"Attack, sir, no choice."
"Noted. Sergeant Duncan?" Second squad.
"Why not just go where there is heavy machinery, Lieutenant?" Duncan asked with a note of interest.
"It would take us about an hour, at our present rate of movement. Too far out of our way." Mike noted his tone. The council of war had more than one purpose, it was the first time he had conducted a two-way communication with his NCOs. He was learning a lot from their responses. "What's your vote?"
"Attack." The response was clipped but almost enthusiastic.
"Sergeant Wiznowski?" he asked.
"Kill 'em all, sir," said the Wizard with uncharacteristic savagery. "I don't think there's a choice and I wanna kick some butt."
At that there was a muted growl on the platoon net.
"Sergeant Green?"
"Go for it, sir."
"Right, I'm glad to have your opinions. We go for the power. Now, by squads, who has real experience in knife fighting, wrestling or serious martial arts? Oh, yeah, if you've won more than your share of bar fights. I want somebody to back you up, not just your word for it. Squad leaders, get that information on the squad push. Three minutes."
He watched in amusement as the squads broke up into gesticulating groups. He could tell by the arm movements that several of the troops were defending their personal brawling skills but when he switched on the exterior sound systems the only noise was the occasional foot stomp until one of the arguing troops banged a fist into his palm with a resounding clang.
"Second squad! Quiet!" snapped Sergeant Green, before O'Neal could say anything.
"Sorry about that, Sergeant," said Sergeant Duncan. It was only then that Mike realized it was Duncan who had made the noise. With a command to Michelle the name of each trooper was blazoned on them momentarily as Mike looked at them. Fifty-eight human beings depending on him to make the right decisions and he knew maybe six or seven of their names. Two minutes left, enough time to contact higher.
"Michelle, try to access General Houseman."
"I've got headquarters," she said after a moment. "General Houseman is on the way."
"Okay, thanks."
"You're welcome."
"O'Neal, what's your progress?" the general asked tersely.
"We're nearly out of power, General. We have to take a short detour to scavenge. It will push our ETA back by about an hour. On the other hand, we'll be able to move faster once we power-up."
"All right, it'll have to do. How are you going to get to the pocket?"
Mike told him.
"You're fucking crazy, O'Neal," the officer chuckled grimly. "Will it work?"
"No reason it shouldn't, sir. I can't analyze the likelihood of Posleen resistance, but we should be able to outrun organized resistance. The only thing I'm worried about is resupply. Any chance?"
"I'll punch out the shuttles whenever you're ready for rendezvous. I will tell you, there's gonna be casualties; those shuttles are sitting ducks for the God King vehicle weapons."
"I need the weapons more than I need the troops, sir. Keep the troops with you."
"I'd hoped you'd say that," said the distant general with a relieved tone. "I'm not sure I was going to renege, but the more I thought about it the less I liked it."
"Just load each of the shuttles down with ammo, rifles, grenade launchers and power packs and let us do the rest, sir. Send them on remote, for that matter."
"That's how we'll do it. Call me again when you have a rendezvous."
"Yes, sir."
"Out."
" 'Kay, troops," Mike continued, Michelle automatically switching him back, "who's the lucky winners in the Diess Fantasy Lottery Drawing? Second squad?"
"Just me, sir," said Sergeant Duncan.
"I think I have a vague memory of you having some capability in this arena," Mike said with a chuckle. "Actually, thinking back about ten years I remember you having a punch like a mule. Glad to have you. Next, First squad?"
"Lyle, Knudsen and Moore, sir," said Sergeant Kerr.
"Sounds like a Minneapolis law firm."
"Yes, sir," chuckled Sergeant Kerr. "Well, Lyle and Knudsen both do kung-fu. I went to a couple of their tournaments, back when. They're okay. And Moore . . ." He gestured at an exceptionally large suit of armor standing next to him that the AID dutifully highlighted with "SP4 Moore, Adumapaya."
" . . . was obviously the biggest one in his class," finished O'Neal.
"Ah played some ball too, sah. Ah kin hold mah own," said the velvety bass.
"Righto, third?"
"Well, sir," said Sergeant Brecker, "none of us really fit the criteria, but I am coming. I wrestled in high school and I'm sure I can hold my own."
"I won't deny you, your squad needs to be represented. Scouts?"
"I'll go, sir," said Sergeant Wiznowski. "Just try to stop me."
Mike scanned the team's power levels and approved; all of them were in the yellow, but none of them were approaching failure. "Okay, here's the plan," Mike said, casting a map to each of the platoon members. "Scouts lead to the room second layer away from the power room," he said, highlighting it.
"Between it and the power room is a hallway, right turn, ten meters to the power room on the left. We check the hallway then the team moves to the door to the power room while the rest of the platoon stays in that location. Order of movement is Wiz, Moore, myself, Lyle, Knudsen, Duncan, Brecker.
"Wiz, down corridor security. The door reads as sealed on the building sensors. Moore, take the door, then down. I'll take out anything moving on immediate entry then Lyle, Knudsen and Duncan move past. I move. Wiz pull back and past. Moore move. Brecker, hold the door. I'm downloading the vectors of movement to your systems.
"The Posleen have removed or destroyed some of the sensors in the room so we don't have perfect intelligence on where they are. If one of you is rendered ineffective the vectors will automatically update. We'll move the rest of the platoon in on my command. At that time I will designate corridor security. Questions?"
"How many Posleen in the whole power-room area?" asked Duncan.
"About thirty," Mike said.
"Thirty?" Duncan choked, "and only seven of us?"
"Yes," Mike said, "magnificent isn't it?"
"Sir . . ."
"Can it, Sergeant. There is not time for debate. You may decline to be on the entry team at any time. It is totally voluntary," Mike waited for the response.
"Never mind," said Duncan after a few moments' thought. "I don't think it can be done, though, Lieutenant."
"Noted. Any other questions?" There were not.
"Scouts out."
The movement to the corridor outside the power room was successful, but when they reached the last corner there was a snag.
"There's a sentry," Sergeant Wiznowski whispered.
"That cans it," whispered Duncan.
"They can hardly hear us through the armor, Sergeant Wiz. And it hardly `cans it,' Sergeant Duncan. I considered this. Okay, the rest of you hunker down and quiet. Quietly, team, line up." Mike dialed up his compensators and moved to the door. Fortunately there was a certain amount of masking noise from the roar of the fusion reactor in the far room. He studied the door for a moment to ensure it would open easily and popped his belly armor. He drew out the discharged power gem the soldier had given him and tossed it to get a good grip.
"Michelle, throw aiming grid. Left arm on automatic, visual targeting." He whipped open the door, stepped into the corridor and looked at the Posleen normal guarding the power room. "Fire." The pseudomuscles of the armor swiveled the left arm of the suit to vertical and delivered the one-kilo gem at two hundred meters per hour to the forehead of the Posleen. The centauroid dropped like the rock that hit him.