Greenies

'But we're not an EastHem invasion force,' Wrath said. 'We're the WestHem marines trying to liberate this planet from a bunch of terrorists. So tell me how this report is going to help us.'

'Of course, sir,' Wilde said. 'Among the files was a description of the infantry positions and the armor hull- down positions the greenies had constructed in order to fend off attack. There are no actual blueprints of them, but they are described as: 'concrete reinforced bunkers protected by triple layer sandbags for the infantry positions and titanium shielding for the armor positions.' In addition, the infantry bunkers are protected from above by concrete- lined recesses impenetrable to fused artillery shells and highly resistant to penetrating shells.'

'Concrete-lined?' Wrath said, shocked. 'Titanium shielding? Recessed underlayers?'

'Yes, sir,' Wilde said. 'It would seem they're not sitting in simple trenches protected by dirt-filled sandbags. In addition, they cite an extensive network of cross trenches at each position that allows them to move between the anti-tank positions on the top and the infantry positions below them, to evac wounded to battalion aid stations or landing zones, and to retreat to the backside of the hills with almost complete defilade from troops, armor, and artillery to the front.'

'Why in the hell didn't we know about this?' Wrath demanded. 'Intel told us our artillery would destroy their positions with just a few shells!'

'It seems that no one took the greenie reports on combat effectiveness very seriously,' Wilde said. 'They were written off as MPG propaganda designed to justify their funding from the taxes the Martians placed on themselves. The reports were only accessed sixteen times since being filed fifteen years ago, and one of those sixteen times was me just thirty minutes ago.' And most of the other's, he did not mention, were probably EastHem spies who transmitted the information to London.

'No wonder we're having so much trouble dislodging them,' Wrath said. 'Do the commanders in the field know about this yet?'

'We'll be updating them shortly — with your permission of course.'

'Yes, of course!' Wrath almost yelled.

'The regimental commanders all have this information now,' Wilde said. 'They're using it to plan the ground assault on those positions.'

'Is there any way to avoid the losses we experienced with the first assault on these positions?' Wrath asked. 'Or do we just need to suck it up? We'll do what we have to do but I'd rather not lose another seven hundred tanks clearing the first line of defense.'

'I don't think the losses need be that bad,' Wilde told him. 'We'll take casualties of course — both in tanks and infantry — but now that we know what we're up against, and after studying some of the live shots from the first engagement, we think we know how to minimize both casualty count and the amount of time it takes to clear those positions.'

'How?'

'After reviewing the live shots and the telemetry, it's obvious that our tank division was disorganized in both movement and firepower during the attack. All across the line the units did not stick to their zones of fire, instead, they concentrated on the nearest threats and plastered those positions while leaving others completely untouched. At the positions they were firing upon, they were able to achieve significant suppression of anti-tank fire. The problem was, the untouched positions were able to keep up a heavy volume of laser fire in what was an obvious zone defense. The Martians stuck to their zones, expanded them when necessary, and inflicted heavy damage on us and ultimately forced us to retreat. This goes to show how important the concept of firing zones is. We need to make sure the attacking units utilize this concept and put fire on all of the Martian positions simultaneously. They need to ignore the Martian tanks and APCs until the infantry has climbed the hills and entered the trench networks. Once we've silenced those infantry positions — either by killing all the Martians or forcing their retreat — they can start concentrating fire on the Martian armor. Until that point, however, the grunts up on those hills with the anti-tank weapons are the most deadly foe.'

'That makes sense,' Wrath said. 'And what kind of numbers are we looking at for a successful ground assault?'

'We have to assume that the Martians are probably at least company strength atop every one of those positions. They may only be platoon strength on some, but we won't know which ones since we can't get overheads of the area and, even if we can, they can't show the numbers on the hills. So, accordingly, we need to send battalion strength at each position in order to assure that we dislodge them with minimal friendly casualties and we need to keep the suppressing fire up until the ground troops get within one hundred meters.'

'That will be almost our entire infantry force just to clear those gaps,' Wrath said.

'Yes, sir,' Wilde agreed. 'But if we don't clear those gaps, we don't take those cities. This is the only way I see.'

'Okay,' Wrath said. 'Write it up and make it happen. I want the units moving by 0300. Be sure to alert the medical corps to expect heavy casualties.'

'They're getting used to that, sir,' Wilde said, turning and walking away.

Chapter 17

Martian Wastelands, 20 kilometers west of the Jutfield Gap

0338 hours

'Concrete reinforced trench networks protected by triple layers of dense sandbags?' Callahan repeated slowly, his eyes looking at the solemn, digital image of Captain Ayers.

'That's what we're being told,' Ayers confirmed. 'They're built with an egress corridor that connects the upper and lower sections and that can facilitate the movement of the units deployed in the network out the back of the trench with almost complete defilade from any frontal or overhead attack.'

'So in other words, the arty didn't do shit, the tank fire didn't do shit, and every Martian that stood in those trenches yesterday is still standing in them today?'

'Well, not every one,' he said. 'We have information that there were significant casualties from the tank engagements. Spies in Eden report the hospitals there are overwhelmed. We are also told there were a number of desertions after the first engagement. Apparently the weekend warriors are starting to show their true colors.'

'How many desertions?' Callahan wanted to know.

'Unknown exactly,' Ayers admitted. 'But the fact that there were any at all proves their morale is slipping, doesn't it? Their will to fight is a finite thing, something that can be broken.'

'Not as much as ours is breaking,' Callahan said. 'The only reason half of our people haven't deserted is there's nowhere for them to go. Even so, I've had almost a dozen of my guys trying to fake some minor injury to get taken off the line and I hear over in Bravo Company some private actually shot himself in the leg and tried to claim it was an accident.'

'I heard that one too,' Ayers said. 'If investigation reveals that is actually the case he'll be put in the brig, court martialed under wartime rules, and will spend the next ten years of his life shoveling snow in the Andes Penal Colony.'

Callahan shrugged. 'His punishment wasn't the point of my story,' he said. 'The point is that he tried it at all. We're all tired out here, cap and it gets kind of depressing watching those Mosquitoes come in every five or ten minutes to pop off another thirty or forty of us. I thought we were supposed to start moving by 0300.'

'The Martian mortar attacks have delayed the re-arming of the tank division,' Ayers said. 'About par for the course out here. We should be underway in the next thirty minutes.'

'Yeah, so we can go up against concrete lined trenches full of Martian guns.'

'We'll be hitting them with overwhelming strength,' Ayers said. 'Four to one advantage at best, probably closer to six to one at many of the hills. Our entire battalion will be going after this one position. There's no way we can lose.'

'You know,' Callahan mused, 'I wish I had a blowjob for every time someone said there's no way we can lose since we touched down on this place. I wouldn't have to jack off for a month.'

Ayers let this go. Instead he sent a copy of their operational map to Callahan's computer (and to the