The NSA hid a small smile. Fertile ground indeed.
* * *
The general gave a broad and humorless smile. It was a well-known mannerism that countless subordinates had fallen victim to. «He did what?»
General Jim Taylor, Chief of Staff to the Ground Forces High Commander, gave a huge grin and balanced the Fairbairn combat knife he was playing with on one finger. «He canned the commander and the vice.» Jim Taylor had dealt with plenty of Marines in his time, and as far as he was concerned, the vice commander was just a guy wearing a Marine's hat. «And he's completely changed the command structure. The High Commander will command Training Command, Intelligence, Logistics, what have you. Including 'Base Support Command.' «
«CONARC,» said the other general. He gave a resigned sigh. At least his position had finally been given its correct name. He had held the position of CONARC for the past two years, ever since completing his assignment as head of the Infantry branch of the Galactic Technology Board. It had been an intensely frustrating period. Not only was his background as one of the most experienced combat commanders in the Army being squandered, he was responsible for bases that were out of his control. He was the «commander» of the base personnel and «owned» the bases, but he did not have command of the units assigned to those bases. And those units were halfway mutinous and engaging in almost daily riots. Then the cost of the cleanup for those riots came out of his budget. So he was watching a previously stellar career come crashing down because of others' failures.
«Nope,» said General Taylor. «Continental Army Command is the biggest change. There will be two 'Force' commands under the High Commander: CONARC and ExForC. Continental Army Command and Expeditionary Force Command. The commander of CONARC will have direct command and control of all combat forces in the continental United States.»
The silver-haired general Taylor had been addressing sat bolt upright in his chair and pinned his ebony-skinned superior with a glacial-blue gaze. «Are you kidding?»
«Nope,» said Taylor with a grin. «And, before you even ask. Yeah, Jack, you get to keep the position. I say that as the new High Commander,» he added with an even wider grin.
General Jack Horner sat back in his chair and a rare, real smile violated his normally serious mien. «Congratulations. Jesus, there is a God.»
Taylor shrugged and expertly threw the knife into a cork dartboard with a picture of Jar-Jar Binks pinned on it. «There are other problems. He wanted to switch back to Ridicuplan, but I talked him out of it, I think. But we have to maintain forces on the coastal plains during the main invasion.»
«Oh,» said Horner with another thin smile. «Great.»
«Yeah. He's got a point; public opinion is dead set against losing the plains completely. It would tear us apart as a country to fall back on the Appalachians and the Rockies, giving up all the major cities . . .»
«Nice recitation,» commented Horner. «Are you considering running for Congress?»
«Say that and smile, partner,» said Taylor, with a warning grin. «No, but it's also true.»
«Sir,» said Horner, formally. «There is no way to defend the plains.»
«Oh, don't get me wrong, Jack. I know that and I'm not gonna piss away boys' lives trying. And I'm not gonna let the President, either. What we have to do is come up with a plan to defend certain key cities.»
«Which ones?» asked General Horner, frowning slightly in agreement. «That I can live with, if we don't have to defend too far out.»
«Well, we're going to decide which ones and where. But I more or less promised that if it is 'historic' it would get defended.»
Horner nodded. «You know, I played around with that a while back. Defend the inner part of all the 'major' cities that we were planning on losing. But we don't want to do it with a normal population.»
«I told him that, too.» Taylor nodded. «We'll plan on evacuating all but the military and an essential civilian presence. No children stay.»
Horner nodded with another positive frown. «Good. This will actually be a better defense plan, you know.»
Taylor nodded with a grim smile. «The cities will pull some of the heat off of the mountain defenses.»
«That and it will keep some of the Posleen where those refurbished battleships can reach them,» Horner noted. «I'll have a list of recommended cities for defense by the end of the week. Count on Norfolk, DC, San Francisco and New York.»
«Okay,» said Taylor. «And start thinking about ways to pull out the defenders if it gets too hot. They'll have to be planning on staying for five years, without external support. But if they're going to get overrun, there will have to be a plan.»
«Something else for the ACS to handle,» Horner said with a frown. He had just the person in mind to write that part of the plan. Always call on an expert.
CHAPTER 7
Washington, DC, United States of America, Sol III
0605 EDT May 28th, 2004 ad
«Good morning, professor!» came the call from the door.
Monsignor Nathan O'Reilly, Ph.D., the Reagan Chair of Archaeology and Ancient History, looked up from the computer screen and his eyes lit. The young lady in the doorway was not only one of his favorite former students, she was a notorious gossip. Since her new job often included gossip that he wanted to hear, it was always a pleasure to see her.
«Kari! Come in,» he said, rising to his feet to rearrange chairs. «Sit,» he commanded, pointing at the comfortable armchair placed by the desk. «Coffee?»
«Oh, no!» she gasped. «I couldn't hold another drop. I've been up practically the whole night and I'm headed to bed!»
«Since when does the White House Protocol Office work swing shift?» he asked with raised white eyebrows. He took a sip of his own coffee and glanced at the cesium-quartz clock on the wall. Among the bric-a-brac of ancient alembics, archeological relics and old books it stuck out like a nuclear reactor in a Roman coliseum.
The clock had been a gift from another former student. The newly promoted Vice Admiral with the Federation Fleet had presented it to his old mentor with the joke that now he could always be sure what century he was in. It indicated that Kari was returning home shortly after six in the morning. While he was habitually early to work, he knew from experience that Kari, while quite beautiful and intellectually brilliant, was a tad lazy. Her working through the night was something he would have deemed impossible.
«Oh!» she exclaimed, tossing her head to clear an errant blonde hair. «It is just so exciting! The Tir Lord Dol Nok is coming on a state visit! And the first place he is visiting is right here!»
«Kari, Kari,» the professor soothed, «calm yourself. Precision, darling. By right here are you referring to George Mason University or Washington?»
«Washington! He's going to hold a summit with President Edwards to finalize the sale of the heavy weapons for the planetary defense centers in the U.S.!»
The professor shook his head. Kari was a wonderful girl, but it was early for her particular brand of cheerleader enthusiasm. «That is wonderful news. But why were you up all night?»
«Oh,» she said, letting out an exaggerated sigh. «The summit won't be for months, but the protocols for the High Tir are just sooo complex. Previously the WHoPo thought that the only significant similar human protocols seemed to be among the Mandarin. But that was just being narrow-minded. I was able to convincingly demonstrate that there were more similarities with observed Egyptian motifs. . . .»
O'Reilly leaned forward and gave her every bit of his attention. While in many ways Kari epitomized the image of the dumb blonde, she was one of the most brilliant young ladies it had been his privilege to teach. Her insights into early societies' interactions probably exceeded his own. If she were not such a natter-head or had an inkling about what was actually happening in the world around her, she would be a perfect recruit for the Société.