Task Force Ranson could still have gulped the drone down with the ease of a frog and a fly. The Consies operating here weren't nearly as sophisticated—
And that was good, because even a cursory glance at the downloaded data convinced June Ranson that the task force was cold meat if it continued along the course she'd planned originally.
Information wriggled on her multi-function display.Task Force Ranson didn't have a command car, but the electronics suite of one of the panzers would do about as well . . . .
"Blue One,"she ordered,"how close is the nearest clearing where we can laager for—half an hour? Six over."
That should be time enough. There were wounded in One-six to deal with besides. Cooter could shift crews while she—
"Six," said Sparrow in his usual expressionless voice, "there's a bald half a kay back the way we came. It'll give us a clear shot over two-seventy, maybe three-hundred degrees. Blue One over."
"Roger, Blue One," Ranson said. Weighing the alternatives, knowing that the grader would demonstrate that any decision she made was the wrong one, because there are no right decisions in war.
Knowing also that there is no decision as bad as no decision at all.
"All Tootsie elements," her voice continued, "halt and prepare to reverse course."
Warmonger bobbed, its fan chuffing as Willens tried to scrub off momentum smoothly while his eyes darted furiously over the display showing his separation from the huge tanks before and behind him.
"Tootsie, One-two, lead on the new course as displayed." Better to have a tank as a lead vehicle, but there wasn't much chance of trouble here in the boonies, and it was only half a kilometer . . . .
Warmonger touched the ground momentarily,then began to rotate on its axis.A twenty-centimeter treebole, thick for this area, this forest, this planet, obstructed the turn. Willens backed them grudgingly to the altered course.
Anyway, she wasn't sure she wanted Blue Two leading. Ortnahme didn't have much field experience either.
"We'll laager on the bald. Break. Blue Three, I'll be borrowing your displays. I want you to take over my position while we're halted. Over."
"Roger, Tootsie Six. Blue Three out."
"All Tootsie elements, execute new course. Tootsie Six out."
She'd get an eighty percent for that. Down on reversing, down on halting, down on not swapping Cooter's combat car for one of the panzers. But she'd be down on those points whichever way she'd chosen . . . .
Ranson rubbed her eyes, vaguely surprised to find that they were open. Her body braced itself reflexively as Willens brought Warmonger up to speed.
She'd use Blue Three's displays. And she'd use the tank's commo gear also, because that was going to get tricky.
Of course, it was always tricky to talk with Colonel Hammer.
The bald was a barren, hundred-meter circle punched in the vegetation of a rocky knoll by fire,disease,orthechemistry of the underlying rock strata. Flamethrower scudded nervously across the clearing and settled, not to the ground on idle but in a dynamic stasis with its fans spinning at high speed.
Cooter spoke to his multi-function display, then poked a button on the side of it. Suilin's tribarrel shivered.
"Just let it be," the big lieutenant said, nodding toward the weapon. "I put all the guns on air defense." He gripped the rear coaming and swung his leg over the side of the vehicle.
"There's not much chance of 'em helping, using car sensors," he added. "But it's what we got till the panzers arrive."
As Cooter spoke,Blue Two came bellowing out of the trees.The tank's vast size was emphasized by the narrow compass of the bald. The warrant leader from Maintenance, his bulky form unmistakable, waved from the cupola as his driver pulled to a location 120° around the circle from Warmonger. Further vehicles were following closely.
"What's going on?" the reporter asked Gale. "Why are we in the, the clear?"
In only a few hours, Suilin had gotten so used to the forest canopy that he felt naked under the open sky. Both moons were visible, though wisps of haze blotted many of the stars. He didn't suppose the leaves really provided much protection—but, like his childhood bedcovers, they'd served to keep away the boogeymen of his imagination.
The veteran gestured toward the horizon dominated by a long ridge twenty kilometers away. "Air attack," he said. "Or arty.While we're movin'it's okay,but clumpin' all together like this, we could get our clock scleaned. If we see it comin', we're slick, we shoot it down. But with powerguns, if a leaf gets in the way, the bolt don't touch the incoming shell it's s'posed t' get, does it?"
"The Consies don't have air . . .?" Suilin began, but he broke the statement off on a rising inflection.
Gale grinned viciously. "Right," he said. "Bet on that and kiss yer ass goodbye."
He glanced at the combat car which had just pulled up beside them and grounded. "Not," he added, "like we're playin' it safe as is."
Cooter clambered aboard the grounded car. Its sides were scratched, like those of all the vehicles, but the words Daisy Belle could be read on the upper curve of the armorplate.
A cartoon figure had been drawn beside the name, but it would have been hard to make out even under better lighting. A bullet had struck in the center of the drawing, splashing the paint away without cratering the armor. A second bullet had left a semicircle of lead on the coaming.
There was only one mercenary standing erect in the fighting compartment to greet Cooter.
"Wisht we had a better field that way," Gale mused aloud, nodding toward the crags that lurched up to the immediate north of the bald, cutting off vision in that direction. "Still, with the panzers—" a second tank had joined Blue Two and the third was anaudible presence "—it oughta be okay.Whatever hardware does best, them big fuckers does best."
Suilin climbed out of the fighting compartment and jumped to the ground. He staggered when he found himself on footing that didn't vibrate. Despite the weight of his armor, the reporter mounted the rear slope of Daisy Belle without difficulty. He'd learned where the steps in the armor were—
And he was no longer entering an alien environment.
Cooter was examining the right forearm of the standing crewman. The trooper's sleeve had been torn away. The bandage across the muscles was brilliantly white in the moonlight except for the dots of blood on opposite sides.
He must have bandaged himself, because the other two crewmen lay on the floor of the fighting compartment—one dead, the other breathing but comatose.
"I'm okay," the wounded man said sullenly.
"Sure you are, Titelbaum," Cooter replied. "Tootsie One-five," he continued, keying his helmet. "This is Tootsie Three. Tommy, send one a'your boys—send Chalkin—to One-six. Over."
"I kin handle it!" Titelbaum insisted as the lieutenant listened to the reply.