As the leaderless Posleen milled, fumbling in the mud for the eel-like SEAL, Mosovich leapt on the back of another and quickly slit his throat. While not the match of the SEAL, he wanted to prove that he was no slouch with a knife.
At the same moment, ten yards from the huddle of fumbling Posleen, Trapp erupted once more from the water, his hand filled with Colt. He flicked the barrel downwards to clear it, adopted a two handed grip and fired three rapid shots for three kills. As he tracked to the fourth Posleen, a shotgun blast threw him backward in a welter of blood and intestines.
The .45 spun from the SEAL’s grasp and Mosovich knew he had only one chance. He launched himself in a shallow dive from the back of the deceased Posleen and followed the pistol into the muck.
The last two Posleen charged for the spot and began rummaging in the violet mucilage. One of them gurgled in delight as it snagged a combat harness and lifted the camouflage-clad survivor from the watery grave. Mosovich fought the grip like an eel, hooking his boot into its harness and bending like a contortionist to bring his arm around. The Posleen’s last surprised sight was of a .45- caliber bore.
24
Orbit, Diess IV
2125 GMT May 15th, 2002 ad
The final conference on whether the ACS battalion would be deployed as planned was a hurried meeting on D-Day minus 1. Most units were already down and moving to their jump-off point, so the mood was somber as the meeting was drawing to a close. The small room had been hastily fitted with a rickety easel and a table large enough for all the people who thought they should have a say in deployment.
The battalion staff had put on a dog and pony show complete with a staff officer in armor. Mike knew to the minute the time the officer had in the suit and recognized various subtle signs of poor assimilation. Despite that fact, the suit and various multimedia demonstrations of the weaponry available to the ACS were effective arguments.
Mike was the last person giving a presentation and he concluded solemnly. He had listened carefully to the other presentations and he felt he knew where the decision was going to go. Despite the briefings that he had given to a vast number of audiences, he knew it all came down to this group. And they were simply not paying attention. Aides and officers scurried in and out of the room constantly, bringing information, carrying away orders. The meeting members were distracted and all and sundry had made up their minds in advance. It made him feel like Cassandra.
“Although the battalion currently meets the minimum eighty percent standards for operational deployment, high readiness and training in some areas, such as the noted performance levels among junior NCOs and officers, mask critical failures in other areas. The lack of comprehension of the technology by senior battalion officers and NCOs with the concomitant weakness in communications and control, leads to a situation ripe for point failure.
“Considering this from either a testing viability or a mission success viewpoint, the Design Team representative cannot recommend deployment at this time. Senior officers require a minimum of one hundred fifty more hours of tactical exercises without troops before they may be considered prepared. Thank you.” He dropped the laser pointer into the sleeve of his silks, walked over to his spot and sat down. Since he was the Design Team representative, he at least had a spot at the table.
“Okay,” said General Houseman, “let’s be straight. Recommendations, deploy or don’t deploy? I am accepting input from G-3, the Chief of Staff and the Design Team representative.” Excluding the battalion representatives was a deliberate slap in the face to the airborne colonel. The battalion commander knew that if the battalion was not deployed his career was finished. “General Stafford, G-3 says go?”
“Yes, sir,” said the lanky general, tapping the table with his fingers. “I take the lieutenant’s point about the communications and coordination problems but, no offense, Lieutenant, he sees everything from the uncluttered viewpoint of a junior officer. Those sims are awfully realistic, real enough to create a ‘fog of war.’ In those situations, communications and coordination difficulties occur. Lieutenants, by and large, expect things to be straightforward; they’re not. I think they’re ready, let’s let them off the leash.”
“Okay, General Bridges?”
“It is a difficult decision,” stated the fussy little Chief of Staff, “I think that with the way we intend to employ them, the respective units are going to receive heavy casualties irregardless of their preparedness level. However, it is my opinion that the suits and the communications package will act as a combat multiplier and we need the concomitant capabilities. These cities are a difficult tactical problem and the suits can maneuver in terrain closed to effective use by other combat systems. I recommend implementation despite patently insufficient preparation.” At that description, the battalion commander and operations officer winced.
“Lieutenant O’Neal?”
“I agree that the suits will act as a combat multiplier, but I disagree strongly with the ‘fog of war’ argument. My favorite relevant quote is from a battalion commander in Desert Storm, ‘Heroes happen because somebody made a mistake.’ I think if we deploy the battalion, we’re going to have a lot of heroes. The senior battalion command and staff are using the communications and intelligence systems exactly backward of how they are designed and complaining because they don’t work right.
“The communications were designed to allow ease of communication, but the commander and S-3 are immuring themselves behind layers of underlings and this is causing a communication snag.” He totally ignored the fact that the officers in question were present.
“Twice in sims this snag caused a critical failure because the people who were managing the whole picture and knew what to do were unable to effectively communicate that need. Furthermore, the battalion command and staff have systematically stripped the company commanders of any authority to react without direct orders. Were one or the other not the case, the battalion might have a chance. As it is there is none.
“They have trained like they are going to fight and it will happen in combat. Lieutenant Colonel Youngman and Major Norton are approaching this from a ‘light infantry’ direction but have left out every good light infantry technique and kept every outmoded one. If you deploy the battalion in its current condition it will be Little Big Horn all over again. I strongly urge you to hold them to training.” By the time he was done the battalion commander was white-faced with rage and the operations officer was spluttering.
“Well Lieutenant O’Neal,” said General Houseman, with a quelling glance at the furious field officers who had been forced to listen to the scathing diatribe, “it’s two generals in favor to one lieutenant against. I’m going to have to go with the more experienced officers, but it is my decision. They’re getting deployed, Lieutenant.” He did not look particularly happy with his decision. Unfortunately, it was a situation where he agreed with the lieutenant on abstract. While the battalion showed an over eighty percent readiness, the unit had yet to survive a single simulated engagement. The hash of cavalry and infantry tactics that worked for O’Neal and that were specified in the ACS doctrine seemed to massively confuse most of the battalion command and staff. It was not a happy prospect.
“It is, of course, your decision, sir.” From the look on the lieutenant’s face the general suspected he was reading his mind. “Actually, sir, I doubt you could have gotten away with holding them back. Given the cost of fielding them and that they did make minimum specs, Congress would have you for lunch if you didn’t deploy them.” He shrugged the resignation of soldiers throughout history who were pawns to the political process.