Huff #2
Arrival—[6 or 7 February 210]
I arrived planetside at what should be 0500, but locally, more like 0615, and I’m already tired. Acclimation is going to take a while. I’ll adjust to the local weather, rotational period, and the higher gravity, but right now I can’t show that it’s bothering me.
I like my new aide-de-camp, Wing Commander Sandeep Patel-Stiles. Commissioned from Sandhurst and a career fighter pilot in both Avatars and Sentinels. He’s very pleased that he has almost 1,000 hours in the Sentinel—a rare feat for air supremacy pilots these days. On his first day with me, he even said that “one vee one air-to-air is the last true home of honor,” so I started calling him “the Red Baron.” He might know who that was. More importantly, Sandeep knows coffee. Good coffee. I think I’ll keep him.
At maybe 0630, I knocked out thirty minutes on the treadmill, because my lead Personal Security Officer—a bald, brutish SOB—won’t let me run outside yet. (Note: Need to have common devices, like PT equipment, synched to the system’s master network time—should encourage quicker adaptation, and ease rapport building with the locals.)
I gave myself time for hygiene and reading—well, skim and highlight. Then, I took a quick verbal prep from my new Chief, Strategic Analysis and Studies Group. I just call him “The CAG.” This bloke knows his stuff and has excellent tact. He also worked stability missions right next door to the main Grainne area of operations on Mtali, so he’s got some sense about the locals. He hails from field artillery, but now his primary weapon is a slate loaded with more to read than I could ever want or get through.
0800: Time for the O&I—Ops and Intel briefing. My first one on the ground here, so I have all the J-codes, special staff, civilian staff, UN, and some select Non-Governmental Organizations in person, but no press, no media embeds. That will come later.
Let’s see what we have: First, an arrogant intel prick who won’t ever brief me again, for starters.
“…And here on ‘Grain,’ we assess…”
“Grahn-YAH.” I interrupted him. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I even overemphasized the last syllable.
“Sir?” This idiot had no clue he’d been mispronouncing the planet’s name for five straight minutes. What the hell is going on in my J2 shop?
“Grahn-ya, Captain. The planet you’re currently standing on. Grahn-ya, not ‘Grain.’ Say it.”
“Grainne, sir.” He’s not happy, and afterward, he’ll be even less happy.
“That’s better. It’s some kind of Gaelic, right, POLAD?” It’s rhetorical, I don’t care if he knows. “Now say it one more time, correctly please, and continue.”
Technically, “POLAD” or “Political Advisor,” is an obsolete term; the UN prefers “UN Policy-External Nation Sensitivity Officer,” but I can’t pronounce that acronym.
I don’t like to pull stunts in a public setting, but the incident was a disgrace. When I glanced over at the J2, she looked at her hands, shook her head, and with one hand stroked her eyebrow, nervous and embarrassed. We briefly made eye contact and she got the hint: “This idiot won’t brief me again.” She has one star, if she wants a second, she’d better figure it out.
I’m genuinely worried about things like this; if my people don’t care enough about the absolute basics—like pronouncing the planet’s name correctly—then I don’t know how we’re going to win anyone over.
On to enemy force dispositions: no remaining major ones as far as we know. We don’t have extensive HUMINT networks. Vetting those takes a lot of time we don’t have, even as well as this seems to be going so far. The damn Spacy took out too much infrastructure, which I’d have preferred to appropriate for our own use. We damaged some orbital constellations, a few spinners, and the system-wide relay architecture. It’s a double-edged sword; you disable the opponent, but you hinder your own ability to communicate with the outside world, and engage with the populace. Worst of all, you squash the intel take.
The J3 and I will PAR the opening moves later, offline.
Shit, I zoned out. We’re on the J6, but he’s merely restating the obvious.
“…And we’re going to have to bring in our own combat signals folks to put in infrastructure, wired terrestrial infrastructure. What the locals have is insufficient and nonstandard.”
This is going long. I look over at my Chief of Staff. She nods.
“Thank you, J6, any others, brief by exception only.”
Awkward silence, then a quick round of “Nothing further, sir.”
My turn. “Folks, we’re not alone and not afraid, we have full UN support for stability operations, governance projects, and reintegration, but we’re going to do a lot of the building. Not just rebuilding, but building a cultural baseline that can fully integrate with civilization, and accept the UN mandate. Expect pushback from certain corners. This command will operate with a fair degree of autonomy, but always within doctrine, within the published Rules of Engagement, and within the Law of Armed Conflict, to the tee. To. The. Tee. Chief of Staff, go around the room, ping the outstations again, and let’s get to work.”