He halted his forward progress, and covertly studied the underbrush as he fished out a cigarette. He stalled a few more seconds fumbling for a match, then grudgingly lit up. These guys are good. He slowly exhaled a long plume of smoke.
"You can come out, gentlemen. All I want to do is talk."
His voice seemed incredibly loud in the darkness, even to him. He waited a few moments. The night was still.
"Look, I don't have a white flag with me, so I'm pinpointing my position with a cigarette instead. I'd like to talk to your ranking officer or noncom."
There was still no response. If he didn't have absolute faith in his back-up, he would feel silly standing there talking to himself.
"I'd love to stand here all night, but the bugs are getting bad. Look, we know you're here. We've been tracking you through our scopes for over an hour now. If we wanted you dead, you'd be dead. If it will convince you, there are twenty of you and we know your positions. Now does that convince you or do I have to bounce a rock off a couple of you?"
He paused again. Suddenly, there was a soldier standing ten feet from him. He hadn't seen him stand up or step out of the bushes; it was as if he had sprung from the earth itself.
"It's about time. Want a smoke?"
"You wanted to talk, so talk."
The man sounded annoyed. Tidwell grinned to himself-probably upset that his crack team had been discovered.
"I've got a message for you. We're asking you once politely to withdraw your men."
"Give me one good reason why we should pull out, wise guy?"
"I can give you a list. First off, we found you. Right off the bat that should tell you your hotshots aren't as good as you'd like to think they are. Now, don't get me wrong, they're good-some of the best I've seen in a government force. But you're outclassed, friend. Our troops have been at this game since the time they could walk. Stack that up against your five years' service and you've got some idea where you stand in this war. A poor third in a two-sided fight!"
"That's your story."
"Let me spell it out for you. You're the advance scout of a company of light infantry that's bivouacked about fifteen miles back. They've been out here blundering around for over two weeks and I'm the first person you've seen to put your sights on. During that time, we've penetrated your defense at will, putting BANG signs on your ammo dump, green dye in your drinking water, Mickey Mouse Club badges on your tents while you're sleeping at night. The fact that you and your force aren't dead isn't because we've never had the chance."
"You're the guys who have been doing all that?"
"You want to know how many of us there are? Five, and two of us are women. A five-member team is all that it takes to keep a company of you bozos running in circles for half a month."
"So how come you haven't attacked?"
"Why? We don't want to fight you clowns. None of the corporation mercenaries do. We just want you to clear the hell out and leave us alone. Why are you out here anyway?"
"Well...supposedly we're trying to keep you from destroying the world economy."
"Bullshit. You wouldn't know a world economy if it bit you on the leg. Hell, man, the corporations have been the world economy for over half a century now."
"So you want us to pull back to camp?"
"No, we want you to pull out completely. The whole damn company-tell your CO we said so."
"And that's supposed to convince him?"
"No, but this might." Tidwell pulled a bulky envelope from inside his shirt and pitched it to the soldier who caught it deftly.
"What is it?"
"Well, you can't see them in this light, but it's a batch of pictures of your CO."
"And that's supposed to convince him?"
"They might. They were taken through a rifle scope. The cross hairs show up just swell."
"We'll show them to him. We were about to pull back anyway."
"Oh, just one more thing. If you could tell your men to leave their rifles behind when they go."
"What!"
"You can come back tomorrow and pick them up, but we want to be sure you pass the message to your CO, and showing up without your rifles will make sure you don't forget to talk to him."
"Tell you what, fella. Why don't you come along and tell him personally. We're supposed to be looking for prisoners to interrogate and I guess you'll do just fine!"
"You know, I get the distinct impression you think I'm bluffing. Very well; which impresses you more-distance work or close quarters?"
"What?"
"Never mind, we'll give you a quick demo of each. Um, tell your men to ease off their triggers. There's going to be some noise, quite harmless of course, but I wouldn't want to see you all get wiped out because someone flinched off a shot."
"What are you talking..."
The night was rent by two ear-splitting explosions, one to their left, one to their right. Two full heart beats behind the blast came the unmistakable twin flat cracks of the rifle reports.
"In case you're wondering, those shots were squeezed off by my partner-the one I was telling you about who is two miles back. He's firing the mercury-tipped bullets you've heard about. Nasty things. Blow a man open like a ripe melon."
"Jesus Christ!"
"But you're a sneaky-pete type, so you'll probably be more impressed by night movement. Hang onto yourself, sonny."
A shotgun blast went off into the air halfway between the two men, and one of Tidwell's teammates sat up from where he had been lying prone in the calf-high undergrowth.
"Now then, little man." Tidwell's voice was hard. "Let's not hear any more crap about taking prisoners. I suggest you take your underpaid boy scouts and get the hell out of our jungle before we start playing rough."
Tidwell was in the blackout tent scanning the radio transcripts when Clancy burst through the double-flap entrance.
"Worked like a charm. They didn't stop until they got back to their camp. If they didn't wet their pants when that shotgun went off, it's only 'cause they haven't had anything to drink for twenty-four hours."
"Speaking of drinks, help yourself."
"Thanks," beamed Clancy, pouring himself a dollop of Irish. "What a crazy way to fight a war. I wonder who came up with this idea?"
"'The object of war is not to destroy the enemy, but rather to destroy his will to resist.' Von Clausewitz, On War. The idea goes way back, Clancy. We're just carrying it out to the nth degree. Have you seen the latest?"
"What? The bit about our robot planes dropping sacks of flour on the steps of the White House?"
"No, the release about the high-altitude reconnaissance planes."
"What's the gist of it?"
"Basically the corporations sent a memo to the governments and the press citing the exact times high-altitude reconnaissance planes had flown over the zone in the last week. They pointed out that we were tracking them easily while our own troops were protected from the infrared snoop by jamming screens, and would they kindly refrain from sending them out or we would be forced to start downing them to eliminate the nuisance."
"Can we do it?"
"I don't think our force has anything that could, but that doesn't mean someone on the corporate team doesn't have a gimmick. Remember last month when the governments called a corporate bluff and we blew up one of their destroyers offshore?"
"Yeah. You know, that kind of gets me down, though-all the gimmick warfare. It takes the personal touch out of things."
"How about the 'gunsight' photos? You can't get much more personal than that. I bet a lot of governmental big mouths changed their tune when they saw themselves in the cross hairs."
"Tell me honestly, Steve-do you think we're going to win?"
"I don't see how it can go any other way. There's no way they can catch us short of saturation bombing or nukes, and public opinion is too much against them. Hell, they're having a hard time with the pressures folks are putting on over this united effort. A third of the governments have already had to pull their troops. It's only a matter of time before the rest of them have to bail out."