"Well what do we do?" Oster asked.
"Rely on the only man here who actually knows what he's talking about," he said, looking towards Kelly.
"That old man? He isn't one of us. He isn't even a soldier anymore," Oster complained.
"Neither are you," said Becker, "We still have our uniforms and some hardware, but there is no army, and no government. We're a bunch of survivors who have come together for the apocalypse. Whatever ranks we hold, and whatever you think you might be entitled to, it doesn't mean anything anymore. None of it matters. All that matters is what skills you have and what ability and resolve to use those skills. Am I right?" he asked Kelly.
"But we're a few hundred against whole armies," said Oster.
"God is not on the side of the big battalions, but of those who shoot best," replied Kelly.
"Great, another piece of philosophy. That's not going to win any battles, is it?" asked Oster, "What help is God? He hasn't done anything for us this far."
"Maybe not," said Decker, "but Kelly is right in the sentiment at least."
"Thalberg, what do you think?" Becker asked, "You haven't said a word."
"If Kelly is skilled at this sort of fighting, then we must rely on his judgement."
It was the decider.
"Okay," said Becker, "I want to hit these alien bastards ASAP. I don't want them thinking the World went out without a fight. Kelly, I am putting you in charge of organising and planning the first attack. I want to be involved in the process from start to finish, and will have ultimate say in what does and does not happen. Are we clear?"
"You got it, Captain."
"Then let's get started."
"Okay. First thing's first. This base we have here, the Drachenburg. It is a good strong base of operations. It has a wealth of resources and can sustain us for some time. But none of that will matter if the enemy gain knowledge of its presence. Nothing will stop them from busting this bunker. We cannot take them in a straight up fight. You can't think of yourselves as regular soldiers anymore. You do not present yourselves for battle, and you never give your position away. Every action we make takes place at a minimum of five klicks from this facility. Do I make myself clear?"
They all nodded in agreement.
"That must be an absolute blanket rule. We do not take shots at passing craft. We do not attack passing convoys or troops within that area. Now this is a pretty isolated place, so I wouldn't expect us to see much of them out here, but even so. Nobody fires a weapon or engages the enemy within five klicks unless their lives are in danger. If this facility is discovered, then we are likely finished."
"It's going to be pretty hard to use our armour if we have to be so secretive."
"That's right, Oster, but our advantage lies in the element of surprise. Your tanks didn't win the last war in a stand up fight; remember that. We will have use of them yet, but they will not be the principal tools of our forces. We are all going to have to live and fight very differently. When I arrived here, you had a tank and personnel guarding the road several klicks out, is that right?"
"It is," Becker confirmed.
"We need them to carry on in their duties to watch and observe. However, those I met were set up for a trap that would guarantee combat, should any enemy forces take that road."
Becker nodded in agreement.
"That won't do at all. You must open road access and conceal those forces far better, so they may monitor any enemy presence but are not obliged to engage them."
"So we let the enemy walk right by, instead of blowing them to hell?"
"Listen and learn, Oster," said Becker.
Kelly took in a deep breath, realising he had an uphill battle to break them of their ways.
"Yes. You may destroy an enemy vehicle or two that you encounter, but many more will follow. Remember, we cannot afford to be swamped by enemy forces. We engage them at the time and place of our choosing. In every encounter we must control the ratio of forces, the ground, and the timing."
"And you think you can do that?"
"We have to, Oster. It's the only way we can fight this enemy and stand a chance.”
“All right, then layout your plan.”
“First thing I need is information. What enemy have you encountered? Their strength, position, and type of forces.”
“At present, it’s just small aircraft, and that’s about it,” said Decker.
“The big stuff is probably heading for the cities to secure them,” Becker added.
“Okay, we start small. Low risk. That’s how this gets started. It doesn’t matter if we kill just one alien or take down one vehicle. The important thing is we get it done right from the start and get away clean. Above all else, it is absolutely essential that everyone in this…whatever we have here…understand the most important thing is to maintain the secrecy of this location. That means nothing compromises it.”
They all nodded as if they knew what that meant.
“That goes beyond the obvious, Gentlemen. That means NEVER compromising. If you have to not shoot because it will compromise our position, you don’t. If you have to leave someone behind rather than compromise our location, you do. In fact, you put a bullet into them so that they don’t compromise it. Do you understand?”
Their automatic agreement to everything he said stopped when they realised the cold hard truth of what he was saying.
“Don’t think for a moment I am exaggerating,” he added, “The individual now means nothing. Everyone is expendable to maintain the security of this facility. But it isn’t because we are protecting civilians. There are no civilians any longer. The existence of this facility and this army we have is vital to ensure we keep being a pain in the ass to that alien scum. That is our goal from now on. We live to make their lives difficult, and to that end, this army must last as long as it possibly can. Do you understand that? Our individual existence is not important, except for being one of the soldiers. We never want unnecessary losses, but the individual is not more important than the mission.”
* * *
Taylor stood before almost one hundred men and women who had been assembled as potential new recruits to the Regiment. They stood in what resembled a formation, as much as Parker could manage in a few moments of getting a hold of them. Taylor turned to look at Silva who had been in charge of assembling the first group of potentials.
“This the best you could find?”
“Not sure they are the best, Sir, but they are the first lot we found that were available to serve and of an age appropriate.”
“And you think they are up to the task?”
“No,” he replied bluntly.
Taylor smiled and was at least appreciative of Silva’s honesty.
He turned back and looked at them. They looked tired, agitated, and uneasy. It was the look of a group of people after a long haul flight that had another connection to make. He knew the feeling well. They ranged from spotty teenagers to those pushing fifty. Half of them were well out of shape. Few of them lacked any fire in their eyes. They looked ready to lie down and give up. He looked back to Silva.
“You better hope you can find better than this, or we’re in trouble.”
Silva couldn’t disagree.
Taylor stepped up onto an ammo box so that he could be heard. They were in the gymnasium of the Washington, one of the few high-ceiled rooms on the vessel, and where the sound echoed around the walls.
“I am Colonel Mitch Taylor. I am looking for volunteers to enter a training programme that if you pass, you could be a member of my Regiment. You will have an opportunity to serve the people of this fleet and protect its future. If you want no part of that, or think you aren’t up to the task, turn around and leave now.”