Callahan, along with his ever-battered, ever-changing, understrength company, the battalion it was part of, the regiment it was part of, and the division they were all a part of, along with the remaining tanks and APCs, were now less than six kilometers from the Martian main line of defense. If he were to climb out of the hole beneath the burned out APC he was hiding under and stand up he would be able to see the skyline of Eden off to the east, including the AgriCorp Building. Of course he was not so mad as to actually poke his head or any other body part out just to admire the pretty buildings — not with artillery and mortar fire coming in every ten minutes or so, not with Martian snipers hiding in the surrounding hillsides. To show yourself out there was to invite a quick and nasty death.
The artillery barrage went on for another three minutes or so and then petered out, the fire shifting to another sector of what was being called "the line". Callahan stretched out as much as possible, trying in vain to loosen up his sore and cramped muscles. During the battle of Jutfield Gap the division's APCs had been hit very hard — losses were well over fifty percent of the original vehicles. Losses in men, while heavy, were not as bad. What this meant was that there were no longer enough APCs to transport all of the ground troops no matter how many they crammed into each one. He and the remainder of his battalion had basically walked from the Jutfield Gap to here — a distance of more than thirty kilometers.
Of course it had not been a casual stroll through the majestic Martian landscape. Not at all. After pulling back from the gap the Martian forces had installed themselves in another set of hills ten kilometers to the east, forcing yet another bloody battle in which even more APCs were smashed, even more tanks were destroyed, and even more marines were mowed down by gunfire or artillery fire or mortar fire. And when they'd forced the Martians out of those positions — with depressingly little evidence of enemy casualties found — the Martians had fallen back another eight kilometers to yet another set of prepared positions where the entire process started over once again. In all, they'd engaged the Martian armored cavalry regiments a total of four times before finally forcing them off of the last set of hills. While it was true that the engagements became easier and faster as the valley leading to Eden opened up and forced the Martians to spread themselves out thinner and thinner when they made each successive stand — they'd bloodied the marines badly each time, destroying morale and overwhelming the medical resources with wounded.
Callahan took a drink of the lukewarm water from his reservoir — a very small drink. The reservoir was down to twenty-eight percent and there was not enough spare water to go around. The same was true of food paste, waste packs, and even air bottles. Nor was this the only shortage they were dealing with. Ammunition was being severely rationed, with orders given to no longer utilize suppressing fire when advancing, to no longer engage a target unless there was reasonable chance of hitting it. It was absolute madness, and a madness that was destroying the very discipline that held an army together in combat.
"No more suppressing fire?" Corporal Cayenne, the newest leader of his second platoon, said during a private conference Callahan had held with his "officers" (although only one of them was even an NCO at this point) after they'd dug in at this latest position. "How the fuck are we supposed to take a position without suppressing fire?"
"Shit," said Sergeant Nichols, a recent transfer to the company from another unit and the highest-ranking person after Callahan himself, "the fucking suppressing fire doesn't do any good against them anyway. Why shoot the fucking guns at all? We might as well just shoot thirty percent of the troops ourselves and then walk up the hill and save the Martians some time."
"Alexander Industries wouldn't like that very much," one of the other corporals put it. "They wouldn't get to sell us the replacement ammo."
"And meanwhile," Nichols said, "the Martians have all the ammo they need because they've got a secure supply line back to Eden and their base."
"Their wounded get to the hospital right away too," Cayenne said. "They just take them out the back side of them hills and fly them right to the base. When we get hit we have to lie there until the battle is over before a medic even comes to take care of us."
"That's it then," said Corporal Senate, who was leading third platoon, "I'm joining the greenies. They got better benefits, better healthcare, and unlimited ammo."
This was good enough for a small chuckle from the group but Callahan knew there was an underlying message to it. Everything they'd faced to this point had been nothing but a warm-up. Now that the main event was upon them they were being told not to shoot as much, not to breathe as much air, not to eat and drink as much, not to shit as much. In short, they were being told to do something that couldn't be done.
"All company commanders, this is Colonel West," Callahan's radio link suddenly spoke up. "I need you to make your way over to my APC for a conference."
"Fuck that," said the voice of Sergeant Mike Rollins, who was now in charge of Bravo Company (a fucking sergeant leading a company, Callahan thought in amazement every time he was reminded of this).
"What did you just say, Rollins?" West demanded. "I think I must have misheard you."
"Then let me repeat myself," Rollins told him. "I said 'fuck that'. Do you have a death wish or something? What do you think is gonna happen when those Martian snipers see four men go trotting through the open and climb into the same APC? Why don't you just put a fucking sign up that says 'command staff meeting right here, please put a laser through our asses'?"
There was silence on the channel for a few moments and then West said, "You do have a good point, Rollins, but you need to watch how you make them. You were being impertinent to a superior officer. Just because you've been put in charge of a company doesn't mean you can start talking to a lieutenant colonel like he was a plebe in the academy."
"If he wasn't gonna do it, I would've," Callahan said. "I'm sorry, Colonel, but if you want to have a conference I think we'd better all just stay right where we are and do it over the command channel."
"I'm willing to concede that point," West hissed. "But I will not have lieutenants and sergeants speaking to me in that manner."
"Whatever," said Rollins, and you could almost see the jerking-off motion he was making. "So what do you got for us?"
"A pull-back order I trust," said Captain Boothe, commander of Alpha Company. That had been the prevailing rumor of late, what had been deemed to be the only viable solution.
"Of course we're not pulling back," West said, shocked that one of his captains would make such a suggestions. "I've got our battle plans and objectives for penetrating the greenie main line of defense. We will start moving in at 1300 hours. This will be your battle briefing."
Since all four of the company commanders were separated by anywhere from thirty to one hundred meters it wasn't really possible for them to share a disbelieving look with each other — but somehow they managed it anyway.