The image of Cooter's face brightened and swelled slightly to highlight it as the lieutenant said, "Junebug, we gotta figure these guys've gone over to the Consies. They left Camp Victory without orders, just before the general attack. Only question is, do we go around 'em or do we fight 'em?"
"We're tasked to get there, not to fight, ain't we?" said Tillman, blower captain of One-five. At the best of times, Tillman was a thin, sallow man. The past two days had sweated off weight he couldn't afford to lose.
"Look, just in case they are friendly . . ." said Chalkin. He looked sour, partly because he was crowded in the fighting compartment of One-six with Ortnahme and Simkins as well as the shot-up survivors of the car's original crew."I wouldn't mind havin' fifty tanks alongside us when we hit Kohang, even if it's Yokels."
"Max of forty-four tanks," interjected Warrant Leader Ortnahme, looking at something off-screen low, probably his clenched knuckles. There were problems on One-six, Daisy Belle; not just the crowding, but a fat noncombatant with a lot of rank, dropped on a blower commanded by a mere senior trooper on transfer.
"There were forty-four at their bloody laager when the drone overflew 'em," Ortnahme continued, looking straight at the pickup in the car's multi-function display."Some'll be dead lined,twenty percent given what passes fer Yokel maintenance."
His fingers rose into the tiny field-of-view, ticking off the third point: "Some more drop out on the route march to block us when they've finl'ly get the lead out. So, say thirty-five max, maybe thirty."
"And,"said Cooter's voice in the enfolding electronic tendrils of June Ranson's mind, "there's no bloody way—"
"—that those bastards're friendly," Cooter snapped at the hologram display beside his tribarrel while Dick Suilin shivered on the ribbed plastic crates of ammunition lining the interior of the fighting compartment.
At the signal to halt in dispersed order for council, Flamethrower had forced its way into a thicket of knotbushes. Their gnarled branches sprang back to full four-meter height behind the vehicle, concealing the combat car on all sides and even covering it fairly well from above.
"Look, just 'cause they sat out the last couple days—" argued a voice that had spoken earlier, not one that the reporter recognized.
The net wasn't wide open,as Suilin first thought.The computer—theAI—controlling the discussion cut off whoever was talking the instant someone higher in the hierarchy began to speak.
"There was no sign from the recceflight that they'd been hit,"Cooter boomed onward."With all the Consies did the other night, there was no chance they'd 've ignored a tank battalion—except it'd gone over or it was about t' go over."
Suilin's face was turned slightly away from the display. There was probably a way to magnify the images through his helmet visor, but he didn't much care.
He felt awful, as though he were in the midst of a bad bout of flu. Despite his chills, his throat felt parched. He gestured toward the cooler on which Gale sat.
The veteran shook his head, then nodded in explanation toward the display.
"Later," he said in a husky whisper that presumably wouldn't carry to the pickup. He tossed Suilin another Wide-awake. "You're on the down side. No sweat. You'll get used t'it."
"Via, still wouldn't mind havin' the help," muttered a voice from the display. "Some cursed help."
The cone sent needles of delicious ice up the throat vein to which Suilin applied it. Gray fog cleared from his eyes. The holographic display sprang into focus, though the figures in it were featurelessly small.
He realized that Captain Ranson hadn't spoken during the discussion.
As though the jolt of stimulant in the reporter's bloodstream had unblocked the commander's tongue,the mercenary captain's cool—cold—voice said,"We are nearly in contact with a force of uncertain loyalty, estimated to be a battalion of thirty to thirty-five armored vehicles."
Tiny, toothed birds jumped and chittered through the branches of the knot-bushes, ignoring the iridium monster in their midst. Their wings were covered with pale fur, familiar to Suilin but probably exotic to his mercenary companions.
"If the battalion is allied with the Conservative Action Movement, it will threaten the rear of Task Force Ranson as the task force performs its mission of breaking through hostile forces encircling the Governmental Compound in Kohang."
The sense of glacial well-being reached Suilin's fingertips. His hands stopped shaking.
Probably not exotic. The Lord only knew how many worlds, how many life-forms, these scarred veterans had seen uncaring on their career of slaughter for money . . . .
"The loyalty of the battalion must first be ascertained. If hostile, the force must be engaged and neutralized before Task Force Ranson proceeds with its primary mission."
"Thirty bloody tanks," Cooter whispered.
"We will proceed as follows. First, I will inform the armored battalion that we have received heavy casualties and have taken refuge in the settlement of Kawana."
"Even bloody Yokel tanks . . . ."
"Blue three—"
Hans Wager's head jerked up. You can only stay scared for so long. Ranson's clop-clop mechanical delivery had bored him, so his attention had been on the holographic plan of a Yokel tank he'd called up on Screen Three.
"—will take a position north of Kawana, behind Chin Peng Rise."
"Roger, Tootsie Six,"Wager said, suddenly afraid that he'd actually fallen asleep and missed some crucial part of the Operations Order.
"Set your sensors for maximum sensitivity," Ranson's voice continued without noticeable emotion. "You will supply the precise location and strength of the other force. In event the force proves hostile, you will be the blocking element to prevent them breaking out to the north."
"Roger, Tootsie Six," Wager repeated in a whisper.
They didn't operate with Yokel armor—the difference in speed was too great, and the mercenaries had a well-justified concern about the fire discipline of the local forces in general.
Still, Wager'd looked over Yokel tanks out of curiosity. Memories echoed in his mind when his eyes rested on the holographic image.
"We can expect the other force to continue their approach from due south," Ranson's bored, boring voice continued. "Tootsie Three, you'll command the eastern element. Proceed with your blower and One-six clockwise from Chin Peng Rise, around Kawana by Hull Creek and Raider Camp Creek. Stay out of sight. Wait at the head of Raider Camp Creek, a kilometer east of Sugar Knob to the south of Kawana."
Via, thirty of them. If it wasn't thirty-five.
Or forty-four, despite Blue Two's scorn of the Yokel's ability to keep their hardware operational.
Each tank weighed sixteen point eight tonnes. They were track-laying vehicles with five road-wheels per side and the drive sprocket forward. Steel/ceramic sandwich armor. Diesel engine on the right side,opposite the driver. A two-man turret with either a high-velocity 60mm automatic cannon or a 130mm howitzer.