"There's two hundred thousand people in Kohang," Ranson said. "There's three thousand police in the city."
"The Governmental Compound is under siege," Hammer said coldly. "Some elements of the security forces appeared to be acting in support of the Consies." He paused and rubbed his eye.
"A battalion of the 4th Armored left Camp Victory without orders yesterday afternoon," he continued. "About an hour before the first rocket attack. Those troops aren't responding to messages from their brigade commander."
"Blood and martyrs," somebody in the TOC said. Maybe they all said it.
"Sir," said Ranson, "we can't, we can't by ourself—"
"Shoot your way into the compound," Hammer said before she could finish. "Reinforce what's there, put some backbone into 'em. They got enough bloody troops to do the job themselves, Captain . . . they just don't believe it."
He grimaced. "Even a couple blowers. That'll do the trick until G and H companies arrive. Just a couple blowers."
"Cop," muttered Wylde through his bandages.
"Bloody hell," muttered Cooter with the back of his hand tightly against his mouth.
"May the Lord have mercy on our souls," said/thought June Ranson.
"Speed's essential," Hammer resumed. "You have authorization to combat-loss vehicles rather than slow down. The victory bonus'll cover the cost of replacement."
"I'll be combat-lossing crews, Colonel," Ranson's voice said. "But they're replaceable too. . . ."
Cooter gasped. Wylde grunted something that might have been either laughter or pain.
Hammer opened his mouth, then closed it with an audible clop. He opened it again and spoke with a lack of emotion as complete as the white, colorless fury of a sun's heart. "You are not to take any unnecessary risks, Captain Ranson. It is necessary that you achieve your objective. You will accept such losses as are required to achieve your objective. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir," said Ranson without inflection. "Oh, yes sir."
Hammer turned his head. The viewers at Camp Progress thought their commander was about to call orders or directions to someone on his staff. Instead, nothing happened while the hologram pick-ups stared at the back of Alois Hammer's head.
"All right," Hammer said at last, beginning to speak before he'd completely faced around again. His eyes were bright, his face hard. "The Consies' night vision equipment isn't as good as ours for the most part, so you're to leave as soon as it's dark. That gives you enough time to prepare and get some rest."
"Rest," Wylde murmured.
"The World Gov satellites'll tell the Consies where we are to the millimeter," Ranson said. "We'll have ambush teams crawling over us like flies on a turd, all the way to Kohang."
Or however far.
"Junebug," said Hammer, "I'm not hanging you out to dry. Thirty seconds before you start your move, all the WG satellites are going to go down, recce and commo both. They'll stay down for however long it suits me that they do."
Ranson blinked, "Sir," she said hesitantly, "if you do that . . . I mean, that means—"
"It means that our commo and reconnaissance is probably going to go out shortly thereafter, Captain," Hammer said. "So you'll be on your own. But you don't have to worry about tank killers being vectored into your axis of advance."
"Sir, if you hit their satellites—" Ranson began.
"They'll take it and smile, Captain," Hammer said. "Because if they don't, there won't be any Terran World Government enclaves here on Prosperity to worry about. I guarantee it. They may think they can cause me trouble on Earth, but they know what I'll do to them here!"
"Yessir," June Ranson said. "I'll check the status of my assets and plot a route, then get back to you."
"Captain," Hammer said softly, "if I didn't think it could be done, I wouldn't order it. No matter how much it counted. Good luck to you and your team."
The hologram dissolved into a swirl of phosphorescent mites, impingement points of the carrier wave itself after the signal ceased. Bestwick shut down the projector.
"Cooter," Ranson said, "get the guard detachment ready. I'll take care of the tanks myself."
Cooter nodded over his shoulder. The big man was already on the way to his blower. It was going to be tricky, juggling crews and newbies to fill the slots that last night's firefight had opened. . . .
If Hammer took on the World Government, he was going to lose. Not here, but in the main arena of politics and economics on Earth.
That bothered June Ranson a lot.
But not nearly as much as the fact that the orders she'd just received put her neck on the block, sure as Death itself.