Chapter 17A

Martian Wastelands, 20 kilometers west of the Jutfield Gap
0338 hours

"Concrete reinforced trench networks protected by triple layers of dense sandbags?" Callahan repeated slowly, his eyes looking at the solemn, digital image of Captain Ayers.

"That's what we're being told," Ayers confirmed. "They're built with an egress corridor that connects the upper and lower sections and that can facilitate the movement of the units deployed in the network out the back of the trench with almost complete defilade from any frontal or overhead attack."

"So in other words, the arty didn't do shit, the tank fire didn't do shit, and every Martian that stood in those trenches yesterday is still standing in them today?"

"Well, not every one," he said. "We have information that there were significant casualties from the tank engagements. Spies in Eden report the hospitals there are overwhelmed. We are also told there were a number of desertions after the first engagement. Apparently the weekend warriors are starting to show their true colors."

"How many desertions?" Callahan wanted to know.

"Unknown exactly," Ayers admitted. "But the fact that there were any at all proves their morale is slipping, doesn't it? Their will to fight is a finite thing, something that can be broken."

"Not as much as ours is breaking," Callahan said. "The only reason half of our people haven't deserted is there's nowhere for them to go. Even so, I've had almost a dozen of my guys trying to fake some minor injury to get taken off the line and I hear over in Bravo Company some private actually shot himself in the leg and tried to claim it was an accident."

"I heard that one too," Ayers said. "If investigation reveals that is actually the case he'll be put in the brig, court martialed under wartime rules, and will spend the next ten years of his life shoveling snow in the Andes Penal Colony."

Callahan shrugged. "His punishment wasn't the point of my story," he said. "The point is that he tried it at all. We're all tired out here, cap and it gets kind of depressing watching those Mosquitoes come in every five or ten minutes to pop off another thirty or forty of us. I thought we were supposed to start moving by 0300."

"The Martian mortar attacks have delayed the re-arming of the tank division," Ayers said. "About par for the course out here. We should be underway in the next thirty minutes."

"Yeah, so we can go up against concrete lined trenches full of Martian guns."

"We'll be hitting them with overwhelming strength," Ayers said. "Four to one advantage at best, probably closer to six to one at many of the hills. Our entire battalion will be going after this one position. There's no way we can lose."

"You know," Callahan mused, "I wish I had a blowjob for every time someone said there's no way we can lose since we touched down on this place. I wouldn't have to jack off for a month."

Ayers let this go. Instead he sent a copy of their operational map to Callahan's computer (and to the computers of the other three platoon commanders in the company — they were in on the conversation but all so junior they didn't dare talk unless spoken to). "This is the position our battalion will be securing," he said. "It's known as Hill 657 on the Martian maps and it's located in grid Charlie-nine. It rises one hundred and forty meters above the mean ground level of the valley and is one of the most important defensive positions the Martians have to guard the central gap access route. Intel estimates it is staffed with company strength — two platoons of anti-tank infantry, two platoons of straight infantry armed with M-24s, grenade launchers, and eight to ten squad automatic weapons. The flanks of the hill are guarded by a number of APCs and main battle tanks, although the MBT's will probably not be in a position to support the Martian infantry against ground attack. There are at least two eighty-millimeter mortar platoons stationed behind this hill in addition to the Martian mobile guns back at the main line of defense. The artillery will not be subject to counter-battery fire, as you're aware. All of our guns are hiding back out of range of the Martian 250s and being held in reserve for the eventual attack on the main line. However, the Martian 150s will only be effective against us during the dismount period and for the first three hundred meters of the advance. After that, the bulk of the hill itself will serve to protect us from them."

"What about the mortars though?" Callahan asked. "We've seen what they're capable of doing with them."

"They will be able to drop mortar fire on us until we're roughly at the base of the hill," Ayers said. "Their mortar teams, however, will be subject to counter-battery fire from our own mortar teams who will be firing from their APCs two kilometers back."

"Won't the Martians just counter-battery our mortars with their 150s?" he asked.

"They'll be shooting and scooting," Ayers said. "Counter-battery casualties should be minimal."

"That's what we said about our mobile guns," Callahan pointed out. "And they fuckin' massacred them, remember? What makes you think they won't use whatever spies in the sky they have to pinpoint mortar teams as well? Hell, they could even hit them with their 250s, couldn't they?"

"I have no information on that, Callahan," Ayers said testily. "I'm just giving you the briefing that I've been given."

Callahan sighed, stretching back in his command chair for a moment. "Understood, cap," he said. "Please continue."

"Okay," Ayers said. "This is the attack plan in a nutshell. The tanks will roll in first and start putting suppressing fire on their trench network. They'll concentrate on the anti-tank positions first and then switch to the lower positions — where the main resistance against us is going to be coming from — once we start to dismount. Alpha and Bravo Companies will hit the front and lay down heavy suppressing fire of their own once they achieve defilade from the Martian mortars at the base of the hill. Delta Company will hit the left flank of the hill and start working their way up to the trench network on that side. We'll hit the right flank and do the same from that side. Now remember, there are APCs guarding the flanks of the hills. In order to maintain defilade from their machine guns and their 60mm guns, we're going to have to wind through this series of knolls at the hill base here, here, and here." A red line traced its way over the map, showing the route that would keep them out of the line of fire — in defilade — of the Martian APCs.

"From there," he continued, "we climb, moving on our bellies most likely. The slope of this hill is about twenty-five percent on average. It's very rocky and covered with loose sand on the side we'll be ascending. They'll be putting M-24 and SAW fire on us and possibly grenade fire. We'll use heavy covering fire from two platoons while a third advances and the fourth hangs back. Move your platoons up ten and fifteen meters at a time and then leapfrog around each other until we get close enough to start putting grenade fire through the openings in the trenches. That should keep the direct fire suppressed even more. We move up further until we can breach the trench. Once we're inside, we simply clear them out of there. All of this is assuming they don't retreat prior to that point. We're deliberately leaving their rear open so they have that option."

"Hopefully they'll decide to take that option," Callahan said. "Because if they don't, we're gonna take a hell of a lot of casualties."

"Medical teams have been alerted and are moving up," Ayers said. "So far it appears the Martians are not deliberately hindering casualty evacuation from the battlefield, so at least if you get hit, we'll be able to take care of you."

"Yes," said Callahan, "and we're already conveniently pre-zipped into these body bags they call biosuits. Isn't that nice?"

"Enough of that shit, Callahan," Ayers scolded, though without much venom. "If everyone understands their role in the coming attack, why don't you get your squad leaders and the rest of your platoons briefed in. Be sure to let your APC drivers know that they need to follow the goddamn map and stay in formation no matter what. Let your APC gunners know to stick to their zones when laying down suppressing fire. Part of the reason the tanks were hit so hard was they were putting their fire all over the place and leaving a lot of the Martian firing positions uncovered with suppression fire. Stick to those zones and follow the routes we've come up with and we should be able to keep casualties to a minimum."

"And just what is the minimum?" Callahan asked. "Only twenty percent? Forty maybe?"

"You're out of line, Callahan," Ayers said dryly. "Get the briefings done and be ready to move out in thirty minutes."

Among the platoon leaders, only Callahan noticed that Ayers hadn't answered his question.

"They're moving in," said Sergeant Walker to his squad just after 0400. "We have the almost live telemetry again from whatever source Intel is using to spy on them. They're spread out like before, tanks in front coming in hot, APCs behind, mortar teams and support battalions behind that. ETA to first contact, five minutes."

"Oh yeah," said Hicks, who had given up the SAW to Drogan and was now manning a position near the end of the trench with his M-24. "I'm lovin' this now."

"You gotta die sometime, Hicks," Walker told him. "Hopefully it won't be this morning. Command estimates they're going to put suppressing fire on the anti-tank positions first and then bring up their APCs to dismount their troops. Once they start doing that they're more than likely going to start plastering our positions to keep us from firing on them. If the fire gets overwhelming our orders are to hunker down until it eases up. Adjoining hillsides will expand their zones to pick up the slack if they can. Likewise, if one of the hills to the north or south comes under heavy fire we're to expand our zones to take the pressure off them. We have to make sure that no exposed Earthling soldier down there doesn't have someone shooting at him. If they wanna take this hill, they're gonna have to pay the price for it."

"What about arty support?" Drogan asked.

"We have two batteries of 150s committed to this position," Walker replied. "Lieutenant Comesly will be serving as the forward spotter and directing that fire. We also have our mortar teams on the backside of the hill. Platoon lieutenants will be directing that fire and it will be answered based on priority."

"What kinda numbers we looking at to be attackin' us?" asked Jeff.

"Hard to tell by the telemetry at this point," Walker replied. "But you can bet your ass it'll be at least battalion strength hitting every hill, possibly more."

"That would be about four to one or so?" Jeff asked.

"Roughly," Walker said. "You didn't expect them to fight fair now, did you?"

"No, not really," Jeff said, watching as the heat tendrils and the swelling dust cloud grew more distinct.

The rumbling vibration of the approaching vehicles became noticeable again and grew worse. The tension grew thicker and the communication over the tactical channel became less and less frequent. Nobody seemed to have much to say anymore.

"Tanks coming into range," Walker suddenly announced. "AT positions engaging."

His observation was not entirely necessary since everyone could plainly see that the AT teams above them and on the hillsides around them were engaging. The flashes of laser weapons began to light up the night once again. Almost immediately the flashing of tank guns from just over the horizon began to answer back, sending streams of eighty millimeter shells streaking towards them. Explosions began to sound as their hill was hit but it was clear from the first that the volume of return fire was not nearly as intense as it had been during the first attack, when it had seemed like the entire hill was going to collapse atop them.

"Tanks approaching," Drogan announced. "Breaching the horizon across the whole line."

Jeff saw the forms of the main battle tanks becoming visible, three then four then eight then a dozen then two dozen, their laser mounts appearing first followed by their turrets and then the bodies. Some exploded as they were hit with anti-tank fire, one here, five there, three somewhere else, but always more appeared behind them, their cannons and lasers flashing. The ones not hit began to spread out a little, continuing to advance forward despite the horrendous losses they were taking. And still more and more kept appearing.

"Telemetry is showing sixty plus APCs moving toward our position, coming in hot," Walker announced. "They're starting to spread out for what appears a frontal and flank attack. The other hills are all getting about the same and there is a large reserve divided up into company strength units lagging behind them."

"Six hundred men," Jeff said, his adrenaline now flowing quite freely. "All for us."

"How fuckin' thoughtful of them," Hicks said, gripping the handle of his M-24 compulsively.

"This is the real thing, people," Walker said. "They're coming to get us. AT units will shift fire to the APCs as soon as they're in range to try to whittle their numbers down. As soon as they start to dismount, open up on them. Remember, controlled fire, stick to your zones, and try to put your recticle on center mass if you can. Don't try to be a video game hero and get everyone with headshots. A wounded marine is even better than a dead marine. You kill them and they just lay there. You wound them and someone has to take the time and manpower to pull them out. Drogan, remember to go after the large concentrations with that SAW. Keep them pinned in place if you can so the rest of the squad can pick them off individually."

"Right, sarge," she said, her voice cracking just the tiniest bit.

"And when its time to leave, we do it like we practiced," he added. "Take your weapons and as much ammo and supplies as you can carry and walk quickly to the egress point. Don't run, don't push, and don't panic. Panic kills. Remember that."

"The tanks are stopping," Drogan announced.

And indeed they were. They had spread out on a sporadic line about seven hundred meters out, many of them trying to find what cover they could. Some were hiding behind already destroyed tanks from the first engagement. Others were trying to put boulders or small rises in the land between themselves and the hill. The cannon fire began to pick up in intensity, still concentrated above, at the AT positions, still nowhere near as intense as before.

"APCs visible," someone shouted. "Here they come!"

Jeff saw the shapes of the APCs broach the horizon. They were moving fast, faster than the tanks, not zigzagging, just coming straight on. As soon as they became visible they began to fire their own sixty millimeter cannons at the AT positions, adding to the volume of fire. The hill shook harder with the explosions but even as he feared it would be enough to suppress the anti-tank crews, two of the APCs exploded from direct hits.

"Yes," he whispered, his thumb playing over the firing button of his weapon. "Take them out, guys. Take them right the fuck out."

As they drew closer, the APCs began to fire their twenty-millimeter cannons as well, sending high intensity streaks of shells into the hill. And still the AT crews kept after them. Three more exploded, then five more, their hulks stopping dead as smoke and blood vapor rose into the air. But still they came, passing through the ranks of tanks that were trying to protect them and advancing further. Half of them came directly toward the front of the hill. The other half split up into two and began to move towards the sides. Suddenly, they came to a halt, their guns continuing to fire as fast as they could. Their rear ramps came down and the small figures of WestHem marines began to pour out of them.

"They're dismounting!" Walker shouted. "Open fire. Arty and mortars are incoming!"

Jeff's zone was near the right flank of the hill as seen from the enemy perspective. He put his recticle over the figure of a marine and pushed the firing button on his weapon. It kicked in his hand and the figure dropped, a puff of blood vapor coming out of his back. He had just killed his first enemy soldier. He attached no thought or emotion to this save a small feeling of vicious pleasure. He was too scared to feel much else. And before he could even put his recticle on someone else, before Drogan could even open up with her SAW to keep them pinned near their egress points, both the tanks and the APCs shifted fire and began to plaster the infantry trenches.

"Fuck me!" someone yelled as the streaks of eighty, sixty, and twenty millimeter began to pound into their position. Explosions shuddered and concussed through his body. Dirt, sand, and rocks began to fly around the trenches. One of the shells went off right outside his hole and he felt shrapnel pinging off his helmet.

"Fuck me is right," he said. Still he kept his head in his hole and shot another soldier. He then shot another one.

"Fuck me!" Callahan yelled as he stepped out of the APC and into the living hell of the Martian battlefield. Bullets came flying in, pinging off the top of the APC, slamming into the dirt around them. Two of the squad members went down almost instantly, both shot through the torso. He covered behind the rear of the APC the best he could and tried to clear his mind enough to start taking account of his platoon, their positioning, and the best way to advance them to the base of that hill.

The advance forward had been bad enough, horrifying even. They'd rushed inward towards their flank of the hill, sixteen APCs in all, plowing through a broad plain littered with destroyed tanks. As soon as the hill had come in sight, the lasers began to fall on them. The APC directly next to his in the formation had blown up right before his eyes, its turret flying through the air, the blood of its occupants geysering upward and blowing off in the wind. Two and then three other APCs of the company exploded right behind it, another thirty men dead in an instant, the rest of them horribly exposed, their suppressing fire doing next to nothing to slow down the onslaught of laser energy.

"Dismount!" came Ayers' cry, his voice sounding scared, desperate, very unlike the cool, professional tone of command it usually instilled. "Get everyone out and start advancing towards the base."

The APCs stopped and they'd scrambled out in a disorganized heap, two hundred meters short of their planned egress point and without much of anything in the way of natural cover from the gunfire that was erupting around them.

"Callahan, Meyers," Ayers ordered. "Get your platoons to put some covering fire on those hillside positions!"

"Meyers is dead, sir," a terrified voice squeaked back at them. "This is Corporal Jones. I've taken command of fourth platoon."

"Just fuckin' great," Ayers responded. "Alright, Jones, start commanding. Third and fourth platoon cover, first and second advance inward to the original dismount location. Move!"

Callahan repeated the orders to his platoon and then quickly moved behind a medium sized boulder that was ten meters from the APC. No sooner had he stepped away than the APC exploded, struck by an anti-tank laser. It's turret landed exactly where Callahan had just been standing.

"Jesus," he muttered, resisting the urge to stare at the destroyed vehicle. He turned back towards the battlefield and watched as his men got behind anything they could find to use as cover — rocks, undulations in the landscape, destroyed APCs. Several more went down.

"They're killing us down here," Callahan told his men. "Stop crawling around and start shooting! We need some fire on those Martian gun positions or they're gonna pick us off one by one!"

The SAW gunners settled in and quickly set up their weapons. They started firing upward, raking their bullets over the trenches where the flashes from the Martian guns were emanating. The rest of the platoon soon followed, sending three round bursts at the gun flashes with their M-24s. It had no effect whatsoever. The Martians guns kept flashing and men kept getting hit, their weapons falling to the ground, their grunts and groans of pain, their death cries echoing over the tactical channel.

"Incoming!" several voices yelled at once.

Callahan looked up and saw the streaks of artillery and mortar shells coming at them, dropping out of the sky like deadly hailstones. The explosions began a few seconds later. Flashes of light blinded them, concussions slammed into them, and men were blown apart, arms and legs and heads flying from their bodies, torsos tossed through the air on clouds of blood vapor. Shrapnel lanced into Callahan's left arm, slicing neatly through his suit and causing a warning light to appear in his goggles.

First and second platoon took the worst of it, however. They had been rushing forward to their position when the shells started dropping. Their entire front rank was shredded.