"Considering this from either a testing viability or a mission success viewpoint, the Design Team representative cannot recommend deployment at this time. Senior officers require a minimum of one hundred fifty more hours of tactical exercises without troops before they may be considered prepared. Thank you." He dropped the laser pointer into the sleeve of his silks, walked over to his spot and sat down. Since he was the Design Team representative, he at least had a spot at the table.
"Okay," said General Houseman, "let's be straight. Recommendations, deploy or don't deploy? I am accepting input from G-3, the Chief of Staff and the Design Team representative." Excluding the battalion representatives was a deliberate slap in the face to the airborne colonel. The battalion commander knew that if the battalion was not deployed his career was finished. "General Stafford, G-3 says go?"
"Yes, sir," said the lanky general, tapping the table with his fingers. "I take the lieutenant's point about the communications and coordination problems but, no offense, Lieutenant, he sees everything from the uncluttered viewpoint of a junior officer. Those sims are awfully realistic, real enough to create a `fog of war.' In those situations, communications and coordination difficulties occur. Lieutenants, by and large, expect things to be straightforward; they're not. I think they're ready, let's let them off the leash."
"Okay, General Bridges?"
"It is a difficult decision," stated the fussy little Chief of Staff, "I think that with the way we intend to employ them, the respective units are going to receive heavy casualties irregardless of their preparedness level. However, it is my opinion that the suits and the communications package will act as a combat multiplier and we need the concomitant capabilities. These cities are a difficult tactical problem and the suits can maneuver in terrain closed to effective use by other combat systems. I recommend implementation despite patently insufficient preparation." At that description, the battalion commander and operations officer winced.
"Lieutenant O'Neal?"
"I agree that the suits will act as a combat multiplier, but I disagree strongly with the `fog of war' argument. My favorite relevant quote is from a battalion commander in Desert Storm, `Heroes happen because somebody made a mistake.' I think if we deploy the battalion, we're going to have a lot of heroes. The senior battalion command and staff are using the communications and intelligence systems exactly backward of how they are designed and complaining because they don't work right.
"The communications were designed to allow ease of communication, but the commander and S-3 are immuring themselves behind layers of underlings and this is causing a communication snag." He totally ignored the fact that the officers in question were present.
"Twice in sims this snag caused a critical failure because the people who were managing the whole picture and knew what to do were unable to effectively communicate that need. Furthermore, the battalion command and staff have systematically stripped the company commanders of any authority to react without direct orders. Were one or the other not the case, the battalion might have a chance. As it is there is none.
"They have trained like they are going to fight and it will happen in combat. Lieutenant Colonel Youngman and Major Norton are approaching this from a `light infantry' direction but have left out every good light infantry technique and kept every outmoded one. If you deploy the battalion in its current condition it will be Little Big Horn all over again. I strongly urge you to hold them to training." By the time he was done the battalion commander was white-faced with rage and the operations officer was spluttering.
"Well Lieutenant O'Neal," said General Houseman, with a quelling glance at the furious field officers who had been forced to listen to the scathing diatribe, "it's two generals in favor to one lieutenant against. I'm going to have to go with the more experienced officers, but it is my decision. They're getting deployed, Lieutenant." He did not look particularly happy with his decision. Unfortunately, it was a situation where he agreed with the lieutenant on abstract. While the battalion showed an over eighty percent readiness, the unit had yet to survive a single simulated engagement. The hash of cavalry and infantry tactics that worked for O'Neal and that were specified in the ACS doctrine seemed to massively confuse most of the battalion command and staff. It was not a happy prospect.
"It is, of course, your decision, sir." From the look on the lieutenant's face the general suspected he was reading his mind. "Actually, sir, I doubt you could have gotten away with holding them back. Given the cost of fielding them and that they did make minimum specs, Congress would have you for lunch if you didn't deploy them." He shrugged the resignation of soldiers throughout history who were pawns to the political process.
"Lieutenant, if I thought we were going to lose the battalion I'd hold them in training despite all the bureaucrats in Washington."
After the drab interior of the colony ship and the megascraper's plain exterior, Mike was unprepared for the lavish decoration of the interiors. Despite the fact that the room was utilitarian, possibly the Indowy equivalent of a machine shop, the walls, floors and ceiling were covered with intricate paintings, friezes and bas reliefs. All of the corridors he had traveled and the rooms he had poked his head into were equally baroque. The Indowy love of craftsmanship apparently extended to interior decoration. Unlike similar decorations by humans, there were no scenes or portraits. All the decorations were intricate abstract curves and geometrics. Despite their alien nature they were pleasing to the human eye and surprisingly similar to patterns on Celtic brooches.
There were about sixty people milling around in the large room that was to be used for the battalion's tactical operations center. The machinery and tanks of mysterious liquid had been moved against the walls and a set of folding chairs erected facing a low dais; the front row included an upholstered easy chair. On the back of the chair was a sign depicting a silver oak leaf and the words "2 Falcon 6." A rooster in a cage clucked on one side of the dais. As Mike inspected it balefully, it crowed.
Also on the dais were several junior NCOs and enlisted men referring to clipboards and updating easeled maps. They were being supervised—Mike was reminded of the rooster with his hens—by the battalion S-3, Major Norton. A tall, distinguished-looking man, Norton, Mike had quickly come to realize, was not nearly as intelligent as he looked. Extremely energetic and able to parrot doctrine well, he responded poorly to novel situations and ideas. He and Mike had come to verbal blows several times during the battalion's work-up.
Mike dialed up the zoom on his glasses and looked at the battle plan being drawn on the board. "Christ," he whispered, "has anyone talked to the fire support officer?" Just then Captain Jackson, the FSO, got a good look at the board and walked over to Major Norton. When Captain Jackson tried to draw him aside, the S-3 brushed him off. He was, after all, Artillery, there for the battalion's support, and a captain; thus, he could be ignored.
Mike looked around the room filled with camouflage-clad officers and NCOs. There were the commanders of the five companies, with their executive officers, the staff with their assistants and senior NCOs, the attachment leaders, engineering, fire support, medical and artillery. They were all pointedly ignoring him; in the case of a few of them he knew it was for mutual good. Consorting with the company commanders would have drawn fire for both of them from the S-3. Then he started counting chairs.