“Right,” said Kowacs. “The Carol Ann Fugate and the Ladybird Johnson will land as close to the perimeter as they can. The One-Twenty-second is responsible for the west half—”
That portion of the hologram brightened.
“—and the One-Twenty-third handles the rest. Kamens and Eckland think their companies are nearly as good as mine—”
The back of Kowacs’ mind wore a smile at the scene in Admiral Mayne’s office, when he and his fellow company commanders had been told their assignments.
“—so I guess they’ll be able to take care of the job.”
“Ah, sir?” said Atwater, his eyes narrowed on the completely-highlighted perimeter of the slave compound. “Ah—where will we be?”
“The Bonnie Parker sets down on the roof of the admin building,” Kowacs said quietly.
He didn’t bother to change the hologram; everyone else in the bay was staring at the face of their commander, including the platoon leaders who’d already been briefed on the plan. “You’re the best there is in the Fleet, Marines. Anybody doubts you, tell him suck on that.”
Nobody said anything at all.
“Yeah, well,” Kowacs continued after a moment. “Your platoon leaders will give you your individual assignments in a moment. Ah—”
He looked out over his company. “Ah, I have been ordered to, ah, emphasize to you that the high command considers Khalian prisoners to be a first priority of all the Target landings, this one included.”
He cleared his throat. “Any questions before I turn you over to your platoon leaders?”
“You mean you want us to bring in weasels alive, Cap’n?” Dodd blurted in amazement.
Beside Dodd sat Sergeant Bradley, who acted as Kowacs’ field first—company headquarters, headed by the Table of Organization ‘First Sergeant,’ was back on Port Tau Ceti, forwarding supplies, mail, and replacements to the company. Bradley was a man of middle height; his flesh was drawn so tightly over his bones that the pink keloid, replacing his hair since a too-near plasma burst, did not appear unusual.
Now he turned to Dodd, lifted the junior non-com’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, and said very distinctly, “Did he say that, dickhead?”
“No, Sergeant,” Dodd whispered.
Bradley faced front with the disdain of a fisherman releasing an undersized catch.
“Any other—”
“Sir?” said Atwater crisply. His arm was lifted but only the index finger was raised, a compromise between courtesy and honor. “Will there be some feints to draw off Khalian forces in the area before we go in?”
Kowacs nodded, but that was a comment on the cogency of the question, not a response to it.
“There’s concern,” he said carefully, “that when the Khalians realize that we’ve landed on their homeworld, their first reaction will be to execute their slaves. Therefore—”
He paused, too clearly aware of the Marines he was leading. This would be a suicide mission if the general invasion timing were off by an hour, maybe even by a few minutes.
“Therefore,” Kowacs continued, “a ground-attack ship will go in ahead of us to prep the defenses. We—the assault component—will follow at a three-second interval. No other Alliance forces will be committed to Target until we’re on the ground.”
“Fuckin’ A,” somebody repeated in a whisper that echoed throughout the bay.
* * *
Commodore Herennis stood as stiff as if a weasel were buggering him in Kowacs’ tiny office—a cubicle separated from the landing bay by walls of film which blurred light and sound into a semblance of privacy. Anger wasn’t the only emotion holding Grand Admiral Forberry’s military secretary rigid—but it was one of the emotions.
“I told you,” said Kowacs from the room’s only chair—Herennis had refused it, and there wasn’t floor space for both men to stand—”that while I didn’t care to leave my men just now, I would of course obey a direct order to report to you on the flagship.”
He was holding his combat knife toward the striplight in the ceiling; its wire edge was too fine for his eyes to focus on it, no matter how hard he squinted.
“You knew I couldn’t formally give an order like that!” Herennis snapped.
Kowacs looked up at the smartly-uniformed staff officer—his social, military, and (no doubt) intellectual superior.