'What the fuck is going on up there now?' he mumbled.
It took the better part of three minutes before it occurred to one of the surviving men in the trench to switch to the command frequency and update him.
'Fuck,' he said, shaking his head, feeling like crying. Even the victories in this war were full of pitfalls. 'Okay,' he told the corporal on the other end of the radio link. 'Get everyone out of that trench and back on the outside. We need to get some sappers up here to clear them for us.'
'Yes, sir,' the corporal replied.
Callahan switched to the battalion frequency. 'Colonel West,' he hailed. 'This is Callahan.'
'Go ahead, Callahan,' West said. 'Is your section of the hill secured yet?'
'No, sir. I've pulled all the men back out of the trench. The Martians have booby traps up there. One of them just went off and killed four men.'
'Booby traps?' West said, seething. 'You mean mines? The greenies are utilizing mine warfare?'
Callahan sighed. 'I suppose that technically they are mines but they fall mostly into the definition of a booby trap. In any case, my thought is that if they've got this trench wired up then they probably got all of the others up and down the gap wired up as well. You might want to pass the word on to regimental about this before anyone else gets hit.'
'You're suggesting we pause here until sappers can clear every trench in this gap?' West asked, appalled.
'Yes, sir,' he said, not caring if he was being impertinent or not. 'That is exactly what I'm suggesting.'
West didn't order it right away, deciding that Callahan's men being blown up was just a fluke. Nor did he pass the information along to regimental, so they could pass it on to the division commander, so he could pass it on to General Wrath who then pass it on to the other units currently attacking the other cities.
It was only when three other hills throughout the gap reported the same thing — that troops attempting to clear the recently vacated trenches were being blown up by powerful booby traps — that someone higher in the chain of command made the decision for him.
When the sun came up at 0605 that morning all of the dismounted marines that had survived the Battle of Jutfield Gap were standing on the various hills, waiting patiently for specialized sappers to make their way through the trenches so they could secure them. It was expected to take hours. And in the meantime, the Martian special forces teams, including the mortar squads and the snipers, left their bases in their Hummingbirds and were transported out into the hills around the gap for another day worth of operations.
Chapter 18
Martian wastelands — 12 kilometers west of Eden
September 1, 2146
The latest artillery bombardment came raining down across the area, shells bursting just above the ground sending shrapnel into anyone unfortunate enough to be underneath and unprotected. Callahan was jerked awake once more as he felt the ground quake beneath him, as he felt the concussions hammer into him. He checked his time display and saw it had been less than fifteen minutes since he'd gone unconscious. That was typical. His body was crying out for sleep, was demanding it with every fiber, every molecule, every atom, but he had only been able to provide it with about three hours or so of that most precious commodity since they'd taken the Jutfield Gap seventy-seven hours ago — and that had all been snatched in ten to twenty minute grabs.
Callahan, along with his ever-battered, ever-changing, understrength company, the battalion it was part of, the regiment it was part of, and the division they were all a part of, along with the remaining tanks and APCs, were now less than six kilometers from the Martian main line of defense. If he were to climb out of the hole beneath the burned out APC he was hiding under and stand up he would be able to see the skyline of Eden off to the east, including the AgriCorp Building. Of course he was not so mad as to actually poke his head or any other body part out just to admire the pretty buildings — not with artillery and mortar fire coming in every ten minutes or so, not with Martian snipers hiding in the surrounding hillsides. To show yourself out there was to invite a quick and nasty death.
The artillery barrage went on for another three minutes or so and then petered out, the fire shifting to another sector of what was being called 'the line'. Callahan stretched out as much as possible, trying in vain to loosen up his sore and cramped muscles. During the battle of Jutfield Gap the division's APCs had been hit very hard — losses were well over fifty percent of the original vehicles. Losses in men, while heavy, were not as bad. What this meant was that there were no longer enough APCs to transport all of the ground troops no matter how many they crammed into each one. He and the remainder of his battalion had basically walked from the Jutfield Gap to here — a distance of more than thirty kilometers.
Of course it had not been a casual stroll through the majestic Martian landscape. Not at all. After pulling back from the gap the Martian forces had installed themselves in another set of hills ten kilometers to the east, forcing yet another bloody battle in which even more APCs were smashed, even more tanks were destroyed, and even more marines were mowed down by gunfire or artillery fire or mortar fire. And when they'd forced the Martians out of those positions — with depressingly little evidence of enemy casualties found — the Martians had fallen back another eight kilometers to yet another set of prepared positions where the entire process started over once again. In all, they'd engaged the Martian armored cavalry regiments a total of four times before finally forcing them off of the last set of hills. While it was true that the engagements became easier and faster as the valley leading to Eden opened up and forced the Martians to spread themselves out thinner and thinner when they made each successive stand — they'd bloodied the marines badly each time, destroying morale and overwhelming the medical resources with wounded.
Callahan took a drink of the lukewarm water from his reservoir — a very small drink. The reservoir was down to twenty-eight percent and there was not enough spare water to go around. The same was true of food paste, waste packs, and even air bottles. Nor was this the only shortage they were dealing with. Ammunition was being severely rationed, with orders given to no longer utilize suppressing fire when advancing, to no longer engage a target unless there was reasonable chance of hitting it. It was absolute madness, and a madness that was destroying the very discipline that held an army together in combat.
'No more suppressing fire?' Corporal Cayenne, the newest leader of his second platoon, said during a private conference Callahan had held with his 'officers' (although only one of them was even an NCO at this point) after they'd dug in at this latest position. 'How the fuck are we supposed to take a position without suppressing fire?'
'Shit,' said Sergeant Nichols, a recent transfer to the company from another unit and the highest-ranking person after Callahan himself, 'the fucking suppressing fire doesn't do any good against them anyway. Why shoot the fucking guns at all? We might as well just shoot thirty percent of the troops ourselves and then walk up the hill and save the Martians some time.'
'Alexander Industries wouldn't like that very much,' one of the other corporals put it. 'They wouldn't get to sell us the replacement ammo.'
'And meanwhile,' Nichols said, 'the Martians have all the ammo they need because they've got a secure supply line back to Eden and their base.'
'Their wounded get to the hospital right away too,' Cayenne said. 'They just take them out the back side of them hills and fly them right to the base. When we get hit we have to lie there until the battle is over before a medic even comes to take care of us.'
'That's it then,' said Corporal Senate, who was leading third platoon, 'I'm joining the greenies. They got better benefits, better healthcare, and unlimited ammo.'
This was good enough for a small chuckle from the group but Callahan knew there was an underlying message to it. Everything they'd faced to this point had been nothing but a warm-up. Now that the main event was upon them they were being told not to shoot as much, not to breathe as much air, not to eat and drink as much, not to shit as much. In short, they were being told to do something that couldn't be done.
'All company commanders, this is Colonel West,' Callahan's radio link suddenly spoke up. 'I need you to make your way over to my APC for a conference.'
