The ground shook from another shell that got through the tribarrels' defensive web. Des Grieux was so concentrated on Broglie that his mind had tuned out the ripping bursts that normally would have focused him utterly.
"It's not just us 'n them,"Des Grieux said. Lindgren and Hawes, sitting on ammunition boxes on opposite sides of the bunker, swivelled their heads from one veteran to the other like spectators at a tennis match. "There's five, six thousand Federals on this crap pile with us, and they can't like it much better than I do."
"They're not—" Lieutenant Lindgren began. Cyan light flickered through the bunker entrance. A Republican sniper, not one of the Slammers' weapons. The Reps had a few powerguns, and Hill 661 was high enough that a marksman could slant his bolts into the Federal position.
The
"Not line soldiers," the lieutenant concluded in an artificially calm tone.
"They'd fight if they had somebody to lead them," Des Grieux said. "
"They've got a leader,"Broglie replied, "and it's General Wycherly,not us.For what he's worth."
Des Grieux grimaced as though he'd been kicked. Even Hawes snorted.
"I don't believe you appreciate the constraints that General Wycherly operates under," Lindgren said in a thin voice.
Lindgren knew how little his authority was worth to the veterans. That, as well as a real awareness of the Federal commander's difficulties, injected a note of anger into his tone."He's outnumbered three or four to one,"he went on."Ten to one, if you count just the real combat troops under his command. But he's holding his position as ordered. And that's just what we're going to help him do."
"We're pieces of a puzzle,Slick,"said Broglie.Here laxed enough to rub his lips, massaging them out of the rictus into which the discussion had cramped them. "Wycherly's job is to keep from getting overrun; our job's to help him; and our people with the relieving force 're going to kick the cop outa the Reps if we just hold 'em a few days more."
