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“Saving it for something worthwhile,” the chief replied.

Bill dropped his weapon and snaked forward, taking a quick look over the edge.

Where there had been bodies too numerous to count there were now… bodies too numerous to count. But most of them weren’t moving. Some were, however, and plasma fire was still dropping on the lines, some of it damned close to the position the mecha had taken. But now fire from the infantry on either side, with the plasma somewhat suppressed, was beginning to get the upper hand. Bill saw a line of tracers lazily float down the hillside, missing their intended target high, then correct into the moving form of one of the giant spiders. It collapsed. The infantry medium machine guns had been set up along the lip of the hollow and now were steadily eliminating the resistance.

He brought the big Gatling gun up and started searching for targets as the rest of the mecha pushed forward on either side and did the same. Even Miller leaned over the lip and started sending individual rounds downrange. Seeing that he couldn’t detect if they hit or not he switched to full auto and stroked the trigger, sending burst after burst, almost every one including a tracer, into the carnage in the hollow. The lines of explosions were easily detected by the thermal imaging scope, brief, bright, dots of white heat that gradually faded in the cool night air. Sometimes they left behind cooling bodies as well.

“I think it’s time to go,” Bill said.

“Roger,” Miller replied, tersely. “Switch to the battalion command freq.”

It took Bill a moment to fumble for the sheet of paper that had the information, read it by the dim redlight in the suit and switch his frequency. By the time he did, the argument was in full swing.

“… Don’t care, Uniform Two-Four,” a voice Bill didn’t recognize said. “We’re still encountering resistance. Until it’s suppressed stay in position.”

“They are suppressed, Major,” the SEAL said, tightly. “We need to get this box in position, now, before they can regroup or reinforce!”

“Where’s the colonel?” Bill asked.

“Lima Eight-Six Bravo is unavailable,” the new voice said. “This is Lima Four-Five; I’m in command.”

“Colonel Forsythe bought it,” Miller said. “Major White was the battalion XO, he’s in command, now.”

“Have you ever heard the term communications security, Uniform Two-Four?” the officer said, clearly furious.

“This is an encrypted link, Major.” Miller sighed. “And our opponents have shown no sign of having intercept capability. And we don’t have time to diddle around with codes. We need to move, sir, right the fuck now.”

“I am in charge of this operation, Uni… Mi…” the major spluttered. “You will move when I tell you to move and not one moment before.”

“Major, for God’s sake,” Miller said, nearly shouted. “Take not counsel of your fears. We need to move!”

“That’s what you SEALs thought in Panama, right?” the major snarled back. “Well this is a hell of a lot more important than making sure Noriega missed his plane. And we will not move until we have full control of the situation! This is Lima Four-five, out!”

“Switch back to SEAL net,” Miller said. “This is whoever the fuck I am leaving the net.”

Bill punched the numbers in for the other frequency, which he remembered, and keyed the mike.

“What do we do, Miller?” he asked. He was down to one quarter ammo and had stopped firing. Miller was still sending the occasional burst into the hollow. Only an occasional burst of plasma, poorly aimed, was returned.

“Miller?” Bill asked as the silence lengthened. “Hey, am I on the right freq?”

“Yes,” a voice answered. It was one of the SEALs, but he didn’t recognize the voice. “Keep the chatter down.”

“Miller!” Bill said, half afraid, half furious.

“SEAL Team Five,” Miller said, stonily. “Sound off.”

“Six.” “Four.” “Seven.” “Five.” “Eight.” “Nine.” “Three. Here, weapons inop.”

“Two?” Miller said. “Two?”

“Two’s gone.” Bill recognized the voice this time as Sanson. He sounded… cold.

“SEAL Team Five,” Miller said. “Prepare to assault gateway on my signal. Three, go ground tactical.”

Bill manipulated the security settings on his radio as he prepared to stand up. The settings could be reset so that the commanders could speak to subordinates without being overheard. It was on the same frequency but anyone without the proper setting would only get a hissing in their ears. His suit and Miller’s were dialed in on the security setting.

“Miller?” Bill said. “Is this a good idea?”

“Tactically?” the SEAL answered. “Yes.”

“I mean, doesn’t the military sort of frown on chiefs, even command master chiefs, not listening to majors?”

“Yes,” Bill said, tersely. “It’s called disobedience of a direct order from a lawful superior under combat conditions. It means I won’t be getting a pension. On the other hand, I will be boarded by the United States Government, at no expense to myself, at a pleasant place called Leavenworth. Get the fucking box in the gate, Doctor. Leave the rest for me to worry about.”

“SEAL Team Five,” Miller said, his voice cold and professional as he reset to general communications settings. “Let’s roll.”

Bill started to stand up, then rolled over instead and lowered his feet over the slight bluff at the top of the ridge. The slope of the ridge down to the hollow was covered in light scrub — had apparently been cleared off a few years before — which broke under the weight of the mecha. But going downhill was, if anything, harder than going uphill in the suits. He more or less slid on his butt, half out of control, down the slope to where it flattened out. He felt rather than saw some plasma detonations, but they weren’t close to him so he ignored them. There was no way, as out of control as he was, that he could return fire, anyway. He was having enough trouble just hanging on to his weapon.

Finally the out-of-control slide stopped and he hefted his weapon, levering himself to his feet and getting ready to run to the gate. Then he paused. Face it, it was the job of the SEALs to clear the way. He was just there to set the ardune. Let them go first.

He looked around and found it surprisingly hard to spot them; the suits had a radiator on their back, just below the americium battery pack, but other than that spot they didn’t radiate heat. It was another benefit of the suits and if he survived he planned on adding it to his after-action field-test report.

There was no more plasma fire coming at them and as the SEALs slid forward, swinging their weapons from side to side, and scanning for threats, he followed, concentrating on the gate.

It was visible even in infrared, emitting a slightly higher temperature than the background. The planet on the far side must have been warmer and with a slight overpressure because whisps of what looked like fog in the thermal imagery were drifting up and out of the gateway. He quickly ran the fifty meters to the gate and set his Gatling gun on the ground, turning and fumbling to open up the container that held the ardune, just as one of the suits exploded in plasma fire.

* * *

“General Thrathptttt,” the runner was panting but he straightened and bowed to the commander of the combined Mreee N!T!Ch! assault force. “A group of human infantry has infiltrated to the gate area. They pushed off the forces on the ridge to the east. They are attempting to seize the gate.”