John Ringo - When the Devil Dances

I got your last mail. You sound like your burnt out. I hope you get a rest. You need a R R in Hong Kong and get laid. But I think the Posleen have eat all the whores. Maybe you should try one of the corpswhores in your area. If you show ’em youre metals you might even get it for free.

We got your last cair package and I put it away safe. I appresiate the helop in these trying times. And if you ever need anthing, you no where it is.

Take care and don’t forget to duck.

It took him the usual two reads to interpret his father’s missive. His dad was not illiterate or unintelligent, but when Michael O’Neal, Sr. had grown up in Rabun County, going to the eighth grade was for over-educated nerd-boys. Mike’s father had been pulled out in the sixth grade to work the fields and had done so until he was seventeen and could escape to the Army.

And, unlike some of his peers, Papa O’Neal had never improved his writing. He was well-read, indeed he read military history voraciously, but the reading never seemed to translate to his written vocabulary or grammar.

That was okay by Major O’Neal, though. In a way, his father was just about the only person he could open up to, even if his advice was sometimes rough and ready.

He was just beginning to mentally compose a reply to the effect that they were getting a Rest and Recovery and that despite the fact that he was the second person to recommend that he get laid, he had so far failed to do so, when the AID cleared the screen and threw up a hologram.

“Incoming priority message from General Horner.”

So much for R R.

Mike looked at Horner’s image and sighed. “Where?”

Horner opened his mouth as if to start a spiel and then seemed to deflate. “Rabun Gap. It’s… gone, Mike.”

Major O’Neal set his jaw and tapped the AID. “Schematic, Shelly.”

When he saw the map of the Gap it had red covering all the zones around the Gap including the O’Neal farm. Mike looked at it a moment in disbelief then dropped his face into his hands. “Did the corps last a whole five minutes?”

“I don’t know how well they would have done under normal circumstances,” Horner answered, “but these Posleen aren’t acting like Posleen at all. They have some sort of armored flying tank that took out the SheVa gun that was forward deployed. It apparently was parked too close to the main force of the Corps and it took out the second and third line of defense. To make things worse, they are using their landers for a straightforward airmobile operation; they used C-Decs to take out the Wall, to literally smash it flat, and look like they’re getting ready for a bound forward. Then they have come in and, apparently, rebuilt the road. I’m impressed. And frightened. I don’t like the idea of Posleen combat engineers. What next? Artillery?”

“Shelly, how solid is this information?” Mike asked hoarsely.

“Resetting image,” Shelly said. “Red is eyewitness reports or video or Posleen transmissions, shading to blue for maximum estimate of expanse.”

Modified that way, the O’Neal farm was only a light violet; it was possible that Cally and Papa O’Neal were still alive.

“Shelly, try to raise somebody at the farm and keep an ear out for intelligence as to their condition,” Mike said. “So, what do you want me to do?”

“The Gap has to be plugged…” Horner said.

“Oh, blow that!” Mike exclaimed angrily. After all the years of fighting it took him barely a second to imagine the broad outline of the proposed mission. And it was not survivable. “You’re joking , right!”

“No, I’m not joking,” Horner said coldly. “We still have Banshees, not enough to loft a full battalion but…”

“But we’re not a full battalion,” Mike snarled. “God dammit , Jack, my middle name may be Leonidas, but it doesn’t mean I want to die like him! And the damned Spartans died because they got surrounded; we’d already be surrounded. And just how the hell are we supposed to fight our way into the Gap? How? There are, what, fourteen or fifteen million Posleen waiting to move through? Where in the fuck are we supposed to land ?”

“I need the Gap plugged,” Horner said inexorably. “I need it plugged for seventy-two hours.”

“Un-fucking-believable,” Mike said. “Are you listening to yourself? I’ve got three hundred and twenty effectives! We couldn’t carry in enough ammo for three days! And there’s no way you’re going to be able to get anyone to us in three days! Not in the teeth of the Posleen!”

“I’m moving the Ten Thousand, they’ll be backstopped by the best artillery I can find,” Horner said. “They’ll take positions and wait for the Posleen to come to them then hammer them with artillery. With you in the Gap, the Posleen won’t be able to push through any more; they’ll only have to take care of the ones that are already through.”

“And the ones in the landers,” Mike said. “Remember? They’re using airmobile, your words.”

“SheVa guns,” Horner said. “There’s one surviving in the valley; it’s got some technical problems, but it will get up. I just need the Gap plugged. And you’re going to plug it for me.”

“Like hell we are,” Mike said. “Nobody will be able to. I’d need a damned brigade of ACS, which we don’t have, and continuous shuttles of ammo and power.”

“Look, Major, every minute that we spend arguing, sixteen or seventeen hundred Posleen go through the Gap. I’m sending the Banshees to your location. Get your battalion moving.”

“Look, General , get the wax out of your ears!” Mike shouted. “We’re Not Going. The fucking shuttles wouldn’t make it to the ground ! We’d need a cold LZ! And we’ll need spare shuttles for supplies! And we would last about four hours! We are not going! Period!”

“God damn you, Mike!” Horner shouted back. “I am not going to lose the entire eastern seaboard because you don’t want to lose your fucking battalion! You will take and hold the Gap to the last man or so help me God I will have you court-martialled and shot if it is the last thing I do!”

“Fuck you, Jack! You should have thought of that before you let them put Bernard in charge of the GAP! You got me into this fucking mess! You put me in that plasteel fucking coffin, that I’ve been trapped in for the last nine years, you took away my family, you took away my wife ! And the only thing I have LEFT is this fucking battalion and you are not going to piss that away too, you murdering BASTARD!”

The door practically left its hinges as Gunny Pappas stepped through. “Sir, what in the hell is going on? They can hear you down in the damned barracks .”

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, GUNNY!” O’Neal screamed. He grasped the heavy wooden desk, raised it over his head and slammed it into the window behind him. When it didn’t fit he let out a shriek of fury and slammed it into the wall repeatedly until the hole was large enough. Then the desk flew through with a bellow.

It was a full-bore rage, as controllable as a hurricane and nearly as destructive. There was nothing between the world and O’Neal’s blind anger at reality; if he could have twisted a button and turned off the universe he would have. Instead, he took it out on his office and the battalion headquarters building. In seconds the few scraps of mementoes on the walls had followed the desk. He threw everything in the room through the hole then started widening it by punching the walls.

The headquarters was a simple wood frame structure; the interior walls were gyp-rock and the outer was a layer of pressboard covered by vinyl siding. Despite being only five foot four, Michael O’Neal, Jr. could bench press four hundred pounds and each punch slammed through all three layers as if they were tissue; two by fours shattered with no more than two blows. His knuckles were bleeding within a few punches, but he no more noticed than he noticed the fact that portions of the ceiling were buckling; the pain felt good in his universe of rage. The worst part of the rage, beyond losing his father and his daughters and his life, was that he knew in the end that the battalion would go. And the only thing in his mind besides the rage was that evil plotting bastard at the back of his brain, that little thinking bastard that was already figuring out the mission even as every other fiber of his being was denying that they would ever commit suicide in such a clear and stupid fashion.