Barnson sounded angry. “I have addressed your concerns, Colonel. And I’ve brought them to the attention of my superiors. I and everybody else down here are aware of the shortages you’re suffering. They are not worried. Intelligence reports enemy numbers in your area are low, and that they’re very disorganized.”
“General, are they aware I’m losing ten men a month to these disorganized few? They’re organized enough to aim rifles and disappear when we give chase. I know ten casualties is a paltry few to what’s going on elsewhere, but we are still steadily losing men. The local population, thin as it is, has to be supplying them aid and comfort, as your intelligence specialists like to say. We’ve had very little luck disrupting their support infrastructure, or even identifying it. My men… I haven’t actually been sent any new troops in two months. I’m as short-handed as I’ve ever been. As I’m sure you’re aware.”
“I was under the impression four sniper teams just arrived there this morning.” Now Barnson was getting irritated. He’d had to move heaven and earth to get those teams for Parker.
“Yes Sir, and I welcome their arrival, as almost all of my snipers were reassigned to the heavy conflict zones months ago. I’m sure they’ll perform admirably, Sir, but eight men are a fraction of what I need. Eight men in hundreds of square miles of territory.”
“Parker, you know as well as I do that snipers are force multipliers, and these men are Special Forces. Once they bag a few terrorists, and word gets out, I’m sure you’ll see enemy activity in your sector drop right off. Those traitorous criminals with their damned deer rifles will either run off in terror or find themselves shot in the head.” He paused and sighed. “The straight fact of the matter is we can’t spare anything right now. Men or machines. In fact… I’ve come very close to requisitioning some of your tanks. Shipping some of them back to the front. The only reason I haven’t is that I’m not convinced, due to the distance involved, and the fact they would have to go by rail, which is a very risky form of transportation these days, that they’d even make it back here.” He sighed again. “In fact, the shipments of food that you’ve been getting for distribution to the local populace? Expect them to be cut, and sooner, rather than later. And not by a small percentage.”
Parker cleared his throat. “Sir, just wondering if I should report the food riots now or just wait until they actually happen. Because they will.”
“Every rioter that you shoot is one less mouth begging you for food,” Barnson said coldly. “One less potential enemy sympathizer. Rioters, just like looters, should be put down like the disobedient dogs they are, and that falls clearly within your ROE.” Then the General cleared his throat. “Look, I know you’ve got a tough job, that place was a Third World-level hellhole before the war began. Don’t think everyone doesn’t know that. But there’s nothing keeping those people from leaving any time they want.”
Parker was shaking his head. “Sir, you’ve got me treading water in a sewer. Morale…” he muttered. Barnson’s sharp voice cut in.
“Don’t speak to me about morale, Sir. The morale of your men is your responsibility, no matter what the situation is.”
“Yes Sir, you’re right. I’m just tired.” The night before he’d been writing a letter to the family of just the latest of his soldiers to be killed by a faceless, nameless sniper. He didn’t doubt it was some farmer, idiot, or nutjob with a deer rifle, it had happened near dusk outside rural Armada when one of the long-range “force projection” patrols had stopped for an overnight bivouac. The truth was most hunting rifles packed more punch than the carbines his troops were carrying even with the hot new ammo they were fielding. The Corporal had been hit in the face by whatever powerful rifle the sniper was using, and his head had literally exploded inside his helmet. The rest of the men there weren’t even sure from which direction the shot had been fired. Searches of nearby houses had turned up nothing. His men had burned a few of the houses down, as an object lesson.“I just wish I could give the men some good news for once. How does it go on your end?” In the real war, he wanted to add.
“The fact that your supply ship has turned around, and that we’re cutting your food allotment, should give you a good indication of where things stand.”
“That bad?”
“We were having trouble in the West before the enemy ever got organized. And, to be honest, we’re suffering through the same kind of situation as you have there, only on a vastly larger scale. It’s like fighting water; push in with armor and airstrikes, take control of one small town, and either the enemy disappears entirely to hit us somewhere else we’re not expecting or every mother one of those townspeople pulls out a rifle and starts letting loose. Those small arms casualty figures I’m sure you heard about were not exaggerated. I always thought the ‘400 million guns in the country’ number was exaggerated if not impossible, but I’m beginning to suspect I was wrong. And the people we’re fighting, at this late date, know how to use them. Apparently the only people out there who weren’t raised with a rifle in their hands are our men. And the bastards all seem to be experts at lobbing Molotovs, we’re lost more vehicles to fire than we have anything else, and getting new vehicles, much less parts, has been… problematic. Union work slowdowns, assembly line sabotage, shoddy workmanship, every complication you could imagine. If it wasn’t for our new allies we wouldn’t have any fuel to send you.”
“It’s really that bad?” Parker had noticed more and more of their supplies were coming in from Russia, China, or Cuba, based on the writing on the crates.
“After eight years of this meatgrinder there’s still no end in sight. In fact, we seem to be giving up ground.”
“We’re getting pushed back?” That had been the rumor he didn’t want to believe. He noticed Barnson said eight years, which meant command had once again changed the date of what they considered the start of this war that wasn’t a war, against enemies that still weren’t “soldiers”.
“And paying a steep price for the privilege as well. Your ten men a month, I’m sorry to say, are nothing compared to the figures rolling in from around the country. That’d be a slow afternoon. As I said, just be glad they haven’t called and told me to order you to send more of your tanks south. Or all of them. Risky rails or not.”
Parker ground his teeth. If that happened again he’d promised himself he’d resign. He might not have had an active front, but his men were still fighting for their lives. Take away their armor, their biggest advantage, and a lot more than ten of them would be dying every month. Air power was nice, but there hadn’t been a war yet that had been won or lost anywhere but on the ground.
Barnson breathed in his ear for a bit. “Speaking of setbacks, I’m getting whispers that diplomacy may be rearing its ugly head again.”
“What do you mean, Sir?”
“I mean I’m hearing rumors of a sitdown between the two sides. A ‘conference’, they’re calling it. And when I reached out to my political contacts they did not get back to me, which seems to me to be a clear indication that there might be something to these rumors.”
“They’re… ARF isn’t surrendering, are they?”
Barnson snorted. “Wouldn’t that be nice.”
Parker felt cold. ARF enjoying a few simple successes on the battlefield wouldn’t be enough to get both sides sitting down at a conference table. If such a conference was indeed happening, it most likely meant the Army was getting its ass seriously kicked. And had been for a while. And had apparently been concealing the fact, even from its own officers. He was stunned. “There haven’t been even talks of peace talks in… years.”
“No there have not. I don’t like the timing of this one bit. You just make sure you’ve got a lid on your kingdom over there. We’ve got enough headaches.”