The beaming captain called his FNG brother-in-law and told him to find the highest-ranking person he could and come on down South. When the other guy mentioned he was way too busy for games, the captain switched on the video feature of his smartphone and panned over the cargo bay. Hundreds of vehicles, from tanks to trucks, and mountains of ammo pallets filled his mini screen. A complete heavy brigade equipment set, everything except the troops, returning from Germany and in route to Texas was just “requisitioned.”
Gorgas organized the rest of the civilian volunteers, virgin fighters but as motivated as you could find, into four light infantry “regiments.” About 2,600 carefully vetted men, and a surprising number of women, in each. Technically motorized units, if you count the 500 or so pickups confiscated per unit.
Frantic work done on a few to weld on light steel armor gave some crude protection. A great idea on paper, but the hillbilly tanks weren’t all that useful in practice. They soon abandoned the whole idea and agreed the vehicles would be best deployed as battlefield taxis. Speed and not looking so obviously like a threat were the best armor they could improvise. Better to spend the time doing as much hasty training as possible.
Their small arms were a mix of private weapons and whatever could be spared from police and Guard armories. At least almost everyone had a semi-auto rifle and ammunition was plentiful. They were a well-armed posse, but a weak army. Of course, if things went according to plan, these irregulars would never have to fight against the professional soldiers. Their whole mission was to penetrate the enemy’s lines and harass the rear areas. He wasn’t morbid enough to throw these amateurs up against veteran combat troops.
He did make sure to outfit every regiment with two professional National Guard officers to act as commanding and executive officers. At least one professional NCO was assigned to each subordinate company. Young ex-soldiers with combat experience in Iraq, Afghanistan or Syria were tasked as junior militia sergeants and officers whenever possible. Still, raw civilians with more guts than brains made up 90 % or more of each unit.
Gorgas was inflexible about making sure everyone had uniforms, no matter how much Tallahassee bitched about the expense. Maybe just the old-style BDU’s, but it was crucial they had matching uniforms nonetheless. It was the best he could do in the short time he had to make them feel like a real army, part of something bigger than themselves.
A couple weeks of training, even as intense as their program, is simply not enough time to instill the levels of discipline, teamwork or confidence necessary to turn a bunch of civilians into real soldiers. To say nothing about teaching them marksmanship, field craft, or tactical drills. At least they were flooded with gung-ho paramedic volunteers. Something the major feared would be important when these regiments were thrown into the grinder.
There was one kernel of luck in this shit pile, at least. Enough civilian police officers volunteered to allocate one to each platoon. Their presence imparted a level of discipline, of professionalism and, not to put too fine a point on it, legitimacy not found in most armed mobs.
The few heavy machine guns, grenades, antitank rockets and other boom stuff the Guard could afford to strip from the regular units were kept centralized in a special company under the direct control of every regimental commander. Not terribly efficient, of course, but it was the best way to guarantee that the weapons and their tiny stock of ammunition would only be used during the most decisive moments of battle.
They also had some experimental weapons, like UAV guidance jammers and Hellfire missiles mounted on ground vehicles, but those were just unproven toys. With some luck, they might help a bit, but this fight wouldn’t be decided by technology. This battle would be won or lost by rifleman face to face with the enemy. All the other stuff existed solely to make sure those shooters could get in range of the enemy without being slaughtered.
In short, the whole thing was one of the most complicated strategic and logistical challenges in military history, and he almost single handily sweated it down to manageable size. The result? No one gave a damn! The importance and subtle intricacies of flexible organization, relevant training and dynamic control structures were apparently too complicated for these supposed leaders to grasp.
He took some cold comfort in knowing that, if his own side didn’t appreciate the sweeping changes he’d made to the Florida Defense Forces, then it wasn’t likely the enemy did. How much value would that surprise have? History was full of clever and carefully organized forces being stomped on by the side with more men and artillery.
Speaking of artillery, he waved the supply officer over. His whisper this time was genuine. This one was a bonafide secret. “So, Kamil, have our tropical friends come through yet? I’ve got six batteries worth of ex-gun bunnies on a tight training schedule rotating through the mockups, but we need the real deal. Combat is hardly the best time for initial gunnery practice.”
The S-4 smiled. “All 36 pieces were offloaded last night. They’ll be trucked off and deployed tonight. Your obsession with secrecy is what’s taking so long, but maybe you have a point. I don’t know how much the Cubans were paid, but they sent even more ammunition and spare parts than we were promised. Which is damn good, because I haven’t been able to find a contractor able to fabricate replacements on such short notice. We do have some options for self-manufacturing in the future. I found several places not only able, but willing to retool and copy these things, or any type of artillery for that matter. We just need more time.”
Gorgas shook his head as one of his phones rang. “I love that you’re thinking so far ahead, but if this drags on into a protracted war, we’re fucked. We can’t hold this thing together for much longer. Everybody’s dick is hard now, but that passion fades. Don’t forget, we have to pay for all of this eventually. At some point, all these IOU’s Tallahassee are throwing around will come due.
No. Three weeks of prep time was a blessing. Three more weeks of waiting will cause this whole pyramid scheme to fall apart. The worst thing the president could do to us would be to do nothing to us.”
Part II
“The capacity of the human mind for swallowing nonsense and spewing it forth in violent and repressive action has never yet been plumbed.”
Chapter 7
Federal mobile command post
Ten miles inside Florida
The invasion of Florida, or liberation depending on your version of history, began with a whimper rather than a bang. The internet loved to call it the “Wet Firecracker War.” No cruise missiles swarmed the state. No rolling artillery barrages or hordes of strategic bombers flattened anything.
A handful of stealth penetrators did conduct some ultra-surgical strikes on a few airfields, but far from the cameras. Ferocious tanks with names like “death dealers” stenciled on the barrels and thousands of other armored vehicles surged across the border with safeties off. They slammed right into the rebel’s defenses and overran…nothing.
Not a shot was fired. After 20 miles, a reconnaissance platoon made contact with the first Florida Defense Force position. Perhaps “contact” was too strong a word. This handful of BDU-clad old timers, armed with a motley mixture of shotguns and bolt-action hunting rifles, hardly qualified as a threat. They fired a single shot, probably by accident, before chucking their weapons to run away faster.