course.”
“You’ll have air assets,” Colonel Burrows growled. “You won’t have to worry about that.”
“Yes, sir,” Comsky said, throwing a glance toward Riley at the back of the room. They’d both been on board the Black Hawk that had gone down on their way out of China in ‘89. They’d done a lot of walking there after having been assured they would have air support.
“This time of year is winter in Angola, but since the country is so close to the equator, the temperature is mild at best and hot at worst. It isn’t the monsoon season, so rainfall won’t be a major problem.”
Riley listened with only half his brain as Comsky droned on about Angola and the intelligence the team was supposed to gather on their reconnaissance. Riley was troubled. Comsky had yet to say anything that Riley and Conner didn’t already know from their research on a computer database available to any citizen. That meant, as usual, that the intelligence people in the Pentagon didn’t know squat about the situation on the ground in Angola. Of course, Riley reminded himself that was the whole purpose of these advance teams going in. To gather intel before the 82d Airborne, the big force, came in and cleaned things up.
It was better than the way the military had gone into Somalia and Haiti. In one case they’d been unlucky. In the other, lady luck had smiled on them. Obviously, the army didn’t want to trust to luck in Angola. Riley had accompanied Conner to Washington, and he’d listened and watched. This Angola mission was a gigantic political gamble. If it worked, it would reverse the trend in the United States to back away from working in the international arena. If it failed, the administration would go down the tubes, not to mention the soldiers who would die as the down payment on the gamble. Operation Restore Life was being mounted against a massive groundswell of isolationism in the country.
The point that had allowed the president to sell the mission to Congress was the modified chain of command. At no time in the operation would U.S. troops work under UN command. There was a UN mandate authorizing the mission, but both the UN and Pan-African forces would be answerable to their own governments.
While that made for good home-front politics, Riley wondered what would happen if something occurred to make the coalition unravel or if different countries developed different objectives during the course of the operation. There would be no overall commander to coordinate things.
Riley knew from talking with men he’d served with who had done some UN duty that by far the biggest complaint military personnel had with working under UN command was not what civilians and politicians would expect or understand. The media made a great issue out of the lack of resolve by the UN Security Council to employ force in such places as the former Yugoslavia, but the soldiers were much more concerned about the lack of logistics support and expertise shown by the UN Security Command. Modern warfare demanded a high volume of logistical support, and the UN had neither the resources nor the expert personnel to do it anywhere near adequately. United States forces working under U.S. command could at least count on their own logistical support. Without beans and bullets, the best-trained army in the world was worthless.
Comsky wrapped up the intelligence portion and Master Sergeant Lome replaced him at the podium. Lome went through the team’s deployment from Fort Bragg through arriving at the AOB in Cacolo. Riley tuned back in when Lome outlined the rules of engagement. Lome’s deep voice calmly enunciated orders that made it clear that the team was going to shoot first and ask questions later. They’d come a long way from marine guards standing outside a compound without a magazine in the chamber while a suicide truck bomb drove by.
The rest of the briefing told Riley little more other than to show that the team had done its homework and
“You’ll have air assets,” Colonel Burrows growled. “You won’t have to worry about that.”
“Yes, sir,” Comsky said, throwing a glance toward Riley at the back of the room. They’d both been on board the Black Hawk that had gone down on their way out of China in ‘89. They’d done a lot of walking there after having been assured they would have air support.
“This time of year is winter in Angola, but since the country is so close to the equator, the temperature is mild at best and hot at worst. It isn’t the monsoon season, so rainfall won’t be a major problem.”
Riley listened with only half his brain as Comsky droned on about Angola and the intelligence the team was supposed to gather on their reconnaissance. Riley was troubled. Comsky had yet to say anything that Riley and Conner didn’t already know from their research on a computer database available to any citizen. That meant, as usual, that the intelligence people in the Pentagon didn’t know squat about the situation on the ground in Angola. Of course, Riley reminded himself that was the whole purpose of these advance teams going in. To gather intel before the 82d Airborne, the big force, came in and cleaned things up.
It was better than the way the military had gone into Somalia and Haiti. In one case they’d been unlucky. In the other, lady luck had smiled on them. Obviously, the army didn’t want to trust to luck in Angola. Riley had accompanied Conner to Washington, and he’d listened and watched. This Angola mission was a gigantic political gamble. If it worked, it would reverse the trend in the United States to back away from working in the international arena. If it failed, the administration would go down the tubes, not to mention the soldiers who would die as the down payment on the gamble. Operation Restore Life was being mounted against a massive groundswell of isolationism in the country.
The point that had allowed the president to sell the mission to Congress was the modified chain of command. At no time in the operation would U.S. troops work under UN command. There was a UN mandate authorizing the mission, but both the UN and Pan-African forces would be answerable to their own governments.
While that made for good home-front politics, Riley wondered what would happen if something occurred to make the coalition unravel or if different countries developed different objectives during the course of the operation. There would be no overall commander to coordinate things.
Riley knew from talking with men he’d served with who had done some UN duty that by far the biggest complaint military personnel had with working under UN command was not what civilians and politicians would expect or understand. The media made a great issue out of the lack of resolve by the UN Security Council to employ force in such places as the former Yugoslavia, but the soldiers were much more concerned about the lack of logistics support and expertise shown by the UN Security Command. Modern warfare demanded a high volume of logistical support, and the UN had neither the resources nor the expert personnel to do it anywhere near adequately. United States forces working under U.S. command could at least count on their own logistical support. Without beans and bullets, the best-trained army in the world was worthless.
Comsky wrapped up the intelligence portion and Master Sergeant Lome replaced him at the podium. Lome went through the team’s deployment from Fort Bragg through arriving at the AOB in Cacolo. Riley tuned back in when Lome outlined the rules of engagement. Lome’s deep voice calmly enunciated orders that made it clear that the team was going to shoot first and ask questions later. They’d come a long way from marine guards standing outside a compound without a magazine in the chamber while a suicide truck bomb drove by.
The rest of the briefing told Riley little more other than to show that the team had done its homework and
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