by James Tarr
There was a large map of the city’s entire downtown area including the Blue Zone laid out before them.
“We know their satellite coverage of the city,” he began. “While they can adjust their observation windows slightly—very slightly—we know when they have eyes available in orbit and when they don’t. And we’re going to use that to our advantage.”
“You know their satellite flyover schedule?” Brookelynne said with a frown. “We could have used that information, I don’t know, fucking years ago. Might have saved a few lives. What, you only care about us when you want to use us?”
Morris fixed her with a stare, then dug a folded piece of paper out of one of his pockets. When he unfolded it they saw dense columns of numbers. “The five recon satellites they have left that cover this city have very different orbital tracks. One orbits the Earth every ninety-seven point three minutes and can go eyes on above us for seven minutes or so, although half that time it’s at a serious angle. The second is in a higher Earth orbit and takes one hundred and two minutes to transit the globe, and can eyeball this patch of dirt for nine minutes. The third is similar to the first but is on a polar orbit, not east-west. Do I need to keep going? Depending on the day and the time, none of them could be overhead or all five could be. These gazillion figures I’ve got here,” he shook the paper at them, “only cover the exposure windows for the next three days. By the time you decoded them in a transmission from ‘Uncle Charlie’ your three days would be up. And,” he said, staring them down, “if I transmitted a math program to you so you could compute the dates and times yourself, after the Tabs didn’t see anything moving on the ground for weeks, how long do you think it would be before they began to suspect something and adjusted the orbits, making our little math program worthless? We felt it was better to wait to use this advantage for something big.”
“Like the allies deciding what Enigma information to act on in World War Two,” Hannibal said, nodding. To the questioning looks from the other squad leaders he explained, “The Nazis had this fancy code machine, the Enigma. Encrypted all of their communication. Thing was, the Brits broke the code way back at the start of the war and could read all of their Top Secret messages. However, they kept that a secret, and only acted on some of that intelligence.”
“Because if they acted on everything, the Nazis would know their code was blown,” Ed finished, nodding.
“Still doesn’t mean I have to fucking like it,” Brooke snapped.
“Understood,” Morris said. “For this mission I'll be equipping all of you with the latest-gen encrypted radios, as you’ll need to coordinate your movement under fire,” Morris continued. He pointed to a stack of a three large hardcases, and one of the Lt. Colonel’s people flipped open a lid to show the assembled dogsoldiers the small radio units inside. “We’ll get you spun up on how to use them, they’re pretty simple.”
Ed looked at the radios dubiously. “I’ve used things like those before,” he told the LTC. “They almost got me killed.”
“You don’t think I don’t know that? I’m the guy who sends you messages in backwards Sanskrit hieroglyphics. Seriously, naming the squads after cartoon and comic book characters and that four-part encryption system we use to pass messages is literally so Godawful stupid and simple and complicated all at the same time, high tech and low tech, that I’m guessing no one on the other side could even imagine we’d do something so dumb.”
“It’s not stupid if it works,” Chan said.
Morris nodded. “Right. Three years later the Tabs still don’t even know to monitor that message board, or the two alternates, much less have spotted our communications. As for these radios, they won't be able to decipher your transmissions, but you’re right, Captain, they will be able to triangulate your position if they have enough time. In this case, that doesn’t matter. You’re to be radio silent until you’re engaging the Tabs, and then it won’t matter if you’re on the radios because they will know exactly where you are.”
He took a deep breath. “I am deliberately not going to give you every single detail of every working part of this thing, as I don’t want assets compromised if one of you gets captured. You can’t talk about what you don’t know. That’s how you’ve been fighting this whole war, right? But I will tell you that this is the second such briefing I’ve given for this mission. The first was yesterday, at another location, to four other squads.”
“Which ones?”
“Joker, Donald, Flash, and Mickey. Between them they have twenty-nine bodies, which makes sixty-one total including your squads here today. With me and my people that brings the total up to seventy-five, not counting a few…let’s call them agents-in-place, that you’ll be working with at the objective. So, we’ve got an oversize platoon or an understrength company to work with which, I have to say, is less than I’d hoped but more than I was expecting.”
“You’re coming with us?” Chan asked. He had a green-stocked Steyr AUG A3 slung over his shoulder, the only such rifle any of the dogsoldiers had actually seen in person during the war. Chan was the youngest squad leader there, barely thirty, tall and handsome. He’d had the command of Yosemite for eight months. Just looking at him made Ed feel old. Hannibal, on the other hand, was younger than Ed, but he’d gone prematurely gray. He had a tattoo on his left forearm of a Roman numeral 3 surrounded by thirteen stars.
Morris smiled thinly. “I didn’t come all this way and spend close to two damn years planning this op to sit on the sidelines,” he said forcefully. “So yes, I will be in the field, doing what I can. I’ll spread my people out among your squads so you all have at least one extra body. Four of my people headed out with the squads yesterday.”
“Sixty-one, not including your people, seventy-five with. What’s the minimum number of bodies you figured you’d need to pull this off?” Brooke asked him.
“Fifty,” Morris said, “we figured fifty was the bare minimum to do it right, although miracles do happen. Personally I was hoping for triple digits. You know, the number of actual active IRA members in Ireland causing all those problems for the Brits, for decades, never really numbered more than a couple hundred. It really is the size of the fight in the dog. But….” He sighed. “Before I get into the details of the mission, I know I told you I wanted you to come in quiet, and I assume you did your best, but we still lost two squads on the way down. Franklin and Wolverine. We’re not sure what happened to Wolverine.”
“Chick was as hard as they come,” Hannibal told Morris flatly. “If Wolverine’s not here it’s because they’re all dead.”
It was far from the first time a squad had simply disappeared. Everyone assumed those squads had been killed in some ambush or betrayal involving the supporting citizenry, but no one knew for sure. While Ed supposed a few squads had simply dissolved and faded away, he thought destruction a far more likely option than capture. The hate was too strong with the No-quarter-asked-and-none-given dogsoldiers. Many, if not most (by this late date) of the Tab footsoldiers had been drafted. Every single dogsoldier, on the other hand, was a volunteer.
Morris dipped his head in acknowledgement. “We do know Franklin ran into a Kestrel.”
“Which they took out,” Ed felt obliged to add in their defense.
“Yes, they did,” the light colonel agreed, “and I know some other squads saw a little action on the way down. Kermit lost two to a sniper.” He nodded at Barker. “Theodore walked into a full patrol, and while normally fourteen enemy dead and six wounded with zero friendly casualties would be a cause for celebration, in this case it’s just more attention that we don’t need. And Flash decided to get into a goddamn running gun battle with a motorcycle gang. No friendly casualties, but still.”
Chan snorted. “BabyThor and his anger issues,” he said quietly, with a smile.
Morris shot them all a dark look. “This plan depends on you and your squads being able to get into position unnoticed. So at the risk of sounding insulting I want to repeat very carefully tha
t fucking stealth and fucking surprise are fucking required for this fucking plan, which I and hundreds of other people worked on for over a fucking year, to work.” He stared at each of them in turn.
Ed blinked. Morris seemed pretty certain of those casualty numbers from Theodore’s ambush, numbers that seemed to include the damage done by Weasel’s booby trap, which Ed could only guess at. Which made him assume Uncle Charlie had an inside source. “Understood,” Ed said, on behalf of the group. The rest of them nodded.
“Those four squads yesterday are Alpha detachment, and their mission objective is code-named Freebird.” He pointed at a spot on the map. “They’ve got roughly the same distance to travel, but their route is a bit more difficult, so they’re already on the move. You five are Bravo, and your mission objective is code-named Nakatomi.” Ed looked at where the man’s finger touched the map of the city and a laugh erupted from him. Chan had a big smile on his face as well.
Morris frowned. “Okay,” the Lieutenant Colonel said, “what’s the deal? One of my people came up with that code name for your objective and I’ve been getting chuckles and smiles every time I say it. Why?”
“You don’t watch a lot of movies, do you?”
“I’ve been a little too busy the past few years to watch movies,” Morris said with a dirty look.
“Welcome to the party, pal,” Hannibal replied, and at that all the male squad leaders erupted in laughter.
“Die Hard, it’s a Die Hard reference,” Brooke said, giving everyone a dirty look. “You fucking guys, I swear.”
“Oh! Right, I get it now,” Morris said. “Okay, anyway, you’ll each have your own objectives, but the plan is for Alpha, if possible, to displace to your location after they’ve hit their target.” Morris began his actual briefing, pointing out where he needed each squad to be and the timetable for their movement after giving them a general overview of the plan, which was breathtakingly audacious. And dangerous. Barker let him go for five minutes, then held up a hand when he couldn’t take it anymore. Morris kept pointing here and there on his map, inside the Blue Zone, like it was a college campus.
“Not to shit in your sandwich,” Barker told the man, “but if we push that deep into the Blue, no matter how ninja fucking stealthy quiet you’d like us to be, there’s a good chance we’re going to be not just blown but chewed up and out of ammo and most likely hamburger in Toad treads by the time we even make it to that first pre-objective rally point. I don’t see how in the hell we’re going to have any element of surprise. There are people everywhere during the day, and soldiers posted all around twenty-four-seven.”
Morris looked at Barker, then at the rest of the squad leaders. His big smile was genuine. “Did I mention how I had people inside the city busting ass for over a year, working on this? Let me tell you what they’ve been doing. First, let me tell you how this started. You’d be amazed what you can still find online….”
Uncle Charlie had said that this mission had been in the works for a year, and as he started to go into detail with the squad leaders any doubt they’d had about his or the ARF’s commitment to this mission was put to rest. The amount of work that had been undertaken in the city, much less the hardware he revealed to the men and women, sold them on the plan.
The briefing, including every question the dogsoldiers could think to ask, took just over two hours. When it was finally over Morris looked at his watch.
“You need to be in place and ready to go hot at oh-nine-hundred tomorrow, and not one minute later. That gives you sixteen hours and change to brief your people, get them trained up on all of the new hardware you’re going to be using for the mission, and get in position. I know what your main gear concern will be and my people have been running yours through the deployment procedures using spent tubes while we’ve been here doing this brief, and they’ll continue to do so until you all can work this new gear in your sleep. Trust me, it’s pretty simple, these things are designed to be easy to use by stupid people in stressful situations.”
“From your lips to God’s ear,” Brooke told the man.
Morris smiled and nodded. “In a direct line your objective rally point is about five miles from here, but the route you’ve got to take is eight miles or so, some of it easy, some of it definitely not, with a fair amount probably downright miserable. I’m sure I’ll find out, as I’ll be coming with. While some of the gear you’ll need has been pre-positioned by our assets on the inside, you’ll be carrying most of it with you, which will slow you down. So as soon as you think you’re good to go on the new equipment, I suggest moving out.”
“We normally don’t move at night,” Barker reminded the man.
Morris nodded. “I know. Heat signature, and lack of night vision capability. I swear to God, I don’t know how you people do it.” He knew of at least one Special Forces mission that was called off simply because they lost their GPS signal, and these people were practically fighting with spears and torches. “But that’s not going to be as much of an issue this time, is it? And we don’t have much of a choice. However, their air capabilities have seriously degraded over the past few years. They’ve got no fixed-wing assets stationed here, and they haven’t had more than two helos up in the air after dark for routine patrol in six months. They just don’t have that many birds, and they’re hurting for spare parts, and as short as they are on parts they’re in even worse shape when it comes to fuel. My sources tell me they haven’t had more than a three-day fuel reserve in a year.” Morris had informed them that in addition to the sigint (signals intelligence) he’d been provided by the people monitoring the Tabs’ communication channels, he’d had the military base under near-constant physical surveillance for eight months from high-rise buildings surrounding the base, with his people logging troop numbers, armor assets, patrol schedules, and aircraft movements. That was just one of his big news items, and perhaps the least impressive. Even before he mentioned his “asset” on the inside it was clear he was getting intelligence from someone either in the Army or with access to their data. Maybe more than just one person.
He heaved a big sigh. “Like I said, this mission is high risk, but very high reward. If everything goes right, there’s a chance that we can damage the military in this city so badly they won’t have the resources left to secure their own base, much less the region. Hell, even if only half the squads make it into position for the fight, the damage we’ll be able to inflict should go a long way toward that leverage I was talking about, convincing the Tabs’ political overlords that even the ‘secure’ parts of their territory are anything but.” He looked around at the assembled faces. “Trust me, nobody wants a war to end more than the people losing it. Let’s help them make up their minds.”
The squad leaders looked at each other. After the briefing, the one common expression in all their faces was hope. After a decade a chance, finally, for peace, maybe even victory? Morris had been right, even though it was high risk, what they might be able to achieve….
“Even if everything goes right we’re going to lose men. Maybe a lot of men,” Hannibal said, staring down at the map. “But I think it’s worth it. Now I just have to sell it to my people.” He looked up and saw the faint confusion on Morris’ face. They all did.
“You see any uniforms out there?” Brookelynne asked the Lieutenant Colonel, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the door. “Any rank or insignia, other than the occasional flag patch? We’re in blue jeans and Reeboks. The underwires in my bra are starting to rust it’s so old. We’re as Irregular as it gets, an honest-to-God citizen militia, a few of us still using guns we bought, back when that was legal.”
“Even if you gave us rank, we’re all volunteers. They’re all volunteers,” Ed reminded Morris. “Free to come and go. And a lot have, over the years. Some discovered that fighting was not for them after that first bullet whipped by their head, and some good brave men just tired of the thankless grind. The ones I’ve got now, they’re all fighters. And, dangerous as it is
, this is a solid plan. I think you might lose a couple of our people off the top, when we lay it all out for them, maybe, but we definitely won’t be anywhere near your go/no-go of fifty.”
“Well shit, let’s hope so,” Morris said with a frown.
Julius was polite, professional, and very serious about his job as he trained the men of Theodore. “The AT5, otherwise known as a Spike, is basically an improved version of the AT4,” he told them, hoisting an inert launch tube. “More accurate, more powerful warhead, but now also modular, and scalable. What we have are the basic models, without optics or heat-seeking warheads, which is both good and bad. Good because they’re lighter and more compact, and bad because they’re harder to aim effectively, and only go where you aim, they won’t track.”
Julius was a light-skinned black man with a faint Texas accent, and at first glance appeared slender until you saw how the sleeves bunched up around his upper arms whenever he moved. “Going from having it safe and slung over your shoulder to deployed, aimed, and ready to fire is simple and shouldn’t take you much more than thirty seconds even if you’re scared shitless and fumble-fucking around.”
“How much punch does it have?” George asked, which was the important question.
Morris’ man nodded. He’d been expecting the question. “These warheads will penetrate the doors of an up-armored Growler easy. On an IMP it’ll penetrate everywhere, and so will an RPG, which is why you see that standoff slat armor on them. How many of the IMPs have that up-armoring here?”