John Ringo - Into the Looking Glass

“Second Battalion, Third Brigade of the One-Oh-One will be moved up to the vicinity of Elkatawa. They will then dismount and move up onto the ridgelines currently held by 2nd Battalion, 149th Infantry of the Kentucky National Guard. Their objective will be to move, hopefully undetected, along the ridgelines to the vicinity of 541, then stage a dismounted assault upon the gate under cover of the mounted and dismounted assaults from the other directions. Your northern border will be the general axis of Warcreek to the Warcreek-Filmore Road with southern border the ridges overlooking Highway 52. But movement is to be along the ridges. Kentucky National Guard patrols have found what may be a clear lane, nearly to the gate opening. The Second Battalion will be accompanied by units of SEAL Team Five and Dr. Weaver, who will be carrying the gate closure device.”

“So, what you’re saying,” the brigade commander of the 1st Brigade said, “is that we’re on the nature of a great big diversion.”

“Yes,” General McKeen said, looking over his shoulder. “Is that a problem?”

“No, sir,” the colonel replied, grinning. “We’ll just be as diverting as hell.”

“If you can take the gate, any of you, do it,” the general said. “Push for it like hell. But the 101st battalion is, hopefully, the key. They’ve got more experience moving dismounted and they can move through the hills better than your troops probably can. The Mreee seem to be just tacking down the ridgelines, concentrating on forming their forces in the valley. We’re going to use that to butt-fuck them. Once Dr. Weaver and the SEALs insert the device, the gates close. At that point, it’s all over but the mopping up. Not just here, everywhere. Ohio, Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama, from Florida to Saskatchewan. It’s all up to us. And we’re going to do the job. Any questions?”

There were none. The S-3 turned over the briefing to the Assistant S-3 who ran through the movement lanes, phaselines and other nitpicky details of the attack. He studiously ignored the portion on artillery support; there was none for the simple reason that it didn’t work. He also ignored resupply and postassault consolidation. This was an all or nothing attack. There would be no resupply and if it failed there would be no need for reconsolidation.

Bill tuned that out as he tried to quiet his own fears. He had written down the instructions on how to set the bomb, but if the artass had made a mistake it was going to be a lousy time to find out right in front of the gate. So far it had only been Mreee and Nitch on this gate, but that didn’t mean that the Titcher might not show up at any time. They were racing against a series of deadlines, some of them unknown and unknowable. He glanced at his watch again. Five hours.

Finally the briefing was over and the various officers filed out of the large tent, some of them joking halfheartedly. They all knew that they were going into a gauntlet from which most of their forces, their soldiers, their children, would not return.

“Dr. Weaver?” a lieutenant colonel said as they were leaving. “Lieutenant Colonel John Forsythe, I’m the battalion commander from the One-Oh-One. You’re with me.” He was a tall officer with a clean-cut look and a square jaw. He looked like Hollywood’s idea of an airborne battalion commander.

“We’ll meet you at the assembly area, sir,” Miller interjected. “We’ve got some special materials we need to assemble and we have our own transportation. It was in the movement supplement.”

“All right,” the colonel said, nonplussed. “Be there on time.”

“We’re the timing, Colonel,” Bill said. “The whole thing starts when we’re ready.” He glanced at his watch. “Five hours.”

“Understood,” the colonel said, clearly not understanding. “Just be there.”

“We will, sir,” Miller replied. “With bells on.”

As it turned out it took just over four hours until all the units were in position and Colonel Forsythe found out what the “special materials” were.

“What the fuck, pardon my French, is that?” the colonel asked, looking up at the kneeling mecha suit.

After the first Wyverns had worked out so successfully, Bill had convinced Columbia to fast track construction of the Mark II. The Mark II had a bit more fluidity, less of a tendency to disco at just the wrong moment and the stylish face had been removed. The whole upper half had, in fact, been significantly lowered and the armor had been modified into reflective glacis ridges. The suits were also camouflage covered and, in the case of the nine that the SEALs were now suiting up in, covered further in a special camouflage netting that would break up their outlines.

“It’s a Mark Two Wyvern armored combat mecha,” Bill responded. He was now wearing the skin-tight black coveralls that were necessary to properly “fit” the Wyvern and he ran his hands over the suit proprietarily. “The Mark Twos are armored about like a Bradley and can carry some serious firepower. They also are going to be better armor for the ardune.”

“The what?” the colonel asked.

“The gate closing device,” Bill replied, glancing at the light violet box. It had been carefully placed on the back of the truck that had carried the Wyvern to their assembly area and his eyes, and those of most of the SEALs, were never far from it. The blue charging bar on the top now within a smidgeon of reading full. Bill’s Wyvern had been hastily modified with a metal box to carry it and he had carefully ensured that the Wyvern finger systems were dexterous enough to key the arming system. He hadn’t had the guts to actually key the full sequence, though. “The SEALs and I will let you carry the assault up to the gate but if you get bogged, we’re going to go through on rock and roll. The ardune will be placed on the other side of the gate, and it will be triggered, one way or another.”

“I want your people to understand something,” the colonel said. “I know they’re SEALs. I know they’re the best of the best. I know that the mission is important. But you don’t go until I say you go, understood?”

“Yes,” Bill replied. “The flip side being that when it is time to go, you let slip the hounds.”

“I will,” the colonel said. “But I let them slip. My assault, I’m in command. You’re just supernumeraries until we get up to the gate. You’re in line between Bravo and Charlie company, right ahead of my section. Get suited up, Doctor.”

Bill nodded and stepped into the suit. Once fitted, the Wyverns were relatively easy to take on and off. He simply put his hands in the controls, settled his feet into their holders and pressed a button. The front closed and he was ready to fight. With one small exception.

Miller came over carrying both his own and the doctor’s weapons. Miller had insisted on another 30mm but the doctor had opted for a .50 caliber Gatling gun. The Mreee and the Nitch were not as hard targets as the Titcher units and Bill felt that the gun, which was the first Gatling gun accessorized with a semiauto selector switch, was more in keeping with the threat. Miller’s philosophy, on the other hand, had not changed. More firepower is better firepower.

Bill picked up the big gun in one hand and waited until the command master chief had hooked up the feed tube and checked the connections. Then he keyed the external speaker and raised one hand in a half salute.

“Ready when you are, Colonel,” Bill said.

“Maybe I should think about putting you on point,” the colonel replied, then hefted his own M-4. “Okay!” he said, raising his voice. “Let’s roll out!”

“This is Juliet Five-Four,” the commander of the 35th Brigade said over the command net. He was half whispering despite the rumble from the command Bradley he was in. “Our advance scouts have the Nitch lines in sight. Ready to initiate.”