Well, frankly, there was nothing they were more disconnected from.
This really sucked.
Dear Cally:
Rochester was… difficult. We were successful, but the battalion took more casualties than I would have liked. I’m personally and professionally happy that we were able to push the lines back to Cayuga, but all things considered I would have preferred that the necessity not drive it.
I’m glad to hear that you had some visitors, especially female visitors. I know that it must be hard growing up with only your grandfather for company. I hope that you will be able to learn…
He backed up and erased the last sentence unfinished. Using the phrase “ladylike” assumed both that the ladies were and that Cally wanted to be. And assumed that “ladylike” was a useful condition, which was a major assumption. Given the choice between a retiring maid and a little war-child, and given the conditions, he’d take war-child any day. Let the world and the future go hang as long as his daughter survived.
…only your grandfather for company.
By the way, I hope you’re not calling him “Baldy” to his face. If you are, I’m going to have to come down and prove that I can still tan your bottom. And before you say “You and what army?” let me point out that I guarantee I can still pin you in about three seconds without armor and if you decide to treat me like the Division Sergeant Major there’s always the armor to fall back on.
:-›=
I’ve come to the conclusion that I want to resume civilian life after the War. That will give me the opportunity to spend the few years that remain before you flee the nest being “around.” I look forward to that and to having Michelle home as well. I think of you often and love you very much.
Your Dad. Who is not going Bald.
The last one was from his father.
Mike:
Rochester looked like a fucking nitemare. I’m glad you survived. And glad it was you and not me. We had some visetors last week. Jake Mosovich, I knew him in Nma, stopped by with some women from the Franklen Urb. There was some kids and his NCO Mueller. Their both snake-eaters with this corps, but their Fleet. We had a good time and I’m gonna asc one of the women her name is Shari to move in here. I think they were good for Cally she hasn’t blown up in to days and I like her. Shes got kids they’ll move in to. And Cally will have kids around. Shes doing good to and I think she likes the idea.
I got your last mail. You sound like your burnt out. I hope you get a rest. You need a R R in Hong Kong and get laid. But I think the Posleen have eat all the whores. Maybe you should try one of the corpswhores in your area. If you show ’em youre metals you might even get it for free.
We got your last cair package and I put it away safe. I appresiate the helop in these trying times. And if you ever need anthing, you no where it is.
Take care and don’t forget to duck.
It took him the usual two reads to interpret his father’s missive. His dad was not illiterate or unintelligent, but when Michael O’Neal, Sr. had grown up in Rabun County, going to the eighth grade was for over-educated nerd-boys. Mike’s father had been pulled out in the sixth grade to work the fields and had done so until he was seventeen and could escape to the Army.
And, unlike some of his peers, Papa O’Neal had never improved his writing. He was well-read, indeed he read military history voraciously, but the reading never seemed to translate to his written vocabulary or grammar.
That was okay by Major O’Neal, though. In a way, his father was just about the only person he could open up to, even if his advice was sometimes rough and ready.
He was just beginning to mentally compose a reply to the effect that they were getting a Rest and Recovery and that despite the fact that he was the second person to recommend that he get laid, he had so far failed to do so, when the AID cleared the screen and threw up a hologram.
“Incoming priority message from General Horner.”
So much for R R.
Mike looked at Horner’s image and sighed. “Where?”
Horner opened his mouth as if to start a spiel and then seemed to deflate. “Rabun Gap. It’s… gone, Mike.”
Major O’Neal set his jaw and tapped the AID. “Schematic, Shelly.”
When he saw the map of the Gap it had red covering all the zones around the Gap including the O’Neal farm. Mike looked at it a moment in disbelief then dropped his face into his hands. “Did the corps last a whole five minutes?”
“I don’t know how well they would have done under normal circumstances,” Horner answered, “but these Posleen aren’t acting like Posleen at all. They have some sort of armored flying tank that took out the SheVa gun that was forward deployed. It apparently was parked too close to the main force of the Corps and it took out the second and third line of defense. To make things worse, they are using their landers for a straightforward airmobile operation; they used C-Decs to take out the Wall, to literally smash it flat, and look like they’re getting ready for a bound forward. Then they have come in and, apparently, rebuilt the road. I’m impressed. And frightened. I don’t like the idea of Posleen combat engineers. What next? Artillery?”
“Shelly, how solid is this information?” Mike asked hoarsely.
“Resetting image,” Shelly said. “Red is eyewitness reports or video or Posleen transmissions, shading to blue for maximum estimate of expanse.”
Modified that way, the O’Neal farm was only a light violet; it was possible that Cally and Papa O’Neal were still alive.
“Shelly, try to raise somebody at the farm and keep an ear out for intelligence as to their condition,” Mike said. “So, what do you want me to do?”
“The Gap has to be plugged…” Horner said.
“Oh, blow that!” Mike exclaimed angrily. After all the years of fighting it took him barely a second to imagine the broad outline of the proposed mission. And it was not survivable. “You’re joking, right!”
“No, I’m not joking,” Horner said coldly. “We still have Banshees, not enough to loft a full battalion but…”
“But we’re not a full battalion,” Mike snarled. “God dammit, Jack, my middle name may be Leonidas, but it doesn’t mean I want to die like him! And the damned Spartans died because they got surrounded; we’d already be surrounded. And just how the hell are we supposed to fight our way into the Gap? How? There are, what, fourteen or fifteen million Posleen waiting to move through? Where in the fuck are we supposed to land?”
“I need the Gap plugged,” Horner said inexorably. “I need it plugged for seventy-two hours.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” Mike said. “Are you listening to yourself? I’ve got three hundred and twenty effectives! We couldn’t carry in enough ammo for three days! And there’s no way you’re going to be able to get anyone to us in three days! Not in the teeth of the Posleen!”
“I’m moving the Ten Thousand, they’ll be backstopped by the best artillery I can find,” Horner said. “They’ll take positions and wait for the Posleen to come to them then hammer them with artillery. With you in the Gap, the Posleen won’t be able to push through any more; they’ll only have to take care of the ones that are already through.”