“Captain Geiger,” I said, “do any of these Recon troops have demolition charges?”
The question was nearly cut off by a proton blast that ploughed a furrow a meter deep in the top of the wall, spraying molten dirt ten meters behind us. She didn’t answer me immediately and I assumed she was either stunned by the explosion or was busy finding out, the question not having come up before. One of the straight-legs high-crawled the few meters from his position on the wall to come to a knee beside us. I couldn’t see his face through his helmet’s visor, but he was tall and rangy and his IFF transponder told me he was Gunnery Sgt. Eduardo Vazquez, platoon sergeant for Fourth Platoon, Alpha Company, Third Battalion, 187th Marine Expeditionary Force (Recon), for all the good that did me.
“I’ve got a demo pack,” he said, his voice rough and hoarse, as if he’d been screaming orders for hours and had little left to give. He hefted the shoulder bag to show me exactly which pack was the one in question. “What do you need?”
Heavy KE turret fire showered the Gunny with dirt and he didn’t even seem to notice after the concussion from the proton blast.
“Captain,” I said, “here’s what I want to do. My company is going to head right, charge straight into the High Guard positions while you and your armored troops lay down suppressive fire. That should distract the mecha, the battlesuits and the turrets in the bunker long enough for Gunny Vazquez to take his demo pack around the other way and set the nitrogen fill valve to blow. Once the liquid nitrogen tanks for their reactor flush, it’ll shut down automatically.” I touched a control by my left hand and sent a copy of the drone video to her and Gunny Morales.
“Do you think you can do it, Gunny?” Geiger asked him once she’d had a chance to check out the video.
“Shit, ma’am,” Vazquez sighed, “I’d do anything to get the hell out of here right now.”
“If this shits the bed,” I told Geiger, “we’ll take out the High Guard troops and your Boomers can still try to get a shot at the mecha.” And it’s just as likely to not work as if we’d gone with your plan, I didn’t add.
“Right,” she said immediately. “Let’s do it. Lt. Alvarez, Gunny Vazquez, get your people ready. This kicks off in three mikes.”
Shit. Three minutes.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said and loped back down the line, feeling absurd with my suit hunched over, the fingers of the left hand scraping the ground like a gorilla.
I could have given the briefing over the comms without moving at all, of course, but it didn’t feel right. This was as close to a suicide mission as I’d encountered since I’d become an officer, and some things needed to be said face to face.
18
“You know,” Vicky said, “it’s been over a year since the last time you almost got me killed, and I was hoping we were all done with that phase of our relationship.”
“Not my fault,” I insisted, talking fast because we didn’t have much time. “And you would have liked Captain Geiger’s plan even less.”
She, Cano, and Kovacs had clustered around me near the right end of the wall, again with that instinctive need to be close to the person talking to them. I didn’t bother saying anything about it. I might as well have asked them not to breathe.
“Third is on point, Vicky,” I told her. “I’ll be right behind you. Billy, you’re next and Francis will ride drag. Remember, the point of this is to tie them up, attract attention. Hit them hard, but don’t try to break through and leave them behind us. If we can’t kill them all, we have to keep their focus on us until the Recon troops can set the charges. Not only will that take out the turrets, but I have a suspicion a lot of the EM jamming is coming from those dishes I saw behind the spaceport offices.”
“What about the mecha?” Kovacs asked. He was, I thought, trying not to sound scared, but it wasn’t working. I wasn’t sure if he was scared for his own life, his Marines or maybe just scared of fucking up. Maybe all three. “If it comes after us while we’re tied up with the High Guard, we’re all dead.”
“We just have to hope he doesn’t want to kill his own people.” It wasn’t a firm foundation to build a hope on, but it was all we had. I checked the countdown on my HUD. “Get your platoons in order. We have less than one minute.”
“Hey sir,” Bang-Bang said. I checked his IFF and found him near the rear of our lines, ready to bring up drag like a good Top Kick should. “I’m new at this shit and all, being First Sergeant, but I feel like I should be the one to tell you, most company commanders don’t ride the horse that far in front of the saddle.”
The laugh burst out of me in spite of the situation.
“Where the hell did you say you were from again, Bang-Bang?”
“Me? I’m from Greater Chicago.”
Which was only slightly less massive and entangled than Trans-Angeles.
“Then how the hell do you know anything about riding horses?”
“Virtual reality, sir. My dad rode a horse once when he was a kid and he made me learn how on a simulator. He made me swear once I got out of the Corps, I was going to move somewhere I could ride one for real.”
“Shit, maybe we’ll be neighbors. But as for where I fight from…I may be an acting company commander, but this isn’t going to be a chess game. It’s a fist fight. And I throw the hardest fucking punch.”
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t seem convinced.
“If you’re that worried, I guess you’d better make sure nothing kills me.”
“Alvarez,” Geiger said, maybe ten seconds earlier than I thought she would, “it’s
