Title: Simply, Planning Authors: Will Keith / A. P. Selene Trooper Thaleia was an elite soldier and officer of the Doberman Empire, a secret military organization dedicated to eradicating an evil the likes of which few normal people would wish to know. Its tools were the most advanced technology in the world, and its techniques included parasciences bordering on the godlike. She was at a gathering of the best of her side in this war, having earned this place through potential and demonstrated ability. She possessed unparalleled skills with computers of all kinds, as if they were an extension of her own brain. And she'd just broken her pencil. Again. "'Linkers only," they'd said. "Anything that's not coded and/or shielded, you don't turn on. There's an enemy base not five miles away and the less noise we make, audio, radio, or otherwise, the better." So she promised not to scream. Instead, she quietly asked Warrior Jambavan's permission to pause a moment while she pulled out a small utility knife and resharpened it. The pencil, that is. But if she broke it much more, the knife would need sharpening too. He granted it, of course. DE's supply runs were well under way, and Jambavan's responsibilities were minimal until the general meeting this afternoon. He was making sure they were getting enough in, weren't overpaying merchants, and had enough of sundry non-food supplies. They were somewhat short-handed on support personnel, so in addition to getting some top-quality first-aid kits(nothing like a replacement for medics) and some good strong radios(nothing like a replacement for com officers), he'd asked her to assist him. "Oh yes," he said, "and make sure to have DobeIntel check back after we've left. We're buying a lot of different items, and I want them to confirm that the cover stories are matching and verifiable." She obligingly noted it on the list; Jambavan came up with possible problems and probable solutions almost in the same breath, it seemed. She asked, "Should we pay some especial attention to the arms dealers?" "No. We bought very little ammo, most of us brought our own. On the other hand, the local power co-op is looking askance at our story that we're pulling all that current with special equipment to test a new microwave power-transmission system for KSU, even with Burdoo's friends there. If they look in our little building and see a bunch of very weird weapons being fully charged, they're going to ask questions. Hm." "Pay 'em double?" He laughed. "Mooney would have fits." He thought this over for a moment, then smiled. "I see no drawbacks to that plan. Do it." She shifted the clipboard, with pinpoint accuracy clipping off the fresh point of her pencil. Jambavan saw it and mercifully changed his mind. "On second thought, don't worry about it. We can tell Intel to cover it if anyone asks. It'll be a moot point anyway; tomorrow's the day we attack." Thaleia nearly dropped the clipboard. "Are you sure? Did you hear something?" "Not exactly. But I'm to have us stocked up by tomorrow morning, so we're not going in today, and from the information we have, the Generator activates at midnight tomorrow." "Oh." Feeling a little foolish, Thaleia said, "Deduced anything else relevant?" Jambavan cocked his head, then looked at her. "Relevant? Who knows? I'll tell you this. I didn't score any protoculture, I didn't purchase parts for any siege weapons, and electrical equipment suitable for a mecha was not on my shopping list. /Your/ deduction?" She stared at him and thought for a moment. "That this fight is going to be up close and personal. Bloody. In your face." "'Hand-to-hand' or 'Close Quarters Battle' are the more technical terms I would have applied, but your phrases are considerably more evocative of the results. This isn't the big boys' fight. We have one Centurion, one TRES XO, and an LoD Colonel, and that's it in the way of brass. None of them are mysterious strangers, partial deities, touched by White Death, or otherwise from beyond the Veil. On the other hand, every one of us is the pick of the Jihad's ranks, because we were the ones in the field who'd successfully won that little part of the battle we chose. "Looking at it another way, we have a dragon, a psionic entity, and a VRDET Private who's more than she thinks, and that's it in the way of nonhumans. On our enemies' side, the Purple Pestilence is still dead, the dance is being sung by a human Wyrm-Minion, and Lyrans haven't appeared at a single stage of the process. Humans have been doing the work, humans are the target, and humans are responsible for the ultimate conclusion." Jambavan looked off into the distance. "Sometimes I suspect that, with all the unique individuals in the Jihad and all the weirdness of the Purple Forces, this is really the way it's supposed to be." Thaleia agreed internally. Somehow it felt right. "Who's the VRDET Private?" "You mean who was she." Jambavan became aware of what he'd just said. "I shouldn't have mentioned her. She's... pretty much resolved. Try to forget about it." He shook his head. "I'll take that back, because I know you won't just forget. Look, let's just say that she'll probably be posthumously decorated." "Oh." An awkward silence descended, in which the background sounds of the encampment rustled past them. A pair of running footsteps came toward them. Looking toward the encampment, they found it was Trooper Cecrops, the Trooper who'd been selected to communicate between the DE section and other JAOs, as well as the C&C(on the same principle as earlier, runners being quieter than radios). He slid to a halt on the dry soil and saluted, right hand to a lightly bandaged head(he'd been healing well from the blow a Brother of Grimace had given him to 'ease' his transport from his last assignment). "Sir, Thaleia." He snapped down. "General meeting's been called for 5 P.M. today in front of the C&C tent." "Thank you, Trooper. At ease." Cecrops thankfully complied. "Inform the Centurion and the Commander that I, Trooper Thaleia, and you will be in attendance for the DE - or will you have other responsibilities?" "No, sir. Centurion Selene says to remind you that she intends to reinstate the right order of precedence... sir?" He made it a question, wondering what she'd meant. "Tell her she can feel free, but she'll need to be there early if Trooper Thaleia has anything to say about it. Probably drag me there by the ear." Cecrops saluted and headed back toward the C&C at top speed. "And walk, boy!" Jambavan called after him. "It's not that big a rush..." Cecrops either didn't hear or didn't choose to interpret the statement as a order. "Hmph," Jambavan muttered. "In such a hurry all the time. Makes people forget things." He resettled himself, standing self-confidently upright and giving every impression of slouching like someone intending to sleep there. Thaleia simply fixed the pencil and duly noted, "4:55 - Drag Warrior Jambavan to General Meeting. Recommend doing so by left ear." The LoD had the most people encamped, but the fewest people in camp. Colonel Rick Sanford listened as the wide perimeter ring manned by much of the LoD's personnel sent out landing signals and entrance routes through pseudorandomized calls to still-incoming people. Captain Mitchell worked across the small card table from him, checking and rechecking figures on what had been coming in. "Rate of incoming people is increasing, but DE saw fit to buy extra, so we should have just enough to feed everyone if the rate of increase stays linear." "What's our total manpower projected to be by noon tomorrow?" "'Bout five thousand." "Ouch." Under normal conditions, five thousand people could barely take over and hold Podunk, Tennessee. Some sort of a super-secret Regional Base for the Purple Forces? Centurion and Commander closeted in C&C better have come up with one sizzling plan. Speaking of which, Rick was responsible for at least one element thereof. He switched channels from the air traffic controllers and contacted the _Lydia_, bouncing the signal off a satellite since she was under the horizon for now. "Bridge?" "Bridge here, Colonel." "What's the progress?" No need to say on what. "Altering the firing frequencies for best power transmission through atmosphere was the easy part, Colonel. And Gunnery doesn't have any problem staying accurate to sufficient precision, although Nav and Engineering are working to make the stationkeeping thrusters work more smoothly. The problem is adjusting the sensors. We're just not sure what to look for." "You got Commander Keith's instructions right?" "Yes sir. But dang if I believe him. Why should a piece of pure silicon dioxide contract just because we show it a distorted picture of an illusion which should look the same anyway?" "Hell if I know. It's not my field. But you are doing it?" "Yes sir, we've synthesized the crystal and have set up the display system. Also, your idea on using your own sensor and amplifying it worked beautifully. The Main Generator /is/ in that area, but even fine-tuning for an hour or so we can only narrow it down to a few square miles." "At least it's another piece of evidence we're not chasing a wild goose. Keep at it with the sensor display. Run a check on it if you want. Have a Jihad base below you set up a similar illusion and make sure it works." "Yes, sir. Anything else?" "Not really. Wish you were here." "Sentiment echoed, sir. _Lydia_ out." "Sanford out." He turned to Mitchell. "Have you figured out any kind of a way to get our soldiers in to base for the assault?" "Sure. When we have the opportunity to do so, we contact Command and have them give the orders we're giving now. Voila, no need for us to chivvy the incoming folks." "Then we risk exposing the position of the assault encampment to any and all intelligence leaks the Jihad has." "We already did that by sending out the call to come here. Any moles must not have had the opportunity to get there. Besides, we sent the call to field personnel, and an intelligence agent usually gains a more central position." "I'd prefer not to give them a second opportunity." He thought for a moment, scratching his chin. "How's about this: send a new command. No More Entries. The Job is Filled." "What? Why for?" Sanford doublechecked a few figures and started scribbling. "The number of people we have manning the perimeter is greater than the number you said we'd gain through tomorrow. We simply keep people from coming in. We withdraw our perimeter troops and let them join our own forces here. The message to the remainder of incomers instructs them to stay several miles outside of us. That way we free up more manpower, keep incomers from revealing our position, and set up a loose perimeter watch all at the same time." "Your efficiency never ceases to amaze me, sir." "You've known me for two days, Captain." "Give it time, then." Sanford put the finishing touches of legibility on the message and smiled. "I'll suggest it to the co-coms at the meeting this afternoon." Actually, there was no such military abbreviation; but then, there was a lot of stuff being done on the fly here. Running footsteps approached the tent. Through the open flaps, Sanford saw the approach of the DE-C&C go-between. Hey, might as well do it now. He called out. "Trooper Cecrops, isn't it?" The figure slowed and stopped, adopting the Jihad-wide "you're a pretty high up dude, but not in /my/ JAO" position of respectful attention. "Yes, sir." "Are you heading for C&C?" "Yes, sir." "Would you do a mere LoD officer a favor and give them this?" Cecrops took the paper. "Yes, sir." His salute was light, barely sketched but present. He then took off again toward the center of the camp. Different voices from the 'Linker on the hillside said the same thing. "No activity." "No activity." "No activity." The reports from the watch teams were the same as they had been most hours since they began. Nothing had been sighted threatening the encampment boundary. Nothing had entered or left the illusion-cloaked great gates to which Commander Keith had led the first watch team that first day, at least nothing visible from the various encircling positions TRES had taken up. Nothing had been sighted leaving the area in which they knew the secondary cargo gate to be, although they had not come within "sight" of the gate itself - the flat land hereabouts made concealment of the watch teams a difficult proposition. They had had to make the best use they could of low rises, shallow dips, and distant stands of sparse trees. Theoretically, a vehicle could have gotten through the gaps in their total visibility, but it would have had to have taken one of several winding courses for no very good reason. In general, though, trucks would leave the small gate and head reasonably directly to the nearest road. There were far fewer than she would have suspected it usually took to run a base this size; doubtless Rhyn was, relative to normal operations, hunkered down and shut up tight. A few had come down the road without coming out either gate, which was of course evidence that more gates existed than they knew about. It would have been a real asset to find them, but the damnable thing was that they couldn't, of course, go searching for them - a scout team could walk within five feet of a set of security cameras and blow the whole operation. So they watched and waited. At the moment, Commander Burdoo was engaged in the use of some strategically-placed TRES tarps and poles as a shelter over a small bend of river to maintain the same strict personal standards of health she was holding every other member of TRES to. Much of soldiering was waiting, but empty waiting quickly led to boredom and boredom to slackness and inalertness. Training exercises were mostly out of the question except for hand-to-hand weaponless, so strict adherence to standards had to be maintained. It didn't exactly endear her to her subordinates, but that wasn't the point. The point was trying to figure out how to get TRES people out alive, hopefully not at the expense of other JAOs. The fact of the matter was that though Will Keith had been temporarily - probably, if successful, permanently - raised to equal her rank of Commander and was currently her CO, he was leading with Centurion Selene all the forces of this little picnic. TRES was her responsibility, and she had to balance TRES survival with the mission objective. As she exited the stream and started to towel her hair, she pondered. What would be TRES's role in the upcoming assault? She knew Commander Keith had spoken with Colonel Rick Sanford about the use of some siege weapons. She knew that the assault would be some time tomorrow, and that sufficient plan had been formed that a meeting was prepared for 5:00 today. Turning her examination to the TRES forces, they were almost exclusively infantry, the general method of arrival being either by air(the vehicle then being removed for further use, since the closest airstrip was an interstate quite some ways away, not that air would have been any use save perhaps for whatever they intended to use siege weapons for), or by personal lightly- or non-weaponed vehicle, now stored in camp or nearby. TRES did have a tendency to "carpool" as well, which reduced their medium-to-heavy equipment further. Positive side, they did have variously-armored troops and good strong weapons. Best suited for foot combat, then. Which were likely to be the front line of assault, and also among the heaviest of casualties. She thoughtfully finished drying in the half-sunlight of the tarps and commenced dressing. On the other hand, they had a higher proportion of personnel trained and cross-trained for support positions, which any assault would be badly in need of, and which would usually /not/ be in the front lines. Therefore, the objectives of both efficient use of resources for mission and a higher TRES survival rate would be served by volunteering lighter-equipped and cross-trained TRES personnel for the badly-needed support positions and recommending that the more heavily-equipped infantry be assigned to the likely foot assault. She finished dressing and stepped out of the tarps, nodding an acknowledgement to the two guards stationed there. She started to make a mental note to visit the watch positions, then decided to do it now. Much of the day remained until the general meeting that afternoon. Calling a couple of personal guards, she took off. The way to the watch positions was a rambling path through the lowest-visibility areas of the intervening country, starting within the camp. She passed through the TRES area and into LoD space on the lower stretch of plains on the eastern edge. A DE officer ran by her at top speed, bearing a paper. A Trooper, apparently, heading for C&C. If she planted the seed of the idea as early as possible, it probably couldn't hurt. "Trooper!" He halted, hesitated for a moment, and then turned around, falling into standard attention. "Yes, Commander?" "Are you heading to C&C?" "Yes, Commander." "Please send a message to Commander Keith, that should the issue come up, recall TRES' considerable cross-training policy, and tell him that Commander Burdoo wishes to volunteer TRES forces for the support positions I know we are in need of." "Yes, ma'am." "That's all." He saluted and turned back to continue. Commendable hustle. Jennifer returned to her own duties. Trooper Cecrops took a breather outside the C&C tent for just a minute. In Grimace's name, he was communicating for the DE, not the entire Jihad! He stood up, mentally reviewing all of his messages. Jambavan acknowledges, give the paper to the officers for LoD Colonel Sanford - he looked down to make sure it was still there - and Commander Burdoo of TRES volunteers officers for support positions. Check. He stepped in to the tent. Both officers were there, absorbed in comparing one of the LoD lists of arrived personnel to a 'Linker display of dossiers on many of them. There was a very long list of names on one side of the screen, and some very small piles of slips of paper with names on them to their right. The two were obviously discussing something relating to the placement of troops in the field. New to the DE as he was, Cecrops nevertheless felt a tad uncomfortable at seeing a Centurion sitting on a TRES Commander's lap. He knocked quietly on the tent's doorpost. Both of them looked up, but Selene addressed him. "Yes, Trooper?" She showed no signs of being in any way discomfited, or, for that matter, of getting up. Well, if she was fine with it, blam' if he'd show any worry. "Warrior Jambavan acknowledges receipt of your message concerning the time for the general meeting this afternoon. To your personal message, he replies that you will have to be there early if Trooper Thaleia has anything to say about it." She chuckled at that. "Colonel Rick Sanford gave me this message for you." He stepped forward, and Commander Keith took it. He looked it over, one eyebrow cocking. "Finally, Commander Burdoo of TRES Corps wishes to remind Cmdr. Keith -" he looked up - "of TRES' considerable cross-training policy, and to let you know that she wishes to volunteer TRES forces for the support positions we need." Selene looked at Will. He said, "Yes, it's true; you know we need them, and TRES cross-trains somewhat moreso than other JAOs. Kappa Squad, especially." Selene turned to the list of personnel. "We could certainly use a few more people who know how to use a-" she recalled Cecrops. "Oh, thank you, Trooper. You can return to your duties - if we need you, we'll call." He gave a half-hearted salute and turned to go. "Oh, I almost forgot. You're the new recruit, right?" The Trooper nodded, not sure what she was getting at. Selene fished a plastic card out of her pocket and handed it to him with a short stack of papers before continuing. "You can use this card for now, it'll work as your DobeID[tm] until we can get you a permanent one." She grinned, "you can also get all sorts of freebies with it at the O'Club or any MickeyD's... so keep that in mind. You can give the papers to Warrior Jambavan... tell him I said to be sure you get your Linker[tm] by tonight as well as a field uniform." Cecrops nodded again, still looking at the card in his hand. "Thanks, ma'am." He slipped out through the door. *There. I'd say Jambavan will have plenty to keep him busy for the next few hours at least.* The dragon sounded confused. *Why do you say that?* *It usually, due to the damned bureaucracy in the Treasury, takes about two weeks to get the funds for supplies for newbies... unless you're Samhain of course. Besides, we can't have officers going into battle wearing junk like he was... it's not right.* Selene returned her thoughts to the present. "Sorry about that, Will. It was something that I had forgotten to take care of earlier. Now where were we... " She glanced down at the list in her hands. "Oh, yeah. I was going to remark that we could definitely use a few more people who know how to use a medkit. Three in the real assault force would probably be our best bet. Since we decided to limit our numbers to thirty, each support personnel takes up another desperately needed soldier. Three should be sufficient to work quickly between fire fights, hold down fatalities, and keep our wounded walking." Will started a search. "I'll look through the TRES people encamped, and check training records. I should have remembered that myself." "What were you cross-trained as?" "A lot. Kappa performs a wide range of functions, and a researcher has to be aware of multiple fields. Com officer, weapons repair, and I personally chose desponge techniques. Combining all three, I once made a despongifier out of a vacuum-tube radio, a small electric motor, a laser range-finder, and a Pink Floyd CD." "What, in the field?" "No, just the lab." "Did it work?" "I needed to remachine a couple gears from the tuning knob, but yeah." The search completed. "We've got our three medical officers, all from TRES." "I'll add 'em to the list." Three more slips joined a pile. "What was the message from Rick?" "A pretty good idea for security. Take a look." He passed her the message. "It looks sound... and will give us some real numbers to work with before this afternoon. I'll contact HQ." "I'll inform the runner to LoD." With some regret, Selene slipped off his knee so Will could go to the runners' area. TBC in "Counting Heads"