Mike looked up as General Horner entered his tiny office.
The space was barren without any personal items, workstation, or any other objects that indicated it was in use except a combination-locked filing cabinet. The lieutenant had spent so little time in the office in the last few months that he felt it was more of a convenient place to call an office than an actual workspace. Instead of a conventional computer he had his AID, which was capable of any form of input but direct neural and had more processor capacity than the entire Intel Corporation. As for family pictures, every video of the girls from before he had the AID, along with every contact he had had with them since, was in permanent storage, available for retrieval.
And as for an "I-love-me" wall, he did, and he could care less who knew it.
"Yes, sir?" he asked. He could see the general's new senior aide hovering in the background.
The sight that greeted the general might have been comic before the advent of the Galactics, but now it was as commonplace as a mouse. The lieutenant was tapping at the top of an empty desktop, eyes fixed on a spot in midair. The wraparound glasses he was wearing interacted with the AID on his desk to create the illusion of a keyboard and monitor. Horner could not see the items, projected directly onto the lieutenant's retina by a microscopic laser projector in the glasses, but—since he used the same system—he was well aware of the reality.
"Are you finished with the upgrade proposals?" he asked Mike, ignoring the new aide.
Although Mike was officially his junior aide, the general had made it abundantly clear to the newly-assigned lieutenant colonel that Lieutenant O'Neal was his day-to-day alter ego. Once the colonel had his feet on the ground he might be half as helpful as Mike, but in the meantime the colonel could just pass the canapés and stay out of their way.
The way the non-Airborne officer had been shoved down his throat was unpleasant and ominous. It meant that the Ground Forces' personnel department felt it was gaining enough of an upper hand on GalTech to begin dictating personnel policies, even traditionally "personal" ones like the choice of an aide. Once the ACS units were detached to Fleet the problem would subside, but in the meantime it was another political battle and one Horner did not choose to fight at this time. However, since he wrote the evaluation review for the officer in question, the colonel had better be able to swallow the implied insult and pass the damn canapés.
"Yes, sir," Mike answered. "Since they definitely will not permit the use of AM as an energy source, the only remaining suggestion is incorporation of enhanced cloaking mechanisms. My prototype has shown a four percent higher survivability in every reasonable simulation that we have run. I think that pouring a little more money into tactical deception systems just makes sense."
"What about the officer and enlisted training time issue?"
"I say a thousand hours; personnel wants a hundred and fifty. I say in the field or simulated in the field; they say book learned is okay. Impasse," Mike concluded.
"All right, time to wave my stars in somebody's face. Time or type?"
"Type," replied O'Neal, meaning to try for realistic training. "Try for longer than one-fifty, but not at the expense of type. Good training over short periods is probably better than long bad training."
"Good training, huh?" Horner frowned in amusement.
"Yes, sir," Mike smiled, remembering how they first met.
"And that's the GalTech promise," continued Horner. " 'If it ain't good training, it ain't GalTech.' " He paused and smiled humorlessly.
"The Expeditionary Force evaluations also fall under GalTech. The NATO units of the AEF will comprise, for now, one corp using current generation weaponry. The main force components will be 2nd Armor, 7th Cav, and 8th Infantry.
"There will also be a battalion of ACS drawn from the 82nd Airborne Division, the 2nd Battalion 325th Infantry. They've got most of their equipment and—having passed an ORS"—Operational Readiness Survey—"and an inspection by the IG—are designated as ready for combat."
"What about an ARTEP?" Mike asked. The Army Readiness Testing and Evaluation Program was the final exam of all units in the area of combat readiness. "We specified an ARTEP before a unit could be designated as combat ready."
"We got overruled. The rest of the EF is ready for deployment and the ACS batt goes with them, ready or not."
"Do they have Banshees?" The anti-grav armored fighting vehicles were critical for strategic mobility in the ACS.
"Very few and the artillery support is 105, 155 and MLRS. The HOW-2000 is being held back."
"Jesus," Mike shook his head and picked up his gripper. "Are they going to Barwhon or Diess?"
"Diess."
"How are we going to do the eval?"
"Well, Lieutenant, you know that prototype ACS command suit you have stashed somewhere?"
"Pack my bags?"
"You're scheduled to be at Pope Air Force base a week from next Tuesday, by 2400 hours. At least you'll be able to spend Christmas with Sharon and the kids."
"Then Diess?"
"There's going to be a briefer at Pope from USGF TRADOC"—United States Ground Forces Training and Doctrine Command—"to go over the details. Your orbital lift is scheduled for seventy-two hours afterwards.
"Now, besides the evaluation, you have another mission. The unit is woefully undertrained and they don't have any in-house experts; for all practical purposes only the members of the design team and the infantry board can be called such. So, your other mission will be training and advisement of the battalion on employment and tactics. The problem is that you are a lieutenant. I happen to have the acquaintance of the battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Youngman. Remember my predecessor in the battalion?"
"Yes, sir. I hope you don't mean what I think you mean."
"Lieutenant Colonel Youngman has an excellent record and previous combat command experience. He is also a good leader. But, he's just a little bit arrogant about his abilities and knowledge for my taste. I also suspect he may be phobic about the new technologies. That may cause some problems."
"Then why did he get the first ACS battalion?"
"They knew that it was going in harm's way so they assigned a good solid combat commander; there aren't that many choices. And, as always, there are political considerations. The Marines got to decide what unit got the first ACS on Barwhon and Airborne got to decide who got it on Diess. I would have preferred someone who was a little more flexible, but older and wiser heads decided, for whatever reason, that the first group should be the two/three twenty-fifth and the commander should be Youngman. Lieutenant Colonel Paul T. Youngman wouldn't like another lieutenant colonel 'advising' him, much less a lieutenant, so you're just going to have to use as much tact as possible. I can't get free right now and you're the next best choice."
"What about Gunny Thompson?" The senior NCO of the GalTech infantry team had been pulled out of Fleet Marines for the program. Initially pessimistic about the armored combat suit program he had become one of its major proponents.
"He's taking the same position with the Marine detachment on Barwhon, so, Tag! you're it. And you won't have much support here or there; since the design phase is over and production is in gear, our star is on the wane."
"So after the eval what happens?"
"What I hope happens is that we both get combat commands. You deserve a company. But running rough shod over the design and procurement process has had a negative effect on my career. I expect I'll get something like 'J-3, Mid West Guard Command.' "
"That's stupid, with all the old war-horses they're rejuving, that should go to somebody who last heard a shot fired in anger in 'Nam."
"Don't worry about it, Mike. You and I are warriors. If there is anything that history teaches us, it's that at the beginnings of wars the career officers are divided into two camps, the managers and the warriors, and the managers rule. It's happened in every war; Halsey was a captain at the beginning of WWII and Kusov was a colonel. As the war goes on the managers go back to personnel and logistics and the warriors take command. Our stars will rise again when the shit hits the fan. Bet on it."