Britain’s leader sighed. “All of which brings us back to the reason you’re here, doesn’t it? To help decide what we’re going to do about all this nonsense?”
“I guess so, Mr. Prime Minister.” Huntington still wasn’t completely comfortable with his expanding role. He’d been happy to act as an unofficial presidential messenger or fact-finder. Deciding U.S. foreign policy seemed a bit out of his league. It was also risky for the President. He could imagine any number of journalists and political second-guessers ready to squawk about “amateur” diplomacy.
Huntington’s long friendship with the President made him better suited for some tasks than any official emissary. He served out of friendship, not to promote a career or some political agenda. In a time when official channels were full of arguments and public posturing, Huntington also represented one of the only ways a quiet message could reach a head of state. He was the President’s eyes and ears, and his judgment was trusted.
“Well, as I see it, our first task is fairly straightforward. We must issue a joint communiqué opposing these foolish moves to military rule.” Britain’s leader set his jaw. “Something blunt and bold. Something that can’t be misinterpreted or misunderstood by those idiots in Paris, Berlin, and Moscow.”
“That’s all very well, sir, but…”
“But talk is cheap, Ross?” The Prime Minister laughed. “True enough. Still, one has to start somewhere.”
Huntington had the grace to look sheepish. He’d jumped the gun. The other man obviously had more in mind.
“What comes next is a rather sticky question, though.” The Prime Minister’s sardonic smile turned downward into a worried frown. “We’re somewhat short on practical options. I fear we may wind up with a lot of bark and very little bite.”
The American nodded somberly. There were really only two ways to pressure any foreign government — with trade sanctions or with stern warnings backed by military force. Sanctimonious speeches had never toppled a dictatorship or defeated an aggressor.
Unfortunately sanctions wouldn’t do squat in this instance. The French, the Germans, and their client states weren’t buying much that Britain or America made anyway. And the Russians didn’t have the money to buy anything from anyone.
Saber-rattling seemed almost as impractical. When the cold war ended, Congress had gone to town on the defense budget — hacking away to funnel more money into already bloated social programs. Successive presidents and secretaries of defense had fought hard to preserve a core conventional force able to safeguard U.S. interests around the world. They’d won a few victories. But not many. American defense spending stood at its lowest level since 1939.
Most of the armored divisions once stationed in Europe as part of NATO were gone — either deactivated or reduced to training cadres scattered around pork-barrel military bases in the continental United States. The navy was down to twelve carrier groups and barely four hundred warships. The air force could field just two-thirds of the air power available during the Persian Gulf War. America’s armed forces were still the most capable in the world, but meeting a crisis in one region would leave them weak everywhere else.
Great Britain’s military forces weren’t in any better shape. Continuing cutbacks made necessary by shrinking revenues left the Royal Navy and the RAF able only to exert limited control over the Channel, parts of the North Sea, and local airspace. And, after meeting its commitments in Northern Ireland, the Falklands, and other overseas posts, the British Army had little more than a single reinforced brigade available for emergency service.
No, Huntington thought, saber-rattling is more likely to show off our own weaknesses than it is to frighten France and Germany back to democratic rule. He said as much aloud.
“Perhaps.” The Prime Minister cupped his hands and blew on them. “But maybe we can tinker about on the edges.”
This time Huntington waited for him to elaborate.
“I believe we’re both training Polish, Czech, and Slovak officers in our tactics and on our equipment?”
“Yes.”
Once the Warsaw Pact crumbled, the three Eastern European countries had begun turning to the West for arms and military advice. After Iraq’s crushing defeat, Soviet-manufactured weapons were widely regarded as second-rate. Both the United States and Great Britain had supplied the Eastern European democracies with tanks, artillery, other pieces of military hardware, and the training to use them properly. Ironically, much of the gear they’d shipped east had come from stockpiles originally held in Germany to help deter a Warsaw Pact invasion.
It was a long, complicated process, retarded even more by tight budgets and congressional constraints on foreign military aid. Most Polish and Czech soldiers still used old East Bloc weapons. But slowly and surely that was changing.
“Then I suggest that we accelerate and expand those military aid programs.” The Prime Minister smiled thinly. “And that we make sure the news is spread far and wide.”
Now, that made sense. Strengthening the three smaller countries’ armies should help deter any French, German, or Russian aggression. New weapons shipments and more advisors would serve as a visible sign of the U.S. and British determination to support Europe’s few remaining free trade democracies. At the same time, the moves couldn’t realistically be viewed as provocative by the protectionist states. Even a larger force modernization program than the allies could afford wouldn’t give Warsaw or Prague the means to act aggressively against their larger neighbors.
It would also be cheaper and safer than one of the only other alternatives — permanently stationing U.S. troops in the three countries.
“I suspect the President will be happy to go along with that, Mr. Prime Minister.”
“Good.” The tall, slender Englishman looked gratified. Then his expression changed, turning thoughtful. “You know, Ross, all posturing aside, it might still be worthwhile to arrange some sort of joint military exercise for next year. If nothing else, it would be another concrete signal of our resolve to protect our common interests in Europe.”
Before the American could reply, the Prime Minister held up a hand to forestall any hasty comment. “Nothing very grand, mind you. But perhaps a brigade or two of your Central Command troops could participate in our army’s summer maneuvers on the Salisbury Plain.”
Huntington thought that over carefully. On the one hand, it would cost more money. Moving troops and gear over long distances was always expensive. On the other hand, the Joint Chiefs of Staff might consider such a rapid deployment exercise valuable — even without considering the intangible political benefits. When NATO collapsed, it took the Reforger exercise with it. As a result, America’s armed forces had been limited to running small-scale practice mobilizations and troop movements for the past several years. Sending one or two brigades from the 82nd Airborne or the 101st Air Airborne to Great Britain would help preserve logistics and planning skills the Pentagon might need someday to meet a faraway crisis.
He decided to stay noncommittal. If he was sure of anything, he was sure that promising U.S. troop movements went way beyond his vague and extralegal negotiating authority. “I’ll have to buck your proposal on up to the President, sir.” He shrugged. “That kind of decision is pretty far over my head.”
“Fair enough, Ross.” The Prime Minister turned to his Minister of Defence. “Put your staff lads to work roughing that out, won’t you, Andy? I’d like our American friend to have details he can take back to Washington.”