“No offense, General, but you could have saved a lot of time by simply saying, ‘I don’t know.’ Those estimate ranges are so wide you could drive a tank through them. Probably hide an army in the fine print. I mean, how many asterisks are next to the bullet point ‘available attack helicopters,’ for example?”
A rare breed of general officer, Bremer avoided office politics as much as possible. Still, you don’t become the highest-ranking soldier in the land by being naïve. This situation called for some serious ass covering.
“I realize there are some significant unknowns, sir, but please understand the difficulties we’re laboring under. Our military intelligence platform is geared towards tactical awareness on foreign battlefields. Adapting our culture and infrastructure to the, ah, strategic aspects of high intensity domestic operations has been challenging. I can tell you, down to the last private’s boot size, what combat power the URA has deployed along the border. We’ve studied them long enough in this cold war, but what’s in all those new camps west of the Rockies remains a mystery. We have limited access to reliable human intelligence.”
The CIA chief two seats down the table, an ex-admiral himself, was ready for this “attack.” The passive aggressive blame game was old hat for the long-time Washington insider. He had his own playbook for such eventualities: Cover your ass, kiss some ass and then kick someone else’s ass.
“Sir, my agency is doing the best we can to assist the war effort, but we were the least prepared. Up until you and Congress bravely gave us permission three months ago, it wasn’t even legal for the CIA to operate inside our national borders. We had no ‘Californian’ desk. We were completely absorbed with the War on Terror and nuclear proliferation….”
Everyone bristled at the n-word. The fateful decision, back in April, to respond to Chinese intervention in Alaska with nuclear weapons and a conventional decapitation strike on PRC leadership was still a raw wound. The controversial attack turned out to be a brilliant foreign policy move; no foreign power had attempted to stick their noses in US affairs since. Even America’s allies were afraid of getting too involved with these nuclear cowboys.
That said, the real goal of responding to Chinese aggression with such brutal force was to cower the Californian rebels into submission. With a demonstration of power against a foreign enemy, the president hoped to end the war before it even got started. However, just like every military option the White House had employed to mitigate the crisis, those mushroom clouds off the coast of Alaska only escalated things even further. Washington had only succeeded in spooking the undecided folk into finally picking a side. Thanks to their extreme measures, moderates were an endangered species nowadays.
The CIA chief gulped at the president’s narrowed eyes. “Sir, don’t get me wrong. You made the right call with the Chinese. As a bonus, you’ve terrorized the terrorists out in California in a way no drone strike ever could. My hat’s off to you, but we’re doing our best to rotate 180 degrees. These things take time. Time we haven’t had yet. Now, there are other agencies that specialize in domestic surveillance that should be covering down and filling in the intelligence gaps here.”
The secretary of homeland security, a little newer to the Washington game, wasn’t quite as ready. He made the mistake of kissing no one’s ass and just bunkering down on the defensive. “Well, Mr. President, despite how some in your administration spin the crisis, this is not a domestic terrorist cell we’re investigating. Every FBI agent, heck, any federal employee from every agency in the URA, has either been deported or is… unreliable.”
In standard civil war etiquette, everyone preferred to use euphemisms for traitors.
The NSA representative, sensing it was his turn to catch the hot potato, chimed in and preemptively made excuses. “Complicating things even further, thanks to bungling by so many in the military and Homeland Security, the URA controls just as many of our strategic reconnaissance assets as we do. We can’t retask every remaining satellite to watch rebel areas, Mr. President. Don’t forget we have other threats out there. China signed the armistice only because they are preoccupied with their own six-sided civil war. They’re still itching for a fight and we’re technically at war. Things could heat up again at any moment.”
The CIA chief caught on to the game. Winking at his new political ally, he took up the torch. “Not to mention, sir, the extreme instability around the world ever since we recalled all our military forces and foreign aid. With the NATO pact dissolved, the European Union is coming apart at the seams. Only Russia’s regular military incursions into East Europe are keeping them even loosely allied. In the Middle East, Iran has activated their secret defense pacts with Syria and Iraq and created a multi-national ‘coalition’ based as much on Arab nationalism as religious extremism. They’ve recruited thousands of experienced foreign fighters as well. For the first time ever, we’re looking at one giant, mostly unified Shia-Muslim military force. A threat not just to Israel, but the entire Middle East. We’re also positive Iran, despite the treaty, has completed assembly of a few low-yield atomic bombs. At least three, perhaps as many as ten. With the Israeli’s threatening preemptive nuclear strikes, it’s a tossup whether the Shia coalition invades Saudi Arabia or Israel first and—”
“Enough of this shit!”
Their normally mild-mannered, excessively diplomatic president smashed the table so hard his coffee spilt. “It’s a new world we’re struggling in and you all want to play the same tired old political games? I realize there are some here who secretly want to milk this war for all it’s worth. I know there are others here who just can’t accept the new reality. This is the last time I’ll remind you that we don’t have time for this nonsense.”
The president pointed to a portrait on the wall. His closest confidants sighed. He now had copies of that old Appomattox Courthouse painting hanging in every public room in the White House.
“Lincoln struggled the same way with bringing his staff around. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Second Civil War. We. Are. At. War!”
The president composed himself quickly. He’d shouted this worn-out message for months.
“This is a total war and unlike anything we’ve ever faced. Not some ridiculous political fight. What the rebels are threatening isn’t rhetoric; everyone in this room would hang if Sacramento wins.”
The president jotted some notes down and grinned viciously.
“Maybe this will help drive that point home. General Bremer, effective immediately, all of America’s intelligence capabilities and federal law enforcement assets will report to the Department of Defense. Ultimately, to you. In fact, we’ll work out a way to federalize all local law enforcement as well. You’ll have direct and complete control of all our security resources until the country is reunited. From traffic cops to satellites. Full control, but full responsibility. Do I make myself clear?”
General Bremer’s mouth hung open. The president continued anyway. “So, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your new supervisor.”
The normally complacent vice president recovered first. He put a hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “Barry, I appreciate your frustration, but that’s illegal and unconstitutional on so many levels.”
The Speaker of the House of Representatives tried to hide his terror, but even that 50-year-old man’s voice cracked. “Sir, think this through. Turning America into a police state is just playing into the enemy’s narrative about you being a dictator.”
The president wheeled on him, sudden iron in his voice. “Didn’t Congress unanimously pass the Insurrection Act? You forced me to sign that crap when I only wanted to resign. How did you and your colleagues word that vague directive again? ‘To approve and confirm any necessary acts of the President of the United States, for suppressing insurrection, rebellion and domestic terrorism.’