'They're setting up to fire, sir!' the sergeant said, panic in his voice now.
'Everyone back to the stairways!' Hunter yelled. 'Now!'
A panicked rush began but it was far too late. The tanks outside opened up with their eighty-millimeter guns, putting the rounds directly through the large openings. They flew in, hit the front wall, and exploded with a tremendous crack, sending shrapnel ricocheting in all directions. Men were blown to pieces if they were near the front wall, riddled with shrapnel if they were near the rear. Hunter was hit with the second volley. The concussion blew him against the side wall and then shrapnel sprayed through his chest, neck, and face, ending his life in an instant. Of the one hundred and sixteen marines inside of the pillbox, sixty-eight of them were killed or so gravely wounded they couldn't stand. The rest managed to scramble into the staircases where they were safe from the exploding shells. They huddled there, still trying to comprehend what had happened, what they should do now. And then Captain Zogor Fattie, the commander of the pillbox before it fell, pushed a series of buttons on an electronic radio transmitter from within the trench behind. The booby traps that lined each stairway were detonated simultaneously, killing every man within.
Aboard the WSS
1830 hours
Major Wilde was receiving the confused and disjointed reports from the Eden Theater of operations and trying to assemble some kind of a picture of what was going on down there. The only thing that was really clear was that they were taking horrifying casualties, most in the anti-tank trenches where the ground troops were trying to assemble or on the advance from those trenches forward.
'From what I understand,' he told General Browning, pointing to a schematic of the Eden area on his computer screen, 'we've pushed through and forced the Martians out of their pillbox positions in six different places on the line. Here, here, here, here, here, and here. You'll notice, however, that none of those positions are adjoining each other, therefore we have not been able to open up a movement corridor through to the rear.'
'Why not?' Browning asked.
Wilde clenched his fists a few times but kept his feelings off of his face. 'Because, sir, these pillboxes overlap their fields of fire and the Martians still have armor in hull-down positions in the spaces in between. Our hope had been to occupy the pillboxes we forced them out of but... well... those latest reports kind of eliminate that possibility.'
The latest reports he was referring to were those that had described the traps the Martians had laid, allowing the troops inside the pillboxes and then bringing in tanks to blast through large openings in the rear. Once the troops that had survived this attack went into the stairwells, booby traps concealed in the walls were detonated. This had happened at three of the six positions so far, enough that an order had gone out for troops to not enter any of the other pillboxes.
'So are they winning?' Browning asked. 'Is that what you're trying to say?'
'No, sir,' Wilde said. 'They just have a very good final defense. They're not giving up any ground easily. We still have enough men down there to push through those positions and open those corridors up, it's just going to cost us a lot.'
'How long will it take? The press is already hounding me about not being in Eden by sunset. Sunset took place ten minutes ago down there.'
'We need to keep bringing troops forward, running them through the gauntlet of the trench and the open ground. We need to occupy several adjacent pillbox positions and chase the Martians out of them. And then we need to get some AT units up there with hand-held lasers. Once we have all that, we can push forward. The Martians we chase out of the pillboxes are taking up positions in trenches just forward of the wall. We'll have to engage them with the infantry while the AT units destroy or chase off any armored vehicles.'
'Sounds like a plan,' Browning said. 'But how long will it take? Can we get it done in the next half hour?'
Wilde shook his head in frustration. Browning just wasn't listening to him. 'It'll take as long as it takes, sir. That's the only answer I can give you. We need to send out orders to start having the troops advance more towards the areas surrounding Pillbox 73 here in the middle, especially the two positions immediately north of it. If we can take Pillbox 72 and 71, it will link up with Pillbox 70, which we already hold. That will allow us to move the AT teams forward and assemble enough to move against the positions behind it.'
'I like it,' Browning said. 'So can you do all this in the next thirty minutes? I'd like to give my victory briefing on the hour if possible.'
Eden Main Life of Defense, Pillbox 73
0735 hours
Captain Callahan was up against the western wall of the pillbox again, his M-24 sitting in his lap, his mind flirting with the very edge of sanity. There were several hundred marines gathered around him, most sitting down, shoulder to shoulder, back to back, most with the empty, disbelieving expression that came with finding one's self alive after so many of one's companions have been horribly killed. From both sides of them the chattering of machine guns and explosive rounds fired from the Martian armor went on and on, cutting into the groups of marines still trying to reach one of the four positions that were now held on the line. The Martian armor was being resupplied from an apparently endless supply of fresh ammo. Out beyond the anti-tank ditch, however, the WestHem armor was completely out. There had not been a round of any caliber fired in more than forty-five minutes now.
Another group of marines came staggering in from the open ground, throwing themselves to the ground and just lying there, staring up at the alien sky. It was a common reaction upon arrival.
'Bowman,' Callahan said to Lieutenant Bowman, his new second-in-command after the first one had been slaughtered in the pillbox. 'How many do we have now?'
'I'm counting six hundred and sixty-four including that last bunch to make it in here,' Bowman replied. 'We're gonna start running out room in the defilade areas pretty soon.'
'I don't think we'll have to worry about that too much,' Callahan replied. 'I just got the plan shipped to me from operations.'
'What is it?'
'Pillboxes 70, 71, and 72 are now in our hands — or at least we've chased the Martians out of them. They sent an entire company of AT teams forward to join our unit. Only about half of them made it but we are still able to field twenty portable ATs for the next advance.'
'We're advancing, sir?' Bowman asked.
'Did you think we were just going to have a picnic here?' Callahan shot back. 'We're going to push into that corridor and take on the Martian trench that's guarding the wall. That's their absolute last line. The AT teams are going to go after the armor in between. I'm told that all of the other positions are going to be doing the same.'
'Uh... sir,' Bowman said, 'What about getting some mortar teams up here for support? What about some sappers so we can clear these pillboxes and use them for overhead fire? I mean... the AT teams would be able to engage the tanks a lot better from up there.'
'They won't send support units forward until we open a corridor for them,' Callahan said. 'We need to push to the wall the length of these four pillbox positions and then they'll send everyone forward.'
There was a long silence on the net.
'Bowman?' asked Callahan. 'Are you still there?'
'I'm still here,' he said.
'Is there a problem with the orders?'
Another long silence. Finally, 'Yeah.'
Callahan had been half expecting this. In a way, he welcomed it. 'And what might that be?' he asked.
'There's a lot of talk down here on the tac channels, Captain,' Bowman said. 'A lot of the men were afraid the plan was just what you said it would be.'
'And?'
'And... well... they're saying they just made it through hell to get here and they're not willing to go through it again. Those fuckin' assholes back in the rear are wanting us to go up against entrenched positions that will probably be supported by armor. Is that what the situation is?'
'Yes, Bowman. That's what the situation is. Keep talking.'
