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«Did he give a reason?» asked the President with a look of confusion. «General Olds didn't want them because they're on block leave, right? And isn't the commander stuck in California?»
«Well, Mr. President,» said the secretary. «He pointed out that they are fully trained and tested, unlike the Third. Third Battalion is only halfway through their initial training cycle, sir, and has not had an FSTEP.»
«So why did General Olds prefer to bring them all the way up from Carolina instead of using First Battalion?» asked the president. The answer had just reinforced the question. «Isn't that the battalion that's officially assigned to him?»
The secretary of defense looked uncomfortable. «I think you'd have to ask General Olds, sir.»
«I'm not asking, Olds, Robby. I'm asking my secretary of defense! Is it that divided chain of command thing, again?»
«I wouldn't venture to guess, Mr. President,» the SecDef answered, tightly.
«Guess,» the President snapped, tired of the prevarication.
«I think it might be a matter of General Olds's opinion of the First Batt's officers, Mr. President, rather than their readiness,» commented the President's military aide.
The President turned and looked at the normally silent brigadier general. Since his function was specifically to handle information flow and keep his opinions to himself, the President was surprised to hear him say anything.
«Why do you say that?»
«I was present for the conference on Fortress Forward, Mr. President,» the brigadier related without a change of expression. His face might as well have been carved from mahogany. «General Olds several times expressed openly his distrust of the ACS concept in general and specifically of some of the officers of the battalion assigned primary responsibility for his area of operations.»
«Did he state which officers?» the President asked.
«No, sir, but the person giving the ACS brief to which he took particular exception was Michael O'Neal.»
«The Medal Of Honor wi
«Again, Mr. President, let me clearly state that he expressed reservations about the ACS program and some of the officers in the battalion attached to his Army. He did not state that it was Captain O'Neal he particularly found offense with, although that might have been taken from the context.»
The President looked at his secretary of defense. «He's your friend. You want to explain that?»
The secretary gave the military aide a long measuring look which the general returned without a blink. The brigadier had commanded the Special Forces Sniper School for three years and could stare down a cat. «Jim Olds is an experienced and combat tested officer who has certain strongly held opinions, Mr. President,» the SecDef explained. «Many of those opinions are about the nature and function of an officer corps within an Army. He also has a strong opinion about how this war should be prosecuted and how funding should be distributed. They are opinions that the majority of the ACS community disagree with.
«Given those facts, I doubt that General Olds is particularly happy with one of the companies in his command that consumes a disproportionate share of funding being commanded by a former sergeant. Or the influence that that former sergeant has had on its preparation and training.»
* * *
Mike fishtailed the Tahoe through the median, climbed out of a ditch and pulled out under the nose of a five-ton truck. The vehicle braked with a blare of horn as Mike cut into the lane and then swung the Tahoe back onto the median as the way became clear. The pickup pounded down the rough median, swerving around trucks, buses and Humvees pulled off the road for breakdowns and bouncing in and out of ruts cut by previous passersby. It seemed like he had been traveling up the twisty mountain interstate his whole life. He was barely over the border of Virginia and the traffic was only getting heavier.
He glanced at the heads-up display of the Eastern United States with unit movements denoted on it and grimaced. Murphy's Law was settling in with a vengeance.
«Captain O'Neal,» chirped his AID, «incoming call from Lieutenant Colonel Hanson . . .»
«O'Neal?»
«Yes, sir.»
«Caught in traffic, I see.» The colonel was getting good at drawing information from his AID.
«Yes, sir.»
«I'm stranded in Los Angeles. I'm hopping AMTRAK in about thirty minutes, but . . .»
«Shelly, display continent tactical.» Mike glanced at the virtual display. Green and red zones were scattered across the United States, with grounding and routing arrows superimposed. «It'll be at least a couple of days, sir. Unless the Sixteenth Cav can clear that infestation in Kansas.»
«Yep. And airlines are well and truly grounded. There were scatter landings in the interior and all it takes is one lander in the wrong spot.»
«Roger that, sir.»
«How long for you?»
Mike saw another MP post coming up, the Hummer-25 already training its barrel on his hurtling truck.
«Damn near as long at this rate, sir. I'll see what I can do.»
«Well, I talked to Major Givens, and unless either I or Major Rutherford makes it back in time, that'll leave the battalion in command of the S-3. Who do you think I said should fill in as S-3?»
«Great, like I want to plan this operation.» Mike didn't mention his questions about Nightingale's abilities or his own capabilities. It would be a hell of a test of both. «Did you see the Tenth Corps go into defense?»
«Yes, lovely. I wonder what's going on there?»
«I don't know, sir, but I have to talk my way past a roadblock.» He started slowing as the MP team leader got out of the Humvee.
«Okay, good luck. I don't know if it will help, but I'm ordering you to reach the unit as quickly as possible. Using any means you deem necessary.»
«Roger, sir. Well, good luck to you as well.»
«Thanks. Out here.»
«Shelly, get me First Sergeant Pappas.»
«First Sergeant Pappas is not near his AID,» answered the AID.
Mike wrinkled his brow. «Is he on post?»
«When last located. But he is not in range of his AID. His AID is in his office. He is not.»
Mike, who went virtually nowhere without his AID, shrugged in puzzlement. «Okay, get me Lieutenant Nightingale.»
«Lieutenant Nightingale is not near her AID.»
«What the hell is this?» the commander grumped. «Is anybody with their AIDs?»
«Lieutenant Arnold is available.»
«Well, get me Tim then.»
After a moment the weapons platoon leader answered. «Captain O'Neal?»
«Yeah, Tim. Look, I'm stuck in traffic on I-81. I don't know how long I'll be. Tell Top that I want an assessment of Nightingale. If she's not up to the job he's to tell Major Givens on my say-so. I don't care if she remains technically in command, but I want Gu
«Uh, yeah. Yes, sir.»
«Do you know where the gu
«Not exactly. I'll see if I can track him down.»
«Okay. I'm go
«Yes, sir. Take care.»
«Right. Out here. Corporal,» said O'Neal, rolling down the window and holding out his Fleet ID, «my name's O'Neal, Fleet Strike . . .»
* * *
«My fellow Americans . . .»
The President personally hated that phrase but it was the only acceptable one for such a usage. He stared at the TelePrompTer and firmly quelled all doubts. Though he knew that the country was about to pay a terrible price, it was a price he was sure the American people would call for, a price that duty and honor called for.
« . . . you have by now all witnessed the terrible events which have occurred overnight. In the space of twelve hours thousands of American citizens have lost their lives and one of the most historic cities in our nation has been erased from the face of the Earth.