Ironically, though he was as exposed as he could possibly be, this was the safest Callahan had been all morning. The Mosquitoes only attacked armored vehicles and, since they were in the center of the valley, they were out of range of any Martian snipers or mortar teams hiding in the hills. If only they could stay here. But they couldn't. As soon as the wounded were on their way back to the landing ships they would move out again. And undoubtedly the Martians would be waiting for them somewhere up ahead.
Another biosuited marine stepped around the smashed APC and walked over to Callahan. When he got within three meters he recognized the face of Captain Ayers through the helmet. Ayers shouldered his rifle and held up five fingers, indicating that Callahan should switch to tactical channel five, which was an extremely short range frequency designed for private, face to face conversation. Callahan did so.
"Not much like Salta, is it?" Ayers asked him.
"No," Callahan agreed, "not much. What are the damages?"
"Are you sure you want to know that?"
Callahan raised his eyebrows. "Is it that bad?"
"Yeah," Ayers said. "It is. Ninety-six APCs destroyed with all hands. Sixteen damaged enough that they can't go on. Five hit but capable of going on."
"Ninety-six with all hands?" Callahan asked, sure he had heard incorrectly.
"Ninety-six," Ayers confirmed. "Almost twelve hundred marines killed in the APCs alone in less than thirty minutes. Another sixty dead from the mortar attacks and the sniper attacks."
"Snipers?"
"Snipers," Callahan said. "They started popping people off when the mortars began to fall. Like before, they seemed to be targeting officers and NCOs. Everyone found with a bullet through his head was a sergeant or above."
"Jesus," Callahan said. "How many tanks did they get?"
"None," said Ayers.
Once again, Callahan thought he had misunderstood his commander. "Did you say none?"
"Not a single one," Ayers confirmed. "They left the tanks completely alone and only hit the APCs."
"That's... that's... insanity," Callahan said. "What the hell kind of warfare is that?"
Ayers shrugged. "It's completely against WestHem doctrine, that's for sure, but it's quite obvious that's what they're doing. And that's not all."
"What do you mean?"
"We've lost a lot of the command staff. Of the APCs that got hit, a rather large proportion were the ones with lieutenants and captains inside. They also got Colonel Vickers from the 324th. I'm thinking this is more than just a lucky coincidence for the Martians."
"They're monitoring our radio transmissions from the APCs the same way they do from our suits," Callahan said, feeling chills down his back at the thought. After all, he was in charge of one of those APCs broadcasting on multiple frequencies.
"Yes," Ayers said. "Intel thinks they're identifying the command vehicles and targeting them deliberately. Maybe that's their rationale behind going for the APCs only. If they can take out all of the command staff then there will be no one to lead when we hit their main defenses."
"But the tanks will plow through their defenses and surround them," Callahan said. "We already outnumber them ten to one in heavy armor and they're doing nothing to try to change that ratio?"
"Who knows what the Martian mind is thinking? Truth be told, I'm not worried about what's going to happen once we reach their main line of defense, I'm worried about what's going to happen on the way there. You and I, my friend, are primary targets for those sneaking little fucks. Every time I give an order to my platoons, every time you pass that order on to your squads, we are identifying ourselves to them as surely as if we put our rank on the outside of our APC, as surely as if a private walked up and saluted us."
"What's the solution?" Callahan asked. "Is there one?"
"They're working on it," Ayers said cynically.
"Wonderful," Callahan said. "I'll sure sleep better tonight knowing that."
Aboard the WSS Nebraska
1200 hours, New Pittsburgh/Eden time
General Wrath looked at the map display in mute rage as he pondered the information he had just been given in his briefing. All four of the marches towards the principal Martian cities had been bogged down by hit and run attacks launched from the air and from the hillsides surrounding each avenue of advance. Anti-air defense systems had proved to be completely worthless against the greenie pilots and their damned Mosquitoes. Tank and infantry runs against the attacking ground forces had proved to be nothing more than ambush set-ups for mortar and sniper teams. In the last four hours more than thirty-three hundred marines had been killed, more than three hundred wounded badly enough to be taken out of action, and more than two hundred and fifty APCs had been destroyed.
"It's all so useless," Wrath declared to Major Wilde. "They know they can't defeat us. They know that once we reach their main line of defense we'll plow through them and cut our way into their cities in a few hours, but still they deliberately attack our soldiers and try to kill as many of them as possible. They really are nothing but terrorists! The fact that they aren't attacking the tanks proves it! Their whole goal is just to kill as many of our brave fighting men as possible!"
"It is a rather unconventional approach to warfare," Wilde agreed. "And they are going to great lengths to hit our officers and leaders. Do you suppose they think they will be able to break down command and control enough with this method to prevent our envelopment of their positions?"
"They're thinking nothing of the sort," Wrath said. "They're just killing for the sake of killing. And when we do surround their positions and their cause becomes hopeless they'll simply surrender and try to say that all is fair in war." He shook his head violently. "Well they can just forget that. When this is over I'll see to it that every one of those special forces soldiers, every one of those Mosquito pilots and gunners are tried for multiple counts of murder and executed. We'll do it by military tribunal in front of live cameras!"
"Yes sir," Wilde said soothingly. "But in the meantime, we need to counter these attacks in some way, to minimize the damage they do. I have a few suggestions if you'd like to hear them."
"I want the attacks stopped, not minimized!"
Wilde swallowed and took a few deep breaths, mentally counting to ten. "I don't see any way to stop the greenie attacks completely," he said at last. "As you said, they seem committed to causing as much death and mayhem as they possibly can while active combat is underway. I do, however, think we can minimize the toll on our APCs, our officers, and our men to some degree."
"All right," Wrath said through gritted teeth. "Let's hear it."
"Well, in the first place we've got to stop having the officers broadcast on multiple channels. If the greenies can't identify them they can't directly target them."
"How can they not broadcast on multiple channels? Colonels have to talk to lieutenant colonels and they have to talk to the captains. The captains have to talk to the lieutenants and the lieutenants have to talk to their squad sergeants. Are you suggesting that everyone blabber everything on one channel?"