Chapter 12: Considerations

At the National Defence Headquarters in Ottawa, the lights burnt late. The meeting was a joint one, chaired by the Chief of the Defence Staff, with the Commanders of the Navy, Army and Air Force all present, each at their own long table. Their staffs were present as well, along with aides of lesser rank. Most regiments, RCAF squadrons and RCN ships were represented by their commanding officers. At the moment, the meeting was deteriorating somewhat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are supposed to be talking about which officers we think we can spare!" an exasperated CDS, General Polk, exploded. "Who can we make an offer to permit extraction to, and who do we think we need to keep for awhile longer?"

The RCAF and Navy staff had already come to an agreement as to their future plans for their officers, and were now sitting in amusement as the commanders of Land Force Atlantic Area, Land Force Central Area and Land Force Western Area tried to convince the Commander of Land Force Quebec Area to give up two particular officers.

As an aide went around topping up the officers' coffee cups, General Alders, Commander of Land Forces Central, took up the cudgel yet again. "I don't see why those two officers cannot be extracted immediately," he growled. "They are far too much trouble to keep. Why they haven't been drummed out of the military by now, I don't know."

"Because they put the 'practical' in practical joke. If you note, as a result of their little gags, each of our units have improved beyond those not exposed to their tomfoolery. Which one are you more angry at? Deschenes?" the CDS asked mildly.

"No, the other one – that reprogrammed carillon incident."

"You don't like Vive la Canadienne?" That song was the Van Doos' regimental quick-march.

"Not when it's the Grey and Simcoe Foresters' honour to guard Parliament Hill. It's supposed to be playing O Canada." General Alders, and added, "He's the north end of a southbound horse."

The CDS regarded his insubordinate subordinate coolly. "And you read the Gay and Simple Farmers the riot act after that, and they pulled up their socks. Did they not then win the award for the top militia regiment in 31 Brigade Group for that year?"

The Commander of Land Forces Central could only grind his teeth as the aides to the RCAF and RCN commanders watched and struggled to suppress snickers.

"And you, Gregory, what thinkest thou of our errant pair?" the CDS challenged. "Do you agree with General Alders about Whitefeather being on the early extraction list?"

General Gregory Miles, Commander of Land Forces West, winced and said firmly, "No, I do not. It should be the other one. Especially after the incident with 'The Tree'." The capital letters were clearly audible in his voice.

As the CDS opened his mouth to ask a question, a fist hit the table. Everyone stared at the colonel wearing the shoulder flashes of the Rocky Mountain Rangers. "There. Will. Be. No. Further. Discussion. Of. 'The Tree'." His eyes burned like coal and his jaw was firm – he looked ready to physically attack anyone in the room.

One RCAF lieutenant looked at his superior officer and mouthed, "'The Tree'?" The Air Force colonel, an attractive blond woman with a pageboy hairstyle, only mouthed back, "Later."

Two officers were trying to keep their mouths shut and remain inconspicuous, although their facial expressions shouted their opinions to the skies. The commanding officers for the Royal Canadian Regiment and the Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry, the other two "regular force" infantry regiments in Canada's Order of Battle, were as amused as their naval and air force counterparts.

The commanding officer of the Van Doos, Colonel Theberge, could only sit silently and sweat. He could ill afford to lose his two most promising company commanders to extraction – nor, for that matter, could he afford to lose them to the wrath of his fellow colonels.

As various colonels representing militia units from across Canada did a slow burn, the Commander of the RCAF flipped open a file on his e-reader in front of him. The "Eye" card picture of Lieutenant Solway appeared in front of him, along with his, and his platoon's, latest efficiency scores. As a result of the broadsides of sour grapeshot being fired across the table occupied by the Army officers, he could now understand exactly why and how that particular aggregation was doing so much better than any of the RCAF Regiment's other platoons after such a short training period. He almost felt sorry for the men of the Second Platoon, Third Company, RCAF Regiment. Almost, but not quite.

It was now about 04:30 hours, and the meeting with the Canadian Armed Forces senior line officers had finally been adjourned. Over the next 24 hours each of the RCN and RCAF commanding officers would be returning to their units. The regimental commanding officers would remain for another day, in an attempt to finally come to some kind of agreement before the Chief of the Defence Staff put his combat boot down and dictated which of their soldiers would be in the first tranche permitted to volunteer for service with the Armed Forces of the Confederacy.

The Officers' Club should have been closed for hours, but when officers of this high rank and number needed refreshments, exceptions could be made. A handful of sleep-deprived mess stewards ran around seeing to it that alcoholic libations were quickly made available.

In a corner of the cavernous yet well-appointed room, three infantry colonels sat nursing tankards of lager. Their shoulder tabs identified the trio as being from Canada's three Regular Force infantry regiments: le Royal 22e Régiment from Quebec, the Royal Canadian Regiment out of London, Ontario, and the Calgary-based Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry. Each man's maroon Airborne beret was rolled up and stuffed under an epaulet.

Major Dupree, wearing his Air Force dress blue uniform, approached the table with some trepidation. "Gentlemen," he ventured, "mind if I join you?"

Graciously, the three higher-ranking officers indicated the vacant chair at their table. Colonel Shanoff, commanding officer of the PPCLI, raised an arm to signal the barman another round was desired. A mess steward nodded and turned to the bartender, who promptly started to pour on-tap beer into four pewter tankards.

"How did the meeting go for you, Major?" Colonel Kimball, the Royal Canadian Regiment's commander, asked in an effort at polite conversation. The three were quite aware that Air Force and Army officers didn't often mix, so the major must have something on his mind.

"It was quite entertaining," Major Dupree responded. "I was unaware just how notorious those two captains of yours were." He looked directly at Colonel Theberge as he did so.

"Oh, yes," the Colonel noted. "You're at the same station as that squad of the RCAF Regiment that Captain Whitefeather is training. Has that been entertaining too?"

"Enormously," the major grinned. "Tell me, that question that General Alders said, why IS it that neither Whitefeather nor that other Captain have been drummed out? What saves them?"

"Besides me, you mean?" Colonel Theberge asked, his voice betraying a slight French accent, a grin on his face.

"Frankly, yes. If I were to try those same stunts, I'm likely to get drummed out of the Air Force."

"If I may, gentlemen?" Colonel Kimball asked. When both nodded, he turned to the major. "Every military unit around the world is conservative. You've noted that, of course?"

Major Dupree nodded. It wasn't exactly news.

"Well, every army, navy, marine corps and air force around the world tries to win the LAST war, or even the war before that, using that war's tactics. For example, the armies of the US Civil War spent much of the first three years of that war using Napoleonic War era tactics when faced against rifle-muskets, a recipe for useless mass slaughter. Until the Battle for Vimy Ridge, the Allied armies used tactics more suitable to the era of the rifled musket than to the machine gun, again resulting in useless mass slaughter. Then Canada came along and taught the world how to fight using truly combined arms and the greater accuracy that World War I artillery could boast. The successful military in the NEXT war avoids using tactics that have had their day, they try to be imaginative – and yet their own organizations penalize original thinking."

Major Dupree stayed silent, fascinated by Kimball's words.

"And what those two captains do is use their imaginations to shake up their opponents, to open the window of their minds and let in fresh thinking. In other words, they force their opponents to think creatively and imaginatively to counter the lunacy of their efforts. It's frustrating, I grant you, but it's probably the best training we can offer. I wouldn't want an entire regiment of Whitefeathers, but if I have even a handful in command positions then I have an inestimable edge over any conventionally-thinking opponent." Colonel Kimball sat back and grabbed his tankard. "And with the Swarm, we're going to be facing an enemy who uses tactics we haven't even seen yet, and adapts quickly to anything we think of. We're going to need the Whitefeathers of this world even more than we ever have before." He raised his tankard in salute, and all four men took a long pull of their beer.

No. 468 Squadron "City of Ajax", rested after a 48-hour stay in the bacchanalian delights of Tinseltown, were now flying back to RCAF Station Willow Lake. The twelve Lancasters droned through the skies calmly, barely shaking in the clear morning air.