Freedom Brigade Barracks
Southern California District
Sophie Kampbell shunned her graduation ceremony in favor of watching TV. Just like a billion other people around the world. The second invasion of Florida was the most viewed program in television history. It was also probably the most disappointing for action junkies. The whole “battle” fit easily inside the three-hour primetime slot, including commercials. In typical government fashion, this time they were ready for anything…just as the enemy gave up. Almost no resistance was offered against the enormous and carefully advancing federal force. The rare exceptions were met by such overwhelming firepower, employed with such flexible ROE, that the Taliban would think they had it light.
While domestic news outlets reached new heights of biasness and speculation disconnected from any remote sense of reality, the foreign news channels were bewildered. The First Battle of North Florida was dreadful enough. Why would there be another one? From London to Tokyo, the deaths of 7,000 Americans in a single day — a Pearl Harbor, September 11 and a couple dozen mass shootings combined — blew their minds. Everyone outside the US just knew that after such dreadful violence no one could possibly be interested in any more fighting.
Surely such horrific losses would catapult moderates to center stage. Cooler heads must prevail and this dive into collective insanity would be short lived. The naïve Europeans only knew war through the lens of pointless futility that the history books gave it. Most Asians were more practical minded and lamented how bad for business the fighting was. Much of the Muslim world was excited, either to see the price of oil skyrocket or to see the Great Satan tearing itself apart. They only prayed that the US wouldn’t blame them somehow. It seemed only Africa and some parts of South America could understand and sympathize with the American outrage.
They were the only ones personally familiar with the fact that people haven’t improved much from the Stone Age. Only the conditions we live in have changed. All our enlightened ideals are just the products of idle time and not of a new environment. The peace and security of civilization allows people the chance to indulge in such luxuries as liberalism, humanism, tolerance and compassion.
They knew too well from painful experience how weak that house of illusions really was. The chill of fear, fire of revenge, stink of paranoia and winds of opportunism are the real natural environment of our species. When threatened, the artificial constructs of society were easily jettisoned for the tried and murderously true ancient instincts. Men might fight and die for those postponed lofty ideals, but the causes of wars are much less complex.
Who would tell the grieving parents, the shattered spouse, the abandoned children, the devastated siblings or the shocked friends of a fallen soldier that they died in vain? That it was time to put this childish foolishness behind them and just let everything go. Hurry up and get back to normal. No one could shove that terrible genie back in the bottle. To the ancient Greeks, it wasn’t the wrath of the gods that would be released by Pandora’s Box, but the collective anger of humanity. A far deadlier curse than any supernatural being.
Once upon a time, the US waged total war against Japan. Eventually nuking two cities and leveling dozens more with traditional ordinance, all as payback for their killing of 3,000 Americans at Pearl Harbor. For almost the same causalities as on September 11th the US waged a worldwide, intensely bloody, generation-spanning war to prevent another attack. God alone knew how much death would be needed to calm America’s insecurity and assuage their bloodlust this time.
Sophie kept cleaning her new rifle, only pausing to switch the station every now and again.
Politicians gave their speeches. Businesses ran their political advertisements. Celebrities and religious leaders endorsed one plan or another, but that was just background noise. The families of the dead were center stage. It was the hysterical wailing from the mother of a slain National Guard fighter and the tear clotted face of his stoic father that provoked action. The heart wrenching pleading with God from the widowed wife of a federal soldier, with two terrified young kids in her arms, aroused just as much rage.
Once you ignore the rhetoric from supposed leaders and listen to the people, the question of why war was inevitable wasn’t so mysterious. Wars can be pursued scientifically, but their causes are rarely so rational.
Sophie’s phone rang, halting her channel surfing. “Kampbell, the vote’s in the morning. Your unit is assigned to protect polling station 12. Be there at 0600, fully armed. Any questions?”
Sophie just smiled. Her first mission.
Daytona, Florida
Brown and his little gang parked their stolen car in a strip mall inside Daytona. The “social breakdown” the radio harped on was difficult to find. Practically all of Florida’s cell phone networks were down, for example, but life was still normal on the streets. While Congressman Eliot used one of the few remaining paid phone booths in the free world to call home, Jessica and Brown went searching for something to eat.
No one in the grocery store gave his uniform a second glance as they swooped down on the deli. Brown practically salivated when he beheld the smorgasbord ahead. Not the variety found under normal circumstances, what with the embargo and all, but hardly a Third World pantry.
“All right. No more damn MRE’s tonight! What would you— holy shit! Twenty dollars for a box of fried chicken?”
The aproned clerk smiled and shrugged. “Supply and demand, sugar.”
A clucking sound brought his attention back to the store’s entrance. Some denim-clad good ol’ boy pushed two buggies full of chicken cages towards the customer service desk. A trail of shit and feathers coated the well-polished floor. “Evenin’. Heard ya’ll paying 10 bucks a chicky. Got me a whole mess ah eggs too, if yah ‘ant ‘em.”
Some guy wearing a white polo shirt with corporate logo and a Glock 17 in a shoulder holster strolled up, both thumbs in his belt. While an armed guard in a supermarket might be normal in some big cities, around these parts it was surreal. Just part of the new cost of doing business.
“Local sourcing is around back in the loading dock. Please take your wares there, sir.”
Jessica laughed and eased closer to Brown. “I guess demand was just supplied. So, what about a few Cuban sandwiches for our first date.”
He cut his eyes at her, suddenly alert. Before he put his foot in his mouth she gently squeezed his arm. “Relax, big boy. I’m just teasing. Let me pay. I’m on an expense account.”
The middle-aged lady behind the glass counter shook her head and waved at a sign. “Sorry, darling. It’s cash only. Barter’s available for large purchases. The boss is all worried about the banks and whatnot.”
Brown yanked some dead presidents out of his shoulder pouch to get the ball rolling on the subs. “Looks like it’s on me then. So much for feminine independence!” He wished he could take back that careless remark as soon as he let it slip. Why is shit always so much wittier in your head? On the other hand, it was a good sign that she laughed at his stupid joke.
Jessica smiled and nibbled the corner of her lip. He wondered if he imagined her whisper. “Oh, don’t worry. I always wind up on top in the end.”