“It ain’t hard to figure out,” the master sergeant said. “Sir, you want to handle this?” he added, tipping his beer to the major and leaning back.
“Right you are, Master Sergeant,” Shane said solemnly. Gries finished off his beer with a burp and waved his glass at the young brunette waitress at the bar, then pointed at the near empty pitcher on the table while holding up one finger.
Roger laughed.
“I’m looking forward to hearing this.”
“You see, Doc, this is why you need us,” Major Gries said, pointing at the sergeant and himself. “Just like there’s a logic to all your rocket science stuff, and calculation to why you can’t see that bump on the Moon, there’s a logic and precise calculation to combat. The enemy action plan is simple: it’s a limited frontage assault. It’s the wildest damned LFA I’ve ever seen, but that is what it’s. When you perform an assault, especially on a protected front where you have limited access of movement, you have to push as many fighters into the AC—”
“What’s an AC?” Alice asked curiously.
“Hah, you guys have got all your acronyms but the military invented them!” Cady said, grinning.
“Access corridor,” Shane said, shaking his head. “The idea is to push as many fighters into the AC as you can. Think about the landings at D-Day; we pushed as many soldiers onto the beach as there was room for them. You don’t even consider full logistics for the forces, since you know they’re going to be attrited.” Gries stopped for a breath as the waitress showed up with a new pitcher.
“Attrited?” Alice asked again, frowning.
“A bunch of ’em are going to be dead and don’t need any more food,” Master Sergeant Cady said. “Ever.” He started to pour from the pitcher and got a slap on the hand.
“That’s her job,” Roger, Alan and Traci chorused.
“Oh,” Cady said, then grinned. “Now that’s what I call service!”
“Okay,” Shane continued, sipping his replenished draft. “If there is an entire planet I’m going to attack, the action plan would be to action the enemy’s system with either distributed force systemology or direct action—”
“Now you’re just making shit up,” Roger said, shaking his head.
“He’s not, he’s not,” Cady said, shaking his own. “This is how he always talks when he starts lecturing about killing shit. It’s all ‘action plan’ this and ‘directed force structure’ and ‘attrition phase’ and whatever.”
“And those are?” Alice asked, leaning back and putting her hand over her mouth as her eyes crinkled.
“What we’re gonna do to the motherfuckers,” Cady responded, ticking off his fingers. “What guys are gonna do it and the part where we’re trying to kill them faster than they’re killin’ us.”
“As I was saying,” Shane said, clearing his throat. “If I was going to attack a planet, I’d either… screw around with them for a while using guerilla forces and then take ’em down or I’d drop a bunch of… personnel on one spot and spread out from there. Distributed force systemology or directed action. Since you can’t sneak down and infiltrate, assault is your best approach. Besides, if you’ve got the force and don’t care about casualties, it’s much more guaranteed. If you’ve got the steam press, crush the walnut.”
“Shock and awe, sir!” Thomas added.
“The more you use, the fewer you lose,” Gries added with a nod at the noncom. “It also shows that they anticipate defense. They’re, I’d say, definitively hostile to whoever holds the real estate. If they didn’t anticipate defense then, yeah, it would make sense to drop all over. Since they don’t, I would say that is definitive indication that they are hostile entities. The thing I don’t understand is why they didn’t land on the far side of the Moon where we couldn’t see them. That’s right isn’t it, the far side of the Moon is always pointed away from us and we have no idea what’s happening there without an orbital probe?”
“That’s right,” Traci answered.
“Good point, Shane. Why didn’t they do that?” John asked.
“Where did they land?” Alice asked.
“Well, it looks like they landed right in the middle of the Mare Vaporum, the Sea of Vapors,” Traci said.
“Yeah, for some reason that rings a bell with me, but why I’m not sure,” Roger added.
“Well, for whatever reason, and I’m sure you’ll figure it out, they wanted something there and put as many troops on the ground as they could manage in a seriously short manner,” Shane said. “Standard combat tactics is what it is. I now conclude my lecture on combat assault. Questions? Comments? Concerns? There will be a quiz at the end of the session. You see, Doc, there is a good reason to have us around.”
Roger held up his glass in salute to the major.
“Shane, I never once meant to imply that we didn’t need you. In fact, the reason I got into this business was to do everything I could — the chicken shit that I am — to protect and help the guys like you and Thomas here.”
Thomas and Shane held up their glasses in response. All followed.
“Here, here!”
“Well, we’re going to start seeing tomorrow,” Shane said, grinning. “Alan’s armaments team has some ideas it wants to trot by me.”
“We’re going to knock your socks off!” Alan promised.
“We’ll see,” Shane replied, shrugging. “I’ve rarely seen a first generation idea out of you eggheads that worked.”
“I aren’t no egghead,” Alan protested, waving at the others at the table. “That’s them thar. I’s just a high-tech redneck!”
“That’s even scarier,” Alice said, shaking her head. “I can just see your idea of a presentation. ‘Hey, y’all, watch this!’ ” She paused for a moment and frowned.
“I’ve been thinking about the Asymmetric Soldier concept, too. I’ve got a few ideas, now that we know they’re likely to be cyber systems, that might come in handy.” The stereotypical soccer mom paused and picked up a wing. She stripped the meat off expertly and dipped it in hot sauce.
“Hey!”
“I said I don’t care for Hooters,” Alice said, primly. “I didn’t say I’ve never been in one.”
Chapter 11
“Nice test range here,” Shane commented about the missile and munitions firing range on the southwest end of the Arsenal. “So what are we going to see, Alan?”
Alan led Gries and Cady to an M240B set up on a tripod that was hard-mounted to a concrete slab. The range was set up in a valley behind two small hills on the Arsenal and was surrounded by a pasture and a pine grove.
“The range-to-target there is about four kilometers.” Alan pointed down range. “I assume y’all are familiar with the M240B machine gun?”
“Top?” Gries said, bowing to the NCO theatrically.
“Yes, sir,” the master sergeant said, clearing his throat and taking a position of parade rest. “Listen up, you yard birds! The M240B is the primary platoon fire support weapon of the United States Army Infantry Units of Action, Special Operations and other units required from time to time to bring direct lethal fire upon the enemies of Good! This ultimate killing machine is a belt-fed, air-cooled, gas-operated, fully automatic chooser of the slain that fires from the open bolt position. This weapon of precision dee-struction spits out ammo like hail, spell that as you wish, with an adjustable cyclic rate of fire six hundred and fifty to nine hundred and fifty rounds per minute! It has a sustained rate of fire of one hundred rounds per minute given four to five round bursts and one barrel change every ten minutes. This harbinger of the apocalypse…” He paused and looked at Alan sharply. “What is the name of this weapon, yard bird?”