CHAPTER


TWENTY-EIGHT

Office of the G2, Bataan Peninsula, Ravenette

Colonel Wilson “Wumwum” Wyllyums, even in the best of times, cut a most unmilitary figure. But, after weeks in the fortress on Bataan, he looked worse than ever. His uniform, always disheveled, was hanging off him like an old maid’s washing on the line; three days’ growth of beard darkened his jawline; unruly tufts of hair stood up on his head like crabgrass in a badly mown lawn. But under that hair worked one of the most brilliant minds in the Confederation army on Ravenette.

Colonel Wyllyums reread the message from Rear Admiral Hoi on his screen. So Force Recon had been out in the boonies again? Privately, Colonel Wyllyums loved FR operations. Nothing like the human eyeball to find out what the enemy was up to. The admiral was making a suggestion that could be critical. “This could turn the tide in our favor,” he muttered. He wondered why nobody had thought of this before. Well, that was obvious enough: nobody on General Jason Billie’s staff was paid enough to think of such things. Absently, he reached over and shook out another cigarette from the ever-present pack at his elbow. Yes, yes, yes, he thought as he lit the Capricorn and sucked the smoke deep into his lungs. Tiny tobacco embers cascaded down the front of his uniform. He brushed them off automatically; he considered the little holes they burned in his clothing as just the occupational hazards of a heavy smoker. They only came to his attention when they burst into flames.

Colonel Wyllyums squinted against the harsh cloud of smoke wreathing his head and leaned back in his seat. The decoded, highly classified message he was reading had been addressed, as staff protocol required, to the G3, the operations shop, with info to the deputy commander, the chief of staff, and the G2, which was Wyllyums. It was a list of operations Fleet was proposing for its Force Recon elements behind the Coalition’s lines. These messages were routinely furnished to the ground-force commander for his approval, after staff recommendations, and once approved, further disseminated within the army so that the commanders would know if friendly troops would be operating in areas of interest to them. The G2 and G3 staff forwarded their recommendations to the chief of staff, who in turn referred them to General Billie or sometimes, on his own authority, either approved or denied them. The deputy commander, General Cazombi, was included as a courtesy only. The chief of staff could approve these missions on his own because General Billie had confidence in his judgment, and like Billie, Major General Sorca had intense disdain for Force Reconnaissance—or anything Marine. Those recommendations that did make it in to Billie were almost always disapproved.

Colonel Wyllyums had been elevated to the job of General Billie’s chief of intelligence because at the time no one else had been available. He had learned it was safer to stay as much out of Billie’s sight as possible, so he usually delegated the daily intelligence briefings to a subordinate. But now he had to beard the lion. He applied his digital signature to the message to indicate he had read it. That distinctive signature, scrawled in haste, had given him his nickname, Wumwums, because that’s what it looked like.

He sucked on his Capricorn. How to get in to see the commander? Proper military protocol required that he take his concerns up with the chief of staff, but Wyllyums knew what Sorca’s reaction would be. Nope. Cazombi the Zombie, Billie’s deputy, that was the guy to take this to. General Cazombi was respected throughout the army and he had the guts to take this in to Billie and argue the recommendation’s considerable merits. Not that that would do any good, but Wyllyums had to give it a try. He reached for his console, then hesitated. If Cazombi took this to Billie, he’d want Wyllyums to come along with him. Unconsciously he brushed the ashes off his tunic. Did he want another ass-chewing from Billie?

Suddenly a series of heavy blasts shook the walls of Wyllyums’s cubbyhole office. Incoming artillery. That made up his mind. He punched the console.

Office of the Deputy Commander, Coalition Forces, Ravenette

“How long has this thing been in the system?” General Cazombi asked. He answered his own question, glancing at the date-time group on the message. “Not that long,” he muttered, reading it once more. He rubbed his jaw with one hand. “Ummm, Balca might not have read it yet,” he mused. “If I haven’t read it until now, I know he hasn’t.”

“Sir, if we let Admiral Hoi act on this intelligence, it could be critical to our breakout plan. I don’t think we have any choice except to argue this with General Billie.”

Cazombi smiled. “Well, you can damned well bet that Billie won’t detach any of his force to carry out this mission. So if it’s going to be carried off, the Marines will have to do it, and you know how our supreme commander feels about Marines.” Cazombi leaned back in his chair. “Jeez, Willie, you ready to risk another dressing down from Billie? You think this is that important?”

“That I do, sir, that I do.”

“Sergeant,” Cazombi called to his enlisted aide, “get the G3, have him meet me here ASAP.” He punched General Sorca’s number into his console. “Balca. Alistair. I’m bringing G2 and G3 over and we’re going in to see the commander. I’ll brief you when I get there.”

Colonel Wyllyums reached for the cigarette pack he always carried in a breast pocket. “Uh-uh, Willie, don’t light up just yet”—Cazombi waved a hand—“you know how Billie hates cigarette smoke.”

“Uh, yes, sir. But he smokes those damned cigars—”

The G3, Brigadier General Thayer, arrived.

“Sy, we’re going up to see Billie,” Cazombi said. “Have you read the traffic from Task Force 79 yet?”

“Not yet, sir,” the brigadier answered, “I usually leave that stuff to last.” He took the proffered message and glanced at it. Wyllyums had ticked off the paragraph on the printout. Thayer shook his head. “He’ll never approve something like this, sir, especially never release any of his ground forces for a mission like this.”

Cazombi scratched his nose. “I know. But Willie here thinks this is a great opportunity and so do I. What do you say, Sy?”

Thayer ran a bony hand through his thinning hair. Like Colonel Wyllyums, he’d been appointed by Billie as operations officer, because no one else was available. Billie’s method of running an army was to make all the decisions himself, so Thayer’s job had devolved into ensuring Billie’s orders on troop dispositions and tactics were passed on to the unit commanders, not recommending or even commenting on them. “Well, it has possibilities, sir. If you’re willing to go into the lion’s den to argue them, I’ll go with you.”

Willie stood up and grinned. “Once more into the breach, dear friends! Once more!”

Office of the Supreme Commander, Coalition Forces, Ravenette

“Wyllyums, why is it you always look like a damned bag of rags whenever I see you?” General Billie thundered when the three officers with General Sorca bringing up the rear filed into his tiny cubicle.

“The slimies ate my dress uniform, sir.”

“Goddammit, Colonel, don’t smart-mouth me!” Billie slammed his fist on his desk. “You’re a goddamned field-grade officer on my staff, goddammit, and I expect you to set an example for everyone else. I know, I know, shortage of water and all that, but, Colonel, an officer is always on parade. At least you could tuck that damned tunic in.” He glared at the officers. “What the hell brings you all in here like this? Balca, your job is to shortstop traffic out there, so I, so I can—concentrate on important matters.” He glared at Sorca.

“Yessir, but General Cazombi has something he thinks is important and I couldn’t—”

“Well, Alistair, what is it then? You had to bring Wyllyums and Thayer with you? Afraid to face me alone, are you?” Billie laughed.

“Sir, here’s a printout of a message from Admiral Hoi Yueng recommending some Force Recon missions. I’ve highlighted the one I’d like to talk to you about. Most of these missions are the usual snoop-and-poop stuff, but Marine Force Recon—”

“Not them again!” Billie muttered.

“—has spotted something at Gilbert’s Corners the admiral thinks is highly significant.” He handed Billie the flimsy sheet.

“I know all about Gilbert’s Corners.”

“Well, sir, I guess that was something we forgot to pass on to Admiral Hoi,” Cazombi said.

Billie ignored the comment. “Goddamned smartest thing old Lyons did, getting those meddling politicos as far away from him as he could. I’d bring them all back here if I could, really gum up his works.” He took the sheet. “Hoi Yueng,” he muttered, “goddamned space-going squid, sits up there on the Kiowa on his fat ass, scratching his Buddha head,” Billie grumbled, glancing at the paragraph. “NO, goddammit it, NO! Absolutely not! Jesus H. Hertzog, Alistair, you know better than to endorse a proposal like this! I will NEVER authorize an attack against civilians, NEVER!” Billie’s face had turned brick red. “And, dammit, who the hell does Hoi think he is, recommending that I detach troops from my command to conduct this wild-goose chase?”

“Sir”—it was Colonel Wyllyums—“if I may? We know that the Coalition government is less than united in their views on how to prosecute this war. Our intercepts of their diplomatic messages spell that out very clearly. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s the personalities of Summers and Lyons that are holding the whole thing together. Every one of those politicians thinks he knows better than Lyons how to fight this war.”

“So?” Billie glared back at the colonel. “I know all about that. So what? This war’s going to be won right here”—he jabbed his desk with a forefinger—“when we break out. Dammit, men, I have six full divisions crammed into this shithole or hanging loose in orbit, champing at the bit for me to let ’em go, and we’re almost ready to do that! I’m going to split Lyons’s army in two and defeat it in detail. So what good is a goddamned Force Reconnaissance raid on Gilbert’s Corners?”

“Sir,” General Cazombi said, “those politicians out there are a fractious bunch of quibblers and cowards. Now, if the Marines—Marines, sir, not our troops—can put the fear of God into them, shake them up, hit them in the guts with a raid, maybe even capture or kill a few of them”—he spread his hands—“they’ll shit a brick—”

“You don’t need to use expressions like that with me, General.”

“Sorry, sir. We think that’s all they’d need to force General Lyons to detach significant number of his troops to protect the place from further raids, weaken his forces. There’s a division a few klicks away from Gilbert’s Corners, sitting on its hands, another at Phelps. They constitute an important reserve. Once you mount your breakout, those troops are available to plug holes in Lyons’s line. We need to ensure they are kept where they are. This raid will do that.”

Billie shifted his position. “It’s straight-leg infantry that’s going to win this war, gentlemen! You’re not Marines, you should know that! All this behind-the-lines stuff, it’s mere grandstanding, a bunch of prima donnas out there taking very little risk and bragging about how damned brave they are. Typical Marine publicity stunts! And who are these Force Recon boys anyway? Company-grade officers, junior officers, and enlisted people! You expect me to divert any of my forces on the recommendation of these nobodies? Not a field-grade among them?” He snapped the flimsy with his fingers. “Ambushes, raids, sniping, murder, gentlemen, pure and simple, and I won’t put up with it! Not on my watch! Not in my war!” He crumpled up the flimsy sheet and tossed it onto the floor. “That’s what I think of this bullshit! Now you all get the hell out of here and don’t bother me again!”

There was not enough room in the tiny office for a proper salute, so the four officers filed out unceremoniously. “Balca! You stay here for a while.” Sorca remained standing. “Have a seat.” Billie angrily bit the end off a Clinton and lit it up. Significantly, he did not offer one to his chief of staff. Billie blew a thick cloud of smoke and leaned back. “Balca, this is the kind of shit I’ve been working against ever since I took command of this army, and I’m getting really fucking sick of it. I want you to get rid of Cazombi—”

Sorca made as if to protest.

“I know, I know, he outranks you, Balca. So what? You’re a devious plotter, a good staff man, find something to get him out of my hair. Come up with something and I’ll use it to send him off, send him off on a wild-bopaloo chase somewhere.” Billie grinned and blew more smoke.

A light went on in Sorca’s head and he grinned in his own turn. He reached down and retrieved the crumpled flimsy, spread it out on his knee. “Sir, that makes me think—”

“Bad sign, Balca, you’re not paid enough to think. That’s my job.” Billie chuckled.

“Well, sir, this raid, now—”

“Yessssss? I sense something coming on.”

“Well, I’d have disapproved it without hesitation, but Cazombi, he barged in here—”

“I know, I know. The man’s a zealot, Balca, one of those highly principled fellows who does not understand the need for expediency in military affairs. He’s like all do-gooders, he gets in the way. Myself, I don’t give a slimie’s ass about killing civilians, they’re all goddamned traitors anyway, and we’ll hang them when we get them, but this proposed raid won’t have one iota of effect on the outcome of the war, I assure you. What are you thinking, man?”

Balca cleared his throat. “Well, sir, this proposal is clearly an attack against civilians. It will not go unremarked in our own government circles. What would the Confederation Congress think, their forces attacking the representatives of another democratically elected government? Lyons has to face this so-called Committee on the Conduct of the War? You wait until word gets out about this raid and our own politicians will have you over the coals. Unless—”

“Unless what, Balca?” Billie squinted at his chief of staff through the tobacco smoke.

“Here’s what I suggest, sir. You’ve got Admiral Hoi making this recommendation, that’s in the record. You’ve got Cazombi and your G2 and your G3 recommending you approve it. You argued forcefully against it. We’re all witnesses to that. Now you have Cazombi write up his own recommendation and submit it to you. You’ll have him on the record then. You approve it—with strong reservations and restrictions—and you warn him verbally that if there are any repercussions, he’s on his own. You stress the necessity of limiting civilian casualties. That’s an impossibility in an operation like this, but you stress that in writing. Then let the Marines go in there. You know how they operate, they’ll shoot the place up. It’s heavily defended. It won’t be a walkover. There’ll be casualties, hopefully some of the politicians. Summers’s government will protest vigorously, and Chang-Sturdevant will have to answer to her own party for what happened. You come out looking good and maybe even get Cazombi, Hoi, that whole crowd recalled.”

Billie leaned back and regarded Balca through a cloud of cigar smoke. He studied the Clinton carefully for a moment, turning it in his fingers. “Balca,” he said at last, “you’re a freaking devil, anyone ever tell you that? But”—he held up a forefinger—“you’re my devil.” He shoved the cigar humidor at his chief of staff. “Have a Clinton, old buddy, you’ve earned one.”

On the Line, Charlie Company, Bataan Peninsula, Ravenette

“Life has sure improved a lot around here,” Platoon Sergeant Rags Mesola sighed, squeezing the last juice out of a ration packet. Since reinforcements had started arriving on Bataan, real field rations had become more plentiful.

“I dunno,” Corporal Happy Hannover said from where he sat in a corner of Charlie Company’s bunker, “I was sorta gettin’ used to slimies.”

Second Lieutenant Herb Carman shook his head as he spooned more “mystery meat” out of his own ration pack. “You guys’d bitch if you had your balls in a vise.”

“Well, El Tee, from where I sit seems you’ve managed to gain about a kilo on that stuff you’re eatin’ there, so life must be good for ol’ Charlie Company at last,” Mesola said, laughing.

Hannover burped contentedly. “Delicious,” he murmured, then: “What’s the Word, El Tee?” Carman had just returned from the daily battalion situation briefing.

“Can’t say, Hap, Ultra Secret. If I was to tell ya, I’d have to kill ya.”

“Come on, Herb, we’re goin’ on the line in a few minutes, we’ll miss Captain Walker’s company brief and have to wait for the latrine rumors to circulate. When the hell we are gonna break out of this shithole?”

“Okay, Rags, but this can’t go no farther than you and Hap, understand?” The other two nodded and sidled closer to where Carman sat. He ran a hand across the stubble of his beard and leaned close to the other two. “We’re gonna surrender,” he whispered.

“Lieutenant—” Mesola frowned.

“Look, guys, it’s ‘All Quiet on the Western Front,’ same as yesterday and the day before. Everybody knows the Big Man’s gonna stage a breakout, but he ain’t tellin’ us cannon fodder. Soon, Colonel Epperly’s been saying.” Colonel Epperly was the battalion commander. “Anyway, you all know General Billie’s got six full divisions crammed in here and waiting in orbit to be landed, so the Big Push can’t be that far off. So relax, guys, relax.”

“Shit,” Hannover muttered.

“Herb, what the heck would you do if you were in charge of this jug fuck?”

“Me, Rags? Hell, first thing I’d do is fire General Billie and give the army to General Cazombi.”

“Amen to that,” Hannover said with feeling.

“And then?” Mesola prodded.

“And then I’d do what any dumb-assed infantryman’d do. I’d peel off a couple of those divisions and the Marines and do a landing behind enemy lines, catch them between us, and squeeze their nuts real hard.”

“Yer sayin’ our supreme commander is not a ‘dumb-assed infantryman’?”

“Not even that. That damned dugout rat is gonna fuck this war up, Herb.” Mesola cursed and got to his feet, gathering up his gear.

“Let’s get off this topic, men, it’s not good for the morale of the enlisted swine, of which you two are prime examples. Get your guys together, Rags, and relieve second platoon. I’ll be around to your positions as soon as it gets dark, so keep alert. If I catch you guys jerkin’ off out there again—”

“‘Jerkoff,’ Herb, that’s a good description of our supreme commander.” With that, Sergeant Mesola stalked off to rally third platoon for another sleepless night in the company’s fighting positions.

Office of the Deputy Commander, Coalition Forces, Ravenette

“Read that one passage back to me, Wilson.” General Cazombi sat with Colonel Wyllyums and Brigadier General Thayer, going over the recommendation General Billie had asked Cazombi to make about the proposed raid on Gilbert’s Corners.

“‘…and disrupt to a considerable extent the Coalition government’s decision-making procedure,’” Colonel Wyllyums read. “Sir, I’d substitute process for procedure.

“Very well.” Cazombi made the change. They’d been at the editorial process for about an hour by then. “I think that does it. Do you gents agree we’ve laid it all out?” He reached for the Send key.

“One thing, sir,” Brigadier General Thayer said. “Please put in as the last paragraph, ‘Brigadier General Sy Thayer, Assistant Chief of Staff, Operations, concurs in this evaluation.’”

“‘And,’” Wyllyums added, “‘Colonel Wilson Wyllyums, ACofS, Intelligence.’”

“You guys understand Billie’s having me do this so if anything goes wrong he can hang my ass? Do you two want to swing with me?”

“We understand. Fully, sir,” Colonel Wyllyums replied, nodding at Thayer, who inclined his own head in silent agreement.

“General, I put my reputation behind Admiral Hoi’s recommendation. You’ve stated here that he should be advised that civilian casualties be kept at a minimum, what any reasonable commander would advise, but it does not tie the Marines’ hands. And I also fully concur that if successful, this raid’ll upset the Coalition’s government and subject Lyons to pressure to redeploy valuable troop strength, which would give us an invaluable strategic advantage when Billie mounts his breakout. Lyons should’ve removed the whole shebang to one of the other Coalition worlds where it’d be out of harm’s way.”

“He waited too long,” Colonel Wyllyums added. “By the time the move took place, Task Force 79 was in the area and he risked losing the entire government before it could escape planetary orbit. I think we’re beginning to see that the infallible Davis Lyons has some chinks in his armor.”

“Yeah, and one of them might just be our redoubtable Admiral Hoi Yueng and those Marines,” Cazombi chuckled. He added the paragraph. “Well, here goes.” He sent the message, saying, “Past the lips, over the gums, look out, asshole, here it comes!”