"The only tank-crossing point on the lower Santine is la Reole, which is in friendly hands but is encircled by dug-in hostiles. The bridge is damaged besides. The forces at my disposal are not sufficient to overwhelm the opposition, nor is it survivable to penetrate the encirclement and proceed to the bridge with the bulk of the hostile forces still in play behind us."
She paused, though the transmission would compress the hesitation out of existence. "Unless you can give us some support, Colonel, I'm going to have to swing north till the river's fordable. It'll add time."
A deep breath, drawn against the unfamiliar, screen-lighted closeness of the tank turret. "Tootsie Six, over."
"Slug the transmission with our coordinates and execute,"she ordered the unit as she stared bleakly at the holographic map filling her main screen.
Nothing else was working out the way she wanted. Why should the tank's artificial intelligence have the right default?
"Tootsie Three, this is Six," she said aloud. "You got One-six sorted out, Cooter?"
It might be minutes before her own message went out, and the wait for Hammer's response would be at least that long again. The heavens had their own program . . . .
"Tootsie Six,roger,"her second-in-command replied,panting slightly."I gave Chalkin the blower. Mc—"
The transmitting circuit
Meteorites, invisible to human eyes during daytime, burned across the sky every few seconds. It was just a matter of waiting for the track which would give the signal the narrowest, least interceptive path to the desired recipient . . . .
"—Gwire bought it and Foran's not a lot better, but there's no damage to the car. Over."
"Tootsie Three, how are the mechanicals holding—"
The inward workings of the console beneath Screen Three gave a satisfied chuckle; its amber Stand-by light flashed green.
"Cooter," Ranson said, "forget—no—" she threw a toggle "—listen in."
Staring at the screen—though she knew the transmission would be voice only—she said, "Play burst."
