Episode 26
Operation Five Finger
He stopped and looked towards the palace grimly, then continued. “As most of you probably know by now, there was a Corwistalian airstrike at 0600 this morning. A wing of fighters came in low and sent missiles directly into the Imperial palace. These fighters originated from an airbase located some thirty kilometers from here. After the raid, I was approached by Stratarches Tark about launching a strike on the base. This, however, does not fit with our primary objective and we have refused his request. Now, unfortunately, our erstwhile allies have decided to play politics with our logistical support, threatening to cut us off completely. As HQ is still unable to get us proper supplies, this is endangering not only our mission, but our men. If we are not supplied and the Corwistalians attack, we’re at a disadvantage. Granted, it’s not a disadvantage you men could not overcome, but I still believe we should have every advantage. For now, cause the Ulimbese no reason for dislike and perform your duties for the day as normal. If food is lacking, stick to our supply of MREs and don’t cause trouble. I’ve already been apprised of the mess hall situation. Just be ready for action—we’re working out a plan and hope to restore logistical support by tomorrow at the latest. Dismissed.”
“MREs, great,” Ward said.
I laughed. “Actually, Private, they’re slightly better than the boiled roots.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he said, “but I would have liked a chance to compare the two.”
I went back to barracks, borrowed a reader and kicked my feet up with a book for all of ten minutes before deciding I couldn’t live with myself anymore unless I got a shower. I asked around and found that some of the guys had run some hoses from concealed spigots in the garden and threw up some plastic tarps over trellises to make an outdoor shower. No one seemed to have any soap but it was better than nothing. The cold water was bracing.
I made my way back to barracks after dressing in my filthy clothes again, then kicked back with the book. The day crawled along into the evening. I can’t remember what I did the rest of that day but it sure as heck seemed like it took up a week. A week of waiting. I was itching to see what might be planned for the evening. Scuttlebutt had revealed nothing of restoration of logistical support by the Ulimbese or of any clever plans by the colonel.
And then, around 10PM, just as I was thinking of hitting the sack, Jock showed up.
“We’re moving, Corporal Falkland.”
“Moving?” I said.
“Operation Five Finger is underway and you’ve been tapped.”
“Awesome,” I said, grabbing my gear. “Who needs sleep?”
A few minutes later my squad was gathered around the nude fountain girl. I was kind of getting fond of her at this point. Ward, Leighton, me, Park, Four-eyes, Jock and Ace were there.
“Listen, men,” Jock said. “Colonel is done with this Ulimbese passive-aggressive crap. We’re taking matters into our own hands. As of 0930, Stratarches Tark ordered about ¾ of the Ulimbese off to go shell the airbase. He’s up in the palace with his boys and we’ve got them outnumbered. So we’re taking what we need for now, damn the consequences, then moving camp to separate from the Ulimbese force.”
“Sir,” said Four-eyes.
“Yes?”
“The Ulimbese have both armor and multiple gunships. We may have more men and experience, but we’re heavily out-gunned if they decide to–”
Jock waved his hand. “Do you think the colonel is an idiot, Raymond?”
“No sir,” said Four-eyes. “I just–”
“Shut your mouth, genius,” Jock said. “We’re the ones in charge of taking down the enemy gunships.”
“Explosives,” Park said, his eyes lighting up.
“No explosives,” said Jock firmly. “We’re not going to blow them up. We just need to keep them out of the air long enough to keep the Ulimbese from chasing us.”
“Cross the cables,” said Ace.
“Say what?” said Jock.
“I’ve flown these things,” Ace said. “Get inside the casing, under the second rotor, switch a few cables around, they’ll short the hell out when they ramp up for takeoff.”
“Great,” said Jock, “you’re hired. I thought we’d just hacksaw through various bits and hope for the best, but I think I like your plan better.”
Ace grinned. “No problem.”
“Leighton, Park, Ward, you guys are in charge of taking out the sentries and the lights,” Jock said. “I don’t want you killing anyone if you don’t have to. This is a non-lethal operation. You do understand what that means, right?”
“Kill them nicely?” Park asked, with an innocent expression.
“Just don’t kill anyone,” Jock said. “Unless you really have to. The Ulimbese are already upset with us, we don’t want them out for blood.”
“Copy that, sir,” I said. And the lieutenant was right. We had enough trouble on our hands already, we didn’t need to go looking for more.
“Treadwell, you are our saboteur. Falkland and I will be your cover. Four-eyes, you are to stay concealed along the path and watch for incoming reinforcements.
The hike to the field where the gunship squadron sat took about twenty minutes. We acted casual, as if out for a stroll. That is, until we heard the far-off sound of breaking glass and sirens behind us and figured the cat was out of the bag. Some of our boys were wreaking havoc back at the palace. I hoped they liberated some more brandy.
We ducked low and kept our eyes open for Ulimbese. A few passed us but they were running back towards the palace and paid us no mind. The moon was not working to our advantage. It hung big and blue in the sky, flickering through the branches of the orchard through which we walked quietly along the edge of a path. Four-eyes stopped and melted into the night. I saw a yellow glow ahead. The lights of the landing area. We continued until we reached the edge of the orchard. I looked across the close-cropped grass to a small airfield, likely intended for private aircraft and visitors to the royal family. There were scattered clouds above, but nothing we could count on. I saw a few light craft and private jets, then further out I made out a dozen gunships hulking on the pavement, casting black shadows beneath the buzzing lights on poles. I had a crazy memory of cow-tipping and almost laughed. The more things changed…
