World War III

He knew he’d hurt the strike force. He’d killed or wounded probably thirty men and crippled if not destroyed the rocket-launching vehicle. Maybe they could patch it up. It didn’t matter. It would cost them time. They’d be much more cautious now. They’d move slower. But the price he’d paid was staggering. Two of his four choppers were out of action — half his air force. He’d lost two pilots in the Huey that went down plus two thousand rounds of precious ammunition. A pilot in the second attack Huey was badly wounded and the chopper itself was no longer useful — the bullet-riddled fuselage attested to the miracle that it had returned at all. He’d lost nine men in his infantry — two killed, seven wounded. It wasn’t a terribly high casualty count until you considered that he’d only used thirty men in the first skirmish; that’s as many as he could cram into two choppers. Thirty percent casualties against three or four percent for his enemy weren’t terrific statistics, no matter what he’d accomplished. He’d irritated them and that’s about all he’d done. They weren’t stopped and they weren’t turning back. What they were was angry, Caffey thought. And waiting eagerly for the next time.

These were the things he’d explained in tonight’s briefing. He took a long breath when he asked for questions.

“Sir, nobody’s mentioned it, but… what about our families?” It was the lieutenant who’d asked if the plan would work the day before. “I know it sounds irrelevant, considering what’s happening up here, but some of us were due to go home two days ago. I don’t want to go back until we’ve done our jobs, and I know our families don’t know what we’re actually doing, but… what do they think we’re doing here?”

“They’ve been told exactly the truth, Lieutenant.” Caffey offered a tiny smile. “You’ve been snowed in by the weather. -. and you’re all eating well and getting exercise.”

There was some laughter.

“How much longer can we keep it up, sir?”

“Until the weather breaks,” Caffey said. “Until we run out of ammo or the people to use it.”

The laughter died away.

“We did well this morning. But it wasn’t enough. We’ll do it again and again. We’ll keep on giving them hell until we get some support… and I honestly don’t know when that will be. The enemy knows we’re

here now and they know we’ll be back. We kicked them in the ass and hurt their pride. The next time around it won’t be so easy. They’ll be watching for us. And our supplies are not unlimited, as you know.

We have less than we had yesterday and more than we’ll have tomorrow. We can’t fight them and we can’t ignore them and I don’t think they’re going to surrender to us, so we have to be smarter. And quicker. And more deadly. We also have a serious handicap in that we’re down to two choppers. That means we use one for transport and one to cover our withdrawal.” Caffey glanced at the chief pilot.

“That means strafing attacks on the column are out. Their firepower is too concentrated. But at least we shouldn’t have to contend with their rocket-launcher. That’s a plus for our side. Another plus is they’ll be stopping earlier to set up camp so they can put out perimeter patrols. That works for us for two reasons: first, they’ll be forced to use more men in a round-the-clock perimeter guard, which means they’ll get tired from being so alert; and, second, because we’re not going to hit them at night. We’ll set up ambushes farther down the trail, then hightail it out. We’re not exactly the Muhammed Ali in this situation, but we will float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.” He clipped a map over the blackboard.

“Sergeant Parsons knows this area better than any man present. He’s also the only one among you with extensive combat time. If there are no objections, I’m making him my XO in the field.” Caffey glanced at Cordobes. “Captain?”

“None from me, sir. Johnny ran things pretty much anyway.”

Caffey nodded. “Good.” He turned to the Eskimo. “Sergeant Parsons, with the authority vested in me, etcetera, etcetera, I hereby grant you a field commission as lieutenant in the United States Army. You’re now an officer and a gentleman, which means you can use the officer’s latrine without asking permission.”

Several of the NCOs cheered.

Parsons stood and waved his charges into obedient silence.

“All right, Sa — Lieutenant. Let’s strategize.” Caffey pointed at the map. “Given the best conditions and figuring that our friends don’t have another breakdown, find me the best spot to locate a choke-point ambush that’s at least five miles forward of — he pointed to a grease-penciled X on the map—”their present position.”

Parsons studied the map several moments. The room was quiet except for the sound of the wind outside.