reaching into his pocket; he extracted a set of lieutenant colonel's leaves, and switched them with the senior master sergeant's stripes clipped to his collar. "Any chance I can get lieutenant colonel's pay ?" he asked, dryly. "Or even a major's?"
"No. This is just a French brevet, not a real one."
That was proper, Galil decided. Bernstein wasn't being asked to do anything beyond his normal responsibilities; the purpose of the added rank was only to make it easier for him to deal with the locals.
Bar-El turned back to Bar Yosef. "Will that do it?"
"Not quite. I'd better be a full colonel."
"Be my guest. Now, we'd better get to the after-action critique. Oh, what is it, Tetsuo?"
Tetsuo Hanavi waited until the room quieted around him. "General, if everything we've been planning is suddenly going into the dumper, then it would seem to me that we could put off an after-action critique."
Shimon Bar-El sighed. "No, we can't. Understood?"
"Well, no."
Shimon Bar-El's eyes closed, then opened. "Fine. I'll make it real clear for you, for all of you. We lost—I lost thirty-two men yesterday, and I've got one hundred ninety-three in hospital, shot up, chopped up, burned." His nostrils flared momentarily, but that was the only sign of emotion. When he spoke again, his voice was flat, almost too casual. "I will not have that be for nothing. I will not." He sighed. "Now, Yitzhak Galil, Regimental Headquarters Company, we'll begin with you. How did you fuck up yesterday?"
Galil had been waiting for this. He sat back in his chair, and folded his hands across his lap. "I don't think I did too badly, except in preparation. If all of the RHQ Company was going to go operational—even if it was more for admin purposes than any other—I should have insisted that we wait until the tubes and sapper gear were down."
"You did suggest that."
"I should have convinced you."
"Oh, get off it." Ebi Goren shook his head. "I know that a certain amount of breast-beating is supposed to be part of an after-action critique, but let's pretend we're all sober. Forgetting for a moment that putting Deir Yasin and Nablus under RHQ company is really just an administrative convenience, sappers and tubes aren't going to do you any good in an ambush—not if you're on the receiving end. If there was reason to worry about an ambush, then it's Shimon's fault for accepting unsecure transport."
"Bull shit , Ebi." Ezer Laskov, regimental S2, spoke up. "Anybody see anything in the Intel data to suggest that? I went over the folders last night—"
"When you should have been sleeping," Shimon Bar-El said.
"—and Shimon, I didn't see any hint of it. Minor, maybe annoying, industrial sabotage, sure. Maybe that cavitation problem they were having with theirheshells wasn't just quality control, and I'm damn sure that the premies they've been seeing with the pocket rockets are sabotage. But I've seen nothing to suggest an armed force like this. My evaluation—"
"Save it. You were saying, Yitzhak?"
"Other than that, I've no great criticism of me. I didn't try to overplan, or overmanage the firefight. I led from the front until I got shot, and I made the right call on the helo. I did okay."
"Yes, you did. Now, Deputy Regimental Commander and Chief of Staff," Shimon Bar-El said, as he turned to Mordecai Peled. "Are you happy about stalling on the knockdown?"
Peled's lined face reddened. "No, I'm not."
"Neither am I." Bar-El eyed the audience as a whole. "When you've got a green light, you shoot. End of discussion. Ezer, back on your feet. You have the report on the status of the knockdown."
Laskov stood. "There's not going to be any difficulty on that. The pravda is that it was done by the Freiheimers. Fleiss confessed to that."
Somebody snickered.
"And the Casas bought it?" Asher Greenberg asked.
"No." Laskov shrugged. "Or I don't know. But they're pretending to. The Distacamento de la Fedeltà doesn't have any authority over us, since we're technically
"No. This is just a French brevet, not a real one."
That was proper, Galil decided. Bernstein wasn't being asked to do anything beyond his normal responsibilities; the purpose of the added rank was only to make it easier for him to deal with the locals.
Bar-El turned back to Bar Yosef. "Will that do it?"
"Not quite. I'd better be a full colonel."
"Be my guest. Now, we'd better get to the after-action critique. Oh, what is it, Tetsuo?"
Tetsuo Hanavi waited until the room quieted around him. "General, if everything we've been planning is suddenly going into the dumper, then it would seem to me that we could put off an after-action critique."
Shimon Bar-El sighed. "No, we can't. Understood?"
"Well, no."
Shimon Bar-El's eyes closed, then opened. "Fine. I'll make it real clear for you, for all of you. We lost—I lost thirty-two men yesterday, and I've got one hundred ninety-three in hospital, shot up, chopped up, burned." His nostrils flared momentarily, but that was the only sign of emotion. When he spoke again, his voice was flat, almost too casual. "I will not have that be for nothing. I will not." He sighed. "Now, Yitzhak Galil, Regimental Headquarters Company, we'll begin with you. How did you fuck up yesterday?"
Galil had been waiting for this. He sat back in his chair, and folded his hands across his lap. "I don't think I did too badly, except in preparation. If all of the RHQ Company was going to go operational—even if it was more for admin purposes than any other—I should have insisted that we wait until the tubes and sapper gear were down."
"You did suggest that."
"I should have convinced you."
"Oh, get off it." Ebi Goren shook his head. "I know that a certain amount of breast-beating is supposed to be part of an after-action critique, but let's pretend we're all sober. Forgetting for a moment that putting Deir Yasin and Nablus under RHQ company is really just an administrative convenience, sappers and tubes aren't going to do you any good in an ambush—not if you're on the receiving end. If there was reason to worry about an ambush, then it's Shimon's fault for accepting unsecure transport."
"Bull shit , Ebi." Ezer Laskov, regimental S2, spoke up. "Anybody see anything in the Intel data to suggest that? I went over the folders last night—"
"When you should have been sleeping," Shimon Bar-El said.
"—and Shimon, I didn't see any hint of it. Minor, maybe annoying, industrial sabotage, sure. Maybe that cavitation problem they were having with theirheshells wasn't just quality control, and I'm damn sure that the premies they've been seeing with the pocket rockets are sabotage. But I've seen nothing to suggest an armed force like this. My evaluation—"
"Save it. You were saying, Yitzhak?"
"Other than that, I've no great criticism of me. I didn't try to overplan, or overmanage the firefight. I led from the front until I got shot, and I made the right call on the helo. I did okay."
"Yes, you did. Now, Deputy Regimental Commander and Chief of Staff," Shimon Bar-El said, as he turned to Mordecai Peled. "Are you happy about stalling on the knockdown?"
Peled's lined face reddened. "No, I'm not."
"Neither am I." Bar-El eyed the audience as a whole. "When you've got a green light, you shoot. End of discussion. Ezer, back on your feet. You have the report on the status of the knockdown."
Laskov stood. "There's not going to be any difficulty on that. The pravda is that it was done by the Freiheimers. Fleiss confessed to that."
Somebody snickered.
"And the Casas bought it?" Asher Greenberg asked.
"No." Laskov shrugged. "Or I don't know. But they're pretending to. The Distacamento de la Fedeltà doesn't have any authority over us, since we're technically
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