She indicated a series of bloodred circles that had been drawn on the map’s surface along the Guinea coastline. “We have four of the boat hides boresighted already, and we think there are just a couple more to go. That’s where you and your Marines come in, Captain. I want to insert recon patrols at each of these sites. I want them to scout out the terrain, verify that these are actually the Union deep-strike bases, and deploy remote antipersonnel sensors so that we’ll know when these bases are occupied, all without being detected. Can do?”
Quillain nodded decisively. “Can do, ma’am. Just say the word. What’s the next move?”
“Then, Captain, we take out all of the hides in a single coordinated strike, choosing a moment that will maximize the cost to the Union in equipment, supplies, and personnel.” A quiet fierceness crept into her voice as she spoke. “By all accounts, General Belewa and his people are tough, smart, and adaptable. Well, we’re not going to give them a chance to adapt. We’re going to smash the whole damn network in one shot and not leave them anything to rebuild.”
Those were good Marine-sounding words of a kind Quillain hadn’t expected to hear. “Looks like a solid package to me, ma’am,” he said cautiously. “But I hadn’t figured on my boys operating ashore on this cruise. Our mission briefing was sort of vague about whether or not we were authorized to operate on the ground in Guinea.”
Garrett lifted an ironic eyebrow. “I’ve noted that vagueness myself, and I’m going to be very careful about not asking for any clarification until after we get this job done. That way, if I get called down for exceeding my authority on this mission package, I can blush prettily and say, ‘Oops, I misunderstood my rules of engagement.’ ”
She turned away from the chart and faced Quillain, levelly meeting his gaze. “Don’t worry, Captain. When we make our move, you’ll be operating under my written orders. If there’s any official flak coming on this operation, I’ll be the one catching it. Putting it bluntly, the shit does not slide downhill in my command.”
“That wasn’t a concern, ma’am,” Quillain replied gruffly. Damn it all entirely, he wasn’t used to having a five-foot something slip of damned attractive female assure him of her protection.
She gave him a flash of her sober smile. “I’m sure it wasn’t, Captain, but I like to make clear the way I do things right from the beginning. At any rate, I know you’ve got a lot of work to do, so I won’t keep you any longer. Take care of those immediate points we discussed and get your men squared away. We’ll see you in the officers’ mess for dinner and then at the Operations Group meeting this evening at 2000 hours. You and your people will get a chance to meet the rest of the task force commanders, and we can continue with the mission orientation at that time. We’ll be needing your input.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
Sergeant Tallman straightened from his leaning posture against the side of the quarters module as Quillain exited from its door. He noted that his company commander had a slightly stunned yet thoughtful expression on his face.
“How bad is it, Skipper?” Tallman asked.
“Top, I can tell you two things right now,” Quillain replied after a moment’s consideration. “One is that we’re in for one hell of an interesting cruise. And as for the other”—he aimed a thumb back at the office doorway—“that ain’t no candy-assed female.”
“Clearly what we’re seeing in Guinea is another example of the Pentagon’s overdependence on high-tech gadgetry. They’ve put another conglomeration of complex and fragile technical systems out in the field in the hands of a bunch of undertrained and undisciplined high school kids, and now they wonder why they can’t get them to work.”
The program was CNN’s Defense Today video newsmagazine, and the speaker was an elderly ex-Army Special Forces officer who had built a second career as a journalist sniping at U.S. military policy.
“And so, Colonel,” the moderator took up smoothly, “you put stock in the stories coming out of Conakry concerning the effectiveness and reliability of the Navy’s new seafighter squadron?”
“I could have told you from the start that these Buck Rogers hovercraft were going to turn into another expensive Navy boondoggle. The Navy knows it and they’re running scared. That’s why they attached their current wonder woman, Amanda Garrett, to the seafighter group, in the hope of drumming up some kind of favorable PR out of this fiasco. But even she’s going to have a hard time making a good show out of this…”
Amanda clicked the television remote, killing the taped satellite broadcast. “Good work, ladies and gentlemen. Over the past couple of weeks, that’s what we’ve managed to get the pundits saying about us. Unfortunately for him, General Belewa has been listening to these people. Now it’s our turn to make them all look like fools.”
A chuckle rippled around the interior of the briefing module. The narrow space was filled with the tactical officers of the Tactical Action Group, the captains and execs of the seafighters and the Cyclone Patrol Craft, Stone Quillain and his Marines, and the senior S.0.s of the TACNET system. Some sat at the narrow central table; others leaned against the walls; all were attentive and waiting.
Amanda turned from the wall-mounted flatscreen to the old-fashioned blackboard beside it. Swiftly, she chalked a series of words upon it.
POWER PROJECTION
MAINTAIN SEA LINES OF COMMUNICATION
MAINTAIN FLEET IN BEING
“These are the three classic maritime missions currently being performed by the navy of the West African Union,” she continued, speaking over her shoulder. “Taking the fight to the enemy via power projection, keeping open the Union’s sea lines of communication, and maintaining a fleet to serve as a strategic threat. As soon as we eliminate the Union’s ability to perform these three missions, we get to go home. Tonight we’re taking the first step… here.”
Decisively, she drew a line through the words POWER PROJECTION.
Using the remote once more, Amanda called up the mission chart on the wall screen. She turned back to face the room, her hands on her hips.
“You all know the setup, ladies and gentlemen. TACNET and our Marine recon probes have verified the existence and location of six Union boat hides along the coast of Guinea, three of them large, three of them small. We’re taking them out. All of them.”
The briefing program progressed on the wall screen, graphics targeting blocks blinking into existence around each objective. “Of the three larger hides, the two westernmost, L1 at Rio Compony and L2 at Cape Varga, will be taken out by the Sirocco and Santana, each PC carrying a full Marine assault platoon. The three smaller hides, S1 at Conflict Reef, S2 at Margot de Avisos, and S3 at Reviere Morebaya, will be taken out by the PGs, each carrying a single Marine squad.
“This first wave of strikes will be coordinated to go in simultaneously, or at least as close to simultaneous as the tactical situation will permit. The two Cyclones will sortie from Floater 1 at 0900 Hours. The PGs will follow this afternoon at 1500. All units will make landfall after dark and will be at their point of assault by 2200. The landing forces will take departure at that time.
“We won’t have enough recon to provide full real-time coverage for all of the assaults. However, all L Sites will have a Predator on station overhead, and everybody gets at least one drone pass over their objective within an hour of their scheduled assault time.