by Jack Strain
He waited for years to find his “Old Hickory,” and when he found his man in Douglas J. Wolfe, Baxter became his devoted and most capable supporter. He used every bit of his conservative media empire to help crush the opposition. If some suggested he went too far, the dark sage behind Wolfe’s stunning victory was content to lead from the shadows, helping the president in whatever manner necessary to help create and then sustain the most amazing populist movement of the past forty years.
Baxter studied the reactions of the president’s national security team, looking for any hint of opposition to the president’s vision or hesitation to cleanse the planet of the scourge of Islamic extremists. He personally had a hand in picking many of those seated at the table, the vice president included, but not everyone. The military men impressed the boss, so Baxter never had an opportunity to weigh in on their appointments, but most of the others understood that he had the president’s trust.
His main challenger for the president’s ear was his longtime friend, Dutch Schultz. Up until now, the two had managed to stay nearly on the same page, but Baxter didn’t like the way Schultz reacted to the president’s announcement or the way he rushed out after him.
Go ahead, Dutch. Go run to him and try to calm him down. Won’t matter. Just like in the movies, this president needs a wartime consigliere, not a shoulder to cry on. First, we took this country back; now we’re going to show the world what happens when you fuck with a superpower.
Chapter Eight
The President’s Private Residence, White House
The president’s Chief of Staff was moving quickly trying to catch up to the president who was probably on his way to the Yellow Oval Room. Schultz knew Liliana always loved that room more than any other. Perspiring, Schultz grabbed a handkerchief from his lapel and wiped the sweat beads on his balding head and back of his neck. The portly former real estate developer from Miami wasn’t sure if it was the lack of exercise or his strained nerves causing him to sweat like one of those racing cooks on Chopped, one of his rare indulgences.
Passing yet another Secret Service agent, Schultz wondered, Jesus Christ they’re all over the place, but if it makes Douglas feel a bit safer then fine by me.
Finally, he reached the Yellow Oval Room with its brightly painted walls and beautiful tapestries so elegantly laid out and saw his old friend sitting to the side of the pearl colored fireplace, almost as if he was waiting for the first daughter to come along any minute and sit beside him.
Oh, Douglas, I am so goddamned sorry about all of this. This whole thing is some kind of nightmare.
Schultz walked over and placed his hand on the president’s shoulder and asked in a soothing voice, “Douglas, how are you holding up my friend?”
Wolfe seemed to hear but was slow to answer and merely motioned for Dutch to take the chair on the other side of the fireplace. “I don’t know what tell you Dutch. Still feel pretty numb when I stop to think about it. Like a bad dream.”
“Kathy is on her way up from Naples today. She can’t stop crying. Christ, Douglas, we watched her grow up. I barely have the strength to carry on here, but you . . . When I saw you come through those doors today, well it floored me. How in God’s name did you make it out of bed today let alone come here?”
Wolfe’s eyes never made contact with his friend of forty years - they remained distant. Loosening his tie a bit, Wolfe finally said, “I don’t know what to tell you Dutch. You know me, I never could sit still worth a damn. I woke up in the middle of the night, Marija was asleep, so I went to the study. Davis apparently showed up at some point last night and was walking towards me with a couple of Diet Cokes. So, we sat and talked until morning came.”
That son of a bitch Baxter, I can’t believe the balls on that man. Ambushing the president. This is all his bullshit and Wright’s too.
Inwardly furious, Schultz’s expression never changed; instead he asked, “Douglas, what can I do? There must be something that I can do for you. Anything.”
Shrugging a bit, Wolfe said, “Dutch, seriously, what can anyone do at this point? Nothing’s going to change how I feel. No one can bring back my little girl. I never should have sent her. I know that now.”
Quickly jumping in, Dutch pointedly said, “Now hold on Douglas, you can’t put this on yourself. Those bastards did this to her and to a hell of a lot of other people. We’re going to get them, I promise you, but it’s not your fault.”
Sharply, Wolfe fired back, “The hell it isn’t. I wanted to make the biggest deal that’s ever been done and shove it in the face of every other president before me who couldn’t pull it off, and you know it. This is on me. I put those people there - I put Liliana there, and they all died, period.”
“Bullshit. They died because there are evil people in this world. You were trying to bring peace to a place that hasn’t known it for eighty years.”
Angry now, President Wolfe stood up over his friend and bellowed, “Dutch, the cameras are off. Do you really think I give two shits about what happens over there? Well, I don’t, and you know it, so stop the bullshit. I made the deal to prove it could be done, and then I sent my daughter to cement it in front of the world, and the world watched as she died like an animal.”
Schultz was about to say something but thought better of it and decided to let his friend dump everything out all at once.
Wolfe was seething now and kept going, “So do you get it now? There is no ‘don’t blame yourself, Douglas’ bullshit. I wanted to pretend that if I said there was nothing to worry about, then that was it. Liliana paid the price; now it’s time for payback - not just for her but for all the victims these fanatics have killed over the years. I told you that I’m ending this . . . nothing else matters.”
Sensing an opening, the Chief of Staff argued back, “Well it sure as hell sounds more like the ravings from Baxter and his people than the man I’ve known for forty years.”
“Don’t start with that shit. Baxter is right. It’s time to stop dicking around and show the world that you can’t keep killing innocent people and not pay the price. Seriously, Dutch, how many friends did we lose on 9/11? A dozen? Two dozen? More? How many have died since then? So yeah, it may look to the world that this is anti-Muslim, but I don’t give a goddamn. If it were some pizza-tossing Dagos, or fucking Canadians for that matter, blowing people up, then I would still say that it’s time to crush them. I don’t give a damn about their fucking religion.”
Shit, this is not how I wanted this to go down . . . Gotta cool this down.
“Okay Douglas, okay. I’m sorry if I upset you, truly I am. All I am saying is that I want you to take a step back and hear from people other than your national security director and Baxter. I’m not saying not to kill the bastards who did this. I’m just saying we should slow things down. Okay, my friend? That’s all I’m saying.”
The president paused for a moment as if he really heard his old friend’s words, then a frown creased his face, and his voice became menacing, “Dutch, I won’t say this again. You are my oldest friend, and I love you like a brother, but if you stand against me on this, then you’re out. This is happening. It’s only a matter of how and when not if. I want you on board, but don’t fight me on this again. Are we clear?”
A powerful swell of sadness came over Schultz as he looked into the determined eyes of his friend. He came to his feet and with a voice filled with regret said, “Douglas, I’m sorry if I upset you. I had no right, not today of all days. You are the president and my friend, and I serve at your discretion. I said what I felt needed to be said, but that’s it and will support your decisions come what may. And if there is anything else that I can do as a friend, please know that I am here.”
The two men shook hands and parted ways.
Chapter Nine
MSNBC News Coverage
“Welcome back, I’m Chuck Todd and thank you for joining us at the top of the hour on a day that has been filled with numerous spontaneous displays of mourning across th
e nation, as well as dramatic reactions around the globe, to yesterday’s deadly chemical attack. First, we have our own Patricia Hightower live on the scene of this tragic attack just outside the twelve-block exclusion zone around ground zero. Patricia, can you tell us where things stand?”
The tall, athletic, African-American woman outfitted in military issue NBC gear paused for a moment and then replied back, “Hi Chuck. Sorry for the delay, but as you can see from this wide shot, even a full day later the scene is pretty chaotic. There is a massive military and security presence around Jerusalem’s Old City, and the mass evacuation of civilians from the contaminated zones is taking far longer than expected due to the need for everyone to pass through decontamination checkpoints.
I am officially able to report that sources inside Israel’s Defense Ministry confirmed that retrieval of the bodies is now upper-most in everyone’s minds, especially considering the number of dignitaries from around the world who died yesterday. There is a massive airlift underway as more than a dozen specially equipped military units from across the globe have come to assist the Israelis with the retrieval of bodies and widespread decontamination cleanup from this deadly chemical attack. Israeli military censors have severely limited the release of any more pictures or video footage at this time. Chuck, with so many of our experienced people gone, it’s tough to get around them.”
The seasoned political commentator wore a grim expression as he asked, “Patricia, how are you holding up? Everyone back home in our business is still in shock after losing so many colleagues. We’re all still a bit numb.” Todd’s voice started to break a bit; friends were lost yesterday, but there was a job to do.
Quickly clearing his throat, he added, “I hate to shift to political matters so quickly, but does Israel have a new government in place since Prime Minister Herzog and so many of his political allies died in the attack?”
Hightower replied, “Not as of yet, Chuck, though many are calling for the longest serving Prime Minister in Israel’s history, Benjamin Netanyahu, to form a coalition government. Some say that Netanyahu’s criminal proceedings need to be quietly put on the back burner. As one senior Israeli military officer said to us, ‘Israel is going to war, so we need a wartime Prime Minister.’ Back to you Chuck.”
“Thanks, Patricia. Now to domestic news. So much to cover: The White House has gone black - no press conferences, no press releases - just a swirl of activity at every national security-related agency throughout the country. It has been reported by another news channel, but not independently confirmed by MSNBC, that President Wolfe has returned to the White House. What we don’t know is whether or not he is able to assume the duties of his office or if he is under a doctor’s care.
“All we can confirm is that a major press conference has been scheduled for tomorrow at noon. Later in the show, we will be talking with several medical professionals about the emotional and mental impact of experiencing what the president was forced to watch yesterday and his capacity to adequately discharge his duties while under such emotional duress.
“Next item: our reporters are covering informal gatherings all around the country. A tremendous outpouring of support for the president and his family, including makeshift memorials to the first daughter and her husband, are popping all over the nation. Social media has simply exploded in a torrent of support for the president, though I must point out that while others seem focused on remembering the dead, many others are filled with anger and demands for justice.”
(The screen shifts to a large crowd gathered outside the Wolfe Villa Hotel holding signs and burning candles) “Let’s turn to Randy Slidell reporting from New York City. A lot of New Yorkers are mad as hell and demanding payback. Randy, what do you have for us?”
The Joint Chiefs of Staff Conference Room, The Pentagon
The JCS Conference Room commonly referred to as “The Tank,” had been used since 1957. While much of the Pentagon’s hi-tech war rooms were covered in high-definition terminal displays or stuffed with advanced communication equipment, “The Tank” represented a bit of a throwback to a different time. The recent addition of a beautiful red-oak-finished conference table complemented the lightly furnished though elegantly laid-out conference room that was dominated by the seven unfurled service flags representing the major branches of the U.S. military.
Secretary of Defense General James “Jimbo” Mahler along with the seven members of the assembled Joint Chiefs ignored the food and refreshments laid out for them even though the dinner hour had long since passed. Their collective appetite, already impacted by recent events, was now completely gone after the shit storm General Wright just unleashed on everyone.
The White House officially rejected the Chiefs’ preliminary series of recommendations, and Wright and Mahler got into a nasty exchange in front of the assembled Chiefs who were intimately familiar with ass-chewing but never witnessed the legendary Mahler on the ass end of one. Wright left ten minutes ago, and Mahler was in a foul mood.
A visibly angry Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, U.S.MC General Samuel J. “Dunc” Duncan threw down the briefing book now covered with hastily scribbled revisions knocking over a half-eaten platter of food and said, “For Christ’s sake, Jimbo, has the White House lost its collective mind? What the hell happens if there is a flare up anywhere else in the world? We’ll be left with our peckers out and already shot our load.”
General Mahler made an incredulous face and shot back, “Dunc, what do you want me to tell you? You heard the same thing I did so your Operations people may be up all night if necessary, but I need a fully integrated global op plan by 0900 tomorrow. Period.”
The lone Navy man in the room, Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Charles Ricketts said, “Respectfully, Jimbo, maybe we need to be the ones to slow this thing down. I know Wright is all gung-ho on this, but it’s our soldiers, sailors, pilots, and marines at the tip of the spear here. I know everyone in this room wants payback, but what President Wolfe is asking us to do goes far beyond that. Jesus Christ, we all swore an oath as officers a long time ago, and some of these orders are clear violations of a whole host of treaties. We have to put the brakes on this.”
Army Chief of Staff General Thomas “Mad Max” Maxwell could see the writing on the wall and knew General Wright well from their joint deployments to multiple war zones over the past two decades. Wright had been thinking along these lines for years and now possessed the opportunity to make it happen. “Look, folks, we all know Mike, and he made damn sure that none of us have any misconceptions about what the president has ordered.”
Air Force General Jonathan Leggett, Chief of the National Guard Bureau and the newest addition to the Joint Chiefs, felt compelled to weigh in on behalf of his citizen-soldiers, “Max, all Sampson was saying is we just owe it to our commands to communicate to the president through the Secretary that the Joint Chiefs have a different perspective than his NSA.”
Secretary Mahler watched the Chiefs fight it out, but he didn’t like where this was heading. Too much talk, not enough action. Goddamnit, it’s my own fault. Never should have started a shouting match in front of the JCS with that son of a bitch Wright. Shit, I know better than that.
Suddenly coming to his feet, the man called the “Prophet” got everyone’s attention by bellowing in his experienced command voice, “ALL RIGHT GENTLEMEN, ATTENTION ON DECK! I GOT THE FLOOR NOW.”
Mahler paused for effect and then continued, “Let me make one thing clear to everyone in this room: unequivocally, this country is going to war. This is not open for debate. You were not in the room when President Wolfe made it clear that he intends to wage an unlimited war on terror. He said ‘win.’ Not ‘hurt them,’ not ‘stabilize the region,’ not ‘bring peace’ or any other goddamned thing. He said ‘win,’ no matter the cost.
“I don’t think that I’ve ever seen a president - and I have served under several - look as committed to something as this man did today. This is a full court press, all in, winner-take-
all, however-the-fuck you want to put it, but we’re going to war, and it’s your job to make it happen. Understood?”
Speaking on behalf of the JCS, the Chairman General Duncan pushed his seat back, came to attention, nodded at the Secretary of Defense and said, “Mr. Secretary, the Chiefs are on it. Okay, gentlemen, pull out the original briefing, let’s start there. The president wants a war plan. We’re going to give him one.”
Heads began nodding around the table, and you could feel the room change. The time for talk was over, literally. The United States was going to war.
“Okay folks, let’s start with Iran first…”
Chapter Ten
The White House
It was late, nearly eleven o’clock at night, but the White House was still abuzz with activity. Speechwriters were writing speeches for the funerals and scripts for tomorrow’s press conferences and public appearances for administration officials and a few hand-picked pundits. Members of the Protocol Office were busy arranging for the public State funerals to be held on behalf of the first daughter and her husband, as well as the fallen Secretary of State and other officials who died yesterday.
The White House household staff were preparing for the entire first family who was on their way down to join the president tomorrow and planned to stay throughout the weekend. Rooms were being readied, very specific menus were planned, and great lengths were underway to create a lively atmosphere for all the president’s grandchildren. The staff was determined to help the first family in any manner possible.
