In a flash of inspiration, he knocked on the inside of the door. “Wouldn’t do that if I was you. My team has the door rigged with C-4. Sergeant Barnes! If anyone enters this house, waste the prisoners!”
Donaldson caught a whispered, “He’s full of shit. Let’s go in!”
A calmer voice came from outside. “OK, hotshot. How do we know our people are still alive? Let me talk to one of them.”
Donaldson gulped and tried to muster confidence. “You aren’t in a position to negotiate. We’re only willing to talk to a full bird colonel or above, and in person.” That ought to buy him some time.
Complete silence answered him. Another glimpse out the window showed more men moving around the sides of the house. Both trucks out front aimed giant machine guns right at him. Everyone wore gas masks. Crap. Donaldson just sat down on the sofa with a rifle across his lap. Not much he could do to stop them.
Instead of tear gas or flash bangs, someone rang the doorbell. “All right, asshole. I radioed in your request. I’ll tell you this—”
Several whooshing’s and then quick booms on the street blew out the window. Soldiers on the lawn hit the deck and poured fire at some unseen attackers down the block. Ignoring all the glass shards in his face and arms, Donaldson ransacked the dead around him. He chucked the first grenade found, not stopping to wonder if an incendiary device was such a smart move. Turns out, it sure was. Rather than hunkering down under a hail of shrapnel, the survivors out front scrambled to get away from that ferocious Roman candle.
A deluge of mysterious machine gun fire cut them apart. Some minivan rolled up between the burning armored trucks. Two blue-jean clad men in ski masks and tactical gear jumped out, M-4’s at the high ready. “If you’re with Operation Mongoose, come with us! This is the last ride out of town.”
Perhaps the honorable thing is to die with your men, but Donaldson didn’t care. The young man took all of two seconds thinking things over before rushing out. “Let’s get the fuck out of here!”
“Where’s everyone else?”
Donaldson just shook his head and leapt in the van. Where to begin explaining?
The President of the United States, or what was left of it, put his head in his hands. “Enough. We’ve regained control of south Florida and civilian losses were light. That’s all that matters. Spare me the details.” The general briefing the crowded subterranean conference room trailed off in mid-speech at the interruption.
The new secretary of defense, Mary Hewson, who replaced her predecessor only weeks ago after his nervous breakdown, scolded the president. “What are you so choked up about? I Goddamn told you something like this was going to happen if you carried on down a path of appeasement! Holding elections? Such a show of weakness invited this attack!”
Chosen for her prestigious post not by the man at the head of the table, but by political necessity, she had little fear for the most vilified president in 150 years. She had no direct military experience, but as the ex-CEO of one of the largest defense contractors in the country, her appointment guaranteed her former employer’s crucial manufacturing facilities stayed east of the Missouri River. So many major defense firms had already succumbed to the URA’s siren song of lucrative contracts and practically non-existent corporate income tax. The US couldn’t afford to lose any more to the Wild West.
While everyone else was diplomatic enough to avoid publically taking sides, no one corrected her. That spoke volumes to the president. He tried to lean back and keep his cool, but his voice seeped frustration. “Holding a proper presidential election is not appeasement, it’s the only way to ensure lasting popular support for reunification. Congress cannot just unilaterally suspend the Constitution and appoint me president for a third term. It is paramount, morally as well for practical purposes, that our actions be backed by the people.”
Hewson threw up her hands. “But the Supreme Court upheld the decision to skirt the 22nd Amendment! How can you possibly ask for more?”
“Of course they did; I appointed most of them when their predecessors fled out West. No wonder it was a unanimous decision.” The president crossed both arms and reined in his temper.
“Regardless of how you and Congress feel, the election is a done deal. Next Tuesday, I’m either out of a job or have the blessing of the majority of the country to see this war through.” The president’s obvious disgust at that last possible outcome pissed Hewson off to no end.
“Well, that’s the problem, Mr. President.” She tried to slip the formality in naturally, but it came out as a hiss.
“You are ahead in the polls, by a long shot. You’ll get this show of support you want so badly. Once you do, the political games need to end. Time we take decisive action to crush this uprising, exactly as Congress has mandated. The House has given you carte blanche to do as you see fit and yet you still hesitate.” Her outrage seemed truly genuine. Maybe she really was more patriotic than concerned solely with all those stock options she held in her old company.
“You’re damn right I’m hesitating! Congress isn’t going to be fighting on that battlefield, ma’am. Young people that didn’t do a thing to start this mess will be responsible for cleaning it up. A vote for me, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, is a vote for war. Lincoln never gave the people a choice way back when. Americans today will have the privilege of being granted a voice. That’s the least I can offer before throwing millions of them into battle. My opponent is preaching reconciliation—”
Someone screamed from the door. “You mean outright surrender to those right-wing fascists! Never….” Some random and visibly pissed off Secret Service agent went beet red. “I’m sorry, sir. That was unprofessional… I’ll relieve myself.” He hustled outside while the rest of the staff gawked openmouthed.
The president just nodded at the breach of decorum. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. We are surrounded by so much hate and fear, but we still have to stop this blind rushing into fights. To borrow a phrase from my traitorous counterpart in California: ‘Guts aren’t bulletproof.’ If the people really want this, then they’ll have to stand up and demand it at the voting booth. With real unity on our side, we can smash the rebels. I’m convinced we can. Until then, I will not take any more unilateral action forcing war upon anyone else.”
While most of his staff sympathized, they were still annoyed. By all rights, this rebellion should have been stomped out immediately. The president’s pathological obsession with avoiding open war only prolonged the inevitable. The president wasn’t blind. He recognized the frustration in their eyes.
“Listen. If I win the election next week, like you all think will happen,” the president looked physically ill, “then you’ll have your grand invasion. That great glorious battle so many people are begging for. This cold war will turn hot.”
He turned his back on the table to hide his clouding eyes. “God help us to make sure it doesn’t burn us all alive.”
Chapter 4
“Sergeant Dixon, let me first say it is a pleasure to have you on the show and I’d be honored to shake your hand.” A nervous young man in dress blues extended his gloved hand across the table. “It’s uh, great to be here.” No one could hear the faint servos whining from the artificial hand over the audience’s thunderous applause.
The famous late-night comedian tried to put his guest at ease and made a show of wrestling under the robotic grip. “Wow, you really put Luke Skywalker to shame!”