— 28 —
"Foxtrot, advance to Lavender, Skimmers forward," Bull ordered, sticking with the planned course of action.
"Lariat Two Six, this is Papa One Six, over," Lieutenant Smyth radioed on Bull's platoon push.
"Go ahead," Bull replied. The only reason Smyth would have to not use the combat group frequency was to talk semi-privately with Bull.
"I'd like to send Alpha India to the far side of that hill in a wide pincer," Smyth told him. "I think we need the extra safety it guarantees."
"No," Bull decided swiftly. "That platoon is too green for a maneuver like that. They'd report every rabbit that hopped out there. We charge on. You keep your eyes open and we'll be all right."
"Roger," Smyth agreed, but his tone said otherwise. "Out."
Bull sighed. Smyth's request was good combat sense in a known combat situation. Time was too important now for Bull to decide automatically that there was a chance of combat, especially in light of current experience. He hoped Smyth wasn't being too edgy.
"Foxtrot India, this is Six. Over," Bull called on the group push, knowing that Smyth would have switched back.
"This is India," Smyth replied.
"I want a pincer recon to secure Lavender. You may use all India elements. Tango elements will provide defensive fire on your command," Bull told him. There, he thought to himself, that'll give Pete enough to stiffen his spine.
"India, wilco," Smyth replied, confirming the order.
The combat group had rounded the hill now and the road angled northeast toward Cullea. To their left were open plains except where the road snaked back northwest from Cullea. There, forests masked the beginnings of the great Crags. Behind the trees lay the village of Nickel Run—phaseline Rust—where Donna Mills lived.
Bull wondered if the girl he and Smyth had fought over the night before was still thinking of them, or whether she had forgotten all about them. Bull doubted it. Now there's a girl with a problem, Bull noted. She was also a problem for him. If only he could get her to see reason. Rudely, he forced such thoughts from his mind and returned to the situation at hand.
His hovertanks had reached the spot occupied by the skimmers moments before. The skimmers could be seen occasionally flitting about as they jockeyed to get their positions in the pincer. Bull paid scant attention to Smyth's orders, knowing that whatever else he was, Pete Smyth was certainly able to conduct a simple recon pincer formation.
"Bravo, set," the platoon leader of Foxtrot Bravo India reported.
"Alpha, set," Lieutenant Peyton added. Both pincer platoons were set and in position.
"Proceed," Smyth replied calmly. Bull knew that Pete was sweating with fear that clung to all men who had seen the same combat maneuver fall apart under fire. Their positions might look great, their cover might be excellent, but it was never enough. And now they had to operate without the benefit of satellite surveillance, the same surveillance that had saved their bacon so many times before.
A puff of smoke made Bull start, but it was only a skimmer covering some dusty road. All the same he swore; such a sign would alert anyone to their presence. Seconds stretched their existence out as though alive and clinging to their moments. Bull forced himself to be calm, but he jumped when a voice on the radio said, "This is India. Lavender is secure."
"This is Foxtrot. Set for Rust," Bull replied, forcing himself to swallow before he spoke again. "Tango, this is Foxtrot. Take positions to the far side of Lavender. Sierra Major, proceed to Lavender."
The air seemed alive again, and the throb of the huge hover fans intruded once more on Bull's hearing as the tanks moved toward Cullea. They arrived in short order, and when they got there, it was apparent nothing was out of the ordinary. Bull chided himself for both his earlier unconcern about everything and his hypercaution in the approach to Cullea. I'm getting old, he thought to himself. It was the ancient curse a soldier used.
Turn to section 34.