Under the Constitution of the United States, the American military is subordinate to the popularly elected officials. It has always been this way in the United States and, with luck, always will be. Over two hundred years of operating under this system, however, does not mean that there are not problems. As would be expected when two diverse cultures come together to achieve a common goal, there are misunderstandings that lead to an occasional clash. Professional soldiers, who are appointed to their current rank and position solely on the basis of their previous success and achievements, oftentimes have difficulties in working out solutions with politicians, who know they must maintain their popularity if they hope to be reelected or receive favorable treatment by future historians. The blunt, direct language associated with a "victory or death" mentality tends to unnerve or anger men and women who twist the English language to soften the impact of unpopular measures or to hide the truth.
Another notable difference between these two groups of public servants is the manner in which they make decisions. The warrior, who embraces the philosophy of "victory or death," tends to view the world in terms of black and white. You succeed or you fail. It is that simple. Professional soldiers are comfortable with the idea that once spurred into action, they are expected to continue on, come what may. As one 7th cavalry officer once exclaimed as he rode off to his demise, "It'll be a bullet or a brevet for me."
Politicians, on the other hand, endeavor to conduct their affairs in a manner that permits them to keep their options open, allowing them to dodge that bullet at the last moment if things don't appear that they will work out as expected. Most elected officials and their representatives see no shame in reining in their charger or shying away from a head-on collision with a foe. It is, in fact, often touted as a virtue, demonstrating that the politician is a realist, willing to listen to reason and compromise. These differences do not make one superior to the other. It's simply the nature of the world to which each lives. During times of crisis, politicians can demonstrate the same dogged determination and courage of their convictions as a warrior does, just as the many senior generals who make up the Joint Chiefs of Staff often behave in a manner more befitting a politician.
History has recorded some very notable clashes between these two diverse positions. Douglas MacArthur lost his job when his solution to Chinese intervention in the Korean War went against the policies of Harry S. Truman. While John F. Kennedy listened to his military advisers during the Cuban missile crisis in 1963 and permitted them to prepare for a full-scale invasion of Cuba, in the end, he opted to use the military in a less confrontational manner. The conduct of the entire Vietnam War, from beginning to end, is rife with examples of the military seeking one solution while the President's advisers argued for another. When nothing stood between Stormin' Norman and the administration of a coup de grace that would have meant the end of Saddam Hussein, his Commander in Chief did what the Iraq Republican Guard could not.
As the hour to execute Tempest drew near, the President's National Security Agency was called together. When General Eric Shepard and the other senior members of the joint Chiefs of Staff entered the cabinet room, they were under the assumption that everything that had needed to be discussed had been. The only reason they thought they had been brought together was to provide the President's top advisers with a final update on the situation in Russia and to receive the official order to execute.
It therefore came as something of a shock when one of the National Security advisers opened the meeting by stating that the President was having second thoughts about Tempest. "In an effort to avoid the sort of criticism that they endured in the wake of the Kursk incident, the Russians have been quick to solicit assistance from Western nations, including NATO. When briefed on Tempest, the State Department was quick to point out that by the use of these disaster-relief flights to ferry ground troops into Russia, we will not only violate Russian territorial integrity and betray the trust and confidence of the Russian government, but could set in motion a chain of events that may well lead to the collapse of that government. The President has therefore instructed me to come back to you in order to determine if there is a less intrusive option, such as that previously proposed by the Air Force."
Before he could continue, General Smith slapped the polished tablet op with the flat of his hand. "What?"
Annoyed that he had been interrupted, the National Security adviser peered over his reading glasses and stared at Smith. "You heard me, General. The President is concerned that exercising the Tempest option could have serious repercussions, not the least of which are the casualties that would be associated with that operation."
"Begging your pardon, sir," Smith countered, "but not going through with this will, I daresay, result in serious repercussions."
While others sat back and watched in stony silence, Smith and the President's chief adviser began to shout at each other. "Even your own intelligence assessment states that the United States may not be targeted by the missiles under Likhatchev's control. His disagreement. after all, is with Moscow, not with us."
"Mister Chaplin," Smith shot back, "we've been through this time and time again. A dispute in Russia, whether it is a limited affair or a full-blown civil war that results in the use of nuclear weapons, cannot be contained. In every war game and simulation we've run, eventually things get out of hand and the United States or one of its allies becomes a target."
"Those, General," Chaplin countered with uncharacteristic sharpness, "were just that, war game and simulation. This operation, the troops that will be executing it, and the damage they will create, are real. The President is not sure if he's ready to initiate a chain of events that may spin out of our control."
With each exchange, Shepard watched as Smith's face grew redder. Realizing that things would soon reach a point where he would be unable to restrain his outspoken subordinate, the Chairman intervened. "Mister Chaplin," Shepard stated crisply, "I am afraid we have reached a point where we no longer have the luxury of revisiting this issue. For one thing, once Tempest was adopted as the only practical course of action, all of our resources were funneled into supporting it. The Air Force has marshaled the aircraft necessary for an air strike, and the Navy has moved its carrier task force away from Russia. In short, sir, the only viable options we have left are to either proceed with Tempest or to do nothing."
Being careful to choose his words, the National Security adviser pursued Shepard's comments. "In a worst-case scenario, what is the cost of doing nothing?"
Shepard fought the temptation to roll his eyes. This had been gone over daily since the crisis had broken. Still, he could not resist the urge to snipe at the political appointee sitting across from him. "Worst case?" he asked rhetorically. "Worst case, the President loses five million constituents within the first twenty-four hours." The silence permeating the room as Shepard spoke was oppressive. "Within seven days, that number would triple as the wounded who are beyond help or unable to reach medical assistance died. After ten years, the number would double as a result of increased rates of cancer and birth defects."