GWOT VI - Pandemonic

GWOT VI - Pandemonic

I am busy running a war.

I don't need distractions.

But yet my job necessarily involves a lot of distractions.

I can automate most of the problems.

I have Red Ball Express running us as much as we can from the north.

I have Camp O'Wheat and the tiny air bridge, closely monitored by something floating in air that very few people in Iowa knows exists.

I have running and gunning, with an angry and overwhelmed infantry captain doing his job by keeping them fueled, loaded, repaired and replacing the wounded (and the dead) with more troops.

I have scouts and intel assets all over Iowa.

I even have a seed crystal of refugee government forming. The Christian genocidaires had to call their victims "Gs" for Refugees. Well, some names stuck, and the new government of Refuge - formed by refugees, run by refugees, and taking its legitimacy at gunpoint - is rapidly becoming a factor.

Today's agenda involves three items.

1) A city council member and a police officer have driven out from Council Bluffs to demand the return of their kidnapped medical professionals. No. But I'm going to deliver that 'no' in such a way that they have nightmares and flashbacks forever, with video running. Two words: hospital tour.

2) Red Lion wants to talk to me. My normal answer is fuck 'em too busy. But they are my national aid society, and much as Attorney Sanchez despises me, if she actually wants to talk to me, I'd better listen for a minute or two.

3) My nominal boss in the UN deployment, Colonel Meeta, (but not really) has sent one of his officers to talk to me. That's not going to go well. If he plays nicely, he can go back to report failure.

I decide to let our Psychological Operations person take the first, after my pro forma refusal. I signal that it's OK for the politician to enter the tent.

She's still disheveled from body search. The cop is furiously angry so he doesn't get to see me. He'll get his weapons back if he calms down.

"You demanded to see me. You're seeing me. No."

She is still saying something when she is hustled out. Not listening, don't care.

Now for Red Lion. Wow. I've always seen Sanchez angry. I've never seen her wooden.

"Major. I am required to inform you as a combatant of a change in the humanitarian conditions."

I nod.

"Cholera has broken out in at least seven camps."

Oh. Shit.

Quite literally. That's how cholera kills. You shit yourself to death.

However, it's a net factor favoring California, because my troops are immunized and none of the locals are.

If I don't care about the refugees.

And I do.

"What do you need from us?"

"Help."

"Can't."

"Figured. Security?"

"Maybe."

We are talking the shorthand of our shared profession, which is doing stuff on battlefields.

"Log?"

"Not beyond what we are already doing. Maybe a little more effort on water."

"Can I recruit Gs?"

"Sure."

She seems surprised.

"But not my auxiliary troops. You can take people who won't carry a gun or a stick for me."

"OK."

"Talk to Ops. You or a designate start coming to briefings. I will send a liasion to yours."

We are going to be running parallel fights. That means we need to work together.

Red Lion wants to avoid active combat areas. And minefields. And dropped bridges.

I want to give them what little help I can. That can be as little as dropping off full water cans on the way out to the battle. But even that can save lives.

She didn't waste my time. I didn't waste hers. She moves out.

Now for my third problem.

I have hated arrogant junior officers ever since I first became one myself.

The Indian lieutenant does nothing to correct my impressions.

I give him three minutes.

He wastes it. I won't waste yours.

He basically thinks I'm subordinate to his boss, and that his job is to chew me out for his boss.

He's so wrong it hurts.

Him.

"Lieutenant, shut the fuck up," I say mildly as he is in mid-word.

This is my first reply to him.

He doesn't notice.

I motion to my orderly.

"MAJOR SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!" booms out.

His face is comical, flicking back and forth between us.

I take control of the pause.

"Lieutenant. I reported to your Colonel on arrival in Iowa. He ignored me. I reported to him again. He nearly shot me. Then he kept ignoring me until I had to deploy on my own.

"You're not in my chain. You're not an ally. You're affirmatively neutral at best, and possibly hostile. I note that you've established liasion with the Xtian forces in your area, but you haven't with me.

"So as one combatant officer to another, I'm going to warn you and your Colonel once. The safety of the California soldiers under my command is totally non negotiable. If you or your equipment are used against us, I will classify you as hostile and I will destroy you without compunction."

Now he looks shocked.

"You weren't blindfolded. You're welcome to share your observations with your Colonel. My advice to you is to look the fuck around and notice what you see. Take notes. Study hard. Lives depend on you. Not the lives of my troops. The lives of yours. Because I guaran-fucking-tee the Xtian militia will soon decide to light you the fuck up and steal your tubes.

"Dismissed, Lieutenant."

He is still staring. I motion again.

"MAJOR SAID GET THE FUCK OUT."

He is walked out, still stunned.

I really, really wish the Indians hadn't sent an artillery unit.

If I had the only mortars in Iowa, this would be a very different fight.

But we fight the fights we have, not the ones we wish we had.

###

Amazingly enough, the medical POWs took a vote.

They voted to stay here with the California troops and help.

On video.

Damn.

Maybe there is hope for Iowa yet.