Уильям Дитц - Seek and Destroy

Mac came to attention. “We’ll be ready sir.”

Lassiter nodded. “Go back to Peavey Field and whip your outfit into shape. I’ll let you know when more information becomes available. Dismissed.”

FORT KNOX, KENTUCKY

Sloan was in a budget meeting when news arrived that a rebel tank column had pushed its way up from southeast New Mexico and captured the city of Albuquerque. The president learned of the loss when his Chief of Staff, Wendy Chow, arrived to pull him out into the hall. Secret Service agents tagged along as they walked to the underground situation room. Many of Sloan’s National Security Council members were present—including the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs Herman Jones, the Director of National Intelligence Martha Kip, and National Security Advisor Toby Hall. “So what the hell happened?” Sloan inquired as he took his seat. He was pissed. “How could the Confederates assemble a tank brigade and move it north without being spotted?”

“We’re looking into that,” Jones said. “It’s too early to say for sure. But the preliminary reports suggest that the rebs sent the tanks and their support vehicles into the Roswell area aboard trucks, hid them at separate locations, and assembled the unit at the last moment.”

Sloan frowned. “Roswell as in UFO Roswell?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Perfect. The press will love that. So, how long until we push them back out?”

“That depends,” Jones said cautiously.

“On what ?”

“On what we choose to do,” Jones said equably. “Should we pull a brigade off the line in Oklahoma City or Little Rock? And send it west?”

“That would weaken the line,” Sloan replied. “And create an opportunity for the rebs to break through.”

“Precisely,” Jones said. “And that might be what the Confederates are hoping for.”

Sloan swore under his breath. “What would you recommend, then? We can’t let them remain in Albuquerque.”

“Actually, we could,” Jones said. “Not forever… Just until the strategic situation shifts our way.”

“You must be joking! The rebs take control of a Union city, and we allow them to stay! Try explaining that to an insurance agent in Cleveland… Never mind the people who live in Albuquerque.”

Jones smiled tightly. “I don’t have to. That’s your job, Mr. President.”

“You’re a dickhead, Herman. You know that?”

“Yes, sir… So they tell me.”

Sloan laughed. “Seriously… If we allow the rebs to stay in Albuquerque, what then? Could they break out? And take more territory?”

“I don’t think so,” Jones replied. “At this point, the rebs have stretched their supply chain as far as it can go without breaking. I believe that capturing Albuquerque was an inexpensive way to score a victory and make Southern voters feel good. And, if we’re stupid enough to pull a brigade off the line, then so much the better.”

Sloan was thinking. And as he did so, an uneasy silence settled over the room. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll let the rebs have Albuquerque for a while. But, while they’re sitting there snacking on sopaipillas, we’ll attack their supply line. They can defend it, or allow it to be cut. The choice will be up to them.”

Martha Kip raised a well-plucked eyebrow. “If we don’t plan to pull a brigade off the line, then what will we use to attack them?”

“We’ll use our secret weapon,” Sloan said mysteriously. “Notify the press… I’m going to Albuquerque, or as close as I can get. I need to show the country that I care. Oh, and find Major McKinney. I have a job for him.”

PEAVEY FIELD, KANSAS

A four-engined transport was parked on the runway. But the rain was falling so hard that Mac could barely see the airplane as she stepped out of the headquarters building and prepared to make the mad dash across the tarmac to Shelter Five. Her poncho was equipped with a hood, which she pulled up over the black beret. Then she began to run.

The rain pattered on her poncho and water splashed away from her boots as Mac passed the C-130 and crossed the final stretch of pavement. Captain Roy Quick was there to welcome her as she entered the shelter. “I’m sorry to bring you out in the rain, boss,” he said. “But we have a grade-A fuck-up on our hands, and I thought you’d like to see the problem firsthand.”

Rain rattled on the metal roof as Mac threw the hood back and shook water off the poncho. Most of what had been a hangar was occupied by a Stryker M1126A2. The vic was equipped with slat armor, generally referred to as a birdcage, and was partially lit by a roll-around work light. “How come you never call me over to celebrate something that went well?” Mac inquired.

“Because nothing ever goes well,” Quick replied with a grin.

“All right, what’s the problem?”

“ That’s the problem,” Quick said, as he pointed at the truck’s slat armor. “According to the list of mission requirements issued yesterday, we’re supposed to load two vics onto C-130s. And, since Strykers were designed with that possibility in mind, it should be easy. But, with slat armor on, each truck is two feet wider than a Herc’s cargo bay. Fortunately, Sergeant Rico was smart enough to check.”

Mac groaned. “Shit.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. The so-what is that we’ve got to remove the cages from two vehicles.”

“You’d better make that three ,” Mac replied. “In case one of the primaries develops engine trouble prior to takeoff.”

“Roger that.”

“How long will it take to remove the armor?”

“At least a day.”

“We’re supposed to be combat-ready on six hours’ notice,” Mac said. “What if we get a call twenty minutes from now?”

“Then we’re screwed.”

“Put three teams on it,” Mac suggested. “One for each vic. And tell the wrench turners they have four hours to get the job done.”

Quick made a face. “That means we’ll have to cut the armor off. And that will make it difficult to put it back on later.”

“Do it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How about Alpha Company? Are they ready?”

“Overman is working them hard. They’re running the perimeter.”

“Okay… Stay on ’em. I have no idea what sort of fricking mission the brass have in mind, but whatever it is will have hair all over it. And some of our jailbirds have been sitting on their asses for years.”

Quick produced one of his trademark grins. “Duly noted, boss. I’m on it.”

Mac nodded. “I know you are, Roy… And thank God for that.”

Mac returned to the little headquarters building where a long list of tasks awaited her attention. Wu and her staff had been busy. That meant there were requisitions to approve, personnel matters to attend to, and dozens of bulletins, memos, and briefing papers to read. And that’s what she was doing when a sergeant yelled, “Atten-hut!”

Mac came to attention along with the rest of the headquarters staff as Colonel Lassiter and two companions entered the office. One was an aide and the other was a civilian in rumpled clothing. Lassiter wasn’t wearing a poncho, so his beret was soaked, and his shoulders were wet. He paused to look around. “As you were.”

Wu and her people went back to work, or pretended to, as Lassiter made his way over to Mac’s desk. It consisted of a sheet of raw plywood resting on two sawhorses. She tossed him a salute, and he returned it. “Good afternoon, Major… I’m glad to see that you and your pirates are hard at work.”

Mac was intensely aware of the fact that the people in the room could hear everything that was said and knew that some version of Lassiter’s comments would make the rounds the moment he left. Rather than object to the pirate remark, she chose to ignore it. “Welcome to the 2nd, sir. Would you like a tour?”