Anton was still confused. “So what are you planning?”
“We have to attack. It will be difficult, and I’m not convinced we can get through to the camp, but if we don’t try, we know it will destroy morale. There’s just no way to explain to an army that you aren’t even going to try to rescue their families because it is futile.” He slid his finger across the ‘pad, moving the focus of the map. “But I think we have an opportunity to benefit regardless. Even if we are unable to liberate the camp.” He centered the display on a section of the District in Weston. “Here is the main federal supply dump.” He slid his finger a few centimeters. “And here is Cooper’s HQ.” He looked up, fixing his eyes on Anton’s. “I want you to go into Weston with a hand-picked team of veterans under cover of our attack…and I want you to take out both targets.”
Anton looked at the map in silence for a few seconds, daunted a bit by the audacity of the plan, but intrigued as well. “If we can pull it off it could be a game-changer. They’ve pulled almost everything inside Weston trying to protect it from our raiding parties. If we can take it all out, they’ll be in bad shape.” He paused. “At least they won’t be attacking Carlisle any time soon, no matter what shape we’re in.”
“And Arlen Cooper will be dead in the rubble of his headquarters.” Marek was a soldier; plotting what was effectively an assassination wouldn’t normally sit well with him. But Arlen Cooper was a monster, and Marek would do almost anything to get him. He wondered; would I do anything at all? Would I become like him in order to kill him? He couldn’t answer himself, not honestly. He just wasn’t sure. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“When do we go in?” Anton’s mind was already working on a plan, thinking about who he wanted on the team.
“Tomorrow night.” Marek’s answer was matter-of-fact.
“Tomorrow?” Anton knew Marek was aggressive, but he was still stunned. “We need some time to prepare. I don’t even have a team organized yet.”
“You’ve got the rest of the day and tomorrow.” Marek saw the look Anton flashed him. “Look, Lucius. We’ve got to take a run at that camp soon. Those defenses are just going to get tougher.” He paused, allowing the reality of the situation to sink in. “Tomorrow night, both moons are almost new – it’ll be six months before we get another night that dark.” He looked up at his friend and second-in-command. “It has to be tomorrow.”
Anton returned the gaze. He saw a million things that could go wrong because they rushed the operation, but he couldn’t come up with a single argument against what Marek had just said. “I’ll be ready.”
Marek heard another twig snap, this time behind and to the left. I might as well have brought a marching band, he thought, his frustration building. His ragtag force had gelled into a respectable army, but they were still mostly amateurs. They’d fought hit and run battles, raids and other operations that made the most of their familiarity with the terrain, and they’d done well with that strategy. Now they were going to assault a strongly fortified position held by a large and well-equipped force. It was a mission Marek would have been hesitant to undertake with his Carson’s World veterans – with this band of citizen-soldiers it could turn into a disaster.
He’d spread out the formation into long, supporting lines deployed in extended order. Without adequately trained troops and low on heavy weapons, he wasn’t about to launch a concentrated attack against a series of enemy strongpoints. Instead, he was going to go in with skirmish lines at intervals of 200 meters. The first would move up and start a firefight, probing the enemy position for any weak spots. He was hoping that going in with a loose formation and attacking from cover would minimize casualties. If they found a hole in the enemy defense, maybe – just maybe – they’d have a chance to get into the camp. If not, they were well positioned to pull back before suffering catastrophic losses. At least that was the plan.
Marek himself was in the front line. He knew he shouldn’t be there, especially with Anton detached. But he felt he needed to scout the enemy defenses himself. They were advancing through the scrubby forest north of Stillwater – or at least the place where Stillwater used to stand. It was annoying terrain to march through, but at least if offered some cover.
The plan was simple, at least in theory. The first line would engage the enemy and try to take out two strongpoints, opening a gap in the defense and allowing a select force to advance and blow a section of wall. It was a blunt plan, lacking finesse, but it was the best Marek could devise. At least it kept a significant portion of his force out of close engagement range. They would conduct a long-ranged firefight, serving as decoys and discouraging the enemy from moving reserves to the threatened point. The troops in this diversionary force would be able to withdraw more easily if the attack ran into a wall.
For public consumption, Marek’s primary concern was taking the camp and freeing the prisoners held there. Privately he had a more calculated plan, to make a show of trying to liberate the camp but pulling back if necessary to maintain his army as a combat-ready force. It was a little more deceptive than he liked to be with his troops, but many of them were emotionally invested in this attack and, unchecked, that could lead to disaster. Marek was enough of a professional to take a cold blooded look at the situation; it helped no one if the rebel army – and by extension, the rebellion – collapsed in a hopeless and bloody all-out assault against those defenses.
He had already given the orders – they were going in. There was no point in delaying and no telling how many detection devices were out here in these woods. The enemy could be on to them at any time, and Marek didn’t want to give the defenders time to react.
“Group C, commence firing.” The range was long, and they weren’t going to do much damage, but Marek wanted the initiative - he wanted to let the enemy know they were here before they were discovered. Group C was on the extreme right, a diversion, farthest from the point of the actual assault. Marek hoped the enemy would divert attention to that sector, maybe – just maybe – giving his assault force an opening.
“Group C, acknowledged.” Marek had put Aaron Davis in command of the main diversion. Davis was a Marine with at least a moderate amount of combat experience. All the really seasoned vets he had kept with the main attack force or detached to Anton’s team. Davis was a good man, but emotional. He’d become steadily angrier and more bloodthirsty as the war went on and got nastier. Marek was more comfortable with him in the diversionary force rather than in close quarters to the enemy…as long as he didn’t get too aggressive on the diversion. Marek had been emphatic, even promising he’d shoot Davis himself if he pushed the decoy force too far forward.
A few seconds later Marek heard the shooting as Group C began firing and, an instant later, the enemy emplacements opening up in response. Marek cringed; he hoped Davis was keeping his people back and in cover. They just had to make some noise, not get sucked into a fight they couldn’t win.
Marek’s team wasn’t even going to fire; they were going to rush the bunkers, getting as far as they could before the enemy started shooting. He had a couple rocket launchers, but they weren’t strong enough to take out the reinforced plasti-crete bunkers. If he’d had his Marine platoon for the assault he would have taken out the strongpoints with a couple tactical nukes and dashed right through the confusion to the camp. But his unarmored troops – and the prisoners in the camp – would suffer catastrophically from nuclear explosions at this proximity. Not that he had any nukes anyway.