«Jake, how do you fight Posleen?» the general asked in a reasonable tone.

«What?»

«I thought the question was in English. How do you fight Posleen?» he repeated.

«My best idea is with artillery and fixed defenses,» the sergeant major replied.

«How about mortars and firebases?»

«And then what, sir? We'll be in scattered firebases, cut off and without support. And where are the firebases coming from?»

«Well, in the case of Atlanta, there are several major geographic positions to choose from. The mission will be to form firebases along evacuation routes and man them with indigenous nonmilitary personnel who have some limited training: American Strikers. The teams will form and train these militias and design and construct the fixed defenses from available local materials and using local assets. Now, in what way is this not in the SF tradition, Sergeant Major?»

«Shit.» There was a long pause. «We are not going to survive this, Jim. Among other things, our 'militias' will consist of old men and teenage women.»

«When the Posleen are down and their deployment is clear, when all civilians are effectively evacuated or hors d'combat, when the fuckin' job is damn well done, SF personnel may make their way to secure areas using any means available.»

«There won't be any means, Jim. None.»

«Sure there will, dammit. 'If you ain't cheatin' you ain't tryin.' «

« 'If you get caught, you ain't SF.' Understood. I still think this is a Guard function.»

«There's gonna be plenty of targets to go around.»

«My point was not lack of targets, sir.»

* * *

«Okay,» said Mueller, «we are fucked.»

«Sergeant Mueller,» said Warrant Officer First Class Andrews, «attitude will not help.»

Warrant Officer Andrews and Sergeant First Class Mueller did not get along well. Whether Mr. Andrews knew it or not, in this instance that was going to affect him more than Mueller. Most of the SF warrant officers were ninety-day wonders, junior SF NCOs or even non-SF NCOs who were sent through a warrant officer's course to become the second-in-command of a team. In the new Special Forces, essentially reborn since the oncoming Posleen threat, when a veteran NCO has a problem with a junior officer, the junior officer goes. That tradition had wavered in the last couple of decades. But in the face of adversity old habits die hard.

«I don't see the problem. We build a firebase and secure it. We have a massive amount of building materials to draw on. This is a basic Special Forces mission. What is your problem, Sergeant?»

«It's not his problem solely, sir,» interjected Sergeant Major Mosovich, rather harshly. «I made some of the same points to High Command. They had the same attitude. Maybe you just have to see the Posleen in action to realize that this plan is pretty much pissing in the wind.»

«Yeah,» remarked Ersin. «I wouldn't mind if it made any sense. But it doesn't.»

«Pardon me, perhaps it's being a junior officer,» started Andrews, meaning «maybe it is my being a little more intelligent than you old fogies,» «but we just establish a strong outpost and slow the Posleen advance with indirect fire.»

«Yes, sir. And then what?» asked Mosovich. Mueller was uncharacteristically quiet, perhaps realizing how close he was to losing his cool.

«Well, then we E and E out, I suppose. If we can't escape or evade, we go down as hard as possible. It's happened before and it will happen again. Bataan, for example.»

«All right, sir. Point one, the Posleen do not slow in the face of indirect or, for that matter, direct fire. They move as fast under fire as not under fire. If you kill enough they stop but only because they're dead. Point two, there will be virtually no way to E and E out. The Posleen will closely invest the strong point and then probably overrun it with mass attacks. If we could build large curtain walls, maybe it would work, but I don't think we have the time and we couldn't supply it for a multiyear siege.» He paused and mentally counted.

«Point three, we don't know where they will be coming from or going to. They land more or less randomly and their objectives are more or less random. We will be a focal point for attack without any reasonable chance of killing enough to matter. Now, does the situation make a little more sense, sir?»

«I can't believe that the Posleen will be that great a threat, Sergeant Major,» said the warrant officer, somewhat smugly. «While I know you have experience fighting them, that was without fixed defenses. I think we should be able to hold them for a time and then escape.»

«Yeah, well, keep dreamin', Mister,» Mueller finally interjected, then walked away in disgust.

Ft. Indiantown Gap, PA, United States of America, Sol III

0900 EST January 22nd, 2004 ad

«For those of you just arrived, welcome to Bravo Company First Battalion Five-Fifty-Fifth Fleet Infantry, my name is Captain Michael O'Neal. And the unit you have joined is called the 'Triple-Nickle.' «

Mike looked the final draft of soldiers over. Already they were scattered through the formation, but they were noticeable by their BDUs and Gortex as opposed to the rest of the company's gray silks. They were also noticeable by being either female, or older than the norm or both. None of them were actually rejuvs, although most had been recalled out of the inactive reserve. Unlike the colonel, Mike had an AID and although the local personnel officers might not be able to call up 201s, he could. He had quickly perused the draft and was generally satisfied. He had a couple of hard cases, including one private second class who had been a sergeant not once but twice, but mostly they were good troops on paper. When he got done with them they would be better. Now for The Lecture, so that they would be absolutely clear where their company commander stood.

«If you're wondering, yes, I'm that Captain O'Neal. That is all I am going to say on the subject. What I am going to talk about you will hear me say today, and on numerous occasions until you have the unpleasant opportunity to see what I mean.

«Those of you, most of you, who have never been in combat, you are not ready for the Posleen. Those few of you who have previous combat experience, you are not ready for the Posleen. The way you fight Posleen, the way we will fight Posleen, is brutally simple. You get a good position, hunker down, call for all the artillery and mortar fire available and kill as many of them as you can until you are almost overwhelmed, then move as fast as you can back to the next position. Since the situation is a binary solution set, win or lose, there is only one choice. We will win. Whether any individual present survives to see that victory is going to be a combination of training and luck.» At the back of the formation he could see First Sergeant Pappas looking over the group. Mike suspected that the senior NCO was doing the same thing as Mike: scanning the group of mist-puffing soldiers and wondering where the losses would come from. Would it be the tall guy in Third platoon? The cut-up in First? The wiry, deadly Sergeant Stewart of fame and legend? Sergeant Ampele, his stolid antithesis? New guy? Old? Mike nodded internally and went on.

«Many of us are going to pay the ferryman. But, as George Patton said: 'Your job is not to die for your country. Your job is to make sure the other poor bastard dies for his country.' Do not concentrate on the ferryman, he will be there in the end for all of us, whether it is next week, on the plains of battle or at an advanced age at the hands of an outraged spouse.

«Until you meet the ferryman your only thought should be to kill Posleen. If you love your family, put them out of your mind. I have two daughters and a wife. Except in a small compartment deep within myself, I could care less. I live, breathe and eat killing the Posleen. Not because I particularly hate them, not because of Diess, but because anything less is not my all. We have to kill and kill and kill until there are no more Posleen. Until then no one is safe. Until then put away your emotions, unless hate helps you to drive on, and prepare for training harder than anything in your miserable lives.» Mike inhaled through his nose and felt the cold burn his sinuses. He couldn't wait to get suits!