John Ringo: When the Devil Dances

“Jack?” O’Neal answered.

Horner smiled coldly. The ACS was not an American unit; it belonged to the Fleet Strike, a part of the Galactic Federation military. Therefore it would only be common military courtesy, not regulation, that would require O’Neal to use the general’s rank. But the blank name was as much a rebuke as his use of a blank rank. In better times O’Neal had referred to him as ‘sir’ or ‘general’ and even ‘colonel.’ Calling him ‘Jack’ in public was as good as a slap.

“We have a situation,” the general continued.

“People keep saying that,” O’Neal snorted. “What we have is a Mongolian Cluster Fuck, sir. Is General ‘the ACS is an unnecessary expenditure of resources’ gone?”

“Gramms has already been replaced,” Cutprice interjected. “And Captain Keren is currently explaining to his staff the words ‘fire support’ and ‘responsive fire.’ ”

“Do we have a plan?” O’Neal asked. “Or are we just going to get on-line and charge at them screaming?”

“We hold the heights on this side of the river,” Cutprice answered again. “But they’re pressing into the city and up along the canal and the heights on their side are higher so the ones on this side are getting fire support from the groups gathering on the far side. They’re also about to cut our supply line at the Brooks Avenue bridge. I’d like you to open up a pocket between the river and the ridge. My boys will follow in support but you’re going to have to take the first shock.”

“Why not just pin them and hammer them flat with artillery?” Stewart asked. “If you need Keren, by the way, we can always send Duncan over to ‘reason’ with them.”

“Hell no! I want the damned headquarters standing .” The boyish colonel gave the broadest grin anyone had ever seen and burst out in a belly laugh. “I’ve seen Duncan on a roll!”

“We need a crossing and we need it fast, Lieutenant,” Horner said gravely. “Not because I want my name in the news but because the Posleen are just as susceptible to rout, once you get them running, as humans. And we need them to be back at the Clyde lines. Long range recon teams tell us that the defenses haven’t been touched. If we can harry them all the way back to the Clyde half our problems in the East are done.”

“I’ve been watching their numbers building,” Mike pointed out. “They’re headed into this battle like ants headed to honey.”

“So what then?” Horner asked. “You have an idea.”

“Yes, sir,” the major responded, forgetting his anger. “What I’d really like to do is use a flight of Banshees to land behind them; but given the terrain I don’t think it would be possible and I doubt that we could hold out until the reinforcements arrived. Barring that, I want to hammer them flat then paint the lines for once. Nukes are still out?”

Horner winced. He was personally in favor of the use of tactical nuclear weapons in situations like this one. Tac-nukes had a wider “footprint” than any other form of artillery including Improved Conventional Munitions.

The majority of China had fallen in less than two months; it had taken the first major Posleen landing only forty-two days to go from Shanghai to Chengdu. And along the way the Race of Han had been reduced to a shallow splinter as over nine hundred million humans and a five thousand year old culture were wiped from the face of the earth. There were still pockets of resistance in the previous regions of Chinese control, the most notable of which was a small contingent in the Luoxia Shan led by the former head of Red Army procurement and “Radio Free Tibet.”

But in the process of disintegration, the panicking Chinese military had fired off a nuclear arsenal that was six or seven times larger than prewar intelligence estimates. The last spasm had been in the region of Xian, where the rearguard of the column retreating into the Himalayas had expended itself in a nuclear firestorm whose net effect was to slow the Posleen by only a day. The result was that China’s death throes had consumed enough nuclear weapons to poison the Yangtze River for the next ten thousand years. And to poison the political climate for nearly as long.

“No nukes,” Horner said. “There’s things the President will waffle on. And she turns a blind eye to the fact that SheVa rounds and your handgrenades are essentially micro-nuclear weapons. But we’re not going to nuke Rochester.” He held up a hand to forestall the argument he knew was coming and smiled tightly. “Not even neutron bombs or antimatter. No. Nukes.”

Mike turned away and looked at the far heights. The Genesee Valley was an obstacle to the Posleen and conventional forces but nothing to the suits; they were as comfortable in water as in space. However, there were millions of the Posleen swarming in the valley and only a bare handful of suits to oppose them.

“They’re still going to have to be cleared out of the valley before we can move,” Mike said. “That has to happen before we cross the river. I will not perform this assault without artillery fire that I consider adequate. Nor will any member of my battalion.”

He could hear the in-drawn breaths around him but he also could care less. The ACS was, in a very real and legally binding sense, a separate military from the United States Ground Forces. Technically, by the treaties which the U.S. Senate had signed in all innocence, he was Jack Horner’s superior officer. Technically, O’Neal could order a nuclear preparatory barrage and technically General Horner would have to follow his orders. Technically.

Realistically, no ACS major had ever refused an order from a Terran general. Not even “Iron Mike” O’Neal. Mike had occasionally argued about specific orders. But point-blank refusal was new. Call it the result of having watched the battalion have two hundred percent casualties over five years and slowly dwindle away to nothing.

Call it experience.

Horner considered his options for a moment then nodded coldly. “I’ll go get the artillery preparations arranged. I assure you that when you come up out of the water there will be nothing living between the Genesee and Mount Hope Avenue.”

“Ensure that the artillery is prepared to maintain that support,” O’Neal said. “We’ll need a curtain of artillery; I want to walk under a back-scratching all the way to our primary positions. And we’ll need an ongoing curtain until the support is in place. If we don’t get that, I’m not sure this is doable.”

“Agreed,” Horner said with a tight smile. He looked to the east as well and shook his head. “I’ll give you all the artillery I can scrounge between now and tomorrow morning. On my word.”

“Do that, General, and we’ll eat their souls,” Stewart said softly.

“We’re gonna do that little thing,” O’Neal said definitively. “Whether any of us survive is another question. And, Stewart: massage your AID. I want you to see if you can identify the incredibly smart Kessentai that came up with this bridge idea. Such intelligence should be rewarded.”

Tulo’stenaloor regarded the young Kessentai coldly. “Tell me again about this skirmish.”