by John Ringo
“Oh, my yes,” Ryan nodded after a moment. “We really don’t want them linking up.”
“We might be able to hold them off,” Anderson said dubiously. “We’ll try anyway.”
Ryan looked up at the sky and rubbed his chin in thought. “I… have a thought.”
“Yes, sir?” the captain said.
“We have a SheVa, and it has been reloaded.”
“Oh, ow,” Anderson replied. “Does it have area denial rounds?”
“Yep. You still have commo with Eastern command?”
“Yep,” Anderson said. “Heck, we’ve even got video.”
“Good,” Ryan said with a grin. “I want to see General Keeton’s face.”
* * *
General Keeton nodded in the jerky manner that denoted a slow internet connection. To Ryan it always reminded him of a cartoon his dad loved called “Max Headroom.”
“Major Anderson, still got your finger in the dike I see.”
“Yes, sir,” the captain replied. “And it’s captain, sir.”
“Not anymore,” the general said. “Who are these other gentlemen?”
“Sir, I’m Major William Ryan, Corps of Engineers. I was the corps Assistant Corps Engineer.”
“And I’m Major Robert Mitchell, Commander of SheVa Nine.”
“That the one with the great big rabbit painted on it?”
“Yes, sir,” the major replied with a slight sigh.
“Indications are that you’ve been blasting the shit out of the whole valley for the last couple of days, Major,” the general said severely. “Care to comment on that?”
“Yes, sir,” the major replied. He suspected he was just about to get an ass-chewing which, all things considered, didn’t seem fair. On the other hand, the military was like that sometimes. “It was, in my position as responsible for air defense of the corps, necessary operations of war.”
“Get any?” Keeton asked.
“Sir, our records will indicate over the last two days we have eight confirmed kills of Lampreys and C-Decs and we estimate an additional nine to ten that were too damaged to continue. Those are all on camera. Frankly, I think that we might have stepped on twice that, but that will require an evaluation after we have retaken the valley.”
The general considered that for a moment and then nodded his head. “So, what you’re telling me is that, as usual, Bun-Bun’s been kicking ass and not even bothering to take names?”
Mitchell paused and blinked. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m going to do something here, and if you fuck with Anderson because of it I’ll have your ass, understand?”
“Yes, sir?” Mitchell replied.
“You’re a light colonel. Everybody in your crew is bumped one grade. We’ll talk about the medals later.”
“Yes, sir,” the colonel said with a slightly choked tone. “Thank you.”
“Don’t get all teary on me, you realize you’re probably fucked. There’s no way to get that big bastard out of that valley. And according to all the intel I have you have about a billion Posleen about to butt-fuck you.”
“That’s what we’re here to discuss, sir,” Major Ryan interjected.
“Ryan, you’re that hotshot who blew up the Lincoln Memorial, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Ryan replied.
“You in charge of the bridge now?”
“Yes, sir, about that…”
“Don’t blow it up until we’re done talking, I’m not sure I want it down.”
“Yes, sir,” Ryan paused. “I… I think we’re in agreement here, sir. Sir, we have a plan of action we need to discuss with you.”
“Go ahead.”
“Sir, you’re aware that Balsam Gap has been taken?”
“I’ve got a shitload of forces on the way,” Keeton replied. “Unfortunately, getting them down to you will require Balsam Gap. And they’re mostly trained in positional defense. Which means they’re gonna be lousy in the assault. It may be a while before you have any friends in the area.”
“Sir,” Major Anderson replied. “I’ve started an evacuation of the forces in the pocket, using secondary routes. But we think we can clear the Gap.”
“Go ahead.”
“Sir,” Colonel Mitchell chimed in. “We’ve mated up with the reload teams for two SheVas…”
“I’ve got multiple reloads and the best SheVa repair battalion in the U.S. on the way,” Keeton interjected. “Don’t get Bun-Bun blown up and ruin all that work.”
“I appreciate that, sir,” Colonel Mitchell replied. “But it’s going to take a while for them to mate up with us. The nearest SheVa repair batt was in Indiana last time I checked.”
“Not if you can retake Balsam; they’re both in Waynesville. I got them moving the minute that I heard about the Posleen taking Rabun Gap.”
“Oh.”
“Sir,” Major Ryan said again. “Bun-Bun has four area denial rounds available in his reload team, two from his reloads and two from SheVa Fourteen.”
“Yeah,” the general said slowly. “Tell me the rest.”
“I have a short company of Abrams and about the same of Bradleys,” Anderson interjected. “I’ve also got a couple of batteries of artillery; the Brads and arty were from a recon unit that tacked down the Long Wall. The Bradleys are short on bodies, but I have plenty of infantry personnel.”
“Sir, our plan is for Bun-Bun to approach Balsam Gap using cover to prevent taking fire,” Ryan continued. “Simultaneously, our mechanized forces will take a hide position near, but not too near, Balsam Gap. Bun-Bun will fire one air-burst into the Gap whereupon the artillery will follow it with airburst and penetrator shells while the mechanized force performs a ground assault. Bun-Bun will then move forward to provide cover fire from the C-Dec if it has survived the assault.”
“Classic prepared assault,” the general said. “With one little fillip.”
“Yes, sir,” the three of them chorused.
Keeton laughed and shook his head. “You haven’t had time to practice that much. Okay, I can’t give you a friggin’ release. So I’m going to call Jack Horner and the two of us are going to… counsel National Command Authority.”
“Yes, sir,” Colonel Mitchell said.
“This may take a little while; the President really hates nuclear weapons. In the meantime you get your assault forces together,” the general continued. “And get everything you can out of that pocket. I’ll get you the release. If I have to send a company of MPs down to sit on the President. Clear?”
“Clear, sir,” the colonel said, wondering how serious the general was.
“Sir,” Major Ryan said, “it is my intention to move up other roads and render them unusable.”
“You’re talking about 19 and 441?” the general asked. “After the support groups have passed through?”
“Yes, sir,” Ryan said. “But there’s no way to do that effectively and still be able to use them on the way back.”
“Don’t worry about coming back,” Keeton said, tapping at his computer for a moment. “23 will be enough for that. Rip them to shit. That’s an order. While you’re out there, keep an eye out for a company of MetalStorm tanks. We lost contact with them right after we ordered them in. They should be a help if they survived.”
“Er…” Mitchell said.
“Yes?” Keeton asked. “Did they survive?”
“Sort of, sir,” the colonel replied. “Their turrets are lashed on top of Bun-Bun.”
“On… top?” the general asked. “I suspect there’s a story there. Have you put them into operation?”
“No, sir. Not for want of my gunner asking for it. And, yes, sir there’s a story.”
“I have to ask; where are the chassis?”
“Betty Gap, sir,” Ryan replied. “We have them precisely located. They’re not going anywhere.”
“Let me guess,” Keeton said. “You blew them up?”
“Not blew them up, sir,” the engineer said.
“Later. I
can tell it’s bad. Gentlemen, you have your orders. Carry them out. As soon as we’ve retaken the Gap and Bun-Bun is repaired, I expect you to begin an advance down the valley.”
“Yes, sir,” Mitchell said.
“General Keeton, out.”
* * *
“Madame President,” General Horner said. “We now have the situation I discussed.”
The President shook her head at the image on her monitor; unless the hookup was badly distorting the image the officer was gray. “General, are you okay?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am,” Horner replied. “However, the remainder of the Rabun Gap forces are not. The Posleen have taken Balsam Gap by a coup de main and have them cut off. Our sole remaining SheVa is in the pocket among others. Most of them could get out by secondary routes, assuming the Posleen don’t take those positions as well, but we need Balsam Gap to push forces back down into the valley.”
“You want to nuke that Gap as well,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am, I do,” Horner replied. “Furthermore, I would like full tactical release for the remainder of this campaign.”
“So you can call the fire?” she asked bitterly.
“No ma’am,” he said with a smile like a tiger. “I intend to give it to a colonel.”
* * *
“Now I wish we were hooked up,” Captain Chan said. “This is going to be bloody.”
The SheVa was swaying from side to side as it maneuvered up the Scotts Creek valley, more or less paralleling Highway 23. The valley was a twisted complex of small hills and hollers that was the equivalent of a SheVa obstacle course; Reeves had had to back up and refigure his route twice in the last few hours of slow, careful movement. But the same broken terrain that was slowing the SheVa should help the human forces caught in the vise to defend their positions.
“And close,” Pruitt said over the intercom. “Although some of it had better not be too close; my AD rounds are 100kts. The explosions in the mountains were lovetaps compared to that.”
“Oh, hell, those were love taps,” Chan snorted. “We didn’t even notice them until afterwards.”
“Well, you were firing at the time, ma’am,” Kitteket broke in. “Trust me, in anything but a Meemie they didn’t seem like love-taps. Okay, I’ve got all the units plugged into the database along with their commo codes. The mech team is in movement to its ORP. And I’ve got an update on the repair batt; they’re not only carrying repair gear, they’re carrying slap-on armor.”
“Cool,” Pruitt said. “It sounds like they’re intending for us to fight in-close.”
“We could use it now,” Mitchell said uncomfortably.
“Well, I’ve also updated the Posleen position,” she added. The map they all had been looking at suddenly blossomed with data. The area around Dillsboro was red with Posleen indicators.
“We need to get some support here or we’re going to be a melting puddle of slag,” Reeves said.
“All it will take is one plasma round the wrong way through the treads and we’re in trouble,” Indy pointed out.
“Then we’ll need to stay hull down,” Pruitt pointed out. “Not that hard around here.”
“Where’s the data coming from, Kitteket?” Colonel Mitchell asked.
“There are still scouts on the hills,” she said, highlighting scout positions. “Their positions are guesses; they’re not obviously telling us where they are exactly. But they’ve been calling in PosReps. All the intel guys didn’t leave with the main group; there’s a small intel team collecting and analyzing with the assault force. I’m feeding off of them.”
“I wish we could be in the assault,” Pruitt said. “That’d be cool.”
“We can’t fit,” Reeves said. “And we don’t have any direct assault weapons; it would be like taking an artillery piece along.”
“I think I’ve figured out a way to hook up the MetalStorms,” Indy said.
“Really?” Chan said over the intercom. “Direct or remote?”
“You’d have to stay in them,” Indy said. “But I’ve been looking at your manual CD. We pulled the whole turret assembly, including your control motors. All we have to do is provide a mount — and really that can just be a circular piece of steel — and power. I think if the repair group has lance cutters, which it should, we might be able to drop you into the turret. It would also require some bracing, we’ll see what the repair batt people say.”
“Well, at the least, they should be able to recover our parts,” Chan said with a sigh. “I don’t know what we’ll do after that.”
“Like I said, ma’am, we’ll see,” the warrant replied.
“Sir, I think this is about as close as I can get,” Reeves said. “At least and have an angle to fire.” He carefully backed the gun up and shoved it into a gully. The ravine on the edge of Willits Hill — there had been a very small unincorporated town until the SheVa came through — was pointed in more or less the direction of the pass.
“Pruitt?” Colonel Mitchell asked.
“I think I’ve got an angle from here, sir,” the gunner said. “It’s not detonating at ground level after all.”
“I neglected to ask,” the colonel continued. “Do you know the protocols for firing one of these things?”
“Yes, sir,” Pruitt answered. “I read about them when I took over the position and I just reread the section. It’s pretty automatic. I need your codes for release, though.”
“Uh, oh,” Kitteket said, looking at the skip receiver. “Codes coming in.”
“What’s it say?” Pruitt asked.
“It comes in slow,” the clerk said. “But the first group is in. It’s the release type. Three, one, five.”
“Three one five,” Mitchell repeated, tapping the command into his database. “It says that’s an ROE change…”
“ROE?” Pruitt said. “Rules of Engagement? But that’s…”
“Oh my God.”
“Did we just get a full engagement change to nuclear active?” Pruitt asked carefully. The colonel had gone all ashen faced.
“Yeah,” Mitchell croaked then cleared his throat. “We’re clear for nuclear release, unlimited fire levels, unlimited targeting, at my discretion only.”
“Oh my God,” Kitteket whispered in unthinking repetition.
“Well, sir,” Pruitt said quietly. “The first thing to do is clear out Balsam Gap, don’t you think?”
“Okay,” the colonel said taking a deep breath. Removing a key from his dogtags he opened up the safe over his head, removed a manual and turned to the back page. “I need verbal confirmation. I have release codes. Does everyone agree? Schmoo?”
“Yes.”
“Pruitt?”
“Yes.”
“Indy?”
“Yes.”
“What about me?” Kitteket asked.
“You’re not an official crew-member,” the major said. “But I do need that second set of codes you received.”
He pulled a purple hard plastic package out of the back of the book and broke the back of it along a perforation. Inside was a red piece of plastic that looked somewhat like a credit card. Turning to the appropriate section of the manual he took the codes from Kitteket and, using the numbers and letters on the card, determined the correct codes to enter.
The program was referred to as “Positive Action Locks.” To get the area effect rounds to work required codes from the President. But the presidential codes were then put through a “filter” at the actual system. The method was cumbersome, but when talking about nuclear weapons it only made sense.
He keyed the final sequence into a box by his head then waited until it gave a “Go” code. Normally the “Go” was a green number. Instead, in this case, there was a small infinity symbol that made the bottom drop out of his stomach. Trying to ignore it he he entered “One” as the number of rounds released. “That’s my code. Warrant Indy?”
Indy followed the same procedure, pulling out her own manual and keying in her translated codes.
Pruitt for once looked properly chastened. “I’m green on one area effect round.”
“Very well,” Colonel Mitchell said. “I want one round, at optimum airburst, right over Balsam Gap.”
“We’re keyed to transmit nuke warnings,” Kitteket said.
Pruitt turned and opened up a new control panel, using the same key to unlock and then lift a red, semi-transparent cover. He ran his fingers over it for a moment then brought up a map of the local area, tapping Balsam Gap as the target. He cross-checked that it was the correct UTM coordinates then keyed for airburst and let it compute optimum height. Finally the system flashed confirmed.
“We’re prepared, sir,” Pruitt said. “Coordinates set. Permission to load?”
Mitchell checked the cross-linked information and then nodded. “Load.”
There was a series of thunks as the SheVa switched out the anti-lander round that was “up the spout” and loaded the explosive round.
“UP.”
“Kitteket, send the nuke warning.”
CHAPTER 38
Near Balsam Gap, NC, United States, Sol III
1937 EDT Sunday September 27, 2009 ad
Sergeant Buckley had come to the conclusion that there were worse things than being in a suit.
After being electrocuted he had awakened in the hospital in the middle of the Posleen attack. Getting out, finding clothes, weapons and transportation had been interesting. Then, he had barely started on his long journey when a SheVa round had terminated a Posleen Lamprey less than two thousand meters away.
The good news was that the lander didn’t explode.
The bad news was that it fell in a sewage retention pond.
The next thing Buckley knew, the contents of the pond had been scattered over a wide, and in the future extremely fertile, area. An area that included the Humvee he was, with the occasional twitch, driving.
