Ortnahme stared glumly at the screen. The bridge designators weren't the only updated symbols the reconnaissance drone had painted on the map from the Slammers' database.
"Well, kid," the warrant leader said, "there's some problems with that, too . . . ."
"Tootsie Six to Slammer Six," June Ranson said, loading the cartridge that would be transmitted to Firebase Purple in a precisely calculated burst. "Absolute priority."
Even if you got your dick half into her, Colonel, you need to hear this now.
"The only tank-crossing point on the lower Santine is la Reole, which is in friendly hands but is encircled by dug-in hostiles. The bridge is damaged besides. The forces at my disposal are not sufficient to overwhelm the opposition, nor is it survivable to penetrate the encirclement and proceed to the bridge with the bulk of the hostile forces still in play behind us."
She paused, though the transmission would compress the hesitation out of existence. "Unless you can give us some support, Colonel, I'm going to have to swing north till the river's fordable. It'll add time." Three days at least. "Maybe two days."
A deep breath, drawn against the unfamiliar, screen-lighted closeness of the tank turret. "Tootsie Six, over."
Would the AI automatically precede the transmission with a map reference so that the colonel could respond?
"Slug the transmission with our coordinates and execute,"she ordered the unit as she stared bleakly at the holographic map filling her main screen.
Nothing else was working out the way she wanted. Why should the tank's artificial intelligence have the right default?
"Tootsie Three, this is Six," she said aloud. "You got One-six sorted out, Cooter?"
It might be minutes before her own message went out, and the wait for Hammer's response would be at least that long again. The heavens had their own program . . . .
"Tootsie Six,roger,"her second-in-command replied,panting slightly."I gave Chalkin the blower. Mc—"
The transmitting circuit zeeped, pulsing Ranson's message skyward in a tight packet which would bounce from the ionized track that a meteor had just streaked in the upper atmosphere.
Meteorites, invisible to human eyes during daytime, burned across the sky every few seconds. It was just a matter of waiting for the track which would give the signal the narrowest, least interceptive path to the desired recipient . . . .
"—Gwire bought it and Foran's not a lot better, but there's no damage to the car. Over."
"Tootsie Three, how are the mechanicals holding—"
The inward workings of the console beneath Screen Three gave a satisfied chuckle; its amber Stand-by light flashed green.
That quick.
"Cooter," Ranson said, "forget—no—" she threw a toggle "—listen in."
Staring at the screen—though she knew the transmission would be voice only—she said, "Play burst."
Despite the nature of the transmission, the voice was as harshly clear as if the man speaking were stuffed into the turret with his task force commander. For intelligibility, the AI expanded the bytes of transmitted information with sound patterns from its database. If the actual voice wasn't on record, the AI created a synthesis that attempted to match sex, age, and even accent.
In this case, the voice of Colonel Alois Hammer was readily available for comparison with the burst transmission.
"Slammer Six to Tootsie Six," the colonel rasped. "Absolute priority. You must not, I say again, must not, delay. I believe we can provide limited artillery support for you when you break through at la Reole. If that isn't sufficient, I'm ordering you to detach your tank element and proceed with your combat cars by the quickest route feasible to the accomplishment of your mission. I repeat, I order you to carry on with combat cars alone if you can't cross your tanks at la Reole. Over."
Over indeed.
"Send target overlay," June Ranson said aloud. Her index finger traced across the main screen the symbols of Consie positions facing la Reole. "Execute."
Artillery support? Had Hammer sent down a flying column including a hog or two, or was he expecting them to risk their lives—and mission—on Yokel tubes crewed by nervous draftees?
The transmitter squealed again.
She didn't like being inside a tank. The view was potentially better in every respect than what her eyes and helmet visor could provide from Warmonger's deck, but it was all a simulation . . . . "What do you think, Lieutenant Cooter?" Ranson said, as though she were testing him for promotion.
"Junebug," the lieutenant's worried voice replied, "let's run the gauntlet at la Reole, even with the bridge damaged. Trying t' bust what they got at Kohang without the panzers, that'll be our butts sure."
So, Lieutenant . . . You'd commit your forces on a vague suggestion of artillery support—when you know that the enemy is in bunkers, with heavy weapons already targeted on the route your vehicles must take from the point you penetrate the encirclement?
Ranson slapped blindly to awaken herself, wincing with pleasure and a rush of warmth when her fingers rapped something hard. Her skin was flushed.
"Right," she said—aloud, alert. "Let's see what kind of artillery we're talking about."
She looked at the blank relay screen. "Tootsie Six to Hammer Six," No need for priority now. "I and my XO judge the Blue Element to be necessary for the successful completion of our mission. Transmit details of proposed artillery support. Over."
Ranson rubbed her eyes. "Execute," she ordered the AI.
"Blue Two to Tootsie Six," her headset said.
She should've involved Ortnahme—and Sparrow, he was Blue Element Leader—in the planning. She had to think like a task force commander, not a grading officer . . . .
"Junebug, if the friendlies can lay some sorta surface covering on the bloody water,"the warrant leader was saying, "agricultural film on a wood frame,that'd do, just enough to spread the effect, we can—"
"Negative, Blue Two," Ranson interrupted. "This is a river, not a pond. The current'd disrupt any covering they could cobble together, even if the Consies weren't shelling. I don't want you learning to swim. Over."
"Tootsie Six," grunted Ortnahme: twice her age and in a parallel—though noncommand—pay grade. "That bloody bridge has major structural damage. I don't want to learn to dive bloody tanks from twenty meters in the air, neither. Blue Two out."
If you want it safe, Blue Two, you're in the wrong line of work tonight.
Chuckle; green light."Play burst."
"Slammer Six to Tootsie Six. There's an operable hog at Camp Progress with nineteen rounds in storage. Using extended-range boosters, it can cover la Reole. One of the transit-company staff is ex-artillery; he's putting together a crew. By the time you need some bunkers hit, the tube'll be ready to do it."