“What? You’d prefer James Taylor?”
“We’ve got a situation.”
“Yep.” Mike sighed and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “Don’t we always.”
“The 14th Division high-tailed it.” The battalion sergeant major took his own helmet off and shielded his eyes. “They’re halfway to Buffalo by now.”
“What else is new?” O’Neal intoned. “Nice artillery fire, though. Not hitting anything, but very pretty.”
“Corps arty. I doubt they’ll stick around much longer. The whole corps is thinking the ‘bugout boogie’ by now.”
“Ten Thousand plugging the gap?”
“Yep.”
“Yep.”
There was a long silence while the sergeant major scratched at his scalp. The biotic underlayer of the suits had finally fixed his perennial dandruff but the habit lingered on long after the end of the problem.
“So, we gonna do anything about it, boss?”
“Do what?” the battalion commander asked. “Charge heroically into the enemy, driving him back by force of arms? ‘Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage’? Break the back of the enemy attack and drive them into rout? Retake positions lost for months? Drive them all the way back to Westbury and Clyde where they are supposed to be?”
“Is that what you’re planning?” Pappas asked.
“I’m not planning anything!” Mike answered shortly. “But I suppose that is what Jack is expecting. I notice he turned up.”
“It’s how you know it’s serious,” Pappas joked. “If CONARC turns up the shit has truly hit the fan.”
“I also notice that there are no artillery units responsive to calls for fire.”
“They’re working on that.”
“And that both flanking divisions are defined by Shelly as ‘shaky.’ ”
“Well, they’re Army, ain’t they?” the former Marine chuckled. “Army’s always defined as ‘shaky.’ It’s the default setting.”