When the Devil Dances

Mike glanced at his monitors and watched the movement without expression. The worst part about it was the ammunition counters. In that one brief engagement, Bravo had used up fifteen percent of their ammunition and there was no end to the Posleen in sight. The plan had been for an orderly advance to the objective, basically a horseshoe by the Genessee Bridge, but he was pretty sure that was out the airlock. The lack of a curtain barrage and the frantic and fragmented nature of the mortar fire that replaced it meant they were going to have to run for it.

This was exactly the situation that he had feared when he had had his confrontation with Horner. The battalion was strung out, in its most vulnerable possible position and still well short of its goal, the top of the ridge overlooking the river.

If they didn’t have the ridge the Posleen could pour fire into the bridgehead, and the battalion, from above. There would be no way to effectively direct fire and there would be no way to reduce the Posleen numbers, much less break their spirit, from in the valley. But when the ACS finally got there, the battalion would come into the view of literally millions of Posleen, millions of still unbloodied Posleen. They needed all the artillery there to suppress the Posleen fire and for smoke missions so that the normals couldn’t target the battalion. So far the majority of the battalion had been able to move with relative impunity because of the supporting fire from the “better” artillery battalions. If that went away the casualties would start to mount fast.

But there were tens of thousands of really angry Posleen starting to dig themselves out of the rubble around the hospital. And they were getting ready to fall on Bravo Company like the hammers of hell. Bravo Company needed all the artillery there to keep from being overrun. If they didn’t get some support, and fast, they were going to be thresh-in-a-can before you could say “Spam, spam, spam, spam and rat.”

The only thing that would save their ass was more artillery, which they weren’t going to get, or sacrificing the Ten Thousand, which he wasn’t willing to do.

There just weren’t enough resources to get the job done.

In other words, just another day fighting the Posleen.

“Duncan, shift all artillery to the north in support of Bravo Company. Battalion… prepare for tena’al charge.” He touched a series of imaginary keys and the scene started to change. Where before the holographic camouflage had been blending the suits into the background it now shifted to reveal larger versions of the demon worked into his own armor. As it changed the armor began to boom out a driving electric drum solo.

“Okay,” he growled, stamping downward on the dead Posleen at his feet to get a better footing. “Playtime’s over. Let’s kick some ass.”

* * *

“Jesus, Mike, it’s not that bad?” Horner whispered as the suit units seemed to go into hyperdrive. All of them had shape-shifted into large demonic creatures and then started sprinting for the heights, laying down a curtain of fire as they went. The silver lightning was chewing the ridgeline, sweeping away the front rank of Posleen as they came into view.

He looked to the north and it was apparent that the company there was in serious trouble. The artillery on the hills had stopped and he could only presume that meant it was shifting to the north in support of that unit. The company did not seem to have taken major casualties yet. But there was a huge mass of undirected normals heading for it and if they could not be stopped they were going to hack the beleaguered company to bits. It was clear that O’Neal had chosen to remove the artillery support from the majority of his unit in the belief that the company could hold out. Overall it did not look like a good bet to Horner; spread out as they were, the ACS were inviting defeat in detail. They might take and hold the bridgehead, but it looked like it would be at the expense of most of the battalion.

On the other hand, the overall requirement had been laid by one General Jack Horner. So he couldn’t exactly complain when they did whatever it took to perform the mission.

“Another day at the races,” Colonel Cutprice said from the other window. “I’m not going to wait for the bridge. First Batt is fully airmobile; I’ll send them across immediately using their tenars in support of Bravo company then start ferrying the rest across to support the ridge. Otherwise we’re going to end this day without a battalion of ACS.”

“I’ll go down and see if shouting at people gets the bridges up any faster,” Horner said with a smile, his version of a frown. “And find out why the boats aren’t already assembled.”

“That would be nice,” Cutprice said in a disinterested tone. “It’s going to be kinda lonely over there for a while.”

“ ’Course, what else is new, sir?” Sergeant Major Wacleva asked. “I’ll go get your body-armor.”