They were preparing to take a good chunk out of the middle of their territory using the jamming devices when Montague came rolling into the headquarter's bunker.
"We've got to call off the attack!" he cried. "The enemy's got something, I'm not sure what, but I think it will make our jammers useless."
"What?" Samuel moaned.
Montague's young female aide hurried in behind him carrying a stack of reconnaissance photographs.
"Their lasers leak worse than ours," Montague explained. "They aren't able to put weapons' positions within five-hundred yards of them. But look at this...recon photos of their laser positions with damned machine guns and rifle positions right up by them. They've found some way of cancelling the jamming effect. Look at this. In the middle of the laser batteries some kind of device. They're trying to conceal them, but they're there. Whatever they are, if they'll cancel the effect from their own lasers they'll cancel the effect of their jammers. And they're so strategically positioned as to make our attacks useless. Our people will be slaughtered."
Samuel studied the photographs. "Not good!" he agreed. He went to the map. "This one, by the river. Nice flat ground all around. That's the one we'll go after. Gather all The Black Death. I'll lead them in myself. We'll bring a lift helicoptor to carry the damned thing out, get it together. I want to go in two days. We've got to know if we can overcome the effect of whatever they're doing."
The units were quickly gathered. An areal bombardment was prepared to soften the enemy up, but not knock out the unit they were after. All was prepared when Montague's aide came rushing in again.
"You've got to cancel the mission," she insisted, "they know you're coming. It's a trap!"
"What?" Samuel cried, "How could they know that? How could you know that?"
The young woman held out a photograph and a magnifying glass. "On the riverbank," she answered, "somebody left us a message. The Coms spotted it but we got a picture of it before they destroyed it."
Samuel took the glass. Against the dark soil of the riverbank were white letters written in military shorthand. "Enemy knows. Trap. Don't come. Counter device fake. Real one two miles east. Will mark it with fire. 2..."
The rest of the message was gone. A man could be seen in the photograph tearing it down. Samuel tapped the photograph. "'Will mark with fire,'" he muttered, "2. 2 WHAT?"
"2 a.m.?" Montague's aide asked. "I mean that would be the most logical time."
Samuel looked at her. "Damn good reasoning!" he agreed. "Operations, we're shifting the point of attack two miles east. There should be a fire at 2 a.m. to mark the location. I want a carpet bombardment all around it. But I don't want that position hit. Tell the air boys I'll put anybody that drops a bomb in that area in a death ship."
"Yes sir!" the man snapped.
Montague's aide looked at Samuel. "When you get back?" she asked.
There were certain things Montague couldn't do. His aide was absolutely devoted to him, but once and a while she needed those comforts. Lately she had been insisting Samuel provide them, and Montague had been reinforcing her requests.
Samuel's wives had told him it was all right but the young woman was so demanding that it often irritated Samuel. But her superior's services were so needed Samuel tried to accomodate her. When she was unhappy Montague was unhappy, and when Montague was unhappy EVERYBODY was unhappy.
"I'll try!" Samuel promised, "But no guarantee. This one could be awful rough."
The young woman nodded and retreated. The men standing around grinned. Samuel's sharp glance made them return to their duties.
That night their helicopters skimmed the surface. Twice Samuel's nicked a tree. "Sorry, sir!" the pilot kept calling back, "Downdrafts!"
Finally the sky ahead of them lit up with the flashing of bombs. Their helicopter touched ground and Samuel led his people out.

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