Lysander wondered if he would be allowed in the situation room, but when he went there after breakfast the sentries saluted and let him pass. Despite the best efforts of the stewards and the air conditioning system, the conference room stank. Fear and excitement blended with stale tobacco and spilled coffee.
The scene inside hadn't changed from the night before. Intelligence NCOs bent over the big map table. The Officer of the Day sat in a high chair at one end of the room. Senior officers came in, examined the maps and spoke to the sergeants, and went out shaking their heads.
One thing had changed: now the map table showed the actual location of Frazer's patrols in green. In most cases that was all there was, but some patrols had shadow locations shown in yellow. Lysander frowned at the display, then finally asked one of the plot sergeants.
"That's what we're telling Barton, sir." The sergeant grunted in disgust. "'Cause of those traitors in the Governor's office, the rebels have been getting satellite reports all along. Mostly those'll just show big troop movements, they won't see the patrols, but once in a while they get lucky and see some of Captain Frazer's specials." The sergeant grinned. "Our turn now. Cap'n Alana fed in a program to jigger things so when the satellite does get a reading, the Government House computer reports the location a little off from where they really are. Can't hurt."
"No, I don't suppose it can. Thank you, Sergeant." Lysander leaned over the map and frowned. It couldn't be that simple. If they cut off all data, the rebels would get suspicious, but what if they sent patrols of their own to verify the satellite information? Rottermill must have thought all that out. Or Falkenberg himself.
Probably it didn't matter. Things would get settled soon or not at all. The basic situation was thoroughly simple: they knew where the borloi was kept. The problem was what to do about it. So far no one seemed to have thought of anything.
Someone's watch chirped the hour. In the next few minutes most of the senior staff came in to stare at the map table. The plot didn't tell them anything they hadn't known twelve hours earlier, but if anything was going to happen, they'd know it in the chart room before anyone else did.
"Do you all a world of good to go for a walk," Rottermill said.
"Sure would." Ian Frazer bent over the map table and eyed the distances between Rochemont and the nearest airfields.
"Report time," Rottermill said. "Swenson."
"Sir." Lieutenant Swensen adjusted her headset and nodded to the communications sergeants. It took nearly an hour for Frazer's SAS teams to make all their reports. As they did, Lieutenant Swensen fed their present and anticipated positions into the map computer. All twenty-three teams would converge on Rochemont, but not for several days.
There was a sudden hush as the projected position of Miscowsky's team appeared on the map.
"Get a confirmation on that," Captain Rottermill said automatically.
"Confirmed," Captain Frazer said. "Looks like the lads have found themselves river transport. Cooperation from the locals."
Captain Fast leaned down for another look. Then he straightened in decision. "Swensen, hang onto that contact." He touched buttons on the intercom. "Colonel, there's something here you ought to see."
Falkenberg was grinning when he came into the staff room. It was infectious. Soon everyone in the room was smiling.
"We've made several promises in the governor's name," Falkenberg said. "All worth it, I think. Headman Ledoux swears he can put twenty troopers and a fair amount of equipment in the Rochemont hills by dawn if we get them to the river early tonight. I've sent Miscowsky on ahead with Purdy as guide, so we'll have some forces on the spot no matter what happens. Of course they won't be able to do very much without reinforcements."
"I like it, John Christian," Major Savage said. "A good mortar team with complete surprise might just be able to take out a landing boat."
"I can see some problems," Captain Fast said carefully. He looked at Falkenberg. "With your permission, I'll reserve my comments for later, though."
"Looks better than anything else I've seen," Ian Frazer said. "Only problem is, I don't have twenty SAS troops left. In fact, I don't have any."
"Your regular scouts will do for this, Ian," Captain Fast said. "It's not like they'd have to stay out there for weeks."
"Harv and I will go," Lysander said quietly.
Everyone turned to look at him. There was silence for a moment. "Well, Your Highness, it could get a bit—" Frazer cut himself off.
Lysander smiled, not unkindly. "Captain, I don't know what notion you have of how princes of Sparta are brought up, but you might reflect on the name we've given our planet. Harv Middleton has spent the last couple of weeks teaching unarmed combat to your special forces troops, right?"
"Yes—"
"And they've learned from him, haven't they. Well, not to boast, but I can take him three falls in four."
"I—see," Frazer said.
"So that's settled," Lysander said. He thought he saw Falkenberg grin momentarily.
"Ian, I expect you ought to round up the other volunteers," Major Savage said. "Mortars and recoilless teams particularly wanted."
"You know, this just ought to work," Rottermill said. He grinned. "Legal, too. Provided they've put the borloi aboard the boat before we fire on it."
"Hadn't occurred to me," Major Savage said. "But yes, that could be important."
Falkenberg nodded slowly. "It could be critical. You can be sure Bronson's agents will file piracy charges. Let's make that an order, Ian. No one fires on the landing boat until we're certain a significant portion of the borloi is on board. If nothing else we'll make the governor's job a lot easier."
"Maybe we better reserve that decision for headquarters," Amos Fast said.
"Bit tricky," Rottermill said. "The field commander might not be able to communicate with headquarters."
"No, leave the authority in the field," Falkenberg said. "Just be sure the order's understood."
"Sir, why are you so sure they'll bring in the landing ship?" Captain Jesus Alana asked. "Mightn't they just transfer that crop to someplace else?"
Falkenberg smiled thinly. "Now that the observation satellites really belong to us, I hope they do."
"They're waiting for the harvest to finish," Rottermill said. "I don't know how long that will be."
"I don't either," Falkenberg said. "Time to help them decide. As soon as Captain Frazer's battle group is in place, we'll start an all-out assault on Rochemont." He pointed to a small island some fifty kilometers due south of the plantation. "Dragontooth Island. Appropriate name. This will be our assault base. Amos, we'll need all the transport we can get. Everything the governor can commandeer. We can't risk civilian craft in combat, of course; we'll use them to ferry gasoline and supplies for this operation. Rottermill, get your people started finding beaches, clearings—anything we can use as staging areas to move Second and Aviation Battalions to the island. From there Second will be well within striking range of Rochemont. Wait for final orders, but plan on starting the ferry operations not long after first light tomorrow. When this is done we'll have Aviation Battalion poised to run right down their throats."
"That should do it nicely," Captain Rottermill said. "Barton won't be able to stand just sitting back and watching us get into striking distance. He'll have to make his move. What's nice is that our troops won't have to hide—"
"I think it would be wise if they tried," Falkenberg said. "Barton will certainly see what we're doing. He'll know we can't possibly have thought we could hide an operation this size. He also knows we'd try our best to hide it anyway unless it's a feint, so that's what we'll do now. Best security you can manage. Act like this is all we can do."
Major Savage nodded. "Which it very nearly is. If we hadn't known about the landing ship, we wouldn't have had much choice."
"The one thing we do hide, of course, is that the whole operation is aimed straight at Rochemont," Falkenberg said. "What I want Barton to believe is that we're trying to outmaneuver him by placing a sizable force behind his lines. Given that strategy, Rochemont is an obvious target, but there are others." He indicated ranches dotted along the bay. "We don't single out Rochemont."
Captain Fast nodded. "Yes, sir."
Falkenberg turned to Major Savage. "Jeremy, I want you to do a second operation for cover. Overland assault with swamp boogies in the southeastern sector. This one really is a feint. After the first few hours we don't mind if they know that, but at the start it has to look real. Just look real, mind you, we don't want casualties. Steady troops on this, you'll roll through some of the most productive land on Tanith, and I don't want needless damage. I'd prefer none at all."
"There shouldn't be much," Captain Fast said. "That part's all right, Barton will fall back to regroup. If it goes on very long there could be some hard fighting, but we'll control that."
"If it goes on very long, we'll all be broke," Captain Alana said.
"So will Barton," Major Savage said. "I'll try to be frugal, Jesus."
"All right, Amos," Falkenberg said. "You say this part's all right. You don't like the rest."
"No, sir, I don't. And I'm not dead sure why."
Falkenberg looked around the table. "Who else doesn't like it?"
"I don't, sir," Peter Owensford said. "The problem is that the whole thing hangs on Ace Barton's cooperation."
"I'm afraid that's true," Major Savage said. "But have we any choice? Everything else we've thought of is a sure loss. This operation has surprise, and that means it has a chance. Barton can't possibly know we've found out about his ship, and he certainly has no reason to believe we know about Rochemont."
"How about this?" Captain Owensford said. "We go in. Barton calls in a landing boat and starts loading it up. You can be damned sure he'll put every last one of his troops on alert. He knows we have SAS teams out in the bush."
The others nodded agreement.
"He gets the stuff aboard. Or he gets something aboard. No way for our people to tell what. Eventually there's enough that we get worried, and our mortar teams open up. Say they're lucky. They cripple the landing boat without sinking it—"
"That's not luck," Ian Frazer said. "Just good shooting."
"Okay, Ian, and I believe your scouts are up to that," Owensford said. "But Barton will be ready for them. He's got to be. First salvo, he'll have his counterbatteries working."
"Well, we know that," Frazer said. "So our lads shoot and duck fast. Won't be a picnic—"
"Picnic be damned," Owensford said. "The troops can take care of themselves. Most of them should survive. Their mortars won't. Now what happens when the second landing boat comes in?"
"Second boat," Ian Frazer said, nodding slowly.
"Is that what was bothering you, Amos?" Falkenberg asked.
"Yes, sir. Except I hadn't thought it through as well as Captain Owensford did. But he's got it. We won't have any way at all to knock out a second boat."
"We don't know there is a second boat," someone muttered.
"We sure as hell don't know there isn't one," Amos Fast said. "It's not usual for a tramp freighter, but Norton Star's hardly an ordinary tramp."
The others watched as Ian Frazer bent over the map table. Finally he straightened. "It's close all right, but it's not hopeless. Stash some helicopters in Ledoux's village. When the first lander comes in, we send in the choppers. Time it right and one of them will be in position to knock out the second lander—"
"If it gets through. It certainly will never get out," Captain Alana said. "And it'll take every credit we have to replace Aviation Battalion."
"It's worse than that," Amos Fast said. "We can't just start shooting at the second lander. It won't have any borloi aboard."
"It will by the time a CD inspector sees it," Rottermill muttered.
"You know," Frazer said, "maybe it would make sense to reverse things. Try to knock out the first landing ship with the choppers, and leave the recoilless teams as a surprise for the second. We do have those Sea Skimmer missiles. Maybe it's time to use them."
"Makes sense," Rottermill said. "But—"
"But—" Captain Jesus Alana repeated firmly. "Do you know what those birds cost?"
"What the hell good are they if we never use them?" Frazer demanded. "We've been saving them for the right mission. This is it."
"I agree. Hang the expense. Sometimes there's no choice," Peter Owensford said.
"Sometimes there isn't," Major Savage agreed. "Colonel, shall we send the Skimmers out to Dragontooth? Thank you. All right, Jesus, you've got the word."
"Yes, sir," Alana's voice held no enthusiasm.
"We may not need them," Savage said. "Let's not concede anything just yet. Especially since Barton knows we have those missiles. He just may have set up defenses. We'll know when Miscowsky's lads get in place."
"I've seen situations I like better," Owensford said.
"But maybe this is the best we can do."
There was a long silence. "Anyone else have suggestions?" Falkenberg asked.
"Not just now," Savage said. He tamped tobacco into a large pipe. "Seems to me that Ian is on the right track. The mortar and recoilless teams will be our biggest surprise. We ought to save that surprise until it's needed most. What we need is a cheaper way to knock out the first assault boat."
"Of course there may not be a second one," Lysander said softly.
Falkenberg put on his spectacles and bent over the map table. "Amos, what time is our next contact with Miscowsky's group?"
"Well, they're supposed to stop and listen for messages every two hours—about forty minutes."
"Good. I want to talk to Etienne Ledoux."
"Got an idea, John Christian?"
"Just may, Jeremy. I just may. Meanwhile, someone find me the best expert on local conditions we have here at the base."
"Fuller, I'd think," Amos Fast said.
"Right. Fuller it is. Although if we have anyone who's lived near the coast—wasn't there a recruit from the jungle villages?"
"Purdy. Ledoux's nephew," Ian Savage said. "He's out with Miscowsky's team."
"Yes, of course. Anyone else like that? Anyway, send Fuller to my office, and then ask McClaren to pick three men and come see me about equipment."
"McClaren? Colonel, you're not going in there—" Ian Frazer was shocked.
"I think I will," Falkenberg said.
"But Colonel—"
Falkenberg's smile was cold. "Your concern is noted, Captain."
"Yes, sir."
"Mr. Prince, I'd be pleased if you would accompany me as my aide. And your korpsbruder, of course."
"Thank you, sir."
"Right. Amos, I'll be in my office in five minutes. Carry on." Falkenberg strode to the door.
"Christ, that's torn it," Ian Frazer muttered. He lifted his personal communicator card. "Centurion Yaguchi. Get my orderly. We'll be going into the field tonight."
"I doubt that, Ian," Major Savage said.
"Sir?"
"He isn't going to let you go out there."
"Damn it, Jeremy— Look, you talked me out of it before, but this time I'm going to do it, I swear, next Regimental Council I'm going to—"
"No you won't," Savage said. "You'd lose, and the colonel wouldn't accept that kind of restriction if you won the vote. Be logical, Ian. Everything's cut and dried now. We're needed here to handle the details. The key command decisions will be made out there." Major Savage shrugged. "If the colonel weren't going, I would be. Rather nice of him to spare me that."
"Yeah. Look, you don't mind if I worry about him?"
"We can all do that. If you think you're upset, imagine what Sergeant Major is going to say. I doubt John Christian will be taking him, either." Savage nodded to Lysander. "Sorry you had to hear all this—"
"Glad I did, sir. Now if you'll excuse me, I've some arrangements I'd best see to."
"Carry on, Mr. Prince."