“Think it through, gentlemen. This will all happen with or without us. For the last six months, violence has been the most decisive force in American politics. We can’t change that. All we can do is ride the bull. If we aren’t guiding things, then our competition surely will.”
The chief strategist for a trust of weapons manufacturers shook his head. “Beg your pardon, but you said the same thing in February. We followed your lead and founded those militias in the URA. Sure, they helped guarantee the Federal Government didn’t shut down the Freedom Referendum polling stations, but where has that really gotten us? We helped turn that unfocused public rage and fear into organized resistance. Fine, but now what? This URA experiment didn’t collapse the old government as intended. They don’t enjoy the popular support we thought they would. Barely a third of the population backs these people, despite the billions spent on advertising.”
Several heads nodded, so the arms dealer charged ahead. “I’m afraid Mr. Mur….” He almost broke their unwritten rule of never mentioning names. “Excuse me. I think he has a point. Let’s not push our luck. We should be satisfied with this Cold War. It is great for business, after all. Plus, no one gets hurt.” He tossed the last line in as an afterthought; forgetting there were no reporters around.
The banker woman turned up the condescension in her tone. She knew how to get a reaction from a room full of alpha males. “What did we get? Can’t you see past your gun sales? By just diverting a couple hundred million dollars from our various political action committees, we built a new nation heavily in our debt! That’s not to mention our own private army.”
“Militia, you mean,” chimed in the media mogul.
“You call them ‘armed gangs’ in your East Coast broadcasts, but ‘freedom fighters’ on all reports west of the Missouri River.”
“Just giving the audience what they want,” he mumbled.
She stood up. “Whatever you call them, those idealists proved themselves in the early fighting. Without them, Washington would have crushed the rebellion before it gained any traction. Not to mention how they kept other extremists we can’t influence from hijacking the movement. Don’t you see how powerful an asset they are?”
Some manufacturing tycoon interrupted. “Yes, but they have served their purpose. It’s time to deescalate and cash in on our investment.”
The banker wagged her finger. “Maybe that’s how your industry operates, but I get paid to plan for the long-term. Paid far more than you, I might add.”
The man turned beet red and shut up. In this world, discussing wealth wasn’t idle bragging, but a demonstration of authority. She built on that momentum and kept pushing. “The problem is we haven’t been using the Brigades to their full potential. Primarily because we haven’t had a solid end goal. We’ve been riding the wave of public anger these last few months, but now we’re in a position to stop this ridiculous cycle of revenge. End the war, but on our terms. That’s all I’m suggesting. The country stumbled into this civil war blindly, like a drunk. I’m just saying it’s time to sober the people up and give them direction. The incidental rewards, to each of us, are beyond anything you’ve seen in your careers. By harnessing the chaos, we can rebuild this country from the ground up. Halting the spread of socialism and restoring lost virtues in the process.”
Several more captains of industry nodded.
She gave them the carrot. Now time for the stick. “This protracted phony war will end in some way at some point. If we aren’t part of the solution, then who will be? Do you really want to see some foreign power or rival corporation remaking the country in their image? Or, God forbid, the moochers building a brave new world? Both nations have already begun rationing gasoline. Washington is even seriously discussing nationalizing some ‘strategic’ industries. As you all know too well, that’s just the beginning of establishing a ‘people’s paradise.’ Are we just going to sit around, hmm? Who is John Galt?”
A little Ayn Rand always did the trick. The terrifying costs of not acting were enough to sway most. The head of a massive insurance conglomerate took up the torch. “She’s right. We have an unprecedented opportunity here and I, for one, am not about to throw that away.” Without a hint of pomposity, he added, “Someone needs to stand up in this leadership vacuum and provide the guidance this country needs. We are the only people on Earth with the strength and clarity of vision to deserve that role. I say we put the proposed operations to an immediate vote!”
What was this room full of Type A personalities supposed to do? The vote to proceed secretly, but with all haste, was unanimous.
Some investment banker nervously fiddled with his gold cufflinks. “So we’ll provide the rebels the weapons and intelligence they need to punch a hole in the Pacific blockade, but how do we make them use it all? We can’t just order them to retake Alaska. Both sides are too reluctant to escalate things.”
The ecstatic head of J.P. Stanley jotted down some notes. “No, we can’t give them orders yet. Just have to provide them the resources and give a polite hint. I believe they’ll jump on this, though. Low hanging fruit. My military experts have assured me these weapons are game changers. Immediate escalation. Once the conflict really heats up, California will need us more and more. Which reminds me, I need another hundred million for the ‘Freedom Brigades.’ We’re doubling membership and they have an expensive equipment wish list.”
The media mogul shrugged. “We don’t have time for such petty details. Take whatever you need from the miscellaneous cash fund in my political action committee.”
She nodded. The great irony about using anonymous PAC money to recruit, train and arm a paramilitary force to “help ensure the constitutional transfer of presidential power,” was that it’s perfectly legal. Even tax-free. Both in the USA and URA. Not that taxes would be much of a worry if they were successful. Simplifying the tax code, at least for job creators, would be a top priority in their brave new world.
“Contact! Bearing 20 degrees, speed 15 knots, range 22 miles. What do you know? Exactly where Fleet said they would be. I guess they think they’re trucking, poor bastards. Even if they keep running, we’ll close within effective gun firing range in less than five minutes, Captain. No sign of weapons yet, but it’s hard to be sure at this distance. Wish we still had a helicopter or two left to scout them out.”
Captain John Worden raised his field glasses to inspect the overloaded civilian freighter on the horizon. He lingered a little longer on the combat information center’s (CIC) digital report of the ship’s class, specifications… and most likely spots for hidden gun emplacements.
“I wish we had a lot of things too, sailor. Resources are in high demand. Just remember, whatever they appropriate from us is kicking rebel ass somewhere else.”
Worden didn’t care for being treated like some second string team any more than his crew, but what could he do? Imposing a massive blockade along the entire West Coast of the URA, or whatever crazy name those rebels called themselves nowadays, wasn’t a cheap exercise. Especially when nearly a third of the fleet now flew a “foreign” flag. Intelligence claimed the URA only possessed the manpower and resources to sortie half of those 100 or so major vessels they captured. Such statistics might please an admiral, but it only takes one lucky enemy ship to ruin his day.