When the Devil Dances

Jake dialed up the magnification on the night vision system and sighed. “Sir, we are surrounded by Posleen. Our position is southeast of Lake Seed and the Posleen have apparently figured this out and are patrolling all the surrounding roads. Our objective was an overlook of Clarkesville, but at this point that is impossible. If we can cut our way out alive we’ll be lucky. Are you with me, sir?”

* * *

Ryan shivered and remembered the mingled shame and relief when his own platoon was permitted to leave the Occoquan defense. He knew, only too well, how Mosovich was feeling at the moment. Or maybe not: in Ryan’s case he had always had the option of retreating.

He glanced at the artillery availability board and blanched. The sergeant major was not going to like what he was about to tell him; it was likely that he wouldn’t believe it either.

“Sergeant Major, I’ve got some really shitty news. The fighting up north has had CONARC calling for available artillery from all over. We’ve lost both additional heavy artillery regiments in the area, the additional special arty we were supposed to get was diverted to Chattanooga and Asheville and half our corps arty is gone. We don’t have any of the heavy, special guns at all, except one SheVa and they don’t have any useful ammunition. And you’re out of range for anything else except one five-five. And half the one five-five is tasked to emergency protective fire. I can’t get that released without the corps commander’s permission.”

Ryan could hear the sergeant major swearing softly over the open circuit and something about it made the memory click. “Sergeant Major Mosovich? From Richmond?”

There was silence over the circuit for a moment. “Yeah, that’s me. Why do you know about that, sir?”

Ryan stroked his mustache. He had grown it as an affectation back when he thought he was a little too young to suddenly be a captain. Then, after a while, he noticed that people tended to avoid looking him in the eye. Oh, not the combat types, but around corps headquarters you didn’t run into many of them. But for the rest… they tended to look away. Some of them said he didn’t look like he was still in his twenties.

But he kept the mustache.

“I know Mr. Keene. Pretty well.” He’d studied under Keene’s tutelage in Chattanooga during the rebuild and they had become more than acquaintances; Keene was one of the ones who could look the young major in the eye. And Keene had some good stories about Richmond. Better than Ryan’s, which mostly ended “and then we ran away again” or “and then he died.”

“Better than Barwhon, Sergeant Major,” Ryan added, realizing now, how he could get the NCO to work with him. If they worked together rather than at cross-purposes, which would just happen if Mosovich assumed he was dealing with an arm-chair commando, they could, maybe, get the LRRP team out.

“Better than Barwhon but not as good as Occoquan,” the major added. “I had the Missouri on my side there.” Ryan paused again and clicked icons, reconfiguring data. “You now have everything I have the authority to release, Sergeant Major. I’m going to send a runner over to the corps commander with the request that he release the fast reaction forces, all but one batt. Some of these guys are probably asleep, so it will take waking them up. But in just a bit you’ll have the better part of two brigades of artillery at your beck and call.”

* * *

Mosovich smiled as his AID showed all the available artillery in the corps transferring to his control, but he suppressed his chuckle. “So that was you, sir. Yeah, I wish the Mo was in range. Or any of the railguns. But what we’ve got will have to do.”

* * *

Ryan pointed at the nearest senior NCO and towards the corps commander’s quarters. The headquarters was on a hillock in the middle of the Gap and had once housed the Rabun School. Now the dormitories were officers’ quarters and the headmaster’s home was the corps commander’s quarters. Generally, the commander did not prefer to be disturbed in the middle of the night, but one look at the major was enough to send the staff sergeant scampering. And he wasn’t going to return unless he had the release of the artillery.

“I’ll see if I can scrounge up anything else. Can you think of anything?”

“Just one, sir,” Mosovich added. “It might make sense to wake up Major Steverich in S-2. These guys are not acting like normal Posleen. Way too controlled, way too… something. They seem to be anticipating us in a way I don’t like one bit. Like they’re anticipating everything we do.”

“Or reading the mail?” Ryan asked. “You’re secure, right?” He checked the notation on the communicator. “Right.”

“Yes, sir,” Mosovich answered. “We’re using the laser system, I’m not even trusting ultra-wide band. But we’ve been losing sensors. That’s why we’re out here; because we’ve lost all our sensors on this side of the mountain. What have they been doing with them?”

* * *