“No sweat.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” said Cally, picking it up and feeling the heft. “It’s small.”
“It’s designed for Indowy, not that they would ever use it. It’s made out of lightweight boron polymers. The charge on a dart is adjustable, so it can be nonlethal. And it’ll take down a Posleen, unlike your Walther.” The small-frame pistol was notorious for jamming, but it was one of the few in the world that both fit her hand and had a decent-sized round. Since the Posleen were not going to be stopped by an itsy-bitsy little .380 low-velocity, Papa O’Neal had tapped and filled its bullets with mercury. The Posleen that caught one might not be killed but it was going to know it had been kissed.
“Umm,” she asked, carefully turning it so as not to point at either adult, “how do you clear it and where is the damn safety?”
Mike laughed and pulled out a computer disk. “Here’s the manual, read it on your laptop. For the time being you have to trust me that it is empty.”
“Thanks, Daddy.” She grinned, putting the pistol back in the case. “You’re swell.”
“Get some practice with it right away. I know you’re good with that James Bond gun, but this has more stopping power and is better suited for your hands. I’d prefer you get familiar with it in case you have to use it.”
“Okay.”
He tousled her hair, thinking that she looked a lot like her mother must have at the same age. “You stay safe, okay, pumpkin?”
“Okay.” She was tearing up again, the excitement of the gift giving way to the fear of the moment.
“And you listen to your Grandpa.”
“You already said that.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t get up to the base so you could see my unit.”
“It’s okay, we can after you kick their asses back into space.”
Mike Junior looked significantly at Mike Senior, who shrugged his shoulders, unrepentant. “What do you want, a little lady or a little warrior?”
Mike picked her up and hugged her gently. “G’bye, pumpkin.”
“Bye, Daddy.” She bucked a little in his arms, holding back the sobs.
He set her down, grabbed his bag and headed out the door.
They followed him downstairs and out the front door where he removed the case of pulser darts from the front of the Tahoe, handed it to his dad and threw in his bag. He took his daughter in his arms one last time.
“And if they land here, what do you do?”
“Shoot, scoot and hide.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t worry about us, Daddy, you’re going to be on the sharp end.”
“Are you worried about me, pumpkin?” asked Mike, honestly surprised.
“Uh-huh.” She started to cry.
“Oh, pumpkin,” he smiled, putting on his mission face, “don’t worry about me.” He slipped on his Milspecs, wrapped Shelly around his head as a hands-free communicator and smiled ferally. “I’ve finally got the Posleen right where I want them. They don’t know it, but they’re about to get the whole can of kick-ass.” He looked out at the fields he had grown up in and thought for a moment about what he had said. The company was trained and ready. He was trained and ready. They could do this. The company believed it. The battalion commander and staff believed it. Regiment was as sure as if it were a steel-hard certainty.
Now if he could only convince himself.
Mueller, meantime, was getting on a different kind of mission face, as were Mosovich, Ersin and Keene. Keene’s proposed plan for the defense of Richmond was not meeting with the approval of the mayor or the city engineer.
“We thought you were going to come up with a compromise plan, Mr. Keene, not a new plan to destroy the city,” snarled the mayor, banging the conference table.
“It is not intended to destroy the city, Mr. Mayor, only a small portion of it.”
“And it does not provide for the defense of the outskirts whatsoever,” noted the city engineer, poring over the detailed plan that Mueller’s AID had printed out on their arrival.
“Fortress Forward does not intend the defense of the majority of the city,” interjected the corps engineer, “as we have pointed out time and again.”
The corps commander motioned him subtly to back off, more than familiar with the old argument between the two. “This firesack of Schockoe Bottom actually looks like precisely what the Fortress Forward program is all about, but it only makes provisions for one outer fort,” he continued, “instead of the suggested multiple.”
“Yes, but it makes best use of the available terrain,” noted Keene. “This is really the only area where you have two useable terrain features to emplace on and catch the Posleen in a crossfire. And the outer fortress can provide fire support if the forces are forced to retreat towards Newport News.”
“What about the rest of the city? What about south Richmond? Our primary industrial area?”
Colonel Braggly was again waved down by the corps commander as Keene answered. “It is indefensible. Period. With the exception of a few gently rolling knolls, the James is the only noticeable terrain feature.
“There are four scenarios to work with here, gentlemen,” Keene said in an iron voice, “and we have to be very clear about what they are. Sergeant First Class Mueller, what is the best-case scenario for Richmond?”
“The Posleen land beyond masking terrain features, effectively out of range to cause us harm.”
“Right,” agreed Keene. “In which case, a few days later a portion of the corps rolls out to wherever they are needed.”
“What?” shouted the mayor. “Why the hell are you going to do that?” he snarled, turning to the corps commander.
“To support those in need, Mr. Mayor,” replied the corps commander, calmly. “I would hope that other corps would do the same for us. No, I know they would; it would be the right military decision and so ordered. Of course, if the Posleen land well away from here, other units would react. We’re not going anywhere if they land in California.”
“Yes, sir, but I was thinking if they landed south of the Broad River or north of the Potomac, for example,” noted Keene. “Now, Master Sergeant Ersin, what is the worst-case scenario?”
“They land directly on us,” he said to universal grimaces. His own scarred face remained stone-faced, eyes remote.
“And in that case,” Keene said, with an almost unnoticeable twinkle in his eyes for the moment of levity, “we activate our GOTH Plan.”
“Our what?” asked the city engineer.
“Our Go-To-Hell plan,” answered Mosovich, face as stony as Ersin’s.
“The plan you use when all your other plans have failed,” noted the corps commander, nodding his head at the clued-in civilian engineer.
“Your ‘On Deadly Ground Plan,’ as it is sometimes called,” interjected the otherwise silent corps chief of staff.
“Our ‘we are fucked’ plan,” Keene clarified, “will be to destroy the city, Mr. Mayor, because there will be no survivors anyway and we might as well leave the Posleen a smoking ruin. Mine every building, blow up every block as they come to it. Leave not one edible scrap of food including humans, destroy the bodies as we go. Kill as many Posleen as we can, but most of all, make it very plain that fighting humans is a losing proposition: All you get is sorry, hungry and sore.” He looked around the room and for once saw consensus.
“You might make that Virginians,” corrected the city engineer with a slight, sad smile.
“As you will. Ah, sir, am from the Great State of Juwjah, Ah will have you know.” It was good for a little laugh. “But that is the absolute worst-case scenario. There are two more, anyone care to take a stab?”