“We didn’t fight like this in the past—with one hand tied behind our backs while the other one tears us apart. There’s a workable solution.”
His eyes narrowed to a squint. “Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Kieran Roark. I’m a pilot, and I’ll be flying over your part of the attack tomorrow afternoon. We both know you’re not going to get anywhere close to that valley’s entrance.”
“Yeah.” Whelan stared into his glass.
I could tell he wanted another but wasn’t sure about ordering it. I did it for him and added a Tennessee whiskey for me.
“You guys haven’t had much play at all.” He snorted. “Fleet is always afraid to get down and dirty with us.”
“I want to change that.”
“Air support from Fleet assets is something I can’t ask for,” Whelan said. “Only in a case of emergency can I even—” He froze. I could see realization dawning. He’d served his time, and reputation, which so many other commanders carried like a chip on the shoulder, did not matter to him. He genuinely wanted to do something different before his career ended. If he could not do it in an actual combat situation, he could surely do it in an exercise designed to highlight and develop new strategies. “If I call for you, you’ll come?”
I nodded. “I’ll have a flight of two Falcons.”
Whelan shook his head. “That’s not enough.”
“It’s a start. If I come in with a couple of aircraft, I can’t do anything. If you call ‘Broken Arrow,’ that’s a different story.” I watched him look away for a moment, his expression thoughtful. He was no doubt considering the cost of telling someone he was overwhelmed by enemy forces.
“If I call that, in an exercise, I’ll be laughed out of the TDF,” Whelan said. “I transfer control of my battalion and the ground around me to whoever has the most fuel above me to support my retreat. I can’t do that and expect to remain in command even for the remainder of the exercise.”
“But what if we use it to hold the ground you’ve already paid for? What if we win?”
Whelan considered it while he sipped at the fresh drink. “Thanks for the drink, Kieran. My name is Quinn.” He grinned. “You’re not a trainee, are you?”
“I am a pilot trainee, yes, but I’m not a trainee in the total dipshit category, no.” I laughed. I wasn’t going to launch into the AirLand battle doctrine, but I had him thinking about calling for assistance, and that was a start. I decided to wait a bit and see what else I could get him to say.
“That came from what? World War Two?” Whelan asked.
“Vietnam. It’s a distress call for all available fighter-bombers to support a friendly unit in grave danger of being overrun. Fleet still has the policy that they have to respond to such a call.”
“Yeah. So why you?” Whelan asked.
I sipped the whiskey. How do I say it? “I know what I’m doing.”
Whelan studied me for a moment. Lily came to my ears. <
“I’m not an imprint,” I said. “If that’s what you’re thinking.” For a moment, I wanted to tell him everything but resisted. With Crawley and Berkeley concerned about matters on Earth, trusting my identity to a man I’d just met would be careless.
Whelan chuckled. “I was thinking that. Look, I’m taking seventy tanks and personnel carriers into the mouth of that valley. There are several iterations of simulated mines and obstacles that will keep my troops at a distance. You’re talking aircraft making a path into their defenses. How is that possible?”
I shrugged and took another sip. “Let me worry about that. I’ll be over your location and given command of the situation within in a few minutes at the worst. I direct the first two waves to create channels for your tanks through those obstacles. I take out the air-defense assets on the rim, and we push your forces as deep as we can before you’re ‘killed’ by the observer controllers. We create a hole and let the rest of the TDF push through for the victory. Aren’t you sick of having your ass handed to you?”
“More than you know.”
I doubted that, but I wasn’t going to say. Like me, he was tired of men who sat in office chairs, drinking coffee, a thousand kilometers away from the fight. We were all toy soldiers to them, and it was time for it to stop, even for a moment during a worthless exercise in futility.
“Broken Arrow, huh?” Whelan said. “I’ll need your frequencies.”
In my pocket, I already had a card of my alternate-frequency profile. I handed the card to him. “Line three is always in my ears. I can be your eyes if you’ll let me.”
Whelan took another sip. “I have a wife and kids in Dublin. I’ve managed, somehow, to avoid another war, but that can’t last. My time is almost done, and I know that. I wanted to make a change, you know? To make something happen out of the Great War. Man…” He took a sip of whiskey and sighed. “Kieran, the TDF had the key. The whole fucking key to beating the Greys was what my brothers in arms did at the Battle of Libretto—ground and air forces hitting the enemy hard enough to stop them in their tracks. What did we do? Bury it. We kept Fleet and TDF forces from even talking for the better part of ten years. Nobody knows who the commanders on the ground were, if you believe the TDF intelligence pukes. How does that accomplish anything?”
I could only nod and let him speak. But he was quiet as he twirled the ice in his drink. After a moment, he chuckled. “Fuck it. When we hit the wall tomorrow, be ready.” He tapped his glass against mine.
We shared the rest of our drinks in relative silence. My mind was on the possibility of actually seeing something happen. In all likelihood, he was thinking the same thing.
“I’ll call you as Warrior Six,” Whelan said. Six was the traditional brevity code for a commander. I felt a pang in my heart that I recognized as jealousy. I’d had a similar code once upon a previous life.
“Good luck tomorrow,” I said. “Looking forward to it.”
Whelan nodded. “I’ve had a lot of people tell me ways to fight better. I’ve told most of them to fuck off. You fuck this up, I’m drinking on your tab for the rest of the exercise, at the very least.”
I grinned. “You won’t have to.”
We shook hands, and he slid away from the bar. In the distance, I caught Commander Bussot staring suspiciously at me again. Some things never changed. She’d kept her distance after our one-on-one fight and her blatant cheating. I’d deal with that when the exercise was over and I could talk to the commandant in normal channels again. In the meantime, I hoped I could manufacture something different.
<
I wanted to laugh except that I’d already wondered when she was going to turn up in my shower, or at my door wearing only her dress-uniform overcoat. Did Peck respond?
<
No. I took a deep final sip of the whiskey. Make sure and lock my door, Lily. Only emergency access. I nodded to the bartender and made my way through the crowd. For the first time in weeks, I’d sleep well enough to enjoy an early-morning workout before strapping on the Falcon and getting down to business.
Lily’s voice brought me back to the mission at hand. <
Should be? I shook my head. Do whatever you have to do to ensure I’m in charge, Lily. We only have one shot at this.
<
I resisted the urge to tell Jenkins to pay attention. The total surprise across the airwaves would be fun to lis
ten to, especially from my wingman.
<
On the exercise command frequency, I heard a very familiar voice chime in. “Quebec Six, this is Warrior Six. Broken Arrow. I repeat, Broken Arrow.”
There was no reply from Quebec Six, the TDF attack commander, for ten seconds. Over the Fleet main channel, I heard the forward air controllers embedded with the 73rd Tank start querying aircraft as to fuel and ammunition states.
<
“All Pulse elements, this is Home Plate. Broken Arrow. I repeat, Broken Arrow. Forward command of close air-support operations is Rebel Four One. Take all orders from Rebel Four One. Home Plate out.” The Fleet commander’s voice was clear and decisive in my ears.
That’s me. I grinned behind the faceplate of my helmet. That’s—
“Home Plate this is Voodoo One, request command of Broken Arrow. Rebel Four One is a trainee, and my fuel state is superior. Over.” Bussot. And she sounded pissed. I should have known.
<
“Voodoo One, Home Plate. Your avionics have been compromised. You have an RTB order at this time.” Bussot had been ordered to return to base in the middle of the exercise.
Uh oh, I thought with a grin. Maybe karma was finally swinging around.
“Home Plate, Voodoo One. Your data is incorrect. My fuel states are three decimal eight, and ammunition is amber. Over.”
“Voodoo One, this is the Admiral. Your states are nowhere near that good. Your avionics package has been compromised. Return to base immediately. Rebel Four One, you are in charge. Over.”
I keyed the microphone. “Rebel Four One, roger. En route to Warrior Six. All stations stand by for plan and execution. Out.”
Mute the command nets for the Fleet and exercise, Lily. If something important came over them, Lily would let me know. Having fewer voices in my ears meant I could better manage the fight below me. The likelihood of anything valuable on the nets was very low. Everyone in the exercise command centers was watching what was about to happen.
<
After talking with Whelan, I’d scribbled a few notes on my kneeboard and consulted with Lily. Given the fuel and ammunition states I saw on the multifunction display in front of me, we’d have to wing it.
“Two, on me, right echelon. Weapons active. Your job is to keep my six clear and maintain sierra alpha. Got it?” Passing situational awareness responsibility to my wingman was the smart thing to do.
“Two, fangs out. I’ve got your six,” Jenkins called. He was ready for a fight, too. That was a good thing.
I started talking out loud to help me breathe. “Lily, there are two flights of Ospreys with a mixed load of bombs and AGMs. Have one flight attack the mouth of the valley from the east, the other from the west. Space them out so they cross in the middle of the valley, disorienting the air defense. I want orbital bombardment on the mouth of the valley, a thousand meters north and south of the path you put the Ospreys on. Nothing moves in that sector. As soon as the Ospreys cross, shift orbital fires to the air defenses on the edge of the canyon, and everybody rolls in on the terrain in front of the 73rd to clear a path through the obstacles for Whelan. Got it?”
<
Give it to me. Tell Whelan to start his attack. Update his timing so that bombardment doesn’t pick him off. I licked my lips, somehow knowing what was coming.
“Rebel Four One, this is Home Plate Three on private. Over.” The commandant’s distinctive voice came through as if he were sitting in the cockpit next to me.
“Rebel Four One, over.” I released the radio button and waited.
“You’ve ordered that tank battalion to move?” Admiral LeConté sounded surprised.
“Affirmative, sir.” I shook my head. I didn’t need to be on the radio. We were eight klicks away from the fight and closing every second. “Got a fight to win, sir.”
“Look up, Four One. Look up,” LeConté said. “Good luck.”
<
“Devastators and Falcons, air-to-air warning. Targets inbound. ETA is two mikes. Move to engage. Ospreys, pound the terrain in front of Warrior Six. Get them into the valley.” I watched two Falcon fighters streak past my left wing, ascending to engage the Styrahis falling through the upper atmosphere. My aircraft were outnumbered almost two to one. Nothing like playing against the house with a stacked deck.
One of the Devastators reported, “Ranger One Three taking fire, taking fire!”
The Styrahis were onto the attack. With any luck, it would be too late for them. “Engage! Engage!”
I snap rolled the Falcon to the right and pulled the nose down into a rolling Half Cuban Eight. Nose on the terrain in front of Whelan’s battalion, I watched the crossing Ospreys shred the line. Like the friendly tanks, the Styrahi vehicles carried large light posts on them. A steady red light meant that Exercise Control had killed them in place. There was a wide swath of red on either side of the Ospreys’ point. Whelan’s battalion poured through the opening.
I could see a fresh Styrahi counterattack massing in the distance and pressed the radio button. “Warrior Six, counterattack prep at your ten o’clock, ten kilometers.”
“Roger, Four One. Good hunting.”
Whelan turned his force toward the counterattack and accelerated forward. With any luck, he’d close the distance and engage them before they could get their stuff in one sock. Timing was everything, and we needed to buy him more time. I clicked my microphone twice and pushed over to my frequency with Jenkins. “On me, two. Let’s put some steel on target.”
Nose on the massing vehicles, I selected my only four air-to-ground missiles and armed them with separate targets. Lily shared the information with Jenkins’ aircraft to widen our kill circle.
<
“Home Plate, Rebel Four One, request reinforcements on my position at this time. Anything you can spare. Over.”
“Rebel Four One, request denied. Out.”
I blinked. What are they doing?
<
A red light flashed on my visor.
<
I cycled the weapons-release switches and squeezed the stick’s trigger. “Missiles away.”
A warbling tone sounded in my ears, followed by the computerized voice of Exercise Control. We called it the voice of God—Exercise Control called all of the shots. Based on the ground fire I’d “taken,” there was no way the Falcon would have been brought down. Unless, of course, the controllers were using the Golden BB theory: even a thousand-to-one shot kills one out of a thousand.
“Rebel Four One, you are dead. Climb to two thousand meters on a heading of 090. You will receive landing instructions by squawking one two seven decimal two six over waypoint zulu. Acknowledge.”
Well, shit. I took my left hand off
the throttle quadrant and slammed my fist into my knee. We’d barely scratched the surface of what was possible. I’d managed to give orders from afar, but the minute I rolled in to support the mission, they took me out. The message was clear. Leaders don’t engage. My stomach turned in on itself. No wonder the TDF couldn’t fight their way out of a wet paper sack.
I was already in the climbing turn with Jenkins still tucked in position when I responded. “Excon, Rebel Four One, roger.”
All of the radio channels had gone silent, save for Jenkins. “Well, that was fun.”
I laughed. “Yeah, it really was.”
“I don’t know much about that ground-force stuff, but I think you did a good job directing the fight. We took out a shitload of their triple-A in one shot. That’s more than anyone has been able to direct in any engagement I can remember.” Jenkins laughed. “And they killed us on the first pass. Think I know why.”
I said nothing, but Lily confirmed what I was thinking. <
I shook my head, not wanting to talk about it. “What’s going on with Whelan? How is the 73rd Tank?”
<
With a shrug, I settled on getting my aircraft out of the make-believe fight and back to base. The flight was uneventful, and my communications were quiet until I was on short final at Elysium. Once on the ground, we taxied to hangar five and parked in the open bay. When the bay pressurized, a contingent of Fleet marines and the commandant marched out toward the aircraft, stone-faced, with his jaw clenched. I wondered if I was in for a world-class ass chewing.
Vendetta Protocol Page 18
