Pointblank, p.25
Pointblank, page 25
Obannion leaned closer to take a good look. The visual images didn’t tell him much. It was just dawn at Gilbert’s Corners; the structures were silhouettes, obscured by long shadows. But the infrared and radar told him quite a bit. “Sir, that looks more like a growing town than a small village.”
“Uh-huh. I do suspect your people on the ground have found what my people above the sky couldn’t have discovered without a good deal of work and luck, even if we had the string-of-pearls in place. Just goes to show the value of Force Recon.”
No matter what that doggie thinks, Obannion thought, though he wouldn’t say that in front of the admiral. Out loud, he said, “Force Recon, sir, we go where no one else can.”
Hoi leaned back in his chair for a moment, thinking, then sat erect. “General Billie is in overall command of this campaign, albeit he has little direct control of what my task force does. The proper thing to do is for me to download this data to him and request direction. I will, of course, recommend a course of action. Two of them, as a matter of fact.
“My primary recommendation will be that he detach elements of sufficient size from the garrison on Bataan to stage a strike against Gilbert’s Corners with the objective of neutralizing, capturing if possible but definitely neutralizing, the Committee on the Conduct of the War.” He again paused to think, and shook his head. “Given who he is and how he thinks, I doubt he will consent to detaching any part of his force for such a strike. Since he won’t, I will alternatively recommend a raid conducted by Force Recon. If nothing else, we can throw a scare into them.” He looked into a distance only he could see for a moment, then looked at Obannion. “In any raid, there will be casualties. If we have to fight in the village, we run the risk of civilian casualties. In the past the Coalition has made considerable political capital from inadvertent civilian casualties. To the greatest extent possible, we have to avoid civilian casualties.”
Obannion nodded.
“However, I think the members of the Committee on the Conduct of the War are legitimate military targets. If any of them gets killed, so be it. Try not to kill them, though; the Confederation can make better political capital out of captured committee members than dead ones.”
“I understand and fully concur, Admiral,” Obannion said.
“Commander, begin drawing plans for such a raid.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Hoi turned back to his console and replaced the images of Gilbert’s Corners with a schematic of the warships in orbit around Ravenette. Obannion took that as a dismissal and left the CIC.
Headquarters, Fourth Recon Company
The entire staff of Fourth Force Recon Company, minus Ensign Barnum and First Sergeant Cottle, who were still at Camp Howard on Halfway, assembled in Commander Obannion’s office. It was a tight fit for the six of them, especially after Sergeant Major Periz closed the hatch to the outer office.
“I suspect it’s possible that one or two of you haven’t yet heard about the latest report from second platoon’s fourth squad, so I’ll let Lieutenant Phipps brief you on it,” Commander Obannion began, with a nod at his S2 officer. “At this point, he should have more information than I do. Mr. Phipps, if you will.”
“Yessir,” Phipps said, and stood a little taller; in Barnum’s absence, he was the company’s most junior officer. “Yesterday, local time, second platoon’s fourth squad was on a hunter-killer mission a hundred and fifty kilometers southwest of Ashburtonville, searching for satellite-killers and their emplacement vehicles, when they discovered the area was heavily patrolled by Coalition infantry. Second platoon’s fifth squad also encountered numerous foot patrols in a nearby patrol area. Sergeant Williams decided to find out why the area was being aggressively patrolled, as the patrols could interfere with his squad’s primary mission. Fourth squad’s hunter-killer area was adjacent to a small farming village called Gilbert’s Corners—as was fifth squad’s. Sergeant Williams made a cursory examination from a distance and noted extensive recent construction, and what appeared to be housing for far more than the thousand or so people known to be resident in the village. So he led one other Marine into the village to investigate. They discovered newly constructed barracks sufficient to house a reinforced battalion, as well as numerous single-family dwellings. Inside the original village, they found a bar-restaurant that was open and busy despite the late hour—by then it was past midnight, a most unusual time for such an establishment in a farming community to be open and busy. Sergeant Williams thought the patrons of the establishment didn’t look like farmers, so he took 2-D images of them and attached the images to his report.”
Phipps paused long enough to grin. “We have identified some of the people in those images—at least eight of the eleven members of the Coalition’s Committee on the Conduct of the War are in Gilbert’s Corners.”
“Thank you, Mr. Phipps,” Obannion said before the S2 could continue. At some point, he realized, he’d have to give his intelligence officer a primer on briefings—that was a bit too stilted. “You did indeed know something I didn’t. Please inform Admiral Hoi and give him the names of every member of the committee you’ve identified. You can give the names to his aide. Return here as soon as you’ve done that.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Phipps squeezed past Periz, who again closed the door behind him. Everybody breathed a little easier with one fewer body in the commander’s office.
“Now,” Obannion continued, “Admiral Hoi is sending a report on that discovery to General Billie planetside. With recommendations. He wants his primary recommendation to be for the general to detach a sufficient force to attack Gilbert’s Corners with the objective of killing or capturing the committee members present there. He doubts—and, for what it’s worth, I concur—that General Billie will want to detach anybody for that mission. So in addition to the assault by elements of his command with Force Recon in a supporting role, Admiral Hoi is recommending a raid on Gilbert’s Corners conducted by us.” Obannion paused while the sergeant major opened the door to let Lieutenant Phipps back in. “So, I want you to start planning for three missions. One, an unsupported Force Recon raid on Gilbert’s Corners using all company personnel, those planetside who can reach the objective in a timely manner, and those who are available in orbit. Two, a platoon-size Force Recon raid on Gilbert’s Corners. Three, Force Recon operations in support of a regimentsize army assault on Gilbert’s Corners. In each case, the unsupported raids and the operations in support of a larger action, civilian casualties are to be avoided to the greatest extent possible. If the opportunity arises, members of the committee are to be captured, though their capture is not the primary objective of the raids. The primary objective is to sow as much confusion and fear as possible.
“Questions?”
“How much time do we have?” Captain Wainwright, the S3 operations officer, asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine, but I’d say a minimum of two days, maximum one week. Anybody else?”
“Can we kill the members of the committee?” Captain Qindall asked.
Obannion looked at his executive officer and realized that he was giving voice to a question he thought the others were reluctant to ask. “Admiral Hoi assures me that the members of the Committee on the Conduct of the War are legitimate military targets. However, killing them is low priority and to be avoided if reasonably possible. Anybody else?” When nobody else had any questions, he said, “Let’s do this thing.”
Sergeant Major Periz opened the door and stepped out of the way of officers anxious to get to work.
CHAPTER
* * *
TWENTY-EIGHT
Office of the G2, Bataan Peninsula, Ravenette
Colonel Wilson “Wumwum” Wyllyums, even in the best of times, cut a most unmilitary figure. But, after weeks in the fortress on Bataan, he looked worse than ever. His uniform, always disheveled, was hanging off him like an old maid’s washing on the line; three days’ growth of beard darkened his jawline; unruly tufts of hair stood up on his head like crabgrass in a badly mown lawn. But under that hair worked one of the most brilliant minds in the Confederation army on Ravenette.
Colonel Wyllyums reread the message from Rear Admiral Hoi on his screen. So Force Recon had been out in the boonies again? Privately, Colonel Wyllyums loved FR operations. Nothing like the human eyeball to find out what the enemy was up to. The admiral was making a suggestion that could be critical. “This could turn the tide in our favor,” he muttered. He wondered why nobody had thought of this before. Well, that was obvious enough: nobody on General Jason Billie’s staff was paid enough to think of such things. Absently, he reached over and shook out another cigarette from the ever-present pack at his elbow. Yes, yes, yes, he thought as he lit the Capricorn and sucked the smoke deep into his lungs. Tiny tobacco embers cascaded down the front of his uniform. He brushed them off automatically; he considered the little holes they burned in his clothing as just the occupational hazards of a heavy smoker. They only came to his attention when they burst into flames.
Colonel Wyllyums squinted against the harsh cloud of smoke wreathing his head and leaned back in his seat. The decoded, highly classified message he was reading had been addressed, as staff protocol required, to the G3, the operations shop, with info to the deputy commander, the chief of staff, and the G2, which was Wyllyums. It was a list of operations Fleet was proposing for its Force Recon elements behind the Coalition’s lines. These messages were routinely furnished to the ground-force commander for his approval, after staff recommendations, and once approved, further disseminated within the army so that the commanders would know if friendly troops would be operating in areas of interest to them. The G2 and G3 staff forwarded their recommendations to the chief of staff, who in turn referred them to General Billie or sometimes, on his own authority, either approved or denied them. The deputy commander, General Cazombi, was included as a courtesy only. The chief of staff could approve these missions on his own because General Billie had confidence in his judgment, and like Billie, Major General Sorca had intense disdain for Force Reconnaissance—or anything Marine. Those recommendations that did make it in to Billie were almost always disapproved.
Colonel Wyllyums had been elevated to the job of General Billie’s chief of intelligence because at the time no one else had been available. He had learned it was safer to stay as much out of Billie’s sight as possible, so he usually delegated the daily intelligence briefings to a subordinate. But now he had to beard the lion. He applied his digital signature to the message to indicate he had read it. That distinctive signature, scrawled in haste, had given him his nickname, Wumwums, because that’s what it looked like.
He sucked on his Capricorn. How to get in to see the commander? Proper military protocol required that he take his concerns up with the chief of staff, but Wyllyums knew what Sorca’s reaction would be. Nope. Cazombi the Zombie, Billie’s deputy, that was the guy to take this to. General Cazombi was respected throughout the army and he had the guts to take this in to Billie and argue the recommendation’s considerable merits. Not that that would do any good, but Wyllyums had to give it a try. He reached for his console, then hesitated. If Cazombi took this to Billie, he’d want Wyllyums to come along with him. Unconsciously he brushed the ashes off his tunic. Did he want another ass-chewing from Billie?
Suddenly a series of heavy blasts shook the walls of Wyllyums’s cubbyhole office. Incoming artillery. That made up his mind. He punched the console.
Office of the Deputy Commander, Coalition Forces, Ravenette
“How long has this thing been in the system?” General Cazombi asked. He answered his own question, glancing at the date-time group on the message. “Not that long,” he muttered, reading it once more. He rubbed his jaw with one hand. “Ummm, Balca might not have read it yet,” he mused. “If I haven’t read it until now, I know he hasn’t.”
“Sir, if we let Admiral Hoi act on this intelligence, it could be critical to our breakout plan. I don’t think we have any choice except to argue this with General Billie.”
Cazombi smiled. “Well, you can damned well bet that Billie won’t detach any of his force to carry out this mission. So if it’s going to be carried off, the Marines will have to do it, and you know how our supreme commander feels about Marines.” Cazombi leaned back in his chair. “Jeez, Willie, you ready to risk another dressing down from Billie? You think this is that important?”
“That I do, sir, that I do.”
“Sergeant,” Cazombi called to his enlisted aide, “get the G3, have him meet me here ASAP.” He punched General Sorca’s number into his console. “Balca. Alistair. I’m bringing G2 and G3 over and we’re going in to see the commander. I’ll brief you when I get there.”
Colonel Wyllyums reached for the cigarette pack he always carried in a breast pocket. “Uh-uh, Willie, don’t light up just yet”—Cazombi waved a hand—“you know how Billie hates cigarette smoke.”
“Uh, yes, sir. But he smokes those damned cigars—”
The G3, Brigadier General Thayer, arrived.
“Sy, we’re going up to see Billie,” Cazombi said. “Have you read the traffic from Task Force 79 yet?”
“Not yet, sir,” the brigadier answered, “I usually leave that stuff to last.” He took the proffered message and glanced at it. Wyllyums had ticked off the paragraph on the printout. Thayer shook his head. “He’ll never approve something like this, sir, especially never release any of his ground forces for a mission like this.”
Cazombi scratched his nose. “I know. But Willie here thinks this is a great opportunity and so do I. What do you say, Sy?”
Thayer ran a bony hand through his thinning hair. Like Colonel Wyllyums, he’d been appointed by Billie as operations officer, because no one else was available. Billie’s method of running an army was to make all the decisions himself, so Thayer’s job had devolved into ensuring Billie’s orders on troop dispositions and tactics were passed on to the unit commanders, not recommending or even commenting on them. “Well, it has possibilities, sir. If you’re willing to go into the lion’s den to argue them, I’ll go with you.”
Willie stood up and grinned. “Once more into the breach, dear friends! Once more!”
Office of the Supreme Commander, Coalition Forces, Ravenette
“Wyllyums, why is it you always look like a damned bag of rags whenever I see you?” General Billie thundered when the three officers with General Sorca bringing up the rear filed into his tiny cubicle.
“The slimies ate my dress uniform, sir.”
“Goddammit, Colonel, don’t smart-mouth me!” Billie slammed his fist on his desk. “You’re a goddamned field-grade officer on my staff, goddammit, and I expect you to set an example for everyone else. I know, I know, shortage of water and all that, but, Colonel, an officer is always on parade. At least you could tuck that damned tunic in.” He glared at the officers. “What the hell brings you all in here like this? Balca, your job is to shortstop traffic out there, so I, so I can—concentrate on important matters.” He glared at Sorca.
“Yessir, but General Cazombi has something he thinks is important and I couldn’t—”
“Well, Alistair, what is it then? You had to bring Wyllyums and Thayer with you? Afraid to face me alone, are you?” Billie laughed.
“Sir, here’s a printout of a message from Admiral Hoi Yueng recommending some Force Recon missions. I’ve highlighted the one I’d like to talk to you about. Most of these missions are the usual snoop-and-poop stuff, but Marine Force Recon—”
“Not them again!” Billie muttered.
“—has spotted something at Gilbert’s Corners the admiral thinks is highly significant.” He handed Billie the flimsy sheet.
“I know all about Gilbert’s Corners.”
“Well, sir, I guess that was something we forgot to pass on to Admiral Hoi,” Cazombi said.
Billie ignored the comment. “Goddamned smartest thing old Lyons did, getting those meddling politicos as far away from him as he could. I’d bring them all back here if I could, really gum up his works.” He took the sheet. “Hoi Yueng,” he muttered, “goddamned space-going squid, sits up there on the Kiowa on his fat ass, scratching his Buddha head,” Billie grumbled, glancing at the paragraph. “NO, goddammit it, NO! Absolutely not! Jesus H. Hertzog, Alistair, you know better than to endorse a proposal like this! I will NEVER authorize an attack against civilians, NEVER!” Billie’s face had turned brick red. “And, dammit, who the hell does Hoi think he is, recommending that I detach troops from my command to conduct this wild-goose chase?”
“Sir”—it was Colonel Wyllyums—“if I may? We know that the Coalition government is less than united in their views on how to prosecute this war. Our intercepts of their diplomatic messages spell that out very clearly. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s the personalities of Summers and Lyons that are holding the whole thing together. Every one of those politicians thinks he knows better than Lyons how to fight this war.”
“So?” Billie glared back at the colonel. “I know all about that. So what? This war’s going to be won right here”—he jabbed his desk with a forefinger—“when we break out. Dammit, men, I have six full divisions crammed into this shithole or hanging loose in orbit, champing at the bit for me to let ’em go, and we’re almost ready to do that! I’m going to split Lyons’s army in two and defeat it in detail. So what good is a goddamned Force Reconnaissance raid on Gilbert’s Corners?”
“Sir,” General Cazombi said, “those politicians out there are a fractious bunch of quibblers and cowards. Now, if the Marines—Marines, sir, not our troops—can put the fear of God into them, shake them up, hit them in the guts with a raid, maybe even capture or kill a few of them”—he spread his hands—“they’ll shit a brick—”
“You don’t need to use expressions like that with me, General.”
“Sorry, sir. We think that’s all they’d need to force General Lyons to detach significant number of his troops to protect the place from further raids, weaken his forces. There’s a division a few klicks away from Gilbert’s Corners, sitting on its hands, another at Phelps. They constitute an important reserve. Once you mount your breakout, those troops are available to plug holes in Lyons’s line. We need to ensure they are kept where they are. This raid will do that.”
