The Best Defense

by Todd A. Stone

  “That concludes the order. What are your questions?”

  A hand shot up.

  “Sergeant Stoinevy?”

  “Ma’am, with the amount of munitions we’re moving in the time span you’ve given, we’re overtaxing both the forklifts and the conveyers. We’ll break them for sure.”

  “They’ll fail after a hundred hours of operation, more or less. Then you’ll wire up the contraptions to work for a little longer, they’ll fail again, and we’ll repeat the cycle until they’re trashed. By the calculations you gave me last night, we’ll still be able to move the most sensitive items before all the equipment is inoperable. At this point, I want the special munitions below ground as quickly as we can get them there, and I’ll accept a bunch of broken stuff topside. If we lose the munitions, it won’t matter if the forklifts work. The same goes for the Russian conveyors and elevators.” She took her eyes from Stoinevy and addressed the rest of the group. “By the way, tell your troops they owe Sergeant Stoinevy here a great debt. If she hadn’t gotten that old system going, they’d be moving that stuff by hand.”

  “There’s no way my section can complete all the tasks you’ve assigned us,” Annette Rich snapped, “and there’s no way we can defend the sector you’ve assigned us. It’s way too big.”

  “Properly led, and with proper organization and delegation, Sergeant, your MPs can do what I’ve ordered you, and them, to do. We’ve worked the tasks out very carefully.” Val lowered and slowed her voice to make her point. “At this point it’s a matter of following orders.”

  But Rich would not give in. “My MPs aren’t trained to do the jobs you’re asking them to do.”

  “I’m not asking, I’m telling. The tasks I’ve specified are all common tasks in the soldiers’ manuals—every leader is supposed to have insured her soldiers know how to execute them. We have two days of refresher training on key skills, and a couple of days of collective training to practice acting as a unit. And, Sergeant Rich, I remind you that the secondary mission of military police is to fight as infantry when called upon to do so. You are being called upon to do so, effective with this order.”

  Claire Horowitz leaned over towards Rich. “She means, Annette, that you’re going to have to do your job.”

  “For once,” mumbled an anonymous voice.

  There were several knowing chuckles of agreement.

  Rich started to boil.

  “Ma’am,” Horowitz suggested, “let me take some of the burden off Sergeant Rich’s detachment. I’d like to change the boundary between the MPs and my section.” She pointed to the map. “We’ll take responsibility for buildings 16A and 16B.”

  “Why should I give up any territory to you?”

  Horowitz shrugged. “It makes your job easier. That’s two warehouses you don’t have to prepare, and one avenue of approach you don’t have to cover.” In her mind Horowitz crossed her fingers, hoping Val would approve the change. Those parts of the 16-series buildings lead straight into our area, Horowitz thought. I don’t trust Rich to cover them—I don’t trust her, period.

  “That’s big of you, Sergeant Horowitz,” Val replied, “but your section is stretched out as it is. The MP detachment has the people to cover their sector adequately, and I’m afraid giving you two additional buildings, and large warehouse structures at that, would be two buildings too many for you to cover. We’re going to have to work as a team to execute this mission.” She swiveled to stare down the one NCO who wasn’t paying attention.

  “Isn’t that right, Sergeant Rich?”

  Rich snorted. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Other questions?”

  There were none.

  “Let’s get back to training soldiers. We’ll hear your back-briefs as indicated here,” Val pointed to a chart. “Each of you inform the staff duty NCO as to when you will issue your orders; either the Sergeant Major or myself will attend. Pick up your photocopies of this order and schedules at the admin section on your way out. That’s all. Sergeant Stoinevy, I need to see you regarding ammunition allocation. Now back to work.”

  Denight and the women stood. Val nodded her dismissal, and the room slowly emptied. A few NCOs paused to look over the terrain model, while others talked quietly among themselves. In separate corners of the room Val and Denight stood, arms folded, watching the women go. When the last sergeant was out the door and down the hall, Val pulled up a chair and sat heavily. After a moment of staring at the terrain model, she looked up at Denight.

  “It’s a damn fine plan, Sergeant Major.”

  His face softened as his eyes met hers, then Denight unfolded his arms, found a chair, and sat down facing her.

  “You know it is, Ma’am. You don’t need my approval—hell, you don’t need anyone’s approval. Your own standards are high. You’re the one you have to satisfy.”

  “Sometimes I wonder.”

  “Don’t wonder. You’re good, damn good.”

  “Good enough?”

  “We have a good plan, Ma’am. Two more days of individual training will get the soldiers and leaders up to speed, and then we’ll rehearse for the next seventy-two hours. It’ll all come together then. I’ll see to it that the work gets done.”

  “Yes, Sergeant Major. Thank you. That will be all.”

  Denight nodded, rose, and headed towards the door. He sensed she needed a few minutes to herself, but halfway out instinct told him to turn around. It was an instinct that had come from training officer after officer. They had proven themselves to him, now he had to do what he could for them.

  “You’re tired, Ma’am,” Denight said, his voice gentle with earned wisdom. “And you should be. Take a few minutes and recharge. Remember that tired leaders make tired soldiers. You have to take care of yourself.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant Major. I’ll be along to inspect training shortly.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Denight left.

  Val ran a weary hand through her hair. A cough came from behind her.

  “Ma’am, you wanted to see me?”

  Val looked up, thinking that it just didn’t stop.

  “Sergeant Stoinevy,” Val unrolled a map of the tunnel complex and with a pencil circled a room on the third level. “I want you to take about a tenth of the ammo and put it here.”

  “Ma’am? We’ll need that ammo. We’re short already.”

  “There’s not sufficient time to debate the issue, Sergeant. Get a detail and execute.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Stoinevy saluted and left.

  Val rocked back in her chair, considering her last order. Though she saw the battle unfold clearly, doubts tugged at her. Skimming ammunition was a gamble—by the time her garrison reached the point where they could use it, there might well be no one left to pull triggers. There was still time to call Stoinevy back.

  Val drained the last drops of cold coffee from her cup, then clamped her mouth tightly shut until she heard the outside door close behind the sergeant. It’s small victory, Val thought, but a victory nonetheless, when you don’t take counsel of your fears.

  Level 1

  “The Basement”

  Infernesk Munitions Depot

  Loaded with crated warheads, the ancient Russian conveyer squeaked and groaned. Then came a horrid, grinding noise of metal chewing metal.

  “Shut it down!”

  In the subterranean storage area Mary Parker did as she was told, throwing a switch and cutting power to the conveyer. The long lines of crated nuclear warheads came to a halt. Susan Phillips crawled underneath, only to emerge wiping off a faceful of oil.

  “It’s fried. We need to get Sergeant Stoinevy.”

  “Again?”

  “Again.”

  Commander’s Quarters

  Infernesk Munitions Depot

  Her troops were checked and rechecked, and another day and a piece of night had passed without a major incident. There was nothing more for a commander to do but get in the way.

  “Go back to your quarters and have a
drink and relax while you can,” Denight had said.

  So Val finished her third—and the last for the night—cocktail and stumbled into bed. On her nightstand, a picture of an expressionless Marshall Wolfe wavered in and out of focus. “Wolfe,” she said aloud, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about us.”

  She thought about another cocktail, but decided her head would be sore enough in the morning without it. “Wolfe, you have to stop drinking too much when you’re alone. I’ve told you before, loneliness is no excuse.” She didn’t cry herself to sleep that night; she decided she’d cried too many nights before.

  Headquarters

  Infernesk Munitions Depot

  Dressed in his security guard uniform, Ziven was lost in thought as he and his partner approached the Depot headquarters. The new boss was finicky—wanted things just so. And he was just plain strange. That weird complex, those moods, sometimes brilliant, sometimes in a ranting rage, sometimes smooth as silk polite, sometimes he just sat and stared into the distance.

  If that’s what the Army does to you, Ziven thought, I am glad I never served.

  He heard voices. Two American soldiers were close, around a corner. Ziven pulled his partner into a shadow and let them pass.

  Even from the outside, it was easy to tell which room held the Americans’ communications equipment. Thick conduits carried cables to the tall antennas on the building’s roof.

  While his partner stood guard, Ziven knelt where the conduit came out of the building. He unscrewed an access plate. From his pocket, he pulled a half dozen pairs of short jumper wires and a wire knife.

  He worked quickly, scraping insulation off of each cable that connected the antennas to the radios inside. He broke sweat as he attached jumper wires from one cable to another—if the American radio operator inside hit the “transmit” button before he was done, the voltage would likely kill him.

  When it was done, he screwed the access plate back in place. A quick look around confirmed they were unseen, and the pair darted from the shadows back onto the walk.

  The next press of a transmit switch would send crosscurrents back and forth between antennas and radios. At best, it would short out the radios themselves, while melting critical elements inside their electronics as well as burning out critical components in the cables that led up to the roof-top antennas. At worst, the damage would be minor and take only a day or two to replace. But until then, the Americans would be without a connection to the outside world.

  Ziven’s new boss would be happy with that.

  Commander’s quarters

  Infernesk Munitions Depot

  In her dream the alarm clock rang. She hugged Wolfe’s warm body beside her, rolled over, and turned off the alarm.

  The ringing would not stop. Through a too early in the morning and too close to a hangover haze, she realized there was no Wolfe next to her.

  The ringing was her phone.

  “Macintyre.”

  “The duty sergeant just called me. There’s a problem with the Russian Security Force.”

  Tampier’s voice. Nervous. Not sure what to do next.

  Val swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up.

  “What exactly is wrong?” Her head ached.

  “They’re gone. All of them. Their bunkhouse is cleaned out—no bedding, no tables or chairs, they’ve picked up and moved out.”

  Commander’s Office

  Infernesk Munitions Depot

  The afternoon sun was two hours away from dipping below the mountain peaks surrounding the depot.

  Dimonokov was fast becoming exasperated.

  “Major, my orders are most clear on this point. Without the security force in place, this depot is vulnerable to attack by both a frontal assault and by infiltration.”

  “It would be a damn sight less vulnerable if your security force guards hadn’t walked off the job,” Val said. “Why do you suppose they did that, Colonel?”

  “I do not know,” Dimonokov lied, “and I do not care. My mission is to secure Russian property and Russian munitions.”

  “This is United States Army property,” Val said. “Until one of my bosses tells me to let your people take over its operation, it stays under my control. And your people stay fifty meters from the depot fence.”

  They had been arguing in Val’s office for fifteen minutes. Outside the Infernesk main gate, just at the edge of the fifty-meter exclusion area, twenty trucks full of Russian troops sat waiting. Denight was certain there were more behind that, hidden somewhere in the Infernesk forest. Dimonokov and Volodymr had presented their credentials and paperwork. First they offered, and then demanded that their soldiers take over the depot’s security.

  Val’s “no” had been just as firm the first fourteen minutes.

  Dimonokov drummed his finger on Val’s desk. “Perhaps you don’t understand. The munitions you have here would be very dangerous if they fell into the wrong hands.” He paused. “You have very few men here,” he nodded first toward the Sergeant Major, “and so many women.” He nodded towards Christine. “I would hate to see anything happen to them.”

  “Colonel,” Val replied, her voice calm but firm. “What’s in those bunkers outside is quite secure, thank you. You and this other individual will leave in one minute or be arrested for trespassing on United States government property.”

  Dimonokov’s face flushed. “I have authority to exercise what means I deem necessary to ensure the security of this installation!”

  “I gave you one minute to get out, and ten seconds are already gone.”

  Volodymr took one step forward and stopped. Christine’s rifle barrel gouged into his back. Dimonokov turned to find himself staring down the barrel of Denight’s pistol.

  “I’d really like to blow both of your brains out,” Denight spat out, “but I’m afraid it’d mess up the Major’s office.” He grinned. “Guards!”

  Two women entered, M16s at the ready.

  Dimonokov and Volodymr heard the rifles’ selector switches click.

  “You two officers just put your hands on your heads,” Denight said, “and these two fine young soldiers will see to it you get safely back to your vehicles. And you won’t be needing these.” He yanked Dimonokov’s and Volodymr’s pistols from their holsters, then turned to the guards. “Get them out of here.”

  “Colonel,” Val’s voice was low and serious. “I will consider any further attempt by you or your forces to enter this compound to be a hostile act, and I will respond accordingly.”

  Dimonokov eyed her up and down, then snorted. “I will give you one last chance, Major.”

  Val motioned to the guards.

  “The Sergeant Major said hands on your heads,” one of the guards ordered Volodymr. “Sir.”

  “Little bitch,” Volodymr snapped as he started to turn, “I’ll take nothing from...”

  Christine swept his legs from under him and Volodymr crashed to the floor. She shoved the barrel of her rifle into the back of his head and slipped off the safety.

  Dimonokov stared at Val. He felt the pounding in his head, felt his arms and hands tremble. “You have signed your unit’s death warrant.”

  Val looked at the two guards. “Get this scum out of here. If they even think about getting out of line, shoot first, ask questions later.”

  ~*~

  From Val’s office window they watched the humiliated Russians pass through the main gate. Val grabbed the phone and spoke quickly to the personnel in the two towers by the main gate. She was still talking when the Russians got off the trucks and formed a skirmish line, moving straight down the road towards the main gate.

  ~*~

  In the towers, the guards listened intently to Val’s instructions, nodded their understanding, hung up, then turned to see the advancing Russians. The Russians formed up on line twenty feet from the exclusion line, unslung their rifles from their shoulders, and marched forward. One soldier in each tower locked a magazine into her rifle, then fired two wa
rning rounds into the air.

  Dimonokov’s men kept coming.

  The American soldier in the east tower nodded to the soldiers in the other tower, took careful aim, then fired in a line about ten feet in front of advancing Russians, just along the fifty meter exclusion border. The dancing bullets brought the skirmish line to a halt.

  Dimonokov stamped his foot, then shook his fist at those in the towers. “Remount the vehicles and move out!”

  ~*~

  “We’ve bought ourselves some time,” Val said. She checked her watch. “We’re overdue a radio communications check-in with CENTCOM.” She turned to Christine. “Telephone communications still out?”

  “Completely cut off, ma’am,” Christine said. “We can’t talk to anybody.”

  “As far as those staff weenies know,” Denight said, “it’s business as usual here. They have a drawn-out process for re-establishing communications, then going through channels to notify the Russians, then finally they might send somebody to see what in hell is going on.”

  Christine pursed her lips. “So there’s no relief force coming anytime soon. We could try to get someone out to make contact.”

  Denight shook his head. “No way the Special Security didn’t seal this place off.”

  “The only guests we’re going to have are those folks outside the gate,” Val said.

  Denight nodded. “It’ll be dark in about an hour. We’ll have uninvited company sometime tonight. They’ll go for the bunkers.”

  “And find them empty,” said Val. “Lieutenant Tampier, it’s time to see how much you all learned from Sergeant Major’s training.”

  Vicinity Castle Infernesk

  Wolfe put down the binoculars. His neck and shoulders ached from driving all day.

  His two observers waited.

  “I’d say that meets my criteria.”

  “We thought so, boss. The Russian contract guards pulled out at the midnight shift change. Those guys in the trucks pulled in a few hours later, while it was still dark. Then they waited to send out their recon. Then they finally sent out security to isolate the depot. We dodged a patrol of theirs. Then they waited even longer to try to get into the depot. No rhyme or reason to their timing at all.”