He paused, but not for gravitas. The president studied his watch and withered the barrage of reporters gunning him down with questions. After 15 seconds, he nodded. The room went dead silent as the lights flicked off and an aide unfolded a large projector screen behind him.
Most of the younger journalists had no idea what the black and white video stream represented. The older ones gulped at the familiar footage rushing closer to the ground. Crosshairs centered on a large, nondescript building with a couple of military Humvees parked in front. Seconds later the screen went fuzzy.
The president hung his head, but not for long. “That was the headquarters building at Camp Pendleton. Formerly the largest military base on the West Coast. More to the point, this was the first of 1,200 cruise missiles targeting terrorist militant encampments and leadership sites throughout URA-held territory.”
In a terrible breach of operational security, but brilliant psychological warfare maneuver, the screen changed to a video game-style map of the western USA. More than a thousand blue lines pierced the border from the east and the west. Scores simply winked out in the middle of nowhere. Whether intercepted or malfunctioned, it didn’t matter. The show still gripped everyone’s attention. Within minutes, the vast majority of the missiles reached various red circles around the map. Rather than special effects, a frighteningly mundane checkmark replaced each missile trajectory.
“My fellow Americans, that is only the beginning.” Senior officers from every branch of the military stood and formed a stone-faced wall behind the president in a show of solidarity. “Or this can be the end. Full amnesty is still on the table. Any so-called rebel willing to throw down their arms, surrender and swear loyalty to the legitimate federal authorities will not be punished for their criminal actions.”
The president droned on and on while detailing his generous twenty-point peaceful reunification plan. Despite his enraptured audience in the White House, most of the country never saw the carrot after the stick demonstration. A completely different speech fascinated the huddled masses yearning for excitement. In a digital stampede, network after network shifted coverage to a live feed from Sacramento, California.
In the cooler footage, a petite, middle-aged woman kneeled in front of some bloody young man. She pumped his chest aggressively in the worst imitation of CPR imaginable. Glancing up and “noticing” the camera, she stopped and shook her head, wiping away stoic tears. Her makeup had been hastily, but artistically reapplied to add age lines.
Witnessing President Salazar transform from stern dragon lady into grieving grandmother melted the hearts of even her staunchest foes. She rose proudly, with the burning California State Capitol building perfectly positioned over her shoulders.
“This is a tyrant’s definition of negotiation.” She waved her hand and the unbiased camera followed, panning across paramedics rushing back and forth. Salazar snapped her fingers when the state-run news cameraman focused on body bags, rather than her. The camera swept back to her face, just as she balanced the proper amount of anger and despair to come across as hurt, but resolved.
“This endless terrorism must stop! The only way to end this dark age of tyranny is for the United Republics of America to reunite this land. Throw off the chains of Washington and fight for the legitimate Federal Government. No. Correction, don’t fight for us; we’ll defend ourselves.” She wiped another Vaseline-tipped finger across her eye to get just the right dose of misty eyes.
“Fight for the defenseless victims of unchecked power. Fight for the future of democracy, but above all… FIGHT FOR YOUR FREEDOM!”
With impeccable timing, a young soldier, covered in soot, gently carried a random child out from the rubble behind her. The girl, clutching a torn URA flag, waved it proudly and shouted, “God Bless you, President Salazar!”
Salazar held her chin high and patted the girl’s head. “No darling. God bless our brave men and women in uniform protecting us from evil.” The president turned back to the camera and challenged a hundred million viewers. “May God protect our heroes and may he give us all the courage to stand shoulder to shoulder with them in this age of darkness.”
The latest musical chart hit, some ultra-patriotic country song, filled the air. The view cut away to a long line outside a small office in some strip mall. Within 24 hours, all these volunteers flooding URA recruitment offices would replace their casualties ten-fold.
Of course, what good is a giant army if you don’t put it to use?
Part II: Shock and Awe
“It is not well to drive men into final corners; at those moments they could all develop teeth and claws.”
Chapter 5
“Yes, Mr. President. I’m confident our forces are ready for the invasion.”
A young, but senior public relations staffer interrupted the general’s briefing. “No, no. ‘Invasion’ didn’t fare well in the focus groups. For now we’re going with ‘liberation’ until we find something better.”
Five-star General Bremer, America’s first officer to hold that wartime title since Korea, chuckled. “Are you serious, son?”
The young man waved his binder. “I know, right? I thought ‘pacification’ would have gone over better. I guess the old ways are the best ways.”
“That’s not what I….” The ageing general realized his disgust was not a shared emotion around the table. The other senior officers were used to the PR side of war and simply nodded solemnly. The civilian staffers scratched vigorous notes, taking the spin for granted.
“Right… Anyway, Mr. President, we’ve put these last few months to good use rebuilding and reorganizing our military. With the full mobilization of all reservists and state National Guard forces, as well the massive influx of new volunteers, our land forces have doubled in size since the rebellion. Even after the, ah… attrition from the loyalty testing.”
Even he couldn’t bring himself openly to acknowledge the hundreds of thousands of deserters. Nearly a third of the previous force. Nothing like it had occurred in the US military in over 150 years.
The new secretary of defense rubbed her hands in barely contained excitement and interrupted. “Rest assured, Mr. President, the quality of our troops’ equipment remains top-notch. From tanks to stealth fighters, we’re in a renaissance for our domestic arms industry! I don’t think we’ve been this productive since World War Two. I’ve toured so many reactivated assembly lines these last few months I’m starting to dream in green!” No one else laughed. Nor asked if she was talking about camouflage or money.
A resigned edge to the president’s usually professorial tone put the briefing back on track. “And how much have the rebel forces grown in the last three months? What are we going up against?”
Back in his element, General Bremer flipped off the lights and switched on a digital projector. He guided the assembled politicos through the most beautiful and Top Secret PowerPoint presentation ever conceived. Twenty minutes later, the president uncrossed his arms and fetched his own coffee. He even topped off the cup for the speaker of the house. Senior staff only in this meeting. There were no assistants or functionaries around. Security forced even the lobbyists and freelance “advisors” to wait in the hallway.