Winfield repressed a sigh of exasperation. “Look, Commander, I got the same ‘suspect collaborators’ training you did. But today, there are two kinds of humans out in the streets: live insurgents and dead insurgents. If there are any collaborators, they’re indoors and staying there.”
Ayala nodded, smiled. A little sheepishly, Winfield thought. “Okay, Lieutenant, I’m just an FNG here, so cut me some slack. What’s your CO got for a target?”
“The Roach Motel.”
“The what?”
“Sorry. That’s what we call the Arat Kur HQ. The presidential compound at the northwest corner of Merdeka Square. They’ve put up curtain walls, paved over some gardens to make a half dozen vertipads.”
Ayala nodded. “Yep. That’s where my team—and almost everyone else—is headed. I know the prewar layout, but have only seen a few recent photos.”
Winfield smiled. “Whereas we’ve got prime inteclass="underline" current floor plans, hardpoints, and duty rosters. Updated within the last forty-eight hours.”
Ayala’s eyes were suddenly bright. “You have agents inside?”
“Yeah. Domestic staff, delivery personnel.”
“Outstanding. We’ll follow you to your CO.” Ayala waved the last members of his still-surfacing stick to join him in the lee of a smoking warehouse that fronted the bay. Once there, with Barkowski keeping watch, he huddled at their center. “Okay. Weapons out.” Each man reached behind and under his shirt. Waterproof adhesive tape tore noisily away from back skin. The small, flat plastic bags that were in their reappearing hands sputtered as they were ripped open. Within five seconds, each man had readied a small, Unitech ten-millimeter liquimix machine pistol, held in the narrow, shadowed margin between his body and the building. Ayala had not stopped giving instructions. “The lieutenant here is going to guide us to a safe house. We go single file. Weapon mix set to maximum. Single shots only. Never more than thirty meters, or you’re not going to get penetration. You won’t anyway, with the Arat Kur. With the Hkh’Rkh, aim for the articulation points in their armor. And work together. Saturate targets with fire. If you don’t penetrate right away, the multiple kinetic impacts should stun them. Then close in and pour it on.” He turned back toward Winfield, paused, frowned. “What are you smiling at?”
Winfield nodded at the Unitechs. “You sure you want to use those popguns?”
The lieutenant commander looked like he’d taken a swig of vinegar. “You got something better?”
Winfield shrugged. “How about the assault rifles I stashed in a dumpster about twenty minutes ago?”
The men looked up, eyes wide and hopeful. Ayala looked suspicious. “Some old, raggedy-ass AKs aren’t any better than—”
“Commander, I’m talking eight-millimeter CoBro liquimixers with extended bullpup feeds and integral RAP launchers. Double load of ammo, heterogeneous mix. Extra hotjuice canisters so you can shoot fast and hard all day long. Interested?”
The newly arrived SEALs were not merely interested. The looks on their faces were more akin to ravenous fixation. Ayala allowed himself a small smile. “Sure, Lieutenant. Seeing as how you’re throwing them out anyhow, we’d be happy to take them off your hands.”
R’sudkaat clattered over as soon as Tuxae raised a claw. “What is it, Tuxae Skhaas?”
“Fleetmaster, the humans continue to fire missiles from their ships.”
“And we continue to destroy both.”
“Yes, Fleetmaster, but while our orbital interdiction assets are destroying their cargo ships, they cannot be tasked to ground targets.”
“The delay will be brief. Almost all their ships are sunk.”
“With respect, Esteemed Fleetmaster, additional ground suppression is required not only in and around the cities, but at a number of other sites. Sensors confirm pilot reports that insurgents and more organized forces have invested the margins of our airbases and vertipads with small teams firing portable fire-and-forget missiles. Between these and the cluster bomblet munitions that passed through our PDF systems, air operations are sluggish at Jakarta and stalled in Surabaja.”
“How many craft have we lost?”
“Only one or two so far.”
“Then there seems little problem.”
“I harmonize, R’sudkaat, but our aircraft are constantly having to take evasive action, thereby diverting from scheduled landing or takeoff vectors. Air traffic control is unmanageable. Consequently, by the time they have avoided, decoyed, or interdicted the ground fire and sortied, their targets have left the coordinates called in by our ground forces.”
R’sudkaat studied the data streams on Tuxae’s screen, the map in the holotank, then swerved away. The order he tossed over the collar-rim of his carapace sounded like gravel in a sifter. “Redeploy the airphibian craft. They must suspend their subsurface patrol duties and join our air assets as quickly as possible.”
“Fleetmaster, the human submarines—”
“—need not be patrolled for so aggressively. They will be destroyed by orbital fire if they rise to launch depth.”
“R’sudkaat, if we were so sure of that outcome, would we have developed these amphibian aircraft? Would we not have simply relied on our orbital interdiction batteries?”
“The airphibian attack craft were a second tier of defense against submersibles, an assurance against other failures. We cannot afford that luxury for the duration of this battle. We must maintain our combat air patrols and tactical air support. Order the airphibian systems to terminate their submarine picket duties and transition for atmospheric operations.”
“With respect, R’sudkaat, the fighting is also shifting to the major food-shipment cities—Jakarta, Surabaja, Semarang, Cilacap, and Banywangi—and a few other of the larger metro centers, particularly Bandung, Bekasi, and Depok. How do you plan to use the tactical air support and not kill thousands of civilians? Our rules of engagement—”
“—no longer apply.”
Tuxae felt his lenses grind together then spring back in shock. “With respect, Fleetmaster—”
“Assistant Shipmaster, hear and follow this unwavering note. Today, there is but one rule of engagement. Find and destroy the enemy.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sanjay Thandla watched Lemuel Wasserman try to hide himself behind a palm tree to urinate and fail miserably. Although arguably the world’s most brilliant living physicist, he seemed unable to figure out how to pee discreetly in the wild.
But of course, Lemuel’s problem was not ineptitude. It was fear. Lemuel was fearful of everything. Just as his reluctance to enter the jungle made it impossible for him to empty his bladder in privacy, his various anxieties imposed other restrictions upon his behavior. He avoided the local food. He never emerged into the sun unless protected by a long-sleeved shirt, cargo pants, and a floppy hat that made him look like a maiden-lady gardener. He would not swim out beyond ten meters for fear of sharks, and he asked incessantly about the intercept capabilities of the Arat Kur PDF systems. He had arrived twelve days ago, questioning everything, yet accepting no one else’s experience as useful information—with the peculiar exception of Thandla himself.
Thandla smiled as Lemuel emerged from behind the too-narrow tree he had selected as cover. Hapless, brilliant Wasserman. Thandla had not expected his odd, awkward, and decidedly barbed fellowship. Upon going their separate ways after returning to Earth from the Convocation, Sanjay believed the American did not like, or even particularly trust him. But here, just a few kilometers south of Bakau Heni, on the southeast tip of Sumatra, Wasserman had become a puzzling and pugnacious fixture at all of Thandla’s activities and meals. He even forsook the company of his own countrymen, for the region was thick with tall, drawling Americans who were impatient to join the fight on Java.