The rest of the week passes uneventfully. On Saturday morning, I sleep in much more than usual for some reason that escapes me. When I finally roll over, the bright light of day pushes in through the window blinds and forces me to open my eyes. I reach over for Clint, but find the bed empty. Confused, I look around for a few seconds and then grab my communicuff off the nightstand. The time is almost 0900.
"Damn," I whisper as I push off the covers and head downstairs, still in my t-shirt and pajama bottoms.
In the living room, I hear Aurora giggling. She's watching cartoons on the television as she holds Ears the Rabbit in one hand and a spoon in the other. Between sight gags where a cartoon mouse hits a cartoon cat over the head with a frying pan, she takes bites from a bowl of cold cereal in her lap.
"Watching that stuff is gonna rot your brain," I say as I bend over to kiss her head.
"But, Mommy," she replies innocently, "it's funny," she says without looking away from the screen. I just shake my head as I walk into the kitchen. Clint has newspaper spread out over the entire kitchen table and is examining the electric motor from the washing machine with a pair of needle-nosed pliers.
"Breakfast this morning is that sugar cereal that Rori likes so much. Try a bowl. It's actually pretty good according to the giant parrot on the box."
"Really?" I say looking at the electric motor he's working on.
"It was making some strange vibrations yesterday. I think it needs to be re-calibrated," Clint says putting down the pliers and picking up a screwdriver.
"You know, they have people whose only job is to fix stuff like that. All they ask in return is a little bit of money and they're just a phone call away," I say scratching at the messy mass of blonde hair around my head.
"Who do you trust more?" he says as he starts to unscrew the metal housing of the motor. "Some stranger or your husband who once completely overhauled a heavy machine gun while artillery rounds were dropping all around us?"
"Do you really want me to answer that?" I say sarcastically as I pick up the box of cereal from the counter and walk over to the refrigerator for some milk.
"Ha ha," he says pulling the casing apart. "Ah, just I thought. Look, the magnets are out of alignment," he says proudly pointing into the open motor.
"Fascinating," I say pouring the multi-colored bits of cereal from the box into a bowl and pouring on the milk. "Generally, I like a little more food with my sugar."
"Then feel free to make it," Clint says with a grin.
"On second thought, I'll go with the parrot…" I haven't even taken a bite yet when the communicuff on my wrist starts beeping. I curse out loud.
"Don't answer it then," Clint says wiping some grease off his hands and onto the newspaper.
"You know that's not how this works," I say pressing the answer button. "Sergeant Major Hightower."
"It's Lieutenant Colonel Bixby. One hour in the briefing room at headquarters in uniform. This is from General Hallonger and it's big." Without waiting for a response, he hangs up. I rub my eyes and angrily throw down my spoon.
"I'm gonna kill that man," I say as I push back from the table and head to the shower.
"Just be sure you make it look like an accident!" Clint calls after me.
Fifty minutes later, I sit alone at the conference table in Fort Sturm's situation room at post headquarters. The building was empty when I walked in past the guards and I haven't seen anybody else. Just when I'm starting to think that Bixby pulled a prank at my expense, he walks in through the side door and sits down next to me.
"Sir, what the hell is going on?" I ask.
"I'm not sure," he says confused. "The general's aide called me and said that it was an emergency brief and…" Before he finishes his sentence, another officer walks in and shouts, "The Post Commander!" Bixby and I reflexively shoot upwards to the position of attention as General Hallonger walks in and takes a seat at the head of a table.
"Take your seats," he says as he situates himself. Bixby and I sit back down. Another officer appears with a stack of briefing packets and places one in front of each of us. I look around the room and see that the two of us are the only people here. None of the other battalion command teams or even brigade staff has been invited. This makes me very nervous.
"I'm sorry to have to call you in on such short notice," General Hallonger continues as he starts to flip through his briefing packet, "but we just received a priority communique from the Ministry of Defense that requires immediate attention. Slide!" he shouts to his assistant who presses a button on the control station that brings the holographic projector in the front of the room to life. The words, "OPERATION MANNA," appear in large letters hovering in the air. "As you may or not be aware of, the situation in Tripolitania continues to deteriorate. About a week ago, our government received an official request on behalf of the Europeans to assist with military forces. After several courses of action were considered, President Reefs called a special closed session of the Legislature last night which approved the operation which we will now brief.
In 96 hours, 1-1 Infantry will forward deploy to Joint Operating Base "Mariner" located on Isla Cartina in the Mediterranean Sea. The base is the primary operations center for Francian and Italian forces conducting relief operations in Tripolitania…"
Over the next half an hour, General Hallonger lays out the plan for me and Bixby. We will fly by transport hovercraft to JOB Mariner, where we will assist in food delivery operations by air since the sea-lanes have been compromised by the pirate tribes. If food shipments continue to be intercepted, we will assist the Europeans in an attack on the pirate headquarters camp. Our relief will follow at an undetermined date in the future. Until then…the Gunslingers will hold by ourselves.
Finally, General Hallonger completes his brief and asks,
"Questions?"
"None, Sir," Bixby shouts back before talking with me. Annoyed, I raise my hand.
"I have one, Sir." Bixby shoots and an angry look in my direction, but as always, I don't care.
"Go ahead, Sergeant Major," Hallonger says calmly.
"1-1 Infantry will be the forward deployed element in this operation, correct?"
"Yes, Sergeant Major."
"Where will our support be located at?"
"Food, fuel, and ammunition will be provided by the Europeans while food aid from Panem will be sent by contracted civilian shipping to the European mainland where it will be forwarded to you by the Francians for delivery to the Tripolitanians via military hovercraft." General Hallonger turns back to his assistant at the projector controls. "Can you go back to the Sustainment slide please…"
"No, Sir," I say irritated. "I don't need to see the Sustainment slide again. I was referring to our additional military forces in the event that we have to make a landing on the African mainland."
"This is primarily a humanitarian mission, Sergeant Major," General Hallonger replies nonchalantly. "We don't foresee you having to conduct any kind of active maneuver against the militias."
"But it is a possibility, yes?"
"Of course."
"So, you're telling me that one battalion of light hovercraft infantry is supposed to take on an unknown number of openly hostile militias armed with an unknown amount of possibly heavy weapons?"
"Isn't that what you've been trained to do?" General Hallonger asks somewhat sarcastically. This really begins to upset me.
"Sir, with all due respect, I trained my men to fight under any conditions put before them, yes…but I didn't train them to head into an uphill fight against superior forces cut off from resupply and reinforcements!" Suddenly, I feel Bixby's hand grasp my thigh firmly under the table signaling me shut up, but I'm done putting up with him for now. I reach down and grab his wrist, twisting it so firmly he is forced to let go. I see him wince in the corner of my eye.
"Hope you enjoyed that, Sir," I think with satisfaction. "That's the closest thing to intimacy you and I are ever going to have."
"Sergeant Major," Hallonger continues in his infuriatingly casual tone, "This plan was developed by the Chief of the Defense Forces under advisement from most of the top military thinkers in Panem…including Retired General Snow."
"Sir, I know General Snow very well, and he would never send in a battalion by itself against forces like that."
"It is true, General Snow advised sending in a substantially larger force than just 1-1 Infantry, but the Chief advised President Reefs to limit it to one battalion for fear that it would appear to the Tripolitanians that we were attempting an invasion of their territory. Also, you'll have a joint unit of Francians and Italians at JOB Mariner in the event that you encounter overwhelming enemy forces. After all, this is their operation. You know how diplomacy and politics works, right?" he says with a smug grin.
"Sir, permission to speak freely?" I ask firmly. General Hallonger pauses for a few seconds before finally nodding his head.
"Only because of my respect for your accomplishments, Sergeant Major."
"The Europeans just completed a major conflict only five years ago. While I do have enormous respect for their fighting ability, they do not yet possess the training or the resources to wage another conflict. That's why they're asking for our help in the first place isn't it?
If the Chief of the Defense Forces is more concerned with diplomacy than he is for the success of military operations, then he picked the wrong, damn line of work. If we have to go in there alone, than you're going to be writing a hell of a lot of condolence letters to the parents of my soldiers!"
"The plan is set, Sergeant Major!" General Hallonger shouts back at me. "You will execute it exactly as it has been ordered. Keeping your soldiers alive in combat is your job, not mine. Do I make myself clear?"
"Chrystal, Sir…"
"Good…Dismissed."
Bixby and I push back from the table and exit the room in silence. We walk, shoulder to shoulder, down to the lobby, past the guard desk, and out the front doors. As we exit into the mid-morning sunlight towards the granite steps, I feel a hand on my shoulder as Bixby spins me around to face him.
"IF YOU EVER EMBARRASS ME IN FRONT OF THE POST COMMANDER LIKE THAT AGAIN I WILL END YOU! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" he screams, pointing his hand in my face in a foolish attempt to intimidate me. Calmly, I look around and see that the whole area is deserted on this fine Saturday morning. Whatever happens, it will be my word against his…
Like a flash of lightning, I grab his outstretched hand, twist it into a wrist-lock, and drop him to his knees as he grits his teeth in pain.
"Alright, Sir, listen and listen good…." I whisper right into his ear. "Back here in the civilized world, I bow and curtsy to you like a good little girl because you're the commander and I work for you…but we're going into the sh.t now, and could be facing some very hostile mother ..s who want nothing more than to put a bullet into our hides and watch us bleed out on the sand.
I've seen things…things you wouldn't believe sitting on your cushy little position on Colonel Tavington's staff like you did during the war. I refuse to watch one soldier die because you were too much of a coward to stand up to a General who dropped a .d up plan in our laps and then said, 'Execute.'
When we get over there, this is exactly what you're going to do: stand in front of the formation, wave your little hand, say a few words of encouragement to us all, and then get the hell out of my way. Do you understand?"
He's in too much pain to speak, but still manages to nod his head furiously. "Good," I say as I release him and turn to walk over to the office. There's still a lot of planning that needs to be done.