One more push. . . . Ranson thought/said; she wasn’t sure whether the words floated from her tongue or across her mind.
“Captain Ranson,” Hammer continued, “I don’t like the orders I’m about to give you, but I’m going to give them anyway. Kohang has to be relieved soonest, and you’re the only troops in position to do the job.”
June Ranson was sealed in crystal, a tiny bead that glittered as it spun aimlessly through the universe. “Sir,” said the voice from her mouth, “there’s the 4th Armored at Camp Victory. A brigade. There’s the Yokel 12th and 23rd Infantry closer than we are.”
Her voice was enunciating very clearly. “Sir, I’ve got eight blowers.”
“Elements of the 4th Armored are attempting to enter Kohang from the south,” Hammer said. “They’re making no progress.”
“How hard are they trying?” shouted Cooter. “How hard are they bloody trying?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ranson thought/said.
“Lieutenant, that doesn’t matter,” said Hammer, momentarily the man who’d snarled at an off-screen aide. “They’re not doing the job. We’re going to. That’s what we’re paid to do.”
“Cooter,” said Ranson, “shut up.”
She shouldn’t say that with other people around. Screw it. She focused on the hologram. “Sir,” she said, “what’s the enemy strength?”
“We’ve picked up the callsigns of twenty-seven Consie units in and around Kohang, company-size or battalion,” Hammer said, in a tone of fractured calm. “The data’s been downloaded to you already.”
Bestwick glanced up from the console behind the projected image and nodded; Ranson continued to watch her commanding officer.
“Maybe three thousand bandits,” Ranson said.
“Maybe twice that,” Hammer said, nodding as Ranson was nodding. “Concentrated on the south side and around Camp Victory.”
“There’s two hundred thousand people in Kohang,” Ranson said. “There’s three thousand police in the city.”
“The Governmental Compound is under siege,” Hammer said coldly. “Some elements of the security forces appeared to be acting in support of the Consies.” He paused and rubbed his eye.
“A battalion of the 4th Armored left Camp Victory without orders yesterday afternoon,” he continued. “About an hour before the first rocket attack. Those troops aren’t responding to messages from their brigade commander.”
“Blood and martyrs,” somebody in the TOC said. Maybe they all said it.
“Sir,” said Ranson, “we can’t, we can’t by ourself—”
“Shoot your way into the compound,” Hammer said before she could finish. “Reinforce what’s there, put some backbone into ’em. They got enough bloody troops to do the job themselves, Captain . . . they just don’t believe it.”
He grimaced. “Even a couple blowers. That’ll do the trick until G and H companies arrive. Just a couple blowers.”
“Cop,” muttered Wylde through his bandages.
“Bloody hell,” muttered Cooter with the back of his hand tightly against his mouth.
“May the Lord have mercy on our souls,” said/thought June Ranson.
“Speed’s essential,” Hammer resumed. “You have authorization to combat-loss vehicles rather than slow down. The victory bonus’ll cover the cost of replacement.”
“I’ll be combat-lossing crews, Colonel,” Ranson’s voice said. “But they’re replaceable too. . . .”
Cooter gasped. Wylde grunted something that might have been either laughter or pain.
Hammer opened his mouth, then closed it with an audible clop. He opened it again and spoke with a lack of emotion as complete as the white, colorless fury of a sun’s heart. “You are not to take any unnecessary risks, Captain Ranson. It is necessary that you achieve your objective. You will accept such losses as are required to achieve your objective. Is that understood?”
“Yes sir,” said Ranson without inflection. “Oh, yes sir.”
Hammer turned his head. The viewers at Camp Progress thought their commander was about to call orders or directions to someone on his staff. Instead, nothing happened while the hologram pick-ups stared at the back of Alois Hammer’s head.
“All right,” Hammer said at last, beginning to speak before he’d completely faced around again. His eyes were bright, his face hard. “The Consies’ night vision equipment isn’t as good as ours for the most part, so you’re to leave as soon as it’s dark. That gives you enough time to prepare and get some rest.”
“Rest,” Wylde murmured.
“The World Gov satellites’ll tell the Consies where we are to the millimeter,” Ranson said. “We’ll have ambush teams crawling over us like flies on a turd, all the way to Kohang.”