“We’ve got the better part of a year to fix things. And most of the divisions, especially the really bad ones, will be fighting in fixed positions. So even if they crack in places it should be controllable. But we do have one trick left.”
“Mike,” interjected Horner, “remember back when we were with GalTech we discussed who was going to be called up in what order?”
“Sure,” said Mike, thinking back. “Combat background personnel first. Start from the highest ranks and work down. Noncombat experienced last.” He thought about it a bit more and smiled faintly. That was in the days before the Galactics’ problems with supply became evident. When everything was going to be pure Tech as a salvation. When the plans were perfect and the future was rosy. “Good days,” he added.
“Well.” General Taylor nodded, with an understanding smile. “That was the plan. But somewhere along the line the plan and the process went astray.”
“One of my ‘computer geeks,’ ” said Horner, with a wry aside to General Taylor, “finally got a look at the algorithm the personnel department was using for the call-up. It was based on Officer and Enlisted Evaluation Reports.”
“Oh, shit,” said Mike, with a chuckle. Although good soldiers generally came out fine on the Army’s evaluations, the reports tended to miss the difference between a good leader and a “Lifer.” The original plan had been to call up warriors as the first wave, setting a tone for the forces to follow. That had obviously not happened.
“So,” said General Taylor, “we’ve had the software rewritten…”
“By my people,” General Horner interjected.
“Right,” continued Taylor. “From now on combat experience will have a high multiplier along with medals for valor. We’re calling it ‘The Old Soldier’ program.”
“Oh, hell,” said Mike with a grim chuckle. “No modifier for age, right?” Most of the files that a program like that would spit out would have been formed in the caldrons of World War II, Korea and Vietnam. Old soldiers indeed.
“Right,” said Horner. “The program has been in place for a couple of weeks getting the bugs out, but the really big call-up will be during the conference.”
There was an unexpected bark of laughter from Taylor. Both of the officers looked at him in puzzlement. Then Horner realized what he was thinking about and frowned in humor.
“What?” said Mike. The fact that something had discomfited his former mentor was obvious even through his fatigue.
“There were…” said General Horner, carefully.
“A few bugs,” completed Taylor with a laugh. “His computer super geeks forgot that there are certain persons who, shall we say, are unavailable for recall.” The senior commander laughed again, uproariously. “Oh, Jesus, the look on his face!”
Horner frowned. Hard. A sure sign he was about to burst out laughing. “The computer was searching for high-ranking officers who were still alive and had combat experience. We felt that if there were bugs, it would be better to make the mistake with senior officers than junior. The program had been deliberately set to ignore whether their experience was as the rank they ‘retired’ at.”
“Although in one case it wouldn’t have mattered,” pointed out Taylor helpfully.
“I still don’t get it,” said Mike, looking from face to face.
“Mike,” said Horner, with a slight snort of his own. “You do realize that Commander in Chief is a rank, don’t you?”
“Oh,” said Mike, then, “Oh!”
“Yep,” said Taylor, and howled in laughter, “it called up all the surviving Presidents who had either served during a time of combat at any rank or who were President during a time of war. It recalled them at the rank of four-star general, that being the highest available, and ordered them to report to Fort Myer immediately for inprocessing as same.”
“Oh, God,” laughed Mike, “that’s rich.”
“I got a couple of very irate calls from the Secret Service,” Taylor laughed. “But what was even funnier were the direct calls. One of ’em even offered to come back as his ‘original’ rank.”
“Did you take him up on it?” asked Mike.
“Nah. I was tempted. God knows Fleet needs every pilot it can get. But it would have been a political nightmare. I hope he was just joking.”
“Anyway,” said Horner, severely, “right after this conference is the big kickoff. To make sure nothing goes too wrong on one end of the spectrum, we will, with great ceremony, recall every single winner of the Medal of Honor still at large.”
“Oh, man,” said Mike, quietly. Although he wore the Medal himself, he was sure that most of the other winners were real heroes. Whenever he was in their company he felt like a piker. What he had not yet realized was that most of the Medal winners felt the same way about the other holders.
“We’re hoping that the infusion of ‘heroes’ will put some spine in the force,” said Taylor, seemingly pulling a knife out of the air and cutting the end off of his own cigar. The knife, after a brief flurry that looked like a simple habit rather than showing off, disappeared as rapidly.
“We’re reactivating the ‘Strike, Line, Guard’ concept as well,” the High Commander continued. “The plan of creating ‘elite’ Line forces that were mobile shock forces fell by the wayside along with a lot of other ideas.” He lit the cigar with a silver lighter. The inscription “Who Dares Wins” was faintly visible along with a chased dagger and wings.
Taylor took a drag on the cigar and let out a stream of blue smoke. “Right now, other than the Fleet Strike Forces and Special Operations, the only forces that show overall high readiness are some of the Cavalry regiments. We’re going to start the Line concept around them. They will become mostly volunteer and will be moved to locations where they can be used to reinforce defense points and sally against Posleen columns. They’re going to take a hell of a lot of casualties, but I expect there will always be volunteers.
“So, most of the ‘heroes’ will end up in Line units,” Horner pointed out. “But they’re going to be bearing the brunt so it’s the right place to put them.”
“Just remember,” said Mike, rubbing his eyes, “some of these guys are not going to be tightly wrapped.”
“Speaking from experience, Mighty Mite?” asked Horner.
“I’ve had my bad days, sir,” Mike admitted, quietly. “Nights, usually.”
“You need a break, son,” said Horner. He didn’t tell him they already had something in mind.
“I had one, remember, sir,” said Mike, sourly. “I was on a Bond Tour.”
“That wasn’t a break and you know it,” said Horner. “And it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t have a shred of pull back then.”
Mike nodded and decided to change the subject. “Apropos of nothing, sir, where is the equipment for all these mechanized and mobile divisions coming from?”
“Chrysler is back in the armor-making business, has been for nearly a year. They and GM have been producing like mad, son,” said General Taylor. “They’ve not only stepped up their production rate beyond anything they expected, they’ve converted two factories in western Pennsylvania and Utah for M-1 production and four for Bradley production. The Toyota plant in Kentucky is about to get into the business as well. Modern equipment we have out the ass. What we don’t have is GalTech.”