The highway kinked into a roundabout decorated with a statue, now headless; and kinked again as it proceeded to the bridge approaches. The buildings on either side of the dogleg had been reduced to rubble. The Consie gunners hadn't been able to get a clear shot at the bridge with their direct-fire weapons or to spot the shells their mortars and howitzers lobbed toward the span.
"No! No! No!" shouted the major, his voice buzzy and attenuated by interference from drive fans."You're needed here! I order you to stop—and anyway, you can't cross the bridge, it's too weak. Do you hear me! Halt!"
Another landing vehicle sheltered in a walled forecourt with its diesel idling. The gunner lifted his helmet to scratch his bald scalp, then saluted Ranson. He was at least twice the age of any of the six kids in the vehicle's open bay, but they were all armed to the teeth and glaring out with wild-eyed fury.
The Consies had attempted a direct assault on la Reole before they moved their heavy weapons into position. That must've gotten interesting.
A few civilians raised their heads above window sills, but they ducked back as soon as any of the mercenaries glanced toward them.
"Local Officer," Ranson said as echoes of drive fans hammered her from the building fronts, "I'm sorry but we've got our orders. You'll have to take care of your remaining problems yourself. Slammers out."
She split her visor to take the remote from the new lead tank. The controls had reverted to direct view when transmission from
The bridge at la Reole was a suspension design with a central tower in midstream and slightly lower towers on either bank to support the cables. Consie gunners had battered the portions of the towers which stuck up above the roof peaks. They had shattered the concrete and parted the cable on the upstream side.
The span sagged between towers, but the lowest point of its double arc was still several meters above the water. The downstream cable continued to hold, although it now stretched over piles of rubble instead of being clamped firmly onto the towers. A guardpost of Marines with rocket launchers, detailed to watch for raft-borne Consies, gaped at the huge tank that approached them.
"Willens," Ranson ordered her driver, "hold up."
The lower half of her visor swayed as the tank moved onto the raised approach.
"All Tootsie units, hold up. One vehicle on the bridge at a time. Take it easy. Six out."
