“Everything?” asked Sharon, setting down her snifter.
“All the coastal plains. We just will not have the equipment to fight the Posleen by then. And that’s just in the United States. Don’t ask me about Third World countries.”
“Then why are we sending a suit unit to Diess and Barwhon?” asked Sharon in bewilderment, picking the snifter up and taking a deep slug. The warm burn of the cognac helped reestablish her hard-won calm.
“A battalion of ACS will not be a deciding factor, at least that is what the High Command thinks and I agree.”
“You mean the Joint Chiefs.”
“No, I mean the High Command. How they’re going to sell it, I don’t know, but that’s what the upper command echelon of the United States Defense Forces are going to be officially called. New service, new names. Like Line and Fleet and Strike Commands; out with the old, in with the new. The remainder of the Navy and Air Force that aren’t being transferred to Fleet are going to be rolled into the whole, with the High Commander being an Army general. The part that no one is talking about is that it takes a layer of civilian control out of the military. There are some constitutional issues that I don’t think are being fully explored.
“Anyway, we had hoped to earn enough funds from the units on Diess and Barwhon to equip multiple ACS units. But, because of procurement issues, the first equipment will go to the ACS units for the deployments to Barwhon and Diess. Only after their needs are satisfied will dedicated Terran Fleet Strike be supplied. But those Galactic-funded units are going to be parceled out to all the invaded planets, not just Earth. We need dedicated Ground Force ACS units, lots of them, and we probably won’t have any when the first wave arrives.
“Some forces might get un-powered suits just before the invasion. Might. We’ve been fighting for training time but I don’t think we’ll get much.” Mike sipped pale cognac and considered how to go on. There was so much he felt she should know, both as his partner and as a soon-to-be-recalled naval officer.
“We need a navy even more, but most naval units will still be under construction when the Posleen arrive. The battle wagons, the big guns that can go toe-to-toe with the globes, won’t be available until about a year after the first wave hits, but before the second wave, thank God.” Mike took a pause and looked particularly unhappy. “Which brings us to you.”
“Why?”
“A little-known caveat of all these activities won’t be little known for long. Fleet and Fleet Ground Strike personnel stationed off Terra will be given the option to have one relative per serviceman relocated to a non-threatened planet. I checked and you were going to be stationed stateside. Before the regulation becomes widely known I can pull a couple of strings and get you stationed off planet. That means that either Cally or Michelle could be relocated to a safe planet.”
“Who would raise them?” asked Sharon, eyes widening. Mike realized that he probably should have spread the shocks out, but they had just run out of time.
“Probably an upper-class Indowy family.”
“Would it be the planet I was stationed on?”
“Probably not. The guy who owes me a favor can get you off planet but not to a location of choice. It may be to the Terran Defense Task Force, or Titan Base, who knows. All I know is that I can get you off planet and I can’t do the same thing for myself right now.”
“Why?”
“That’s not my mission. I’m slated for the Diess force, but only as an advisor on temporary duty, not as a permanent change of station, so it doesn’t count as off planet. And, for that matter, the AEF personnel are not counted as being off-Terra since they’re only there temporarily. How temporarily is a good question, but it is not considered a change of station.”
“How long are they going to be there?” asked Sharon.
“Nobody knows, but you have to be in Fleet or Fleet Strike to be considered for off-planet duty and the AEF units are not considered Fleet Strike, yet. Effectively, your salary has to come straight from the Federation, rather than through a planetary or national formation.”
“So, I have to decide whether to have one of our children safe but separated from us both.” Her face twisted into an expression he couldn’t read.
“Not really. If you wish to blame me for arm twisting, feel free, but you had better take the position. I cannot guarantee that I will be back by the time of the invasion and I virtually guarantee that neither of us will be able to be with our children during the combat. That means that they will be without our protection and I’ve already told you how bad it will probably get. Let me be clear. We are going to lose the East and West Coast, all of it, all the way to the Appalachians in the east and the Rockies or Cascades in the west. We may lose the Great Plains, although I think we can contain or delay that loss significantly. Urban areas inside the defensive ring are going to take a pasting.
“Nowhere on Earth will be completely safe. There are going to be shelters for less than ten percent of the population unless a miracle happens and I don’t think, and this is a professional estimate, that the defenses for the shelters are going to work. Digging them underground is a waste of resources and, possibly, criminally stupid. If we leave the girls with family, we can leave them in Florida, which is going to be one vast abattoir, in northern California or in the Georgia mountains, on the back side of the continental divide. That’s the safest by far but it’s still too close to Atlanta.”
“I can’t believe that they would force me back into uniform given those conditions,” Sharon said, furiously.
“Believe it. No one is avoiding service this time, not if they are even marginally qualified. We will both have responsibilities to meet. Family hardship will not be considered a recognized reason for discharge.”
“Then I can’t believe you want to leave them with your father,” argued Sharon. She hated Mike when he was like this, he set up these logic juggernauts and just drove over everything in his path. Her own experience with lifer military, especially officers, had been less than pleasant.
“Dad’s a kook, but the right kind of kook for the conditions,” said Mike, trying to tack back towards a normal tone.
“Your father is not a kook, he is flat bughouse nuts. Round the bend. Bats in his belfry.” Sharon twisted her finger by the side of her head.
“Yeah, but what kind of bats? All his bats carry AKs. He’s just the kind of nut that might keep one of the kids alive.”
“Honey, he’s dangerous!” complained Sharon, losing the argument and knowing it.
“Not to kin.”
“Most murders involve relatives!” she rebutted.
“My father is far too professional to murder family. All of his murders are quick, discreet and untraceable to him.”
Mike shook his head in bafflement. “He is the perfect person to leave one of the kids with given the situation. What? You want to put them up with your parents? Mr. and Mrs. ‘White-Carpets, Don’t-Run-In-The-House, I-Can’t-Believe-This-It’s-All-Just-A-Government-Scare’? Or perhaps my mother? Who, while a wonderful person, has no capacity to defend herself much less one of our children? And who lives in California, home of a thousand and one great places for a Posleen to land. Or, put them with an ex-Ranger, ex-Green Beret, and ex-mercenary? Who stays in shape, maintains a wonderful and completely illegal weapons collection and has a farm in the mountains? Come on!”
“I don’t like his stories. I won’t have him feeding the children all that hogwash.” She was starting to be petulant and knew it. If Mike would just back off she might have time to consider, time to adjust. Instead he had to keep pushing.
“What hogwash? He’s got citations to go with most of his stories. And they all have some sort of moral to them. ‘Never pull a pin on a grenade unless you have somewhere to throw it.’ ‘Always remember to booby trap your ally’s positions. You can trust your enemy, but never trust a partner.’ It’s not like he was a heartless assassin; he insists he never killed somebody he liked.” Mike smiled. He agreed that his father was bughouse nuts. But he was perfectly adapted for the coming storm.