sending his bullet directly through the middle of that green helmet. He immediately zoomed out and found another green helmet, this one lying twenty meters further out. Before he could sight on it, however, the head it was attached to was blown to pieces by the second volley of mortars. He shifted his recticle again, finding yet another green helmet, and this time he was able to zoom in and fire, erasing another officer or NCO from existence.
'One more,' he said, zooming out and finding another green helmet. 'Be ready to move.'
'Fuckin' aye,' Rimmer said.
Goodbud zoomed in and fired, his third shot just as true as his first two had been. He safed his weapon and then began to roll backwards, off the crest of the hill. 'Let's get the fuck out of here,' he said.
'I'm with you,' Rimmer told him, following him down the hill.
While the mortars continued to fire, Goodbud and Rimmer made their way south, towards their pre- determined rendezvous point. Three kilometers to the east, the other sniper team did the same. Since there was no WestHem artillery set up and since there were no WestHem hovers in the air the two mortar teams could keep firing with impunity. They did so, raining eighty millimeter shells down on the helpless marines until their entire inventory was expended. They then packed up their equipment and moved at an almost leisurely stroll towards their rendezvous points. Two Hummingbirds were waiting there. One sniper team and one mortar team climbed into each of the aircraft. They took off and headed towards Eden to re-arm for another deployment later that day.
No sooner had they left then two more flights of Hummingbirds came screaming in from either side of the valley. They made two runs apiece and killed another thirteen WestHem APCs and all inside of them.
The entire formation had come to a halt and many of the troops had dismounted from their APCs to stand on the surface of Mars. Ambushes had taken place both on the north and the south and medivac operations were currently underway to remove the many marines that had been wounded by the Martian mortars. Everyone was expecting attacks on the evac hovers — it would be just like those greenies to hit them from the air or from the hillsides — but so far everything was quiet after the last air attack.
Callahan stood sixty meters away from his APC, his rifle in his hands, his eyes looking over the remains of the APC that had contained Lieutenant Goldberg and the third squad of his company's second platoon. This was the first time he had ever seen close up what an anti-tank laser could do to an armored vehicle and it was horrifyingly fascinating. The vehicle was hardly recognizable. The turret was lying nearly ten meters away, the gun barrel of the cannon twisted and distorted. The body of the vehicle had split open in multiple places from the force of the explosion of the ammunition and fuel inside. The treads had been blown clean off and were nothing but twisted, distorted shapes that were already half covered with Martian dust. And the men inside... well... they were still there but they were kind of like a jigsaw puzzle now. Shredded arms, legs, pieces of skull and bone, fragments of biosuits, pieces of rifles, a few teeth, nothing bigger than a hand or a foot but all of it in an untidy mess inside the compartment or scattered on the dust outside of it. Such was the same with every other APC that had been hit, either from the air or from the shoulder-fired AT-50s the Martian ambush teams had fired. If they hit the body of the APC, this was the result without exception. The only wounded they had to deal with were the ones hit with mortars.
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
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
