, the rest of the brigade was busy at work on the “minor” items. There were no more reactors this side of Knoxville and no way to bring them in by blimp, so the gun was going to have to maneuver at half power. But there was more than enough other damage to occupy the brigade as it replaced damaged struts, patched holes in the hull plates, lifted off the destroyed MetalStorm turret and re-ran hundreds of cut electrical cables.
Paul looked up at the opening as one of the techs came out dragging the cable from the top-side crane.
“Three lifting shackles, here, here, here,” he said to the welder, noting the points where the connections were to be made. Then he walked to the other end of the plate and showed another welder where to do the second set. “When you’re both done, put a couple more near the centerline for control lines.”
While that was going on, he led the other two welders into the interior and showed them the ragged hole in the shock absorber.
“Cut away the damaged metal, make a nice smooth hole.”
One of the welders looked at the thin coating of hydraulic fluid on all the surfaces and waved his buddy away from the metal.
“Gotta call in a fire crew, sir,” the technician said.
“Ah.” Paul looked around at the hydraulic fluid and shook his head inside the bulbous suit. “I knew I was forgetting something.”
He waited while the fire-suppression crew was called in and made notes. The crew consisted of two blower teams and a safety supervisor. Because the SheVa repair brigade often had to operate under pressure and in less than safe conditions they had developed techniques to handle things like welding around explosive materials.
As the laser welders cut through the materials, the fire team took care of secondary effects. The hydraulic fluid had a high vaporization temperature but with enough heat it would first vaporize and then combust. Generally these were small, smoky fires that were easily put out, but a few were larger and more energetic. The CO2 extinguishers, however, were able to handle both types of fire with relative ease.
Setting up the cut had taken longer than the cutting itself. The two technicians were experienced enough to be something on the order of artists. They skillfully carved around the hole, creating a smooth exterior and a regular opening where before had been twisted metal.
After they were done Paul thanked the entire crew and waited until they had left to find other work. When they were gone he first cleaned the surface of the metal with carburetor cleaner, then applied a thin coating of what looked like double-sided tape to the top of the shock absorber.
“Okay, I get it, you’re going to weld it onto the hole,” Indy said, coming up behind him and looking over his shoulder. “And it’s long enough to wrap around. What I don’t get is how you’re going to get it to hold; you can’t weld from underneath and tape isn’t going to work. And I don’t get how you’re going to wrap it since we don’t have a press that’s nearly large enough.”