Christine tossed her pointer onto a nearby table. “This heavy squadron bases out of Monrovia. From there, it can rapidly deploy to support either the eastern or western Boghammer force. They haven’t been used in action against Guinea yet, but you can bet that they’re going to be out there waiting for you.”
Squadron Leader Evan Dane frowned and spoke up. “Pardon me, Commander, but if the West African Union is claiming that they aren’t at war with Guinea, how does their navy get off with shooting the hell out of the place?”
“Easy. The same way the Union’s Special Forces get off with blowing up bridges and army barracks inland. They just stand up in the U.N. General Assembly and swear across their heart and hope to spit that they aren’t doing it. The line they’re peddling is that rebel factions inside of Guinea are committing these acts and that the Guinean government is using the Union as a scapegoat. You’d be surprised how many diplomats are willing to buy that line. However, out here in the real world, we all know that it’s a crock.”
She clicked the projector control a final time, calling up a theater map. “As you can see, the West African Littoral is an almost continuous tangle of river and creek estuaries, saltwater lagoons, and mangrove swamps, thinly inhabited and almost inaccessible in many places. Taking advantage of this, the Union navy has established a series of boat hides and supply points along the Guinea coast.
“The Boghammer strike groups infiltrate across the line from their main base at Yelibuya and stage their operations out of these hides. After a few days of raising hell, they sneak back into Union territory to rest and re-outfit. These hides also make convenient insertion and resupply points for Union Special Forces units going deep inside Guinean territory. Hopefully, once we get TACNET up and our interdiction patrols running, we’ll be able to stop them.”
“I don’t think we’ll have all that much trouble with this outfit, Commander.” Captain Emberly spoke with a casual confidence. The dimness of the room couldn’t conceal the condescendingly cocky smile on the U.S. TACBOSS’s lips. The expression on his face and the tone in his voice grated on Christine Rendino’s nerves.
“These guys have been doing pretty good so far, sir,” she replied in a low voice.
“That’s true, Commander. But face it, so far it’s just been the locals versus the locals. When I get my people out there, I think we’ll be able to get things cleaned up in pretty short order.”
Christine found herself flashing back to the words of an old friend and former commanding officer: Ships, battles, and wars have been lost because an enemy no one expected to be able to fight, could.
There had been another part to Amanda Garrett’s quote as welclass="underline" Arrogance is a weakness that I will not tolerate…
“That’s a damn dangerous attitude, sir,” Christine found herself saying.
Emberly’s smile became a mild frown of annoyance as he sat forward in his chair. “Let’s keep a little grip on reality here, Commander. Beyond this trio of home-baked gunboats you’ve just shown us, all that we’re essentially facing is an outboard motor navy.”
Christine shrugged her shoulders. “And your point? If you happen to be a Guinean subsistence-level fisherman commanding a pirogue that’s one evolutionary step above dugout canoe, a Boghammer mounting a couple of machine guns and a grenade launcher might just as well be a Kirov-class battle cruiser.”
“But that is the point, Commander,” the TACBOSS continued obstinately. “We aren’t a bunch of subsistence-level fishermen. By African standards, these guys are probably pretty good. However, I don’t see anything to match what we can bring to bear.”
Christine crossed slowly to Emberly’s table, the projector light blazing momentarily on her whites as she passed through the beam. “This is true, sir,” she replied quietly. The Union navy is, in fact, limited in many respects. They don’t have atomic submarines or cruise missiles or aircraft carriers or stealth bombers. What they do have, though, is a valid combat doctrine that permits them to effectively utilize the resources they do possess to reach their tactical, operational, and strategic goals.”
Leaning forward, she braced her arms on the tabletop and gazed balefully into Emberly’s eyes. “Or, to use the short form, sir,” she continued, selecting her words with care, “these guys are winning this fucking war with what they’ve got. They don’t need anything else.”
Shielded by the darkness, the pinasse’s crew started to shift cargo. Two heavy planks were lifted into place atop the cargo of rice sacks amidships and more rice sacks were used to weight the plank ends down, anchoring them into place and creating a stable, flat-topped platform.
The restacking of the sacks also revealed the row of ammunition cases lined up over the boat’s keel as well as the tube, base plate, and bipod of the mortar.
As the boat’s captain maintained a lookout, two of the crewmen began to break out and arm the shells. The other two began assembling the weapon on its makeshift firing station.
It was a venerable old piece, a Soviet-made 82mm medium, rusty and battered from thirty years of hard use. In fact, it had been deliberately selected for this mission because of its age and worn condition. It would need to hold together only long enough to fire one last barrage.
Macintyre had the final word at the briefing. Leaning with his back against the bar, he studied the half-dozen UNAFIN officers for a moment before speaking. He didn’t like what he was seeing, or feeling in the room. British, French, and American, seated apart and thinking apart. The United Nations African Interdiction Force was in a hell of a lot of trouble, and the first shot hadn’t even been fired yet. And what he was about to say wouldn’t make things any better.
“Miss Rendino, gentlemen, I’m sure you will be interested in learning that certain decisions have finally been made by our respective governments concerning the chain of command for UNAFIN.”
That had been one of the complicating factors from the start, just as it had been for so many other U.N. operations. Who got to drive the bloody train? The United States, as usual, was contributing the lion’s share of the personnel, funding, and support for the mission. On the other hand, however, Guinea was an ex-French colony that still maintained strong trade and political relations with Paris. Yet again, Sierra Leone, the western half of what was now the West African Union, had been a longtime member of the British Common wealth. And the government of Guinea naturally desired to have a say in what went on within its own territory.
There were more than enough points of national pride and honor for the diplomats to squabble over. And more than enough to put this operation at risk.
“The question has come up, sir,” Lieutenant Traynor said with an ironic lift to the corner of his mouth. “I think we’d all rather like to know just who we’re supposed to be answering to down here.”
“We have received no word on this point from our government,” Commander Trochard added. The Frenchman put a light but definite emphasis on “our government.”
“All commands will be receiving formal notification presently, Commander,” Macintyre replied. “And to answer Lieutenant Traynor’s question, nobody is going to be answering to anyone, at least down here. The decision has been made by the United Nations security council to block out the UNAFIN Mission assignments to the different national task forces and leave it at that.
“As per the initial UNAFIN charter, France will manage the offshore sea and air patrol and merchant boarding operations. The U.S. has the inshore surface patrol and the theater intelligence responsibilities. Great Britain will handle mine sweeping and inshore patrol aviation.