“Don’t even think about it, Pruitt,” the warrant officer called. “Besides, a weld would never hold.”
“It just seems a shame. I mean, it’s the whole turret, isn’t it? Weld it on, hook up the controls, hell, not even controls, just power…”
“Don’t make me come up there and hurt you,” Indy said with a laugh.
“I’m serious!” he protested. “It could work! Maybe seat it or something…”
“Put it in the suggestion program,” Indy said. “And leave me alone!”
Pruitt looked down at the now stable gun mount and realized he had no idea where to put it. The Meemies were on a slope; if he just set it down to the side, the area would both get “filled up” rather quickly and the guns might fall over and roll downhill. There had been enough disasters for one day.
He looked around and noticed that there was a “lip” and fence, a safety measure as much as anything, running around the top of the SheVa.
His face lit with an evil grin as he engaged the crane. “It’s always easier to ask for forgiveness,” he muttered.
“There’s probably some sort of regulation against this,” Chan muttered. “I know that my bosses aren’t going to be happy with me.”
“Well, they’ll be happier than if your driver hadn’t thought to back it in,” Mitchell pointed out. “Seriously, I don’t want to lose your tracks; we need the firepower.”
“We’re going to lose some, that’s for sure,” Chan said grimly. Then she brightened. “On the other hand, we’re going to lose some.”
“And this is a good thing?” Mitchell asked.
“Firing them is pure hell; there’s just nothing good about it,” the captain answered. “Any rush involved in all that tungsten going downrange is totally absorbed by the pain inflicted while it’s going on and the utter terror that the whole thing is just going to blow the hell up.”
“Well,” Major Mitchell said after a moment. “I’ll make sure I don’t get a transfer to Meemies.”
“When you guys shot one of the landers, we came up from firing to find every tree around us down,” she said calmly. “And we didn’t notice when it happened.”
“That’s pretty bad,” he said.
“The second time I was in one that fired, I wet myself,” she continued.
“Not the first time?” he asked.
“No, the first time I was knocked unconscious,” she admitted.
“That’s pretty bad,” he said again.
“The flechette missions aren’t too bad,” she said. “Those just make you think you’re a steel pinata. It’s the anti-lander packs that really take some getting used to.”
“Have you gotten used to them yet?” he asked, feeling very masochistic.
“Not yet,” she admitted.
“And how long have you been doing this?”
“I’ve been commander of this unit for three years,” she answered simply.
“Hmm…”
“Two months, seventeen days and…” she glanced at her watch, ”… twenty hours.”
“You really don’t like these things, do you?”
“Come to think of it, I don’t know why I protested in the first place,” she admitted. “Could you run over them a few more times?”
“Major, we’re ready to try this out,” Pruitt said over the radio. “All the Meemies have had their packs pulled and the chassis are positioned.”
“Okay,” Mitchell called back. He was at the back hatch, conferring with Indy. He looked to the front where Chan was waving at him. “Pruitt, where are the MetalStorm packs?”
“On the top deck,” the gunner said. “There wasn’t anywhere else reasonably flat to put them down. I chained ’em down; they’re not going anywhere.”
“Uh, huh,” Mitchell said, giving Indy a nod. She rolled her eyes and made a very rude gesture. “Miss Indy says that we’re not going to hook them up.”
“I understand that, sir,” the gunner replied with a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth tone. “It was simply the safest place to put them. Each of those weapons systems is a significant investment.”
“So is a gunner for a SheVa,” the major said, walking to the front of the gun. “On the other hand, so is the chassis for an Abrams and I’m about to use six of them like so many wood-chips. Keep that firmly in mind.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So how’s it going, Major?” Mitchell asked.
“Great,” Ryan said, climbing out through the treads of the SheVa. “This might actually work. And if it doesn’t, we can always blow it out.”
“So I understand,” Mitchell said sourly. “Okay, is everyone clear?”
“My team is up the hill,” Ryan said, pointing to where the engineers were clustered.
“My guys are breaking out the champagne,” Chan said, pointing to her formation.
“Okay,” Mitchell said. “Let’s get out of the way and see how it goes.”
They walked up the slope until they were at the level of the upper deck of the SheVa and Mitchell stopped to catch his breath. “Christ, did we actually drive over these slopes?”
“Yep,” Chan said. “I sort of figured that the only thing keeping you going was it was dark and it was hard to realize how stupid we were being, even with third generation night vision systems.”
“Well, think of it this way,” Ryan said, gesturing at the torn slope to the west. “You made some dandy ski slopes!”
Mitchell let out a belly laugh and keyed his throat mike. “Okay, Schmoo, try it nice and slow.”
Reeves carefully ran the motors up to ten percent and then engaged the transmission. The SheVa had originally been designed without the latter system, but it was added late in the game in recognition that sometimes “throwing it into gear” was the best way to handle a situation.
In this case the SheVa rocked up on its ersatz traction enhancers then rolled backwards. There was a massive metallic sound from the six Abrams chassis and the loud, sharp sprong of a fracturing torsion bar.
Captain Chan gave out a whimper and grabbed her helmet with both hands. “I just started thinking about what this loss report is going to look like.” Behind them the officers could hear the crews of the MetalStorm guns cheering. “My career is toast.”
Mitchell tried not to laugh as he turned to the side and keyed his mike. “Okay, Schmoo…” He paused for a moment and snorted before keying the mike again. “Gun it!”
“Are you sure, sir?” the driver asked.
“Oh, yeah,” the major replied. Behind him the driver could faintly hear cheering. “The nature of the mission dictates that whatever means necessary are used to get the SheVa out; that looks like it means gunning it. Whatever the cost in materials.”
“Yes, sir!” Reeves answered, turning the power to thirty percent. “Here we go!”
The treads of the SheVa began thrashing against the rear decks of the Abrams chassis, tossing them up and down to the screams of torn and abused metal. The gun rocked forward, partially up on the smaller tanks, then back down as treads and road-wheels began to spring off of the smaller vehicles.
“It looks like your tanks’ treads are humping mine,” Chan said unhappily. “I wish the crews would stop cheering; that’s not a very good testimony to my leadership.”
“I think it’s a great testimony,” Mitchell said as the SheVa rolled back down then acclerated forward and up. “They kept getting in them.”