The general had much in common, physically, with his sergeant major. Both had stocky builds of medium height, round florid faces and thinning gray-blond hair. All in all they looked not unlike a matched set of champion bulldogs. But, whereas the sergeant major wore a perpetual frown, the general’s face was creased in a smile and his mild blue eyes twinkled as Lieutenant O’Neal saluted.
“Lieutenant O’Neal, reporting as ordered,” said Mike. Like all junior officers he was categorizing his sins and trying to decide which one had come to the general’s attention. However, unlike most he had ample experience with flag officers so he was less intimidated than many would have been.
The general waved a hand at his forehead and said, “At ease, Lieutenant, as a matter of fact, grab a chair. Coffee?” The general grabbed his own mug and reached for a Westbend coffee maker hardwired into the wall.
“Yes, sir, thank you.” Mike paused. “Did the Indowy wire that for you, sir?”
“Indowy, hell.” The general snorted. “I had to get somebody from Corp maintenance to set up a portable generator a couple of compartments over then drill through the damned wall. We’ve got mostly standard office equipment and we’re having a shitload of problems getting them integrated. Cream and sugar?” he continued graciously.
“Much of both, thank you, sir. I could look into that for you, sir. I get along with Indowy pretty well, I think it’s because I’m their size.”
“I understand that we already have you to thank for getting the damn lighting fixed. Not to mention finding the food we were supposed to be getting all along. Lots of time on your hands, Lieutenant?” The general handed Mike his coffee and took a sip of his own, peering at the lieutenant over the rim.
“Sir?”
“I had an interesting conversation with Oberst Kiel of the Bundeswehr the other day. I believe you know the Herr Oberst?”
“Yes, sir. He was one of the GalTech Infantry Design team leaders for the NATO committee.”
“He came through General Arnold, who asked me to talk to him on the subject of my ACS battalion. Do you have any idea what he said?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I understood that you were to advise the battalion on ACS techniques, is that correct?” asked the general, mildly.
“Yes, sir,” said Mike. Now he knew where this was going. He was mildly surprised that the general was underinformed. The flag officer was in for a shock.
“And how would you rate the battalion as an ACS unit?”
“Low, sir,” said Mike, taking a sip of the coffee. He suppressed a grimace. Apparently the general was a Texan; you could have floated a horseshoe in the brew.
“Thank you. Can I ask where you have been the last two months? Where you were today?” asked the general, anger building in his voice.
“Under direct orders, until we made planet-fall, to keep to myself,” said Mike, forcing down another sip. Fortunately the way the conversation was going he was going to be able to put the cup down and avoid it soon.
“From whom?” asked the general, surprised.
“Lieutenant Colonel Youngman, sir.”
“Direct orders?” asked the astounded officer.
“Michelle?” Mike prompted.
“Yes, Lieutenant O’Neal,” she said. The experienced machine knew when to be on her best behavior.
“Run the applicable conversation.”
“Now, I don’t care what you think your mission is, or who you think you are. What I want you to do is go to your cabin and stay there for the rest of the trip. You’re not confined to quarters or anything but I decide how my battalion is run, how it trains, what its tactics are. Not any former E-5 with a shiny silver bar that thinks he’s hot shit. If I find you in the battalion area without my direct permission, in the training areas, or talking to my officers about tactics or training I will personally hang you up, shake you out and strip you of commission, rank, honor and possibly life. Do I make myself clear?” the AID played back.
“I confess, sir, that I did not handle the conversation very well on my side,” Mike allowed, to stunned silence. “I let the colonel get my goat, to be frank and I was already upset with the posted training schedule when I arrived.”
“Did you tell the AID to record that conversation?” the general asked, with a neutral expression once he had gotten over his shock.
“You didn’t know, sir?” asked Mike, with an uneasy voice and a glance at the general’s AID, sitting conspicuously on top of his desk. This was a turn he was not particularly happy about.
“Know what?”
“They record everything, sir.”
“What?”
“We found out at GalTech, sir. Sight, sound, everything. It can be played back at any time in the future.”
“By whom?”
“Currently they are designed solely for user-authorized playback, sir, with some caveats. Some of the countries wanted to make it anyone of a higher rank, but we, the Americans, and a few others, the British and Germans notably, refused. If our soldiers found out that their AIDs would rat on them at any opportunity, they’d ‘lose’ them all the time. However, the records are generally accessible in times of combat or by anyone interacting with the owning individual during the applicable moment.”
“Okay. Damn, maybe you should be my ACS advisor. So, the colonel told you to remain in your cabin. Effectively under arrest. Have you?”
“No, sir. I’ve been keeping in training, physical and tactical. I also construed that I should not develop social contact with the members of the ACS battalion, so I’ve avoided the club, etc.”
“So, you’ve been working out in a gym for the past month?”
“And with my suit, yes, sir.”
“Have you been working with any units of the 325?”
“Sir?”
“Do you realize that you always respond the same way when avoiding a question? Among other interesting anomalies, it appears that Bravo company of the battalion is the only company in the ACS battalion that is hitting the expected milestones for suit training time. And, according to the Herr Oberst, Bravo has made a remarkable advancement in the last month. The Oberst seems to feel that the only part of my ACS unit that is worth wiping a nose with is Bravo company. Not actually up to where they should be, but not completely useless.
“Then it came to my attention that Lieutenant Colonel Youngman wrote an Officer Evaluation Report for his Bravo company commander that accused him of everything but sleeping with my daughter. According to the OER it seems that Bravo company is ‘wholly unprepared for combat.’ In a recent internal battalion EIB evaluation none of the company’s personnel managed to pass,” said the general with a thin smile.
“Sir, one of the EIB standards is a thousand-meter land navigation course. Where’d they do it?” For the first time in the conversation the general was beginning to remind Mike of General Horner.
“Good question. More to the point, since the EIB hasn’t been upgraded for ACS standards, what’s the point of training for it?” asked the general. The affable expression had turned to something very like a snarl.
“Ummh, his people… need to maintain proficiency for when they transfer to non-ACS units, sir?”
“Very good,” smiled the general with a rueful shake of his head. “You make a wonderful devil’s advocate, Lieutenant. Unfortunately, regulations currently call for permanent retention of ACS qualified personnel in ACS units. There goes that argument right out the window. Actually, the only line commander he’s satisfied with is Charlie. Alpha also performed abysmally. However I also happened to notice that although the majority of the battalion is less than ten percent ACS proficient, Alpha and Bravo are at twenty and thirty percent, respectively. Comments, Lieutenant?”