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fire.  Odds, grenade attack.  Target the section of trench in front of those storage tanks, three rounds each.  Reserve team, I want you to flank that heavy weapon – advance 500 meters to the right of the second squad.”
    My rangefinder confirmed my estimate that I was about 1100 meters from the target area.  I clicked the small button under my left thumb to lock the range into the firing system and, pointing my arm in the direction of the target, loosed three grenades in rapid succession.
    A few seconds later the ground all along the target area erupted as nine 100 milliton high explosive grenades exploded within a 5 second period. 
    The automatic fire from the trench stopped, at least momentarily.  We had no way of knowing if the gun had been hit or if the crew had merely been stunned or knocked to the ground.
    “Odds, covering rifle fire.  Evens advance 50 meters.”
    We had leapfrogged another 200 meters with only sporadic enemy fire when we got our answer, as the big gun opened up again, pinning us down about 800 meters short of the trench.  This time we weren't surprised, and no one was hit as far as I could tell.
    By this time the flanking force was in position on a small hill to the right and opened up on the trench.  If there had been a few more enemy troops, they could have engaged the flanking force and held the entire position firmly.  As it was, however, the flank force was only challenged by a single enemy trooper firing from behind one of the small buildings on the edge of the settlement.  About thirty seconds after he opened fire a lucky shot landed a frag grenade about a meter behind him.  Five or six pieces of osmium-iridium shrapnel slammed into him, one tearing his head clean off his body, eliminating the only effective opposition to the flank attack.
    With no other protection from the enfilade fire, the enemy had to fall back from the trench leaving three casualties and the auto gun behind.  A few seconds later, with the other half of the squad providing covering fire, my team took possession of the trench.
    The flank force had pursued the three retreating enemy troopers, picking one off as they ran for the cover of the nearest building.  The two survivors sought refuge in a small, concrete structure that looked like some kind of warehouse.
    Sergeant Harris’ voice barked over the comlink.  “All troops, cease firing.  Kleiner, take that building out.”
    With no fire coming from the broken CAC forces the rest was child’s play.  Kleiner moved down the trench about 10 meters to get a clean line of sight to the building.  Once in place she braced herself against the walls of the trench and selected a high explosive, short range rocket (we were way too close to use the normal charge, and an armor piercing round would blast right through a small building).  She yelled, “Clear!” and pulled the trigger.  Behind her there was a meter long blast of fire from the rocket’s backwash.  Less than half a second later the area of the building was engulfed in fire, smoke, and shattered concrete. 
    A couple seconds later the sergeant said, “Flanking force, advance north.  Fire team A, advance east.  Leapfrog house to house with at least two men covering each move.  Fire team B, stand by in reserve in the trench.”
    The sergeant’s orders may have seemed a little overly cautious, but they were strictly by the book.  I think we all agreed that there were no more live enemies in the town, but there was no percentage in betting anyone’s life on that assumption. 
    It took about half an hour to complete the house to house searches.  As expected, the town was deserted.  Intel had reported that the locals had all been removed to a central holding area and, from what we could see, that info seemed accurate.
    From their insignia we determined that the six CAC troopers killed in our attack were the remnants of a single squad.  If so, they had already suffered losses of 50%+ in the