Pointblank, p.26
Pointblank, page 26
Billie shifted his position. “It’s straight-leg infantry that’s going to win this war, gentlemen! You’re not Marines, you should know that! All this behind-the-lines stuff, it’s mere grandstanding, a bunch of prima donnas out there taking very little risk and bragging about how damned brave they are. Typical Marine publicity stunts! And who are these Force Recon boys anyway? Company-grade officers, junior officers, and enlisted people! You expect me to divert any of my forces on the recommendation of these nobodies? Not a field-grade among them?” He snapped the flimsy with his fingers. “Ambushes, raids, sniping, murder, gentlemen, pure and simple, and I won’t put up with it! Not on my watch! Not in my war!” He crumpled up the flimsy sheet and tossed it onto the floor. “That’s what I think of this bullshit! Now you all get the hell out of here and don’t bother me again!”
There was not enough room in the tiny office for a proper salute, so the four officers filed out unceremoniously. “Balca! You stay here for a while.” Sorca remained standing. “Have a seat.” Billie angrily bit the end off a Clinton and lit it up. Significantly, he did not offer one to his chief of staff. Billie blew a thick cloud of smoke and leaned back. “Balca, this is the kind of shit I’ve been working against ever since I took command of this army, and I’m getting really fucking sick of it. I want you to get rid of Cazombi—”
Sorca made as if to protest.
“I know, I know, he outranks you, Balca. So what? You’re a devious plotter, a good staff man, find something to get him out of my hair. Come up with something and I’ll use it to send him off, send him off on a wild-bopaloo chase somewhere.” Billie grinned and blew more smoke.
A light went on in Sorca’s head and he grinned in his own turn. He reached down and retrieved the crumpled flimsy, spread it out on his knee. “Sir, that makes me think—”
“Bad sign, Balca, you’re not paid enough to think. That’s my job.” Billie chuckled.
“Well, sir, this raid, now—”
“Yessssss? I sense something coming on.”
“Well, I’d have disapproved it without hesitation, but Cazombi, he barged in here—”
“I know, I know. The man’s a zealot, Balca, one of those highly principled fellows who does not understand the need for expediency in military affairs. He’s like all do-gooders, he gets in the way. Myself, I don’t give a slimie’s ass about killing civilians, they’re all goddamned traitors anyway, and we’ll hang them when we get them, but this proposed raid won’t have one iota of effect on the outcome of the war, I assure you. What are you thinking, man?”
Balca cleared his throat. “Well, sir, this proposal is clearly an attack against civilians. It will not go unremarked in our own government circles. What would the Confederation Congress think, their forces attacking the representatives of another democratically elected government? Lyons has to face this so-called Committee on the Conduct of the War? You wait until word gets out about this raid and our own politicians will have you over the coals. Unless—”
“Unless what, Balca?” Billie squinted at his chief of staff through the tobacco smoke.
“Here’s what I suggest, sir. You’ve got Admiral Hoi making this recommendation, that’s in the record. You’ve got Cazombi and your G2 and your G3 recommending you approve it. You argued forcefully against it. We’re all witnesses to that. Now you have Cazombi write up his own recommendation and submit it to you. You’ll have him on the record then. You approve it—with strong reservations and restrictions—and you warn him verbally that if there are any repercussions, he’s on his own. You stress the necessity of limiting civilian casualties. That’s an impossibility in an operation like this, but you stress that in writing. Then let the Marines go in there. You know how they operate, they’ll shoot the place up. It’s heavily defended. It won’t be a walkover. There’ll be casualties, hopefully some of the politicians. Summers’s government will protest vigorously, and Chang-Sturdevant will have to answer to her own party for what happened. You come out looking good and maybe even get Cazombi, Hoi, that whole crowd recalled.”
Billie leaned back and regarded Balca through a cloud of cigar smoke. He studied the Clinton carefully for a moment, turning it in his fingers. “Balca,” he said at last, “you’re a freaking devil, anyone ever tell you that? But”—he held up a forefinger—“you’re my devil.” He shoved the cigar humidor at his chief of staff. “Have a Clinton, old buddy, you’ve earned one.”
On the Line, Charlie Company, Bataan Peninsula, Ravenette
“Life has sure improved a lot around here,” Platoon Sergeant Rags Mesola sighed, squeezing the last juice out of a ration packet. Since reinforcements had started arriving on Bataan, real field rations had become more plentiful.
“I dunno,” Corporal Happy Hannover said from where he sat in a corner of Charlie Company’s bunker, “I was sorta gettin’ used to slimies.”
Second Lieutenant Herb Carman shook his head as he spooned more “mystery meat” out of his own ration pack. “You guys’d bitch if you had your balls in a vise.”
“Well, El Tee, from where I sit seems you’ve managed to gain about a kilo on that stuff you’re eatin’ there, so life must be good for ol’ Charlie Company at last,” Mesola said, laughing.
Hannover burped contentedly. “Delicious,” he murmured, then: “What’s the Word, El Tee?” Carman had just returned from the daily battalion situation briefing.
“Can’t say, Hap, Ultra Secret. If I was to tell ya, I’d have to kill ya.”
“Come on, Herb, we’re goin’ on the line in a few minutes, we’ll miss Captain Walker’s company brief and have to wait for the latrine rumors to circulate. When the hell we are gonna break out of this shithole?”
“Okay, Rags, but this can’t go no farther than you and Hap, understand?” The other two nodded and sidled closer to where Carman sat. He ran a hand across the stubble of his beard and leaned close to the other two. “We’re gonna surrender,” he whispered.
“Lieutenant—” Mesola frowned.
“Look, guys, it’s ‘All Quiet on the Western Front,’ same as yesterday and the day before. Everybody knows the Big Man’s gonna stage a breakout, but he ain’t tellin’ us cannon fodder. Soon, Colonel Epperly’s been saying.” Colonel Epperly was the battalion commander. “Anyway, you all know General Billie’s got six full divisions crammed in here and waiting in orbit to be landed, so the Big Push can’t be that far off. So relax, guys, relax.”
“Shit,” Hannover muttered.
“Herb, what the heck would you do if you were in charge of this jug fuck?”
“Me, Rags? Hell, first thing I’d do is fire General Billie and give the army to General Cazombi.”
“Amen to that,” Hannover said with feeling.
“And then?” Mesola prodded.
“And then I’d do what any dumb-assed infantryman’d do. I’d peel off a couple of those divisions and the Marines and do a landing behind enemy lines, catch them between us, and squeeze their nuts real hard.”
“Yer sayin’ our supreme commander is not a ‘dumb-assed infantryman’?”
“Not even that. That damned dugout rat is gonna fuck this war up, Herb.” Mesola cursed and got to his feet, gathering up his gear.
“Let’s get off this topic, men, it’s not good for the morale of the enlisted swine, of which you two are prime examples. Get your guys together, Rags, and relieve second platoon. I’ll be around to your positions as soon as it gets dark, so keep alert. If I catch you guys jerkin’ off out there again—”
“‘Jerkoff,’ Herb, that’s a good description of our supreme commander.” With that, Sergeant Mesola stalked off to rally third platoon for another sleepless night in the company’s fighting positions.
Office of the Deputy Commander, Coalition Forces, Ravenette
“Read that one passage back to me, Wilson.” General Cazombi sat with Colonel Wyllyums and Brigadier General Thayer, going over the recommendation General Billie had asked Cazombi to make about the proposed raid on Gilbert’s Corners.
“‘…and disrupt to a considerable extent the Coalition government’s decision-making procedure,’” Colonel Wyllyums read. “Sir, I’d substitute process for procedure.”
“Very well.” Cazombi made the change. They’d been at the editorial process for about an hour by then. “I think that does it. Do you gents agree we’ve laid it all out?” He reached for the Send key.
“One thing, sir,” Brigadier General Thayer said. “Please put in as the last paragraph, ‘Brigadier General Sy Thayer, Assistant Chief of Staff, Operations, concurs in this evaluation.’”
“‘And,’” Wyllyums added, “‘Colonel Wilson Wyllyums, ACofS, Intelligence.’”
“You guys understand Billie’s having me do this so if anything goes wrong he can hang my ass? Do you two want to swing with me?”
“We understand. Fully, sir,” Colonel Wyllyums replied, nodding at Thayer, who inclined his own head in silent agreement.
“General, I put my reputation behind Admiral Hoi’s recommendation. You’ve stated here that he should be advised that civilian casualties be kept at a minimum, what any reasonable commander would advise, but it does not tie the Marines’ hands. And I also fully concur that if successful, this raid’ll upset the Coalition’s government and subject Lyons to pressure to redeploy valuable troop strength, which would give us an invaluable strategic advantage when Billie mounts his breakout. Lyons should’ve removed the whole shebang to one of the other Coalition worlds where it’d be out of harm’s way.”
“He waited too long,” Colonel Wyllyums added. “By the time the move took place, Task Force 79 was in the area and he risked losing the entire government before it could escape planetary orbit. I think we’re beginning to see that the infallible Davis Lyons has some chinks in his armor.”
“Yeah, and one of them might just be our redoubtable Admiral Hoi Yueng and those Marines,” Cazombi chuckled. He added the paragraph. “Well, here goes.” He sent the message, saying, “Past the lips, over the gums, look out, asshole, here it comes!”
CHAPTER
* * *
TWENTY-NINE
Office of the G2, Confederation Army HQ, Bataan, Ravenette
Colonel Wilson Wyllyums sat with his feet up on his rickety field table, a Capricorn hanging out of one side of his mouth, contemplating his chances for promotion to brigadier general. They were zero, he reflected, and sighed. He’d retire a colonel, not because he wasn’t effective in his field, he was a top-notch intelligence officer, but because he just wasn’t a spit-and-polish soldier. Just then his tunic was hanging open and he was smoking. General Billie had issued specific directives there’d be no smoking in the Bataan fortress and officers and NCOs would be in the proper uniform at all times.
The no-smoking edict Wyllyums could understand. With so many men crammed into the fortress, the air was bad enough without tobacco smoke to foul the depleted oxygen supply. But General Billie smoked. He smoked foul-smelling Clintons. “Bastard,” Wyllyums muttered, thinking about that, as he did every time he lit a cigarette. “‘Do as I say, not as I do,’” he said aloud. “Rotten bastard,” he said again, inhaling deeply on his Capricorn.
The Hot Button on his console bleeped suddenly. The Hot Button was his direct line to General Billie’s office. Wyllyums cursed but continued smoking his cigarette. Each staff officer had such a line. If it bleeped more than two times before someone answered, the senior officer in that section would get an ass-chewing from General Billie. Wyllyums let the instrument bleep four times before he reached for it.
“Wyllyums? I need you, front and center!” a voice demanded.
Rage suddenly overcame Colonel Wilson Wyllyums’s caution and sense of self-preservation. It was the imperious tone of the voice on the other end of the communications system that did it. He was sick of it. “Who the fuck is this?” he shouted back.
The line was silent for all of six seconds. “This is General Billie” came the very slow, very deliberate answer.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sir! Sorry. I didn’t recognize your voice, sir,” Wyllyums protested, grinning, feigning abject obedience and deep embarrassment, twirling his cigarette between his fingers. Good thing they didn’t have vid hookup.
Another long pause, then: “Please visit me as soon as possible, Colonel.” The line went dead.
“Yes, Master,” Wyllyums replied. He really didn’t care if it was dead or not. He shifted his feet to the floor. Well, what did the supreme commander want this time? Wyllyums knew he was in for another chewing out, for not answering the stupid line immediately, for insubordination, for being sloppy, for—for who knew what. But one curious thing: Billie had not roared at him as he usually did when issuing a summons.
Tunic unbuttoned, jaw unshaved, Colonel Wilson Wyllyums walked out of his tiny, smoke-filled cubicle. “Sergeant Craiggie,” he told his grizzled master sergeant, “I am off to see General Jeans of the Horse Marines.” That was his favorite sobriquet for General Billie, based on an old, old barrack ballad poking fun at useless officers.
“Very good, sir,” the sergeant replied, drawing himself to attention behind his desk while surreptitiously shoving the half-full bottle of Old Snort back into a drawer.
“If I am whores de combat, Sergeant,” Colonel Wyllyums said with dignified gravity, mimicking the First General Order. “Kindly take charge of this post and all government property in view.”
Sergeant Craiggie began to wonder if the colonel had been into his own supply of bourbon that morning. “Thy will be done, sir,” he replied, using his most gravelly Old NCO Voice.
Wyllyums and Craiggie had been together for years, on and off, and such banter was a ritual with them. “Oh”—Wyllyums made an airy gesture with one hand as he minced out of the tiny office—“don’t call me sir. Master will do just fine.”
Supreme Commander’s Office, Confederation Army HQ, Ravenette
“Ah, Wilson! Do have a seat,” General Billie greeted Colonel Wyllyums. The colonel stood there, mouth almost hanging open in astonishment. “Have a Clinton, Colonel?” Billie shoved the humidor across his desk.
“Uh, thank you, sir, but, no, thank you.” Wilson could not believe what was happening. Where was the ass-chewing he had expected—deserved, in fact?
Billie lit his own cigar. “Wilson, I’ve called you in here to get your opinion on something.” He leaned back and exhaled a blue cloud of smoke.
My opinion? Wilson thought. Now that was something new.
“But first, some good news.” Billie grinned. “I’m recommending you for the Legion of Merit. The adjutant general is cutting the orders even as we speak.”
What? Wyllyums sat bolt upright. Had he heard that right? “Ah, well, s-sir, that’s a great h-honor,” he stuttered. What’s going on here? he wondered. What does this guy want me to do? What’s the catch?
“Yes, Wilson, you deserve a decoration. For the way you discovered that seaborne invasion scheme the Coalition pulled on us a while ago—”
“But, sir, it was the—”
“And the job you’ve done finding and eliminating those antisatellite laser batteries. Excellent work, Colonel!”
Wyllyums could not believe what he was hearing. It was the Marine Force Recon that had discovered the seaborne attack force, and if it hadn’t been for Brigadier Sturgeon of Thirty-fourth FIST disobeying Billie’s orders to shift to the main line of defense, it would have succeeded. Wyllyums remembered distinctly General Billie’s rage against the Marine when he disobeyed Billie’s direct order and deployed his force to repel the attack. And it was Marine Force Reconnaissance that had been taking out the satellite-killer lasers. All Wyllyums did was track their progress in those operations and keep the army commanders informed of what they’d been doing.
“Good work, Wilson, I repeat. And a decoration is inadequate recognition for what you’ve done here.” Billie handed Wyllyums a crystal. “Pop this into your reader when you get back to your office. You’ll like what’s on it.”
Wilson regarded the crystal suspiciously. “Sir, I-I—”
“It’s your Officer Efficiency Report, Colonel, and in it I recommend your immediate promotion to the rank of brigadier general. I have the authority to grant you a temporary, field promotion as brevet rank and those orders are being prepared. As of now you are a brigadier general. The next drone to Earth will carry my request that the President forward my recommendation to the Senate, and I assure you, they will approve it. Of course, until your promotion is confirmed, you’ll have the rank and privileges of your new grade but not the pay. But”—Billie laughed—“not much you can spend your pay on around here, is there?” He handed Wyllyums a pair of silver stars. “Wear them proudly, General.”
Wyllyums, utterly speechless, could only stare at the stars in his hand.
“Sure you won’t join me in a Clinton, General?” Billie grinned and offered the humidor again. This time Wyllyums took the cigar and Billie lit it for him.
“Sir, I-I—don’t know what to say, except, thank you! I’ll try my best to live up to your expectations.” Wyllyums felt like a swine saying that, but he meant it. Brigadier general, just like that! And he thought he was going to receive the mother of all ass-chewings this morning!
“Now, Wilson, there’s something I want you to do for me.”
“Yessir?”
“You endorsed that recommendation by General Cazombi that Admiral Hoi be authorized to mount a raid on Gilbert’s Corners.”
“Yessir, I did. And you approved it, sir, which I think was very wise—”
