running our operation.'
'Well, I get some shitty input from Station Bravo from time to time that I have to pass on,' Leroux allowed. 'But if you're pissed off about anything, I'm pretty much the guy to put the blame on.'
'In that case, sir,' Brannigan said, 'we need some fifties to replace the M-sixties we have in the OA. Those seven-point-six-twos just don't have the punch we need.'
'I've already seen to it, Brannigan,' Leroux said. 'I read the AAR about that little fiasco with them suicidal ragheads. It seemed to me your support folks could have traded a little more fire with the bad guys if they'd been using M-twos.' He walked over, grabbed an unused cup, and filled it with coffee. 'Okay, let's get down to business. I got to get back to that fucking sardine can of a boat they stuck me on. I called you guys back here for a HALO insertion.'
'Christ!' Brannigan said. 'Where?'
'Behind that mountain where the bad guys are holing up,' Leroux said. 'I've already worked out the OPORD so we won't have a briefback on this thing. The gist of the operation is to land on their LZ in the dark, then sneak around and make an attack on their south end and roll up that flank. Shoot the hell out of the place and make great big fucking nuisances out of yourselves.'
'That's kind of risky, ain't it, sir?' Puglisi said.
'You'll have the advantage because you'll be firing down their line of defense,' Leroux explained. 'They'll be caught flat-footed with a very narrow front of resistance to throw up at you. That means the bastards won't be able to mount a counterattack for a while. You're gonna have to judge when they're ready to hit back, then pull out and make a run back to the LZ for exfiltration. You'll be using AFSOC for that. There's nobody better'n the Air Force for that kind of a hairy to-do.'
The ever outspoken Bruno Puglisi was still not about to be quiet and withdrawn. 'What the hell's this all about, sir?'
'Those Zaheya bastards think they shook you up with that suicide bomber attack,' Leroux said. 'It seems to me their morale is a bit higher than it should be, since they're feeling smug. Something like this will put the fear of God into 'em.'
'The fear of God, hell!' Garth Redhawk said. 'It'll be the fear of the United States Navy SEALs.'
'I can't argue with you, son,' Leroux said. 'Now, if one of you would be kind enough to fetch that packet I put in the lower desk drawer there, we'll get into this briefing.'
Garth and Matty walked over and secured the documents, handing them to the general. Leroux ripped the sealed envelope open. 'We have some detailed maps here made from the latest satellite photos of the OA. These will be real handy as we discuss the ways and means of our operation.' He tossed the charts over to Joe Miskoski. 'Pass these around, son.'
'Aye, sir!'
'God!' Leroux moaned. 'I hate that Navy talk!'
.
WHITE HOUSE PRESS ROOM
WASHINGTON, D. C.
AUGUST 1400 HOURS
WHEN Owen Peckham stepped into the press room, he exhibited a very obvious bounce in his step. He grinned as he stepped up to the podium and sat his notes down. 'Good afternoon, everybody! How are we doing this bright summer day?'
'Well!' Joyce Bennington of the Boston World Journal said. 'You're in a chipper mood, Owen.'
'Why, Joyce, I'm always in a chipper mood,' Peckham said. He beamed at his audience. 'As usual I will open things up with announcements, or as is the case today, a single announcement.' He looked around. 'Where is Dirk Wallenger? I don't see him here anyplace. Is there anyone else from Global News Broadcasting present? No? Oh, gee, I'll have to go on without them.' He paused and cleared his throat. 'Ahem! In regard to the information about a wounded enemy prisoner being executed in Afghanistan, we have received an update on that. It seems that the prisoner in question lost his life during an escape attempt.'
'Oh, sure!' Brian Mackenzie of the Ontario People's Advocate crowed. 'Now there's an old story, hey? Shot while attempting to escape. Good God! It's almost a cliche.'
'The Pentagon clearly admits the man lost his life during an escape try,' Peckham said gleefully. He had received permission to reveal a newer version of the story only an hour before, when the President decided it was best to tell about the snake bite, albeit in a special way. 'However, he was not shot.' He waited a couple of beats for effect, then announced, 'He was bitten by a poisonous snake. A cobra, to be exact. The deadly serpent was in a stand of rocks into which the unfortunate terrorist entered to conceal himself. Cobras are among the deadliest of snakes, and the man died quickly before he could be evacuated to proper medical treatment.'
The Canadian Mackenzie wasn't going to give up his argument. 'Why didn't the Americans troops treat him for the bite and stabilize him until transportation could arrive?'
'Our troops are not issued any antivenom serum in their medical kits,' Peckham explained. 'And even if they had any, it would take a doctor to administer it properly. A cobra's bite is fatal in an exceedingly short period of time.'
Mackenzie snuffed a bit and scribbled in his notebook.
Peckham gazed fondly at the other journalists. 'Well! Let's get down to business. Are there any questions out there?'
A dozen hands were raised.
.
EXECUTIVE OFFICES,
GLOBAL NEWS BROADCASTING
WASHINGTON, D. C.
6 AUGUST 0830 HOURS
DON Allen, the CEO of GNB, sat at the conference table in his office, sharing the large piece of furniture with only one other person: Frank Brice, attorney-at-law, who was on retainer by the broadcasting service. Brice, who styled his hair in a ponytail and sported an earring, was more conventional in the rest of his attire. He wore a skillfully tailored business suit, complete with shirt and tie, and he was shod in an expensive pair of Italian shoes.
When the lawyer spoke, his voice was deep and authoritative. 'We do not want to go on trial regarding this issue.'
Allen wasn't in agreement. 'Aren't we dealing with the First Amendment here? If there ever was an incident involving freedom of the press, this is it.'
'It's a little more complicated than that, Don,' Brice said. 'GNB issued a news bulletin stating that American troops had murdered a wounded prisoner during combat action in Afghanistan. That turned out to be false in the worst sense, or a mistake in the best. And the best here isn't very good.'
'Wait!' Allen protested. 'It was the fucking Pentagon that said it was false. The sons of bitches are covering their asses with an out-and-out falsehood.'
'I don't think they're lying,' Brice said. 'They've been upfront about atrocities before, so there's no real reason to think they would fudge on this one. So we have to accept what they say as gospel. But we do have some choices here. The best is to blame it on the source.'
'That's easy enough.'
'But then there would be a demand--not only from the government but also from the public--for you to name that source.'
'It's our policy not to reveal sources under any circumstances,' Allen said. 'We'd rather go to jail.'
'Alright,' Brice said. 'But it's going to make you look like you're dispensing terrorist propaganda. Let's face it, Don. GNB is noted for its leftist leanings. And this isn't like protesting the war. If the public is convinced you're aiding and abetting the terrorists, they'll turn away from you in droves. That also means that the local independent TV stations you depend on will drop GNB like a hot rock. That could be the end of having your voice heard by millions of people.' He shook his head. 'I hate to say it, but it could be the end of your organization.'
Allen was clearly disgusted. 'Then what the fuck are we supposed to do?'
'Have Dirk Wallenger issue an apology and announce that he had been victimized by false documentation,'
