The governor talked over the president’s grunt.
“Second, all Texas and Oklahoma military forces, both Guard and irregulars, will be independently commanded. We will comply with your Federalization order and our troops will fight with honor and distinction to defend the borders of the United States from internal or external threats. However, to make things clear from the start, none of our people will participate in offensive operations into any ‘rebellious’ state.”
Governor Berry threw down his speech pad. “In plain English, sir, we will defend the United States against any armed aggression, but will not help you wage a war in order to expand your powerbase. The formal declarations will be sent to Congress tomorrow but, out of respect, I wanted to give you a summary ahead of time.”
“Respect you say…sir, I don’t know where to begin pointing out all the fallacies in your position. You are not leaving me many peaceful options to mitigate this crisis. I am finished threatening and warning. This game ends now. Maybe we should take our chances with a new governor.”
Fear edged the governor’s voice as much as outrage, but all the president heard was his anger. “Sir, with all due respect, you don’t have a leg to stand on. These threats don’t hold any water. Don’t bite off more than ya’ can chew. If we’re going to be on the front lines, by God, then it’ll be on our terms, and on our eastern border, if need be! You wanna’ play the cowboy, Mr. President? That’s fine, but we aren’t going to be the Indians!”
Yet another state leader hung up on the President of the United States.
Las Vegas International Airport
“I just don’t understand why all the fuss over these Goddamn nukes! We can’t use them anyway. One of the Air Force guys told me they’ve all been deactivated remotely. Washington flipped a switch and poof! The insides are dead. Now they’re so much expensive, radioactive scrap metal. He called it a Permissive Action Link or something. There’s just no point to all this crap anymore.” The Humvee’s gunner peered between his legs into the crowded truck, looking for a reaction.
None of the Freedom Brigade fighters pulling security liked that perspective. This was “The Big Mission.” Everyone was counting on them. The driver chimed in and gave his two cents.
“Maybe, but once we get these things back to Cali them lab coat wearing types will figure out a way to fix ‘em. Once we got a real deterrent the East will have to back off and quit fucking with us.” Most of the crew nodded at his more hopeful prediction.
Mr. Know-it-all, with a flourish of borrowed knowledge, had a response even to that.
“I doubt it. They say bypassing one of these PAL’s is like performing a tonsillectomy while entering the patient from the wrong end. We’d have been better off sneaking into Texas and stealing a bunch of tanks. We could put them to a lot better use than these damn bombs.”
The driver popped another piece of nicotine gum. A poor substitute for the real thing. “Man, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Who needs tanks when we got nukes? Once we get this stuff working, the war’s as good as over.”
The gunner kicked the radio mount for attention. “Here, for the sake of argument, let’s say you’re right. Somehow, the bright boys figure out a way to rearm these things. What then? We aren’t crazy enough to use them in America, inside either border, I mean. Washington knows that. We’d look ridiculous and desperate threatening to nuke the East Coast over which government you should pay taxes to. As for those Washington assholes, they want to take over the country, not destroy it. You know what I’m saying? Who the hell is cold blooded enough to ever fire a nuke in this so-called war?”
Jamal, cramped in the tiny rear seat, reached into the front passenger seat and clapped the quiet woman there on her Kevlar-coated shoulder. “I bet Sophie would! She’d nuke ‘em all and have the war over by dinner. This gal has got more balls than all the brass in Sacramento combined!” Either from fear or respect, or both, but ever since their “wall to wall” counseling session he’d been loyal as a puppy.
Sophie kept her poker face on. She had her own ideas, but now wasn’t the time. It was time to be a buzz kill NCO. “Nukes or guns, the tools don’t matter. There’s still plenty of killing left to do. Plenty of Feds and sympathizers willing to dish it out our way as well. So, quit the gossiping and scan your lanes. Those Fedefucks want their toys back real bad. You saw what they did in town. Imagine what they’d do if they knew exactly where we were.”
With the escort mission almost over everyone was too relaxed. Not a good thing. She reached for the radio mike and reminded the other two Humvee crews in her section to, “Cut the damn chatter. Stay alert and watch your sectors.” The men in the other vehicles marveled at how she could possibly know they were screwing off. Uncanny, that woman.
Her gut had better timing and more tactical awareness than any of the professional soldiers around the FedEx cargo plane, three hundred yards behind the Freedom Brigade cordon on the airport tarmac.
Special Forces operate in small groups well behind enemy lines. To pull off the crazy things they do, surprise is their most powerful weapon. Once surprise is gone, shock is their next most potent tool. When all else fails, overwhelming firepower is used to steamroll the enemy into rapid submission. In this case, the federal SF team descending on McCarran International Airport had all of the above advantages.
The Californian National Guard element had just finished loading the last of one hundred 12-foot long nuclear bombs into the chartered freight plane. Even though all other flights were temporarily grounded, no one paid much attention to the sound of helicopter blades whooping closer. After all, an airport is a big and loud place. Everyone sure heard the four National Guard armored cars, providing close-in security around the plane, suddenly explode though.
The Californian brigadier general in charge of this nearly successful operation stood in the cargo bay of the plane, personally overseeing the loading. He dashed from window to window as his troops disappeared under a deluge of Hellfire missiles. He caught quick glimpses of Blackhawk helicopters making high-speed, low altitude passes around him.
These weren’t the boring utility model either. Those apparitions of death were the so-called “Battle Hawk” mod. A dreadful hybrid of a transport and attack helicopter… and the favorite ride for the US Army’s Delta Force. Every few seconds a salvo of 70mm rockets or a hundred rounds from the 7.62mm mini-guns would ripple out from each bird. Even worse, there were four of the deadly apparitions running in circles around him.
The general hollered into his squad radio. “All elements: move to cover in the nearby hangers! Get off the damn tarmac!”
He had nearly a company out there, but only static answered him. In the 30 seconds it took for him to comprehend the situation, every soldier farther than 10 yards away from the transport plane was shredded.
Sophie and her section, pulling the outer cordon several hundred yards away, stared open mouthed at the devastation. This was, suddenly, their first real combat mission. It sure as hell wasn’t like anything they had ever heard or imagined. Nearly a hundred well-armed, professional soldiers and some 16 vehicles were not just destroyed…but simply erased from existence.
Remarkably, the cargo plane in the middle of the inferno was completely unscathed. By the time the Freedom Brigade amateurs could comprehend what was going on and wondered what they should do about it, the choppers began deploying their primary weapons: riflemen.