“So this is a major point of vulnerability for Belewa?”
Christine nodded. “Oh yeah. In fact, for a lot of kinda subtle reasons above and beyond the obvious ones, this is Belewa’s major point of vulnerability. We cut off his go-juice and this dude is kicked to the curb.”
Amanda noted Dane’s puzzled expression. “Translated from the original Californian, that means we win. All right, then, what are we doing to bring this state of affairs about?”
“Not bloody much, to date,” Dane snorted.
“The Commander’s right, boss ma’am,” Christine said regretfully. The original game plan was that any coastal smuggling from out of Côte d’Ivoire and into the Union would be intercepted by Ivoire’s navy and customs service, supported by our TACNET recon and Commander Dane’s helicopters. So far, things haven’t worked out quite as we had hoped.”
“How many smuggling intercepts have been made so far?”
To date, a grand total of none.”
“None!” Amanda exclaimed, her eyebrows lifting.
“That’s right, Captain,” Dane said dryly. “It’s been a bit of a struggle, but we’ve managed.”
“Yeah,” Christine continued. “We’re tracking and spotting just fine. Verified contacts all over the place. But we’re not getting the intercepts out of the locals.”
“Is there a problem with the Ivoire patrol boats?”
Christine held up one finger. “Patrol boat. Singular. The Côte d’Ivoire authorities have assigned one customs patrol boat to work with us Frenchside. A twenty-eight-foot cabin cruiser mounting a light machine gun that probably hasn’t been fired since colonial independence.”
“And damned if it isn’t even around when you need it,” Dane interjected bitterly. “Either it’s off on some unspecified bloody mission, or it’s bloody broken down, or its captain’s left the bloody ignition key in his other bloody pair of pants.”
“I take it, then, Belewa’s people have gotten to the Ivoire authorities?”
“It’s a safe call to make.” The intel gestured at the West African area map. “The Union’s strategic policy to date has been to kiss Côte d’Ivoire’s ass while kicking Guinea’s. It makes sense, given Guinea is the weaker sister of the two nations. Ivoire has a way stronger economy and military. They’ll be harder to destabilize and conquer, so Belewa’s left them on the back burner until he’s better fixed to do the job. In the meantime, he’s using them.
“He doesn’t screw with the Ivoire economy, because a comparatively wealthy nation makes a better resource base for a smuggling operation. He’s also made no overt threat against Ivoire, so that both that nation’s government and the man on the street are willing to look the other way when it comes to a little blockade busting. Especially after a liberal application of dash in the right places.”
“In other words,” Amanda said slowly, “they won’t openly sanction breaking the U.N. embargo, but they also aren’t too concerned about how much attention their citizens pay to it.”
Christine nodded. “Exactamundo. They just can’t be too flagrant about it. There are too many U.N. observers on the border crossings landside to permit much POL to get through on the roads. Also, it’s hard to backpack a meaningful amount of gas across through the jungle. That means it’s got to be moved by sea, along the coast.”
“Where theoretically we should be able to get at it.”
“There’s theory and there’s reality, Captain.” Dane took over the commentary. “Last night we had one more try with the Ivoire customs service.”
Dane’s ruddy complexion flushed further. “Christ! I hovered over a pinasse with a deckload of oil drums for forty-five minutes. I had my running lights at bright flash and I was dropping flares and marker strobes. The patrol boat was less than two miles away, and yet they still claimed that they couldn’t see the target.”
“I presume that protests have been filed with the government of Côte d’Ivoire concerning these incidents.”
“Oh sure,” the intel replied. “And their kickback is that no evidence of malfeasance has been discovered on the part of their personnel. Also, since no smuggling intercepts have been made, there is obviously no smuggling problem to be concerned about, and thus they are reducing their border coverage.”
“Oh Lord.” Amanda rubbed her eyes tiredly.
“We’re not in Kansas anymore, boss ma’am. This can only be either Africa or the Twilight Zone.”
“There’s nothing more my people and I can do, Captain,” Dane said earnestly. “Not without surface support. We can’t fire on the smuggling boats. They’re unarmed small craft crewed by civilians. And you can’t conduct a boarding and seizure from a flippin’ helicopter.”
“Yeah,” Christine agreed. “We’ve got to start hitting that supply line. And to do that, we’ve got to have a hull in the water over Frenchside. One that we can depend on. Can you give us one, Captain?”
Amanda didn’t have an immediate reply. Turning away, she crossed her arms over her stomach and slowly paced the full length of the briefing trailer and back, her features set in thought. When she returned to the briefing screen and the two waiting officers, she shook her head.
“I want to say yes so badly I can taste it, but no, I can’t afford to cut anyone loose.”
“But look,” Christine objected, “we already have somebody out there we can use.”
The intel picked up the flatscreen remote and called up a force deployment overlay on the area chart. “When we took out the Union boat hides, we established the Union East surveillance station here, just off the borderline of the West African Union and Côte d’Ivoire. We have one of the aerostat carriers positioned there to give us full coverage of the Union Littoral. One of our Cyclone PCs, the Santana, is currently escorting her. Why not cut Santana loose from close escort and let her chase some smugglers. She can handle that and still provide a degree of protection for the ’stat carrier.”
Again Amanda shook her head. “But then, who provides protection for the Santana? The Union has a strike force of almost twenty Boghammers based at Harper, right on the Ivoire border.” Amanda leaned forward and tapped a point on the flatscreen with her fingernail. “They could sortie at any moment. That aerostat carrier, which one is she? The Bravo? She has a Marine security detail aboard her. Fisted together, she and the Santana probably have enough firepower to put up a fair fight. If they separate, however, one or both of them could get swarmed and cut to pieces. It would take us at least two hours to get a PG out there in support. Way too long.”
Amanda glanced over at the British helo leader. “Unless maybe we could count on some air cover. What about it, Commander?”
“I’d love to oblige, Captain Garrett, but the only armament my Merlins carry is a single GPMG in the side door. My lads and I would be more than willing to back you up in a bash. I just don’t know how much good we could do against the twin 14s those Bogs mount.”
“Could you get some Sea Skuas?”
Dane grimaced. “I’ve been trying to get my antiship missiles back ever since we got here. The Foreign Office won’t authorize their release into this theater. They claim offensive armament would be, and I quote, ‘provocative and inappropriate for a peacekeeping mission.’ I suspect we’ve got some silly bastard up there who’s related to that silly bastard of yours who wouldn’t let your chaps take their tanks into Somalia a few years ago.”
Amanda sighed. “Well, that’s it, then.”
“God, there’s got to be some way to work this,” Christine insisted. “Why not put a PG over on Union East the same way we’re doing on Guinea East. Maintain a standing patrol of one seafighter and one PC on each barrier line? That would give us the shooting edge.”