“Pardon me, sir?”
The president clicked off the television completely. “Never mind. Give it to me straight. Have the rebels really stopped us already?”
“Sir, it’s more complicated than that. The advance has temporarily halted, yes, but for sound reasons. Despite our best efforts, the fighting has coalesced inside and around Denver. It’s turning into a battle of attrition. Not to mention our, um, significant supply issues are hindering movement. Again, sir, these are just temporary problems. We’ll have everything cleared up in a few days.”
The president glanced over a folder of real-time casualty reports some staffer slipped across the table. With the sheer depth of information at his fingertips, the temptation to do something was impossible to resist.
“We can’t afford another military disaster. Too many eyes are on this fight. Way too much is at stake.”
“I understand, sir. We’ve only stopped because we’re grappling with their entire army in one place. This is what we wanted, Mr. President. The whole purpose behind the invasion. Locate and destroy the rebel military forces and their corrupt regime will crumble.”
The dark rings around the president’s eyes hinted that his calmness might have more to do with sleep deprivation than a Zen-like sense of peace. “Doesn’t matter if we win eventually. Not crushing the enemy immediately with such overwhelming force only invites more aggression. The URA never would have formed if we hadn’t of suffered those initial setbacks in Florida. The fact that we recovered and crushed the terrorists within days didn’t change things. All the opportunists recognized was our temporary weakness.”
“We’re doing our best, sir. Every asset is in play. It’s going to be costly, but we’ll root them out before too long. This is Stalingrad for those Nazis.”
The president was no military history buff. “What does Stalin have to do with this? Stay focused, General.” An Air Force officer stepped between them and set some more reports on the table. All this raw info would be days old before he could process it, but they kept dropping stuff in his lap anyway. The woman’s blue uniform gave him an idea though. Maybe there was a way he could help.
“Wait a moment. No, you don’t have every asset invested yet. Where’s that odd Air Force major from the original planning sessions? ‘Buck’ something, I believe he was called.”
The chairman’s eyes widened. “Sir, you can’t possibly be considering what I think you are? You called Major Turgidson crazy, and I agree.”
“Yes, so I did. Yet another hasty mistake on my part. Get him back in here. How quickly can we launch his proposal against the Denver stronghold?”
“Sir, please, think about the consequences. You were correct. First, these types of attacks are never as surgical in practice as on paper. Second, we might be violating international treaties with such a move. Third, and most importantly, this strike goes against everything we claim to stand for! Military operations are governed by the law of land warfare. ‘Proportional response’ is a key principle of that. Besides, have you considered all the political angles? Just give us a little more time with our traditional methods and I can promise you we’ll come out on top.”
The president ignored him. He also ignored the scowls from his aides as he shakingly lit a cigarette. His wife would surely hear about that little broken promise to quit soon enough. He didn’t care.
“Maybe you will, but at what cost? I can’t sit back any longer and watch our people die. I’ve teased on enemy aggression too often these last few months by refusing to go all in. That stops now. The traitors need to know we will never back down. Relax, it’s not like we’re nuking them.”
The general hung his head. “What’s the difference? Sir, I’ve supported you from the beginning of this crisis, but if you insist on this course of action, I cannot be a part of it. I will resign before I help order such a strike on a population center. An American city, for the love of God!”
Stubbing out his smoke, the president searched the general’s eyes. The same steely determination as in his own gazed back at him. “So be it. Your resignation is accepted. General Bremer will take over your duties immediately. Now get out of here.”
The long-serving Chairman of the Joint Chief’s balked when the president called his bluff. “That has to be confirmed by the Senate first, sir. I will gladly return to the Pentagon, but I cannot abandon my post until legally relived by—”
The president rose and hissed into the general’s face. “You will retire today for health reasons or I’ll have you arrested for inciting mutiny! I’m fed up with traitors. No matter how well-intentioned.”
The Chairman snarled in rage. “You have the nerve to call me a traitor!?” He clenched his fists. Before his body could react though, a Secret Service agent materialized at his side. The bodyguard reached inside his coat with one hand while gently resting the other on the general’s shoulder. “I’ll escort you out, sir.”
Scanning the now-silent bunker, the president snatched another cigarette as the Chairman was prodded outside. “What are you all waiting for? We have an army in trouble. I want the strike package in the air within 12 hours!”
Krump, krump… silence
With his frayed nerves, Roger nearly dropped the coffee pot. It wasn’t the blasts in the distance, or how they creeped a little closer every hour. The sudden absence of explosions worried him. Blessed quiet. For two days non-stop, the hard-rock drum roll of artillery was the shitty background music of his life. He ran from the kitchen to the front door and tried to get a hint about what was happening.
Not an easy task with all the bandaged and crutch-clutching young men lounging around his living room. Turning his beautiful suburban home into some halfway house for rehabilitating soldiers was not his idea. When his stubborn doctor-wife refused to comply with the evacuation order, however, and just had to remain on duty, he couldn’t well leave her alone. God, what was he thinking when he promised to support her in any way he could?
Well, helping take care of all these banged-up guys at least gave him something to do. Better than sitting around worrying about her. His industriousness also kept the roving “Freedom Brigade” militias from involuntarily volunteering him for one of the work gangs building hasty fortifications around town. After the roadblocks were thrown up, those “volunteers” had a nasty habit of finding a rifle shoved in their hands as federal troops stormed their redoubts. Those that tried to run found Freedom machine guns behind them ready to mow down any “cowards.”
Roger finally crossed the semi-mobile obstacle course and opened the front door. Nothing. Even the incessant staccato of gunfire on the outskirts of town had died down. He was no soldier, but it didn’t take a Patton to guess that something was up. Thank God his parents had come down to take the kids back home to Oregon. As far as possible away from this insane war.
“What ya’ see, Doc?”
These soldiers tossed around the title “Doc” left and right. The silly tribute grated on him as much as this federal trooper’s Southern accent. Roger was a salesman, for crying out loud. Never took a Hippocratic Oath. The last thing he wanted was the enemy living in their midst, but his wife insisted. She sent every wounded fighter in stable condition, regardless of uniform, to her home while they waited for a ride out of the war zone. They needed space in the hospital for the, “seriously fucked up.” Her technical term; not his.
“Not a damn thing. I hope your Fedefuck pals surrendered.” The young Southern kid wouldn’t rise to the bait. He was a guest in someone else’s home. His mama had engrained politeness into him just as deeply as patriotism. He just shrugged and went back to writing her a letter.