“So now, basically, the Galactics let AIs do the driving, push a button, automatically lose the button pusher and hope for the best.
“The best has not happened. They have lost over seventy worlds and the rate of loss is growing. They have some, really very little, success in space but are totally lost in ground warfare.
“There has apparently been a faction that has wanted to enlist the aid of humans for practically the whole war. The plan of this faction was to get the help of humans not only as fighters, but as weapons and tactics designers. Because of their lack of experience at war, the Federation has been copying the enemy when it comes to those areas, but the enemy is not exactly the most efficient group at either one.
“They, the Posleen that is, have one thinking leader to control around four hundred ‘troops’ that are not much more intelligent than chimpanzees. Their weapons do not have sights so they depend on mass fire, somewhat like a Napoleonic war broadside. And their ships are laughable, from a real war perspective.
“Since that is all the Federation had to work with for ideas, they use a tank that fires a sort of broad-area energy mine for ground combat. Their ‘warships’ are converted freighters.” He snorted in disgust and looked over toward the mass of black uniforms. “I think we can come up with better, and so do the world’s leaders. You’d damn well better, or I’ll have your commissions.” There was some grim laughter but most of the attendees were listening with half an ear and flipping rapidly through their briefing papers.
“The idea of this conference, therefore, is for each team to determine the sort of weapons and tactics that they envision their country using for this war.
“Now for more bad news. The upper level commanders, that is myself and some of the ‘type’ commanders, are going to have to hash out a few things. But there are some political and budgetary constraints that the Federation has on its military. Those constraints are going to cause most of the Navy, Air Force, Marines and elite Army to be absorbed by the Federation forces.” At that a buzz of conversation filled the previously silent room. Cleburne motioned them to quiet down and kept talking.
“In some cases we will interact with other countries’ militaries that are going through the same thing, especially allied militaries. And the final plans for spaceships, comsat shuttles and space fighters, things related to the Federation fleet, will have to be agreed upon through a joint committee. On the other hand, because America is such a predominant power in those areas, we will have primary position on the committee. Let me be clear about the bottom line here: the people who are coming up with the concepts for warships and infantry forces had better get it right. There won’t be a hell of a lot of review and they’re likely to be what we’re fighting for our lives with. Because that is the last bad news.
“The reason the Federation avoided contact before this is obvious: they might be trading one devil for another. But, again obviously, this faction has gotten permission to enlist us.
“The reason is, they are losing, badly, and they finally had to fish or cut bait. We’re the next planet in line. According to the Galactics four or five large invasion waves are headed for Earth. The first one will be here in only five years.”
4
Ft. Bragg, NC Sol III
1824 March 19th, 2001 ad
“Mueller.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No.”
The most far-ranging reconnaissance mission in Terran military history was starting with two experienced NCOs and a sheet of lined paper. Over Mosovich’s kitchen table, he and Ersin, a tall, slim, dark-haired master sergeant with faintly Eurasian features, were assembling a combined service team of the best people they could think of for the mission. Inevitably there were disagreements.
“You have to be,” said Mosovich. “First, he’s inexperienced as hell. Second, he’s a goddamn loudmouth; the bastard can’t figure out when to shut the hell up.” He got up and went to the refrigerator and extracted a beer bottle. He held it up in question and Ersin nodded. Jake pulled out another for himself, popped the top on both, nailed the trash can and came back to the table.
“Except for that, he breezed Q course,” continued Ersin, doggedly, “and he’s got a great record before he joined special forces. But the real reason I want him is his terrain analysis background. We’re going to need that know-how, since the whole damn planet is apparently one big swamp and I don’t know a field soldier who can match it. It doesn’t hurt that he’s a goddamn pack mule, either.”
“What about Simmons?” asked Mosovich, taking a pull on the beer.
Ersin pulled his head back and twisted it in a motion that was faintly ratlike. “He moves like a fuckin’ yak in the bush,” he spat in distaste.
“You’ve worked with Mueller,” said Mosovich. It was a statement.
“Yeah,” admitted Ersin, swirling the beer around and taking a sip. He preferred a more cultured brew than the sergeant major had to offer, but free beer was free beer. “He used to hang with Harold. We did some pellet work and I ran him through the SOT course a couple of times. He’s a good guy with his hands.” In the Special Operations community the phrase carried a special panache. It meant a person who was weapons deadly.
“Well, God knows I’ve pissed enough people off in my time,” admitted Mosovich, reluctantly.
“He’s a know-it-all, but the real problem is he’s usually right.” Ersin dropped the argument as won.
“Well, that’s Ops, Weapons, Commo, Demo and Medical. We need an Intel with a double up in medical. You.”
“Okay. Mueller can double O and I and so can you.”
“I’ll double commo, Walters doubles demo and we can all double weapons in a pinch. Besides, it’s a recon not a raid, who needs weapons?” smiled the scarred veteran.
Ersin snorted. “So, you’re going unarmed?” It was not an unknown technique on a lone recon, but taking a team was another thing.
“Bet your ass I’m not. I hope we never fire a round, but I’m going to pack the heaviest hardware we can manage. I hope that Trayner comes through with those blanket requisitions. We’re gonna need some special weapons. That reminds me, we need a couple of other slots.”
“Let me guess. One wouldn’t be Trapp, would it?” Ersin smiled at a memory and wiggled his fingers in front of the sergeant major’s eyes, like someone doing magic.
“Yeah,” smiled Mosovich. “We might need somebody to do close-in work. Speaking of which, we need better information on those things’ physiology before we land. Who else?”
“I don’t know. Another engineer?”
“What happens if we have to break contact?”
“Oh. Okay.” Ersin thought for a moment over another malty sip of beer. His whole face twitched like a rodent flicking its whiskers. “Sniper?”
“Yeah. But who?” asked Jake raising an eyebrow. He obviously had someone in mind.
“Fordham,” said Ersin, instantly.
“Nah. He’s good but you ever heard of Ellsworthy?”
Ersin looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know, Jake, a woman?”
“You ever seen that bitch shoot?” Jake smiled. His scars pulled the grin into something from a nightmare.
“No, I’ve heard about her though. Bannon met her at Quantico. They call her ‘The Spook.’ ” Ersin’s face twitched again. He did not like the idea.