She kept a bit ahead of him as she led him back to the hotel-like section of the retreat and down the hall to her room, inserting the card key and suppressing her comments as he surreptitiously tried to wipe sweat off with his towel. His T-shirt had dark, damp patches, and she was not looking at his sweat pants.
Cally heard the hotel room door close behind him.
“Don’t even think about it. I’m your aunt,” she said.
“Aunt Cally?” he squeaked, putting two and two together far faster than she would have expected.
“Hi.” She turned and smiled at him. “I guess I haven’t seen you since you were, what, five? How’d you know it was me?”
“Uh, yeah. About five. I’d say you’ve changed, but it’s obvious, and uh, well, there was kind of a mention…” he said, raising his eyebrows as she set a sound damper on the table and flipped it on.
“I’m really just here to pay allegiance to Mr. Murphy. There is the barest chance that DAG’s Atlantic Company could end up dragged into one of our ops if it really goes to hell,” she said. “Briefly, because I think your CO is going to want some background, our target is owned and run by a Darhel group. For various reasons, he may get nervous about the time we’re getting ourselves inside. Nervous Darhel try to cover their asses, and you guys are kinda notorious right now.”
The young man rolled his eyes, but she continued, “I know, I know. A nervous Darhel might see adding some flashy security to be career insurance, and for various reasons, could set his eyes on you guys and pull some strings.
“Anyway, if someone tries to drag you guys into a ‘black’ furball near the Fleet Base around Christmas, avoid it if you can, if you can’t, you need to know it’ll probably be us on the other side,” she finished.
“Avoid? With Posse Comitatus we don’t do domestic shi — stuff. We’re authorized to operate in the territories, but there are federal laws against DAG operating in the states. Second, it’s kinda hard to ‘avoid’ being sent on a particular mission. I appreciate the need for a go to hell plan, but this time you may be going beyond benefits versus costs to your OpSec. I don’t know what you’ve been told about DAG, but we really don’t operate in the States, no matter what the conspiracy guys say. Even the Darhel don’t have that much pull.”
“Yes, they do. Trust us, we’ve been doing this a looong time. He can do it.” She fixed him with the kind of stare schoolteachers reserve for young boys to make sure he got it. “It’s very, very unlikely that he will. And we probably are being too paranoid. But just as Murphy insurance, one guy in your company needs to know, and that gets to be you. Obviously, don’t share the information unless it becomes necessary.”
“Okay.” He rubbed his chin with one hand before looking back up at her. “Aunt Cally, it’s not my ass on the line, but how do you guys decide need to know on an operation? Of course I can and will keep my mouth shut, I’m an O’Neal. Not my business, just curious.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about you running your mouth, Mauldin. If you did, and anything happened to Tommy or Papa, you’d have Momma Wendy and Momma Shari on your ass.”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s a solid guarantee.” He swallowed hard. “Of me not running off at the mouth, I mean.”
“As to OpSec, let’s just say that Granpa has very well-developed survival instincts,” she said.
“Good point.”
Chapter Nine
Greenville, South Carolina, had been a minor manufacturing powerhouse before the war. Lockheed-Martin, Michelin, Kemet Electronics, and more — all had plants to take advantage of the non-union labor, ready to work. The original textile mills that had been the mainstay of the economy since antebellum times had lost ground to the cheaper labor overseas, but the area’s job base had continued to grow. Before that, it had been a resort for tidewater aristocrats seeking a break and some fresh scenery back in the wilderness. Now, it was ruins, with good odds that it would not be inhabited again for a long, long time. The entire county had been held back from the bounty farm program as a joint service field training area, administered by SOCOM.
The damage to the buildings in the various sectors of the city hadn’t been done, mostly, by the Posleen. Oh, they would have gotten around to it eventually. But they had been more focused on the land held undeveloped by the country millionaires who, prewar, had wanted some acreage under their homes. So the buildings had mostly been unmolested by the invaders. The true destruction of Greenville had been wrought, in various stages, by humans. First by the owners themselves, who preferred going scorched earth over leaving their homes to the Posleen. Then, in small part, by those of their neighbors who had a true fondness for explosives — enough to make them wait beyond initial evacuations to mine and booby-trap anything they could get their hands on, regardless of ownership. The artillery had been the next source of damage. Then Fleet. When the troops came sweeping in after the war, the areas targeted by Fleet were flattened. Fleet hadn’t screwed around when it, finally, arrived to lift the siege. Any area with any indication of Posleen build-up had been scorched by plasma and hammered by kinetic energy weapons.
The areas hit by arty had various building walls still standing. A stairway or corner here or there. Walls of half-underground almost basements.
The areas Fleet hit were finally getting fully covered with vegetation.
Those buildings had been rebuilt with the cheapest bulk methods available, where needed, with no regard to aesthetics. Troops needed practice urban combat as well as in different types of field terrain. So various troops worked their trade on the buildings in Greenville’s demolition area — cleared and fought through, blew up and smashed and rebuilt, sometimes even the streets, again and again. Live-fire urban training, with demo, meant their only opposition would be dummy defenders. But that was for Saturday.
Tonight was in the blanks and VR section. Mosovich’s enhanced night-vision goggles incorporated VR software that interpreted and remapped the scene to look like an old-fashioned black and white movie in full daylight. The goggles had a setting for color, but the machine guesswork involved in colorizing the scene could be disorienting when the machine guessed wrong. Doctrine, which the colonel agreed with, was to keep the color turned off. Field testing had demonstrated, to the satisfaction of the brass, that “black and white at night” gave troops a significant advantage over an opposing force using the colorized setting.
Tonight, Mosovich was glad for the warmth of his silks. Greenville in October could be cold at night, and tonight was an unseasonable bitch of a freeze. He had had himself declared an initial casualty, along with Mueller, so they could get a good look at the performance of the troops. On top of the observation towers, the wind and the light drizzle stung his face and ears so much they ached. His standard cover was hardly a barrier to the escaping heat. Who would have guessed South Carolina at night would be this cold? He looked over at Mueller, whistling cheerfully in his optional attached hood, mouth exposed only to drink the cup of instant coffee he’d just brewed with water from a heater canteen.
“Sergeant Major Mueller, you know use of heater canteens on a night mission is strictly against regs. Where’s my cup?” Jake felt around for a packet of instant coffee and dumped it in the steel mug he unhooked from his web gear, holding it out for some of the hot water, himself. He suppressed a twinge of guilt about the troops below, who wouldn’t be able to use the heater canteens because of the white IR spot the goggles would show to the opposition force. They were moving, and mostly in the buildings, protected from the worst of the wind.