Messeman and Basingstoke nodded agreement; Huber gave them a thumbs-up and headed back to Fencing Master.
It was true, as far as it went: one push and a stand-down.
If they survived.
And until the next time.
* * *
Automatic weapons had been firing from the port area at intervals ever since sunset three hours ago. Occasional tracers ricocheted high enough to be seen over the hills. Less often, a tribarrel flickered across the cloud bases like distant cyan lightning. That’d be another task force splashing an aircar or something equally insignificant . . . except for the poor bastards on the receiving end.
The alert signal at the upper left corner of Huber’s faceshield was the first message he’d gotten from Central since the fire mission before they’d reached the Solace Highlands. He let out his breath in a gasp.
There might not have been a Central any more. Base Alpha might have fallen and the Solace forces begun mopping up the Slammers task force by task force, bringing to bear as much weight as they needed to crush each hard nut. Huber’d kept his fear below the surface of his mind, but it’d been there nonetheless.
“All units, prepare to receive orders and target information,” said a voice as emotionless as the surf on a rocky shore. “Don’t get ahead of your start times, and once you commit don’t, I repeat do not, stop shooting until you’re told to. Regiment One out.”
The data dump started at once, progressing for thirty seconds instead of concluding instantaneously. Satellite reconnaissance was updating the information at the same time those satellites transmitted it to the Regiment’s scattered elements. Port Plattner, an oval five kilometers by three, expanded on the Command and Control display. There’d been six warehouse complexes spaced about the perimeter when the satellites shut down thirty-six hours before; now there was a seventh beside the huge starship on northwest edge, twelve large temporary buildings with more under construction.
“Regiment One? That’s Major Steuben,” Deseau muttered, unusually worried for him. “Is he in fucking charge now?”
“Shut up, Frenchie,” Huber snapped as he scrolled through the download. He was more irritated than he’d have been if a newbie like Padova had made the comment. Deseau should’ve known they didn’t have enough data to guess what was going on. Steuben might be in command of Base Alpha because his White Mice were defending it, but that didn’t mean the Colonel and Major Pritchard were casualties.
It didn’t mean they weren’t casualties, either.
“Right!” Huber muttered when he had the situation clear. At least it was clear enough that he knew staring at it longer wasn’t going to change anything in a good way. “Red and Blue elements—”
F-2 and F-3 respectively, each with a squad of infantry in support.
“—will proceed to designated positions on the reverse slope—”
The download from Central set out the east side of the terminal building as the general objective for Highball’s action elements, but Central hadn’t known what strength Huber would have available for the attack. Huber’s C&C box had broken the assignment into individual targets. Losing two cars and six infantry was probably better than Operations had calculated, though under normal circumstances twenty percent was a horrendous casualty rate.
“—and hold there till two-two-three-seven hours, when—”
Battery Alpha opened fire, loosing thunder and the long crackling lightning of sustainer motors as the missiles streaked west so low that they barely cleared the ridgeline. The Hogs rocked from the backblasts, slamming their skirts against the hard clay substrate.
“—we’ll cross the crest and attack our objectives at forty kph. White element under Sergeant Marano—”
The remaining two combat cars and eleven infantry—some of whom were walking wounded only if they didn’t have to walk very far.
“—remains here to provide security for the X-Ray element. Any questions? Over.”
“Let’s do it, El-Tee,” Sergeant Nagano said. He raised his gauntleted left hand from Foghorn, the thumb up.
“Roger that,” Huber said, after a ten-second pause to be sure that nobody had anything substantive to add. “Move out, troopers. Keep it slow till we’re in position, and nobody crosses the start line till it’s time. Six out.”