John Ringo - Into the Looking Glass

Bill switched over to thermal imagery and could see ghostlike images at the top of the ridge. There were several of them in view and even as he drew a bead on one with the laser mount on the Gatling gun, a ball of plasma flew through the air and impacted near the line of infantrymen, throwing two them to the ground to roll in agony at instant third-degree burns.

Bill closed his finger on the firing mechanism, rolling the fire through the figures on the ridgeline. One of them seemed to separate into two and another flew backwards. He could hear firing on either side of him, now, loud, but the audio sensors quickly dialed down. The figures on the ridgeline had disappeared. He could hear shouting and realized that it was he who was doing it, bellowing in rage as he tried to force the mecha up the steep slope. The ridge got steeper towards the top; a short bluff was apparent. Bill realized he could never get the suit up and over it and looked around for somewhere he could climb up. Suddenly, he felt himself lifted up and half thrown onto the top. He stumbled onto his face and then lay prone, moving forward on knee and elbow wheels to clear the spot he had been lifted up on. Another suit landed next to him and his systems automatically designated it as Seaman First Class Sanson.

Bill was right in the area that he had fired at and he saw, for the first time clearly, the effects of the Gatling gun. Two forms, their images fading with their internal heat, were on the ground. Three, really, because one of them had been cut in half by the fire from the gun. He started to heave but suppressed it with a mighty effort; it wouldn’t kill him in the suit or damage the electronics, but it would have been damned messy.

He slid forward, looking to either side and seeing human forms running across the top of the ridge. He pulled up a location map and they were within a few hundred yards, no more, of the gate. He pulled himself upwards then ducked as a ball of plasma flew through the air. More firing was apparent from the area of the gate and Bill popped his head up for just a moment to get a look. He didn’t know how many Mreee and Nitch had been passed through the gate, or how many had been moved up close to their intended assault point, or how many had been drawn off by the earlier attacks. But based on the images in the valley, most of them were still down there. His thermal imagery system couldn’t separate them out.

Plasma rounds were impacting all along the ridgeline, now, as the forces around the gate realized they were being flanked. Bill heard screams to either side and realized that there was no way to get in view of the fire and survive. On the other hand, there were so many targets down in the valley it would be hard to miss. So he raised the Gatling gun up over the lip of the ridge and fired it without looking.

The other mecha had joined him and were doing the same thing. Most of them had Gatling guns with two 25mms and the chief’s 30mm. Miller was one of the few not firing. He was lying on his side, apparently peacefully watching the scene and occasionally reaching behind him and lobbing something overhand into the valley.

“Having fun, Chief?” Bill asked, watching his ammunition counter. The Gatling was going through rounds at an alarming rate. He decided that when he was down to one quarter of his ammo load, he would stop firing.

“Loads,” Miller replied. “Made up some improvised explosive devices while we were waiting. Bouncing Betties on a timer. Thought it was an appropriate time to expend them.”

“We could use some fire support,” Bill said through gritted teeth. Holding the gun overhead and firing it, even with the mecha’s powered support, was not easy. One of the SEALs screamed and flopped backwards, his arms blown off by a plasma round. The scream was surprise rather than pain since the area that had been hit didn’t vent into the suit and his “real” arms were down in the body.

“Saving it for something worthwhile,” the chief replied.

Bill dropped his weapon and snaked forward, taking a quick look over the edge.

Where there had been bodies too numerous to count there were now… bodies too numerous to count. But most of them weren’t moving. Some were, however, and plasma fire was still dropping on the lines, some of it damned close to the position the mecha had taken. But now fire from the infantry on either side, with the plasma somewhat suppressed, was beginning to get the upper hand. Bill saw a line of tracers lazily float down the hillside, missing their intended target high, then correct into the moving form of one of the giant spiders. It collapsed. The infantry medium machine guns had been set up along the lip of the hollow and now were steadily eliminating the resistance.

He brought the big Gatling gun up and started searching for targets as the rest of the mecha pushed forward on either side and did the same. Even Miller leaned over the lip and started sending individual rounds downrange. Seeing that he couldn’t detect if they hit or not he switched to full auto and stroked the trigger, sending burst after burst, almost every one including a tracer, into the carnage in the hollow. The lines of explosions were easily detected by the thermal imaging scope, brief, bright, dots of white heat that gradually faded in the cool night air. Sometimes they left behind cooling bodies as well.

“I think it’s time to go,” Bill said.

“Roger,” Miller replied, tersely. “Switch to the battalion command freq.”

It took Bill a moment to fumble for the sheet of paper that had the information, read it by the dim redlight in the suit and switch his frequency. By the time he did, the argument was in full swing.

“… Don’t care, Uniform Two-Four,” a voice Bill didn’t recognize said. “We’re still encountering resistance. Until it’s suppressed stay in position.”

“They are suppressed, Major,” the SEAL said, tightly. “We need to get this box in position, now , before they can regroup or reinforce!”

“Where’s the colonel?” Bill asked.

“Lima Eight-Six Bravo is unavailable,” the new voice said. “This is Lima Four-Five; I’m in command.”

“Colonel Forsythe bought it,” Miller said. “Major White was the battalion XO, he’s in command, now.”

“Have you ever heard the term communications security, Uniform Two-Four?” the officer said, clearly furious.

“This is an encrypted link, Major.” Miller sighed. “And our opponents have shown no sign of having intercept capability. And we don’t have time to diddle around with codes. We need to move, sir, right the fuck now.”

“I am in charge of this operation, Uni… Mi…” the major spluttered. “You will move when I tell you to move and not one moment before.”

“Major, for God’s sake,” Miller said, nearly shouted. “Take not counsel of your fears. We need to move !”

“That’s what you SEALs thought in Panama, right?” the major snarled back. “Well this is a hell of a lot more important than making sure Noriega missed his plane. And we will not move until we have full control of the situation! This is Lima Four-five, out!”

“Switch back to SEAL net,” Miller said. “This is whoever the fuck I am leaving the net.”

Bill punched the numbers in for the other frequency, which he remembered, and keyed the mike.

“What do we do, Miller?” he asked. He was down to one quarter ammo and had stopped firing. Miller was still sending the occasional burst into the hollow. Only an occasional burst of plasma, poorly aimed, was returned.

“Miller?” Bill asked as the silence lengthened. “Hey, am I on the right freq?”

“Yes,” a voice answered. It was one of the SEALs, but he didn’t recognize the voice. “Keep the chatter down.”