“Oh, well, experience is the best teacher,” O’Neal answered. “And, hell, nobody else was going to fire the damned thing.” He glanced at his telltales and gave an unseen half shrug. “He’s alive. Out like a light but alive. And the ships are gone and so are the Posleen. Looks like he did a pretty good job to me.”
“Same here,” Stewart said, chuckling. Then he sobered. “We still lost Slight. Dammit.”
“Yeah,” Mike said. “I could give the company to Sunday, as soon as he regains consciousness, but I think I’ll just turn it over to one of the platoon sergeants. They’re down to about a platoon and a half anyway.”
Stewart stood up and looked around in the clearing dust. “Time to go find out how they’re doing.”
“Yeah, and I’ll call Duncan back down. Not much more to do up there.”
O’Neal looked at the battlefield schematic. “I don’t know that there’s much more to do. Period.”
“Well,” Stewart said. “I suppose we could charge.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Franklin, NC, United States of America, Sol III
0726 EDT Tuesday September 29, 2009 AD
“Quebec unit, follow me!” LeBlanc called over the battalion frequency then flipped to intercom. “Drummond, put your foot in it and head down the road!”
“Where are we going?”
Glennis pulled up her map screen and frowned; it was a good question. She scanned the map and finally found what she was looking for.
“Head down 28,” she said, flipping back to the battalion. “All Quebec units. Order of march, Bravo, Alpha, Charlie. We’re going to head to Highway 64 and get on the road embankment; if we get some elevation on the guns the Abrams might be able to engage the C-Decs.”
“That’s crazy, ma’am,” the Abrams gunner said. “Our guns will barely scratch that thing!”
“The SheVa’s only got four anti-lander rounds left,” LeBlanc answered. “There are six ships.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the gunner replied. “Balenton, load a silver bullet.”
“Aye, aye!” the loader said. “But if she starts singing ‘Garryowen,’ I’m outta here.”
“Reeves, back us up, fast,” Mitchell said, glancing at his map. “Head northwest. Major Chan! Switch out for one oh fives, it might come down to that!”
“What’s northwest?” Pruitt asked, lining up the first of the targets. It was a real question; should he take the outside ones and work in or the inside ones and work out? Oh, what the hell, right to left. “Target C-Dec, twelve thirty.”
“Confirm,” Mitchell replied, flipping up the appropriate screen. The Posleen ship was just cresting Pendergrass Mountain, less than five miles away. Others were closer, though, and the SheVa rocked again to the slap of one of their heavy guns. “There’s some hills over by Windy Gap. I don’t think we can make it that far and if we do we’ll probably run into ground mounts. But one problem at a time.”
“On the waaay!” Pruitt called, visually tracking the round into the ship. “Target!” he called as the hatches of the ship gouted silver fire. The lander started to fall to earth and then exploded, but not catastrophically. The remains pelted into Pendergrass Mountain and rolled out of sight. “I think I must have gotten a magazine that time,” Pruitt muttered, tracking to the left. “Bun-Bun’s on the WARPATH!”
“Bloody hellfire!” Kilzer snapped as the back of his rad suit was sprayed by liquid. He looked over at the giant shock absorber of the SheVa gun and shook his head. “Colonel Mitchell, can we call a time out?”
“Boss, I’ve got a red light on hydraulics!” Pruitt called.
“This is not good,” Mitchell muttered. “Kilzer, Indy, talk to me. How bad is it?”
“This is Indy,” the warrant replied, climbing through the hatch from the engineering deck. “We’ve got hydraulic fluid all over the gun room, but I don’t see a breach.”
“There’s not one,” Kilzer said, rubbing his hands up the side of the shock. “It just blew fluid through the seals. We should be able to top it up and be back up shortly.”
“How shortly?” Mitchell snapped, looking at the encroaching C-Decs. “We’re under fire here people!”
“Shortly,” Indy said as she gestured one of the loaned SheVa techs over with a hose. “No more than two minutes!”
“This isn’t good,” Pruitt muttered over the radio. The SheVa shook to another near miss as if to counterpoint his statement.
“We’re working on it.” Indy said.
“Reeves, keep backing us away,” Mitchell ordered. “They’re not coming on very fast.”
“No, but they are coming on steady,” Pruitt said. He had pulled up a reservoir indicator on the hydraulics and watched as the level reached yellow and then green. “Sir…”
“You’re up,” Indy interrupted over the radio. “There will be a short lag between each firing while we top off. And God help us if we run out of hydraulic fluid!”
“I’ll get someone right on that,” Mitchell replied. “Pruitt?”
“Target, C-Dec!”
“Fire at will,” Mitchell replied. The SheVa suddenly lurched to a titanic BOOM through the structure. “Son of a BITCH!”
Indy ducked as a live cable swung overhead throwing sparks. The cable itself dropped onto one of the luckless SheVa techs, sending him spasming across the deck. Indy’s flailing hand snatched a stanchion as the firing chamber filled with a rush of superheated air, and held on for dear life as it seemed the entire weather-shield, with its attached armor, was going to rip loose. The shaking finally stopped and the air cleared, too quickly; she looked up to see stars where four MetalStorm mounts had once been.
“Oh, my God,” she muttered, keying her radio.
“Colonel, we’re hit,” Indy said, unnecessarily. “We just lost the upper left side of the gun cover. Along with three MetalStorm turrets.”
Mitchell closed his eyes and shook his head. “Pruitt, are we up?”
“The gun reads as functional, sir.”
“The gun wasn’t hit,” Indy interjected. “Just the side of the cover. But I don’t think we can fire any of the Storms until we’re sure of the structural integrity.”