"I understand that tank crews are relatively easy to train," she said. "But what about these special forces troops? Will they be sufficiently prepared to both do us some good and keep themselves alive out there? I don't want kamikazes fighting for us. I want those troops' safety to be first and foremost."
"I have no intention of sending suicide squads out there," Jackson told her firmly. "Ever since the inception of the MPG I've made special forces a priority issue. I'm going to break up the current teams, promoting the members and forming new teams consisting of veterans and new recruits. I won't be sending any virgin teams out into the wastelands. Recruitment for special forces will consist mostly of already current MPG infantry and other troops. After all, you need to be in pretty good shape to join the forces and we don't have time to waste getting newbies in shape. Those that have to go through basic training can replace the infantry troops we'll lose that move to special forces and will augment the tank corps and the support services.
"My special forces teams will have orders to hit the marines only when they can retreat to safety. They will be small units tasked with ambush, armor harassment, and aircraft harassment. Their methods will be to hit fast on isolated targets and then pull back to safety before the WestHems can hit them with artillery or send a hover their way. Their biosuits in combination with prepared hiding places can keep them relatively safe. As safe as troops can be behind the lines anyway."
"And you will be able to support these troops efficiently?" Laura asked. "Re-supply them and extract the wounded?"
Jackson shrugged. "Pretty well. They will be dropped in, supported, and extracted by Hummingbirds, which, as you all know, are vertical take-off and landing craft that are able to sustain winged flight once in the air. The Hummingbirds can hug the ground virtually undetected by enemy sensors. They become very visible when they land and take-off due to the enormous heat that such maneuvers produce, but our troops and pilots both train extensively in order to keep these times to a minimum. A full team of special forces, that's ten troops, can exit a Hummingbird and get clear of it's take-off thrust in less than fifteen seconds. The Hummingbird can be back to winged flight in another twenty seconds. Extraction is even quicker. Our longest times are, unfortunately, when wounded are being taken aboard, and that is often when we encounter the worst landing zones. In any case, each special forces team will have a medic deployed with it."
"And our city defenses?" Whiting asked next. "How are they?"
"Excellent, Governor," Jackson proclaimed. "But also untested. As you know we've constructed a complex array of infantry entrenchments, tank shelters, and recon posts atop every conceivable hill on every conceivable approach to our cities. We have fixed artillery guns ringing the cities. We have interlocking anti-aircraft laser sites ringing each city. All we have to do is add the soldiers and the WestHems are going to find themselves with a whole lot of trouble on their hands once they get within fifty kilometers of any city."
"I see," Whiting said, nodding expressionlessly. "And what will you require of our industry to fight this battle? List in order of importance if you would."
"Biosuits," Jackson answered immediately. "Model 459s. Like I said, I don't have preliminary numbers on how many troops I will have to fight with, but in a worst-case scenario I'm going to need at least an additional twenty thousand of them, although one hundred thousand would be optimum. If we're going to win this war, it's going to be won out in the wastelands. We have to be able to outfit our troops to fight there. If we wait to fight the WestHems in the cities themselves, we've already lost the war.
"We're also going to need at least a million 155 millimeter artillery shells for city defenses. We have two million in stockpile at the moment but we will use them at a frightening rate when the WestHems near the cities in force.
"We will need at least ten million rounds of four millimeter M-24 bullets, three million rounds of ten millimeter M-95 machine gun bullets, four hundred thousand sixty millimeter grenades, one hundred thousand eighty millimeter mortar shells, and at least sixty-thousand hand-held fragmentation grenades.
"And Laura, I know you're working on it with EastHem, but I need to stress the most vital component here. Fuel. If we don't secure a supply of liquid hydrogen to run all of this machinery, we might as well throw down our arms and surrender."
"I'll be sending a message to the EastHem ruling council later today," Laura replied. "Are you sufficient in tanks, guns, artillery pieces, and so forth?"
"We are," he said. "We have enough in stockpile and onboard the Panama's at TNB to supply our forces sufficiently for the first wave of marines. What we could use more of is atmospheric aircraft, specifically Mosquitoes. If the people at the factory can make them in time for the war, I'll divert some of the qualified recruits from the volunteers to train in them. The more aircraft we have harassing the WestHem armor, the less armor we'll have to deal with at the cities."
"Okay," Laura said, "let's take your requests one at a time." She turned to Kyle Yee, who was an upper level manager at Environmental Supplies, manufacturer of the biosuit. ES, as it was known, was one of the few Martian owned corporations on the planet. Its primary function was the manufacture of civilian biosuits for use in construction, maintenance, and other jobs that required people to go outside. They also had the military contract for model 459 biosuits, the more advanced military version.
"Kyle," Laura asked, "you are effectively in charge of ES. So what do you think? Can you give General Jackson's forces a hundred thousand 459s?"
Kyle was a perfect example of the culture clash that would be going on on Mars if the revolution were eventually successful. He was a Martian to the core, but he was used to thinking of things in a certain manner.
"Governor," he said slowly, "I'm not sure we can do that."
"Oh?" Whiting asked, raising her eyebrows. "And why not?"
"The 459 is expensive to manufacture Governor," he explained. "It's a specialty piece of equipment. In order to obtain the supplies needed for production of the 459 — the extractors, the combat computers, even the storage tanks — that will require much more money than we have available in liquid assets at the time being. And under the circumstances I'm not sure that the other corporations would even extend a line of credit to supply them. And we still have our civilian obligations to fulfill. The bulk of our business is civilian suits as you're aware. We can't simply convert our energies to the manufacture of 459s. It's economically unfeasible."
"Economically unfeasible?" Laura asked him, her eyes appearing to burn into the executive.
"Yes, Governor," he agreed.
Laura rubbed her temples for a moment, as if massaging away a headache. When she dropped her hands from her head, she picked up her coffee cup and took a quick sip. When that was swallowed she bored into him. "Mr. Yee," she asked pointedly, "did you vote for independence?"
"What?" he asked, confused.
"Forgive me for being personal. But did you vote yes yesterday?"
"Of course, Governor," he said defensively.
"I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Yee. Very glad indeed. Now, will you agree with me that this planet, which is now independent, is in a state of war?"
"Well, sure," he answered.
"Do you foresee any particular need for a large supply of civilian biosuits in the near future?"
He considered this for a second. "Well..." he said at last, "no. Actually, I don't."
She continued to stare at him pointedly. "I did not ask you if you thought that the manufacture of one hundred thousand model 459 military biosuits was economically feasible, did I?"