The Tejano Conflict by Steve Perry

from excavations that made a reservoir nearby. A hundred years ago, they had dug a big hole and piled up the dirt. The elevation of the tallest hillock was only 150 meters; the other two were slightly lower. The newly created real estate had quickly sprouted some expensive houses, but during the Mutant Plague Years late in the previous century, the rich people who owned those houses had somehow suffered infection worse than the poorer folks around them. The houses were, according to local superstition, cursed, and while some of the structures were still there and more or less intact, home to a few squatters, the enclave had become mostly a ghost town.
    The squatters had been kicked out for the duration of the war.
    The name of the fake mountains was ironic:
Montoncillo de Habas
. Which meant, more or less, according to Gramps, “Hill of Beans . . .”
    Singh drove, having shown a talent for operating small armored vehicles. On the field, nobody trusted the computers to pilot if they didn’t have to do so.
    The road was narrow, barely wide enough for two lanes of traffic, though both lanes were one-wayed toward the upcoming action, and the column Jo led was double-stacked and rolling fast. Twelve vehicles, two of them troop carriers, the rest lightly armored, some heavy machine-gun platforms, 10mm-caseless Fraleys, and supply transports.
    High ground didn’t mean as much as it once had, given aircraft and satellites, but water still ran downhill. It was harder to ascend than descend, and the ability to eyeball incoming traffic was sometimes critical. One of the first things that happened in combat, even a small war, was that high-tech gear went wonky. Coms failed, sat overflies that could pick out individual troops taking a leak somehow missed a column of tanks, drones developed engine problems. The fog of war obscured everything.
    If you looked out over a road and saw infantry marching in your direction with your own eyes, that was probably closer to reality.
    â€œSingh,” Jo began.
    â€œSix minutes, sah.”
    Jo activated her opchan. “Gramps, how—”
    â€œNine minutes before they get there,” Gramps said. “You’ll have all kinds of time to set up and start plinking.”
    â€œBig talk, old man,” Gunny said. She was in the caboose, bringing up the rear. “Takes you three minutes to find the Velcro to untab your fly.”
    â€œYeah, but then I have overwhelming firepower.”
    Jo grinned.
    â€“ – – – – –
    Kay ran, working her way through the forest. Her com was shut down. Even though it was encrypted, using it would produce a signal that might be detected, and that was more information than she wanted to reveal, and she didn’t need to talk to anybody yet.
    Yes, they would know enemy scouts were in the woods, but they might be able to determine some kind of location using field-strength metering, and she didn’t want to give them anything.
    The enemy had ATVs, small single- and double-wheelers, a couple of two-person quads, but no GE or hovercraft—the woods were too thick to operate those safely. Kay’s side also had similar vehicles, but she was faster on foot than most of those in a wood this dense.
    There was a choke point half a kilometer ahead, a deep stream that would have to be bridged to allow vehicles and troops to move over it quickly. Kay’s assignment was to get there as soon as possible and slow the construction of a crossing until more of her own troops could arrive.
    Control of the stream was not likely to win the war, but it was a factor.
    The enemy had the advantage in that their entrance to the forest was closer, and they should reach the stream first. Control of the forest might be key since the wells themselves were just past the northern edge. It was not critical for Kay’s army since their plan was to approach from a different angle; however, it seemed that the opposition had