revised scene: planning Doolittle’s Raid (v2.0)

I think I may have blogged this scene again. I worked it over a bit more today, as part of 6,000 words of revision.

== 26 aug 2064: Northern Logistics offices, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside

Mike looked at General Dewitt closely. “A direct strike at the US? Look, I formed the first militia here, so there’s no question that I’m willing to fight the government if they come here…but hit them on their home ground? That doesn’t have a history of working well. Pearl Harbor, 9/11, Baltimore -”

Dewitt held up his hands placatingly. “It’d be suicide to strike directly – but I’m proposing a strike at one remove.”

Mike gave him a questioning look.

Dewitt continued. “At the turn of the century the government wanted its prison camps deniable – overseas, and belonging to someone else. That’s how it’s still run. All the prison camps are outside the US – not even officially US facilities. That’s the fact that gives us political and propaganda cover for a strike.”

“How much cover?”

“Enough…I hope. Back before the Responsible Polling Act, surveys always showed that voters disliked the camps. Citizens don’t want to be associated with the them and politicians pretend that they’re not there. If we strike at the camps we hit non-US facilities on non-US territory…and no one wants to step forward to take ownership. It could work out as a PR coup for us.”

“How?”

“We’ve got a chance of doing three things simultaneously.” Dewitt ticked the points off on his fingers. “First, Freeing the captives is good PR. That’s gold. Not only does it rally the people here on Aristillus, but on Earth. Everyone loves a prison-break story. Second, we’re the plucky underdog. Everyone likes that. Third, if we pull it off, we embarrass the enemy. The only thing better than a plucky underdog is a plucky underdog that wins.”

Mike thought about that for a moment. “You say we’ve got ‘a chance’?”

Dewitt nodded. “We could fail.”

Mike sat back and pushed his fingers against his temples while he thought. Ever since the shocks of the past few days – the attempted PK invasion, Darcy being seized on Earth, learning that there were PK deep cover teams in Aristillus, Dewitt and his men unmasking and defecting to the secessionists – he’d been telling himself that the PK prisoners would be the key to negotiate Darcy’s release. He was still off-balance from hearing Dewitt dismiss the idea so quickly. He’d clung to that idea like a rock in a storm. And today he’d been told that the the prisoner exchange would never work…but that there was another, even more dangerous idea.

So – a raid. But there was a risk of failure. What did failure mean? Darcy dead? He needed time to think this through. Now, though – he could quiz Dewitt and learn more. “Tell me about the PR – what do you mean it would rally the people of Aristillus?”

Dewitt asked “Do you know Doolittle’s raid?”

“I – no, I’m not familiar with it.”

Dewitt leaned forward across his desk. “It’s World War Two, 1942, just after Pearl Harbor. The US has been hit on its home territory for the first time since the British burned the White House a century and a half before. The American people are demoralized and uncertain. The important thing here is the psychology – that’s three quarters of every war. And the psychology here is that Japan is scary. Scary and untouchable. Remember, this is practically ancient history. Back before spy satellites, so the enemy is – literally and metaphorically – on the other side of the world. We can’t see what they’re up to.”

“Who cares about satellites? Just send some drones to-”

Dewitt shook his head. “No such thing as drones. There aren’t even any computers back then. And besides, our longest range planes don’t have even a third of the range to get there – which brings me to the next point: there’s no way to hit back.”

Mike leaned forward.

“But we did. We hit back. We took crappy internal-combustion, propeller driven bombers, ripped out the seats and everything else, overloaded them with bombs and fuel, and then launched them off of first generation of diesel-burning aircraft carriers. It was a glorious mess – the bombers were overloaded and had no return capability, the carriers were never designed to carry anything that big. We pointed the whole thing at Japan, like a disposable three-stage rocket.”

Mike licked his lips. “Did it work?”

“Define what you mean by ‘worked’. Militarily? It accomplished almost nothing. Every single plane was lost. Some of the crews were killed. Worse yet, some were taken alive -”

“Worse?”

“The Japanese vivisected them – performed torture surgery on them, with out anesthetic, until they died.”

Mike knew it was his imagination, but the lights in the room seemed dimmer and the walls more distant – as if he was hearing the story huddled around a single lamp in a small apartment…or a fire at night, on the plain. He swallowed.

Dewitt let the pause stretch out before continuing. “That was the first return blow. It had no military value at all. But it had huge psychological value. Doolittle’s raid dropped bombs on Tokyo – and proved to the US populace that they weren’t victims. They were fighters. – and it did one other thing.”

“What?”

“It also put the first sneaking suspicion in a few Japanese heads that they’d made a terrible miscalculation.”

Mike sat back. “So you think that we can get Darcy and the others back?”

“Mike, as your Secretary of the Army, I’m telling you that this mission is important. Not to get Darcy back, or to get Ponzie, or anyone else. We might succeed in that, or we might not.

“It’s important to show the population here on the moon that we’re in this fight to win it. We’re not on the defensive, losing a dozen men in order to keep the Goldwater treasure safe, or just barely avoiding having out leaders grabbed by PK snatch teams. No. We have to show the people that we’re not victims. We’re fighters – and we’re going to win this fight.”

Mike nodded. It made sense…and yet he was worried. He wanted Darcy back alive, not some propaganda stunt. “I don’t know. I don’t like choosing a mission for propaganda purposes instead of military purposes -”

“Mike, propaganda IS a military purpose. The people here in the colony need to know that we’re in the fight, and the people sitting on the sidelines on Earth need to know that. And most importantly of all, the politicians on Earth need to know that.”

Mike pushed his tongue into his cheek as he thought. He could feel the emotional appeal. That emotion was dwarfed by another one, though. He puzzled at it and realized he was feeling RELIEF. Someone else was thinking of strategy, thinking about how to win this war. For so long he’d been feeling like he was carrying the entire weight of the revolution on his shoulders. Everything – the political agitation, the financing, the exhortation, the coordination – it was all bearing down on him. Every day, for so long now, he’d felt that if he buckled under the load, if he bent just a little, the whole once-in-a-lifetime chance to create a place where people could be free of hideously overbearing government would buckle and fall with him. And, now there was someone else who was not just willing, but eager – eager! – to share the load with him.

Mike tried not to let the tumult of emotions show on his face. There was a time to allow the pressure, the fear, and the frustration that he’d dealt with show. But not now. Not in front of Dewitt.

Mike nodded and started to speak but then realized that he didn’t trust himself. Wordlessly he stood and stuck out his hand.

Dewitt rose and shook it. “I’ve started working on plans.”

Mike found his voice “Tell me what resources you need – I’ll make sure you get them.”

Dewitt nodded, then pulled a data fob out of his pocket. “I’ve got seven approaches. Here they are, ordered by what I think the likelihood of success is. There are budgets for each.”

Mike took the fob, nodded and left.

A moment later he closed the door behind him in his own office, then allowed himself to collapse into a chair. He let himself indulge in a several long shuddering breaths. Oh, God, the stress he’d been under. He’d born up under it – born up so well that he hadn’t admitted to himself how hard it was. And now? Now he could breath. It felt like the first time in YEARS. Mike gestured to the wall screen for the lights to dim. They did and he sat slumped in his chair with his hands over his eyes.

Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door. Mike composed himself then yelled out “I’m napping – go away!”.

Half an hour after that he finally felt like he’d recovered. He turned the lights on, stuck the fob into his slate and read the documents.

He reread the first one – Dewitt’s favorite – and tilted his head.

He got up, walked to Dewitt’s office and opened the door. “OK, a lot of ships, I get that. …But why so few men? And what’s the gravel for?”