Again Amanda shook her head. “That’s no good either, Chris. The hovercraft just can’t loiter offshore for a protracted period of time the way the PCs can. They aren’t designed for it. We’d burn out our crews and overwear our equipment in short order. And we don’t have enough hulls in the squadron to simultaneously rotate out to two patrol stations, not without intermittently leaving big holes in our coverage. Belewa will be watching for things like that.”
Amanda propped her hip against the conference table. “As is, we’re spread so desperately thin, one accident or engineering casualty could collapse our entire operation. We just can’t take on anything more. We’ll have to let the oil smuggling ride for a while.”
The intel smacked her palm with her fist in frustration. “Jeez! But that’s what we were sent out here to do!”
“That, and to protect the Guinea coast,” Amanda replied. “We have the resources to do only one or the other. Currently, taking the pressure off the Guinea government has the immediate priority.”
“But that’s now. In the long run, a stalemate favors Belewa.”
“I’m all too aware of that, Chris.”
A metal pitcher of ice water and a stack of paper cups sat in the center of the table. Amanda paused for a moment to pour herself a cupful. “Unfortunately,” she continued, sip ping the cool liquid, “that doesn’t alter our current tactical situation.”
“Well, what do we do next?”
“Unfortunately, again we don’t do anything.”
“Say what?”
“The ball is back in the Union’s court,” Amanda replied grimly. “We’ve had our free shots with taking out their boat hides and by intercepting last night’s recon probe. Now we’re totally reactive again.
“If this were a blank-check operation, we’d go after them. We’d stay on the offensive. We’d use our superior recon capacity to pick and choose our targets and we’d whittle the Union navy down until it wasn’t a factor anymore. As a U.N. interdiction mission, however, we aren’t permitted that option. All we can do is patrol and gather intelligence and wait for Belewa to make the next move.”
Dane gave a noncommittal grunt. “I’m not sure if I like the sound of that, Captain.”
Amanda lifted an ironic eyebrow. “I know that I don’t, Commander, but I’m afraid we’re stuck with it.”
“And what happens when Belewa makes that move?” Christine insisted.
“Hopefully we spot it in time to block it. And then, again hopefully, it’ll be our turn once more.”
“There is no contact, General. The reconnaissance patrol from West Squadron did not even make its first scheduled radio call. Also, our agent at Point Sallatouk reported automatic weapons fire off the coast and the sighting of a boat on fire. We must assume the patrol is lost.”
Belewa nodded slowly. “It is as I said, Sako. We do have a leopard to deal with.”
The Premier General’s personal operations center took up a double-room suite on the same floor as his office and living quarters, the civilian furnishings stripped away and replaced by the functional starkness of a military field headquarters. With its map boards and ranks of field telephones, it lacked the computerized sophistication of a First World command facility. However, it was adequate for Belewa’s needs. The focused efficiency of the half-dozen handpicked personnel staffing it made up for any technological failing.
“Has intelligence finished debriefing the soldiers who escaped from the boat hides?” Belewa inquired, grimly moving on to the next point in the morning’s briefing.
“They have, General. Our long-range patrols recovered three survivors. In all instances they report essentially the same thing. An assault force infiltrated each hide site, apparently after a careful reconnoitering. The attackers issued a challenge, ordering the garrison personnel to surrender. If resistance was offered, the attackers returned an overwhelming volume of fire.”
“And do we have a positive identification of these attackers?”
“Yes, sir.” Brigadier Atiba paused for a moment to take a swallow of bitter tea from a canteen cup. “United States Marines. They identified themselves when they made their challenge.”
“Hmm.” Belewa drank slowly from his own cup. “So we have American troops on the ground in Guinea. What does their press have to say about that?”
“The Strategic Intelligence Bureau has monitored a press release from the White House concerning the operation, proclaiming it a victory in President Childress’s African policies. There has been little reaction noted on CNN and TBN. As UNAFIN and Guinea are of small concern to the majority of the American public and as the operation was a success with no casualties listed, the incident is being treated as a nonstory by most of the American media.”
Belewa’s only response was to take another sip from his cup. His eyes, however, were cold and dark and focused on something far away.
“What is the status on our long-range patrols? How badly is the loss of the hides affecting our deep-penetration operations?”
“Very badly, sir.” Atiba led the General over to a large scale wall map of Guinea, well spiked with colored pins. “We have eight long-range patrols operating in the coastal areas between Conakry and the border of Guinea-Bissau. They relied on our gunboats for resupply as well as for insertion and extraction. With the hides destroyed, they have been cut off inside enemy territory.”
“Do we still have radio contact with them?”
“Yes, General.”
“Then bring them home, Sako. Order them to cease operations and walk out.”
Atiba frowned. “That will effectively end all of our operations in western Guinea.”
“I am quite aware of that. It gives Guinea a breathing space I am not happy about their having. Unfortunately, we have no choice. Starving soldiers don’t fight well. To push the campaign in western Guinea any further right now would only cost us good men and hand our enemies another cheap victory. We will pull back until we can get a new supply line established.”
“And when will that be, General?” Atiba demanded in frustration.
Belewa glanced at his chief of staff, holding a level gaze until the younger officer looked away flustered. “Sooner than you might think, Brigadier,” Belewa said quietly. “And sooner,” he gestured at the wall map with his cup, “than they might think.”
Belewa drained off the last of his tea and set the metal cup on the corner of a field desk. “All right,” he said, straightening. “We are going to weave ourselves a net, Sako. A net to catch a sea leopard in. I want the American coastal patrols kept under constant observation. I want to know how they are operating. I want to know their patrol patterns and strength levels, and I want to know about any changes that occur within them. Arrange for a joint conference with both the commander of the Military Intelligence Section and the director of the Strategic Intelligence Bureau on this matter. Bring the Chief of Naval Operations in on this as well.
“Also have Strategic Intelligence use their Internet access to pull in everything available on Captain Amanda Garrett of the United States Navy.” The Premier General smiled grimly. “We must learn about our leopard. What she eats. When she sleeps. What she thinks and what she fears. Then, old friend, we shall see.”