Greenies

systems, and exploding one APC. A few minutes later another barrage came in, this time from a different direction. A few minutes after that, yet another from yet another direction. It was determined that there were at least four squads out there, each with three weapons. Counter battery fire from the marine artillery units was as useless as it always was. No one could even begin to delude themselves that the Martians were firing blind, just hoping that their shells would land in the right place because their shells were landing in just the right place each and every time. Without fail they would come down atop a fueling or re-loading operation, or a group of exposed troops. Someone was within line of sight and was directing the fire. But who? And how? If they were in line of sight then they should be able to be seen in the infrared spectrum. But there was nothing, not even a hint of heat showing out there.

The Mosquitoes came soon after, popping out of the hillsides and blasting APCs, the fact that it was night not making an iota of difference in their targeting, aiming, or navigation skills. As soon as the Mosquitoes disappeared, more mortar fire would come in. As soon as the mortar fire died out, another group of Mosquitoes would come in. The fueling operation slowed to a crawl once again and marines continued to die with depressing regularity. Tanks plastered the surrounding hillsides with eighty millimeter cannon fire, hoping to blunder upon the person or persons directing the fire. This accomplished nothing but a waste of precious ammunition. There were simply too many hillsides, too much potential ground to cover.

Callahan spent most of the night huddled beneath the wreckage of an APC that had been struck hours before, watching the shells come arcing in, the explosions as they detonated, the laser flashes from the ghostly Mosquitoes, the impotent return fire of the marine tanks and anti-air units, and wishing he'd decided to join the army instead of the fucking marines.

And then, at 0300, just as he had finally started to drift into a fitful state that could technically be called sleep, someone had the idea of sending a few platoons out into the hills to seek out and destroy the mortar teams. In all, two companies worth of platoons were picked for this task and marched over to the hillsides on foot (more than one of them coming under fire from the mortars they were going to silence) and positioned themselves to make a quick rush inward. Another barrage came flying out and Callahan and his platoon had just happened to be closest. They'd moved in as fast as possible (which wasn't terribly fast at all, most of them were still quite clumsy in the Martian gravity) and found nothing. Not a goddamn thing. Apparently none of the other platoons that had rushed in to silence the other mortar teams had found anything either.

'There is one thing,' said Ayers now, 'there hasn't been any more mortar fire since we sent the platoons in after them.'

This should have comforted Callahan, made him feel he had accomplished something. It didn't. It implied that they were under surveillance, that Martian eyes were gazing at them right now, this very second. That gave him the creeps. 'So what are you saying?' Callahan asked. 'Do they want us to stay out here?'

'That's affirmative,' Ayers replied. 'If you're keeping the mortar fire down by being out there then we want that to continue. That'll only leave us the Mosquitoes to worry about.'

'We're totally cut off from assistance out here, cap,' Callahan said.

'Obviously whoever is out there, however they're managing to keep out of sight, they don't want to try to take on a platoon. Just hang tough. Take up defensive positions. Hell, you're probably safer out there than you are back here.'

'I suppose,' Callahan said.

At that moment Corporal Grigsby, who had taken over for a dead sergeant in command of third squad, suddenly keeled over, his helmet smashed open, blood vapor boiling out of it — the tell-tale signature of a Martian sniper at work. Everyone hit the ground, their weapons pointing outward, their chatter suddenly filling the airwaves with fearful expletives.

'What the hell is going on?' Ayers demanded.

'Sniper,' Callahan replied. 'He took out Grigsby on third squad.'

'Did you get him?' Ayers asked. 'He has to be visible in infrared if he was close enough to shoot someone!'

'Did anyone see a shot?' Callahan asked the platoon at large.

No one had. A few minutes later the word was passed that two of the other platoons looking for two of the other mortar teams had also come under sniper fire and, furthermore, that the snipers in question had both taken out squad leaders.

'Get out of there,' Ayers ordered in disgust. 'As fast as you can. And don't talk on the frequency unless you absolutely have to.'

They got out of there. They didn't talk. No one else shot at them but within ten minutes of leaving the hillsides the mortars began to fly again.

At 0723 a Hummingbird banked in and came to a landing four kilometers from the position Callahan and his platoon had been chased from four hours before. The ramp came down and Lon and his squad descended into the dust cloud formed by the landing. They were moving much slower than normal as each was heavily laden with almost fifty kilograms of weight they didn't normally bring into the field with them. Still they made it clear of the aircraft and into a defensive position in less than forty seconds. The ramp of the aircraft closed and it ascended back into the sky.

'Okay, let's move it,' Lon said. 'You never know when those Earthlings are going to start hitting the broad side of a greenhouse with their arty.'

They got to their feet and lumbered quickly across the flat area, heading for a hill half a kilometer to the south. Sure enough, before they were even halfway there the white streaks of incoming artillery rounds came flying over the hills, trying to intersect with the flare of heat they'd detected with their passive systems. As was usually the case, they weren't even close. The rounds impacted so far away they didn't even see the flashes.

They made it safely to the hill and, after a brief check of the terrain, began to move closer to the marine positions. The sniper/observation teams already in position out here had let them know that no dismounted marines were currently in the neighborhood but you could never be too careful. There was always the miniscule chance that a marine patrol had somehow managed to slip by in the middle of the night without being seen. They walked in a spread out formation, lumbering under the extra weight but cautious, their eyes searching pre-assigned zones for anything that shouldn't be there.

'Charlie-five is just around the next hill,' Jefferson reported about two kilometers in. 'Close enough for direct-com. Do you want me to try a hail?'

'Yeah, give it a shot,' Lon said. He knew that mortar team C-5, who was assigned to this sector, was receiving telemetry showing the location of Lon and his team, but making radio contact was still a good idea. After all, the team had been up all night, shooting and hiding from the marines and they were probably a bit jumpy.

'I got 'em,' Jefferson reported a minute later. 'They're standing by on the south side of the hill, ready for the meet.'

'Static,' Lon said. 'Let's get over there and get rid of all this shit.'

It took them another five minutes to walk around the base of the hill. Though the faith the team held in the invisibility of their biosuits have never been in question since the day the marine hover had passed right over the top of them without seeing them, it still did their hearts good when they stared at the spot where the mortar team was purported to be and saw nothing but rocks and hillside. It was only when the sergeant in charge of the team stood and waved at them, deliberately showing himself, that the illusion of nothingness was spoiled, and then only for that one man.

'That's eerie,' Lisa said. 'We're only two hundred meters away, he's standing up and he still seems to blend into the background. If I didn't know he was there I wouldn't have noticed him at all.'

'Laura Whiting has blessed us with bad-ass military engineers,' Lon agreed. 'Come on, let's get over there.'

As they came closer and closer the other five members of the mortar team became gradually visible one by one, at first just as vague outlines in the visual spectrum and then gradually firming up into human-like shapes. They stepped out from their hiding hole when Lon's team got within twenty meters.

'Lon Fargo, you old dick smoker,' said the sergeant in charge of them. 'Ain't the fuckin' Earthlings rid the planet of your greasy ass yet?'

'Not yet,' Lon replied, stepping closer. 'But they've sure as shit been trying. One of them tank shells passed about a meter over my head yesterday. How you doing, Mike?'