Again there was a long silence on the line. «I'll get you the helicopter. I agree we probably don't have much time.»
CHAPTER 56
Brentsville, VA, United States of America, Sol III
0446 EDT October 11th, 2004 ad
«L-T,» Keren hissed.
Lieutenant Leper lurched awake, AIW in hand. Keren grabbed the barrel and pointed it upward and away.
The lieutenant shook his head a few times, then peered blearily at Keren. «What time is it?» The inside of the Bradley was pitch black.
«Four thirty, L-T. The ACS just got in. They're assembling up behind us. The colonel, he'd like to talk to you. I told him you was sleepin' . . .»
Leper snorted. Knowing Keren he'd done more than just tell the colonel. «It's okay. I was just back when we lost Three Track.»
«Yeah. Like you said, L-T, we're fine until we're on charge zero.» Keren shuddered. Mortar platoons aren't ever supposed to see the enemy. Those that do rarely survive the experience.
The lieutenant lurched upward and automatically checked his AIW. He jacked a grenade into the chamber, checked that both the rifle and grenade launcher were on safe and scrambled across the scattered gear and sleeping bodies to the troop hatch.
It was black as pitch outside, the stars glittering in the clear sky. They added nothing, however, to the illumination. Leper could hear the chuckle of Kettle Run nearby. The run took a turn to the north as it approached the Occoquan reservoir, then looped back. The remnants of the company were assembled in the middle of the loop astride Brentsville Road.
He regretted not grabbing a pair of night-vision goggles. The power had been sundered to Manassas and the surrounding area, so the backscatter that was so difficult to avoid, that contributed at least an erg of illumination on the darkest night in the eastern United States, was entirely absent. He could barely see his hand in front of his face.
He took a step forward and his Kevlar ran into a metal wall.
Leper could vaguely make out a looming presence. «Lieutenant Leper?» the apparition asked.
«Yes,» said the lieutenant, rubbing his forehead where the Kevlar helmet had gouged him.
«Lieutenant Colonel Bishop, Fleet Strike.»
«Yes, sir,» said the tired lieutenant. Two hours sleep after all that they had been through was simply not enough.
«What's the situation, Lieutenant?»
Leper tried to digest the question and had a sudden urge to scream at the fresh, technologically sophisticated officer. What's the situation? The situation is we're all fucked! The word from Ninth Corps was that they couldn't hold out much longer. How anyone was going to retreat with the Posleen right at their heels was a good question. It was going to be ten times as bad as Occoquan. Then at least the Posleen had been scattered. In this case they would be massed and right up the corps's backside.
And his units were on the wrong side of the Ninth Corps. Since they were guarding the south flank, if the corps broke the Posleen would be swarming in behind them. And that was just a matter of time. There was a pretty strong rumor that MP units had been stationed behind the line with orders to shoot deserters.
None of it would matter for much longer. When the levee broke, none of it would matter a hill of beans.
«We're holding the south flank of the corps, sir.» Actually they were holding the south flank of Lake Jackson. Lake Jackson itself was anchoring the south flank of the corps. «The area has been quiet. We had one God King come this way with one of their companies, but we took care of it without significant casualties.»
There was less than a brigade in total holding the line. Most of them weren't even infantry. Clerks and cooks and the officers' band. Everything that was left of Tenth Corps less DivArty.
The casualties when the Posleen company hit had been less than a platoon's worth. On the other hand, this was all that was left of a corps. There was some sort of calculation there that he didn't want to think about. Would that platoon be the equivalent of a battalion to a corps? And if so, should they be considered the same as the loss of a battalion? «So far so good?» he finished.
«I understand that you were in the retreat from the interstate?» The question was asked without any emotional overtones, but Leper felt Keren bristling behind him.
«We were the rear guard. Sir,» the lieutenant said in an absolute monotone.
«What do you estimate the Posleen forces as?»
«Sir?»
«How many of them are there, Lieutenant?» the colonel asked with iron patience.
The exhausted officer goggled at him for a moment. «Is this a trick question?»
«No.» The blank of faceted plasteel was nearly invisible and even if it weren't there was no way to see the officer's expression. The question was nonsensical.
«Sir, there are more than the stars in the sky, more than the blades of grass, more than the trees in the forest. One good look is all it takes. They fill the world from horizon to horizon and every fucking one of them is trying to kill you!»
The armor was still and silent for a pause. «So, how did you survive?»
Leper blinked rapidly and thought about all the ones that didn't. «I don't know,» he admitted. «I oughta be dead.» He closed his eyes and shook his head.
«We lost—oh, Christ. Forget losing the company and the Old Man to the artillery. We lost 'em like a river loses water! Sometimes I'd have fifty, sixty troops. The next thing you know, we'd just stop for a second to . . . to get a breather, to . . . to reconsolidate, hell, to find out who the hell was hanging on the vehicles. And then they'd come. And . . . and the next thing you knew we were back on the road, running as fast as we could. And we'd have maybe two squads. And that'd happen over and over.» His hand was over his eyes now and he shook his head continuously.
«I don't know how many went through my hands, Colonel. I don't know how many I lost along the road. I don't know how many we passed. Some of them just gave up. Some of them were injured. Some of them were just tired of running. I don't know their names!» The lieutenant drew himself up and tried to clear his eyes.
The colonel reached up and removed his helmet. The solid pyramid of plasteel came away with a sucking sound. A tap of a control and the suit began to glow a faint blue, just enough to give some vision.
«Have you been debriefed at all?» the senior officer asked in a gentle, surprised voice.
«No, sir,» Keren answered for the lieutenant when the officer just shook his head. «When we rolled into Ninth Corps territory they got rid of us like we had the plague. They just told us to come over here and get our shit together. And don't walk on the grass.»
The colonel nodded his head at the answer. «Well, Lieutenant, I think you did just fine.» The tone was firm and believable. The colonel put his hand on the lieutenant's shoulder. «Son, that was hell. I know. I've been in hell too.»
The lieutenant looked up at the officer and took a deep, shuddering breath.
«My company had a week-long firefight in Dak-To. We would lose a couple and then get a resupply then lose them as often as not. I never knew who the hell was in the holes. At the end of the whole thing the VC just melted back into the jungle. I had fifteen left in the company that started the battle, including me. I had worked my way through nearly two hundred troops in those weeks. I'd use them like pouring water in a well. I didn't recognize any of those names. Nobody else in the company did either.»
«No records, sir,» said the lieutenant, quietly.