'How's our fuel?' he asked.
'We're down to a third on hydrogen, a little more on O2.'
'Okay, don't spare the fuel. Remember, they'll arrange for a way to get some out to us once the mission is over.'
'Right.'
They crested over a small rise in the land and suddenly the targets were there in front of them, hundreds of self-propelled artillery guns stretching from one end of the valley to the other, gather around in groups of four and eight.
'In range!' Zen yelled. 'Light 'em up, X!'
'Fuckin' aye,' she said, placing her targeting recticle on the first and squeezing the button. The gun exploded spectacularly, which much more force than a mere tank due to the higher volume of explosive shells contained within. She quickly panned to the right, covered another one, and sent it into oblivion.
'Nice shooting, X,' Zen said. 'Fire at will. Remember, get the tanks when you see them.'
All around them the explosions began to flare as the other tanks opened fire as well. A tank suddenly appeared before them. It's laser flashed and there was an explosion somewhere behind them as a friendly tank went up.
'Target, tank,' Zen yelled. 'Ten o'clock! Six hundred meters.'
'Got it,' Xenia said, putting her recticle on it. Before she could fire, however, two other lasers from other tanks hit it at once, blowing its turret off.
'Never mind,' Zen said. 'Pop some more guns. I'm counting eleven of them in our sector.'
She put her recticle on another target and fired. She then did it again.
By this time all artillery fire had stopped as the crews manning the guns and their commanders realized — perhaps a little belatedly — that somehow, some way, Martian tanks in overwhelming force were slamming into their formation and slaughtering them. They quickly folded up their guns and tried to make a run for it, scattering like ants whose anthill has been kicked over. There was no hope in running however. The guns could not hope to get away from front line tanks. They simply didn't have the speed.
The remaining WestHem tanks that had been assigned to guard duty were caught as off-guard as everyone else. They drove around in confusion for a few minutes, firing wildly at anything they could see, killing some of the Martian tanks — and their crews — but not nearly as many as they would have had they been organized in even the most rudimentary manner. They were blown up one by one and within three minutes they were all dead, leaving the rest of the mobile guns completely unprotected.
General Dakota Dickenson — commander of the WestHem forces in the Eden area of operation — at first thought the message his aide passed onto him was a particularly poor joke, that or some of the Martians hacking into their communications set and playing games.
'That's impossible!' he said. 'There's no way the Martians could have gotten tanks into our rear area!'
'Sir,' said Major Horshell, 'I listened in on the transmission myself. Colonel Dallas of artillery command is out there in the middle of it in his APC. He sounded panicked, sir and he reports better than three hundred Martian tanks swept down on them from the west and are 'blowing the shit out of my guns'. He is requesting immediate tank support from the main advance.'
'Get him on the com,' Dickenson ordered. 'And get Colonel Fowler in here too.'
'Yes, sir,' Horshell said, turning quickly to his computer screen.
While he waited Dickenson quickly panned the telemetry screen he had been viewing the advance on westward, to the area where the artillery guns were deployed. His breath caught in his throat when he saw that all of the escort tanks and more than a third of the guns were no longer transmitting position reports. The only reason for this would be a catastrophic vehicle failure of some sort — like being blown to shit. He began to get very worried.
'Colonel Dallas on screen, General,' Horshell told him.
He switched the view and found himself looking into the terrified eyes of the artillery commander. 'Steve,' he said. 'What the hell is going on out there?'
'We're under attack, General!' Dallas said. 'Hundreds of Martian tanks came out of nowhere and start blasting us to shit! They killed all the escort tanks and now they're chasing down all the guns and slaughtering them.'
'Hundreds of tanks?' Dickenson asked. 'How is that possible? Where in the hell did they come from?'
'I have no fucking idea, sir!' he said. 'But they're sure as shit here! You need to get me some tanks out here right now!'
'They'll be on the way in a few minutes,' Dickenson said. 'Try to save as many of your guns as you can.'
Dallas didn't answer. He simply signed off. At that moment Colonel Fowler — commander of the 27th and the 29th armored divisions (the two battered units had been combined after the bloody first phase) entered the room. 'You called, General?'
'I need you to break free two regiments of tanks from the advance and turn them around. They need to get back to the refuel point at best possible speed.'
'Sir?' he asked. 'Why would I do that?'
'Martian tanks have somehow gotten into our rear,' he said. 'We don't have exact numbers but there could be as many as six hundred of them. They're slaughtering the mobile guns as we speak.'
'What?' Fowler said. 'Martian tanks in our rear? That's impossible! They would have had to have gone through our lines in order to get there!'
Dickenson flipped his screen back to the telemetry view. 'Look at this, Fowler,' he said, pointing to the conspicuous absence of more than one hundred and fifty of the blue dots that should have been there. 'Does that look like a figment of my imagination? Now get that goddamn regiment turned around right now!'
'Yes, sir,' Fowler said, paling.
'How long until they can get back there?'
'At least twenty minutes, sir.'
Dickenson shook his head. 'I don't think that's enough time,' he said. 'Not at the rate those blue dots are disappearing. Get on it though. We need to engage those tanks and wipe them out.'
'Yes, sir,' Fowler said, grabbing the nearest computer screen and going to work.
The mobile guns continued to scatter about in a panic, some zigzagging about, some trying to straight out run for it, some going in circles, a few trying to head for the foothills. It made no difference. They were much slower than the tanks pursuing them, much less maneuverable, and completely defenseless. They were chased down one by one, in groups, and they were dispatched with shots from the laser cannons. Soon some of the crews began to realize the hopelessness of their situation and brought their machines to a halt. They then jumped out through their hatches, got as far away as they possibly could, and held up their hands in surrender. Most thought the Martians would simply shoot them down but this only happened once, when a crew jumped out with M-24s in their hands. A single shot from an eighty-millimeter main gun mowed them down.
The tanks continued to blast away at the unoccupied guns and to chase down the few remaining ones that were still moving. It was when there was less than twenty of them left that the message came across the net.
APPROX ONE THOUSAND (1000) MBT'S HAVE BROKEN LOOSE FROM MAIN WESTHEM ADVANCE AND ARE HEADING AT HIGH SPEED IN YOUR DIRECTION. ETA APPROX 15 MINUTES.
'That's not good,' Zen said when he read the message.
'What's not good?' Xenia asked as she sighted in on one of the immobile guns and blasted it.
'A thousand WestHem tanks just broke loose from the main column and are heading back this way. ETA fifteen minutes.'
'Jeez,' Belinda said. 'You blow up a few of their arty guns and they get all pissed off at us.'
'Yes, they do have quite the temper,' Xenia agreed. She was tingling with an excitement that was almost sexual in nature.
'So what now?' Belinda asked. 'It doesn't sound like we really want to hang out here, does it?'
'No, you wouldn't think so,' Zen said. 'Let me check with command.'
He did and he was told to stand by. He stood by for another three minutes, during which time Belinda managed to chase down another straggler and Xenia managed to kill it.
