out there, he had to give some kind of answer.
'Son of a bitch,' Wild said, burying his head in his hands.
'Well... uh... you see,' Browning said. 'The fact of the matter is that... uh... the operations at New Pittsburgh are going... you know... pretty much the same as the operations at Eden. We've broken through their first line and are working on clearing the lines behind them. We're not moving as fast there as we are at Eden but we are closing in on the terrorist main line.'
The reporter asked no more. A curt, angry voice in her earpiece had already chewed her out for straying from the agenda.
'So, if there are no more questions,' Browning said, his eyes telling them that there would be no more, 'I have the liberation of Eden to monitor. Either myself or a member of my staff will update you on any further developments as they... uh... develop.'
He practically ran out of the briefing room, his face red, his fists clenching with anger. He stormed into his office, where Major Wild was waiting for him.
'That went well, sir,' Wild told him. 'Despite the unauthorized question at the end.'
'Where in the hell did that stupid twit get off asking that?' Browning demanded. 'Who authorized it?'
'No one authorized it,' Wild said. 'I just talked to the head ICS rep for Martian operations. She's some inexperienced file researcher that one of the anchors has been banging. It sounds as if he promised her she could attend one of the briefings as a first step towards getting a junior anchor position. She wasn't supposed to ask anything at all but apparently she thought she'd show some initiative.'
'Some initiative? They're not supposed to be asking anything about the New Pittsburgh operations until we start to turn things around down there. I trust she's being disciplined in some way?'
'So they say,' Wild said with a shrug. 'I wouldn't worry too much about it, sir. You did fine up there for having to shoot from the hip like that.'
'You think so?' Browning asked.
'Absolutely,' Wild said. Actually, Wild thought he'd looked like what he was: a blithering idiot with no idea what he was actually doing, but sometimes discretion really was the better part of valor. 'Now, since we're talking about New Pittsburgh...'
'How are things going there? Are we at the main line yet?'
'No, sir,' Wild told him. 'We're still engaged at the Red Line there, slowly pushing our way up the hills. Casualties continue to be heavy. Losses of APCs and tanks to the Martian AT fire continue to mount. It's just like the first time in New Pittsburgh. Our failure to neutralize the Martian heavy guns is taking its toll.'
'They need to keep pushing!' Browning said forcefully. 'We'll have Eden in our hands by the end of the day and that will be good for a day or so worth of media coverage. But as soon as they get tired of showing a bunch of grateful greenies kissing our marines after the liberation, they're gonna start asking about New Pittsburgh again. I want to make sure we're knocking at their back door when that happens.'
'I understand, sir,' Wild said. 'It's just that the Martian's New Pittsburgh reinforcements are not even fully deployed yet and they're still punishing our men quite hard down there. What's going to happen when the 6th Infantry men arrive from Libby and start adding their guns and their AT weapons to the fight?'
'All the more impetus for the men to take that position immediately and push on to the main line before those reinforcements get there. You send them a message from me that for every minute that goes by as they fight this battle, two more greenies are arriving to oppose them. They need to clear those hills and push on. Quickly!'
Wild knew that such a message would do nothing but piss off every man down there. He said his yes sir but had no intention of actually sending the message. Browning would probably forget about it by the time lunch was served anyway.'And how are things in Eden?' Browning said, turning to a brighter subject. 'I assume the resupply effort is in full swing?'
'I wouldn't exactly call it full swing, sir,' Wild said, 'but it is in progress.'
'Is there a problem with it?'
'The same problem we had in phase one. Now that we're stationary and trying to transfer fuel and ammunition from the trains to the vehicles the Martians are hitting us hard. Their artillery is raining down non-stop all over the formation. We had no idea they even had that many shells to throw at us. Those traitors at the Alexander Industries plant must have been working night and day ever since the beginning for them to stockpile so many. And the air attacks from the Mosquitoes are continuing as well, although they're not hitting our APCs.'
'They're still trying to destroy our mobile guns?'
'They're trying,' Wild said, 'but it seems they're still having trouble differentiating a tank from an artillery platform when they make their runs. I've had them keep the guns interspersed throughout the tank formations just for this reason. We are taking some losses in tanks because of this — and the morale among the tank crews is taking a nose-dive as you can imagine — but the bulk of our guns are staying intact. The losses we are recording are coming from their special forces teams. There are at least six different anti-armor teams out on our perimeter somewhere and about every ten minutes one of them snipes at a few of the guns and usually hits them. There is attrition there, but its not enough that we have to worry about it during the next assault. We will have enough mobile guns left to pound their main positions during the attack.'
'Good, glad to hear it,' Browning said. 'So we're on schedule to have that city liberated by 1800 tonight?'
'Well... I don't think I can
'You said that everything was going according to plan,' Browning said. 'We've pushed them off their first lines and hardly broke a sweat. We're getting re-armed now and our artillery will still be functional. Why wouldn't we punch through by 1800?'
'I don't know, sir,' Wild said. 'I'm not saying we won't punch through, I'm just saying that this is war and that things go wrong sometimes and things you don't expect happen. I don't like to lay down timelines for major operations like this.'
'Is it possible that we'll be standing in Eden by 1800?' Browning said.
'Yes, sir,' Wild said, 'it is certainly possible. Likely even. It's just that I can't guarantee that. I'd feel better about laying down a time frame if I just had some recon shots of the area. I have no idea what those Martians are up to down there.'
'What could they possibly be up to?' Browning asked. 'We've beaten them. There's nothing they can do now but run away like the cowards they are.'
'I suppose,' Wild said. 'I still wish I could see what they're doing down there.'
Sierra Madres Mountain Range, 60 kilometers northwest of Eden
1220 hours
Belinda Maxely could feel nervous sweat running down the back of her neck, pooling in the junction of her helmet and the top of her biosuit. Her hands gripped the T-bar of the tank tightly, her feet rested gingerly on the control pedals — one on the accelerator, one on the brake. They were climbing again, traversing a bumpy, rocky, uneven rise between two mountains at a slope of more than thirty-five degrees. The turbine engine was whining with power as the treads slowly pulled them upward at about five kilometers per hour. In her view screen she could see the rear of the tank in front of her, the slope of the ground she was traveling on, the pink Martian sky, and the jagged peaks she was passing through rising high above on each side. To her left, unseen but she knew it was there, was a drop into a canyon that lay less than two meters away. And the ground they were on was sloping in that direction by more than twelve percent.
Xenia couldn't take the tension of not knowing what was going on any more. She unclipped her harness and popped the hatch over her head open. 'I need some fresh air,' she told Zen who dutifully chuckled at her weak joke.
She stood up, pushing her head through the hatch and immediately regretted it the second she looked to the left. She saw a steep cliff dropping more than two hundred meters into a rocky gorge. From her perspective it seemed mere centimeters away from their left tread. 'Oh my fucking God,' she whispered, feeling suddenly dizzy and sick to her stomach — a sensation worse that what she experienced during lightening.
'What's wrong?' Zen asked, having heard her transmission.
'Nothing,' she said, tearing her eyes away from the sight. She quickly ducked back down and slammed her
