by Adam Yoshida
“Fuck,” said Dawson.
“That’s why the European solution is the only option left to us,” emphasized the Secretary of State, “find out what the French and Germans want, and pay it, Goddamnit.”
“I still don’t know,” said Ransom, “I realize – better than any of you – that the armed forces are badly fractured and disorganized, but a majority have joined the rebels. They will be able to mount a formidable military defense.”
“Well, what else do you want to do?” asked the Secretary, letting out a great puff of air as he raised his voice.
“I think that we have to consider negotiations of some sort,” said the Secretary of Defense.
“Not this shit again!” replied the Secretary of State, “do you really want us to accept the so-called Seattle Declaration? What would that mean for the future of this country?”
“The alternative...” said Ransom, “there are more than two thousand people dead already.”
“The alternative is handing the country over to Nazis, or at least negotiating with them,” said the Secretary of State stiffly.
The Kremlin, Moscow
William Quaker checked his watch as he was ushered into the Kremlin complex. The Ambassador to Germany had been asked to follow up upon his earlier successes by travelling to Russia to enlist the aid of the government of the Russian Federation. In so doing, he had been given just two hours notice of the time of his departure.
“Please, have a seat Ambassador,” said the pretty blonde aide who spoke perfect English who had ushered Quaker into a lushly-appointed room.
The Ambassador sat for nearly fifteen minutes. With his cellular reception blocked (not that he would have trusted that his transmissions would not be monitored), he had little to do but to examine the plush red-accentuated decorative scheme of the room.
How many times, he wondered, has history turned over here?
The Ambassador was checking his watch once again when the main double doors were opened and in strode the President of Russia. Quaker leapt to his feet.
“No ceremony, Ambassador,” said the Russian President in English as he extended his hand, “we’re all friends here.”
“Mr. President,” said Quaker, quickly recovering his composure, “I hadn’t expected to meet with you…”
“No, I suppose not,” said the President, “but I read the briefing notes and, in the absence of my ability to communicate directly with your President, I decided to choose the method that would allow for the clearest communication possible.”
“Of course, Mr. President,” said Quaker, taking his seat as the President did the same.
“Russia,” said the President, speaking slowly and choosing his words carefully, “has a strong interest in ensuring the security of the world and its allies, consistent with the interests of Russia herself…”
Vancouver, British Columbia, United Western Republic
William Thomas Jackson had initially been slightly disappointed at the results of the first post-war General Election held by the newly formed United Western Republic. He and his Liberty Party had obtained 26.4% of the vote and just 22% of the seats in the new unicameral House of Commons. That made them the second-largest overall party, behind the governing Conservatives and the broad coalition of discordant left-wing parties that made up the rest of Parliament.
However, his refusal of a position in the Cabinet – originally a mere act of petulance – had put him in a position of strength as events to the south had spiralled out-of-control. Polls showed that a majority of the people in the Western Republic was opposed to military intervention in the emerging Second American Civil War, but the majority of Jackson’s Liberty Party caucus and many Conservative back-benchers were in favor. Working from the back-benches himself, and with more than a little bit of money funneled from the coffers of Praetorian, Jackson had begun to work a little bit of magic.
“This is suicidal,” fumed the Prime Minister as he glared at Jackson across his desk, “this is a simple tax measure and a necessary one.”
“Nevertheless, Prime Minister,” explained Jackson, “given the current strained relations between our parties, I feel that he majority of my own caucus – including myself – will be compelled to vote against it. As will a number of the members of your own caucus.”
“Damn you,” said the Prime Minister, “you’ve seen the polls. If we have an election today, the strength of the left would be doubled or more. They could even take power – and so soon after the war. And they are committed to undoing all of the things that were achieved by the war. Do you really want that?”
“Indeed I do not.”
“Then what exactly do you want?” asked the Prime Minister, stabbing his finger in Jackson’s direction.
“You know exactly what I want, Prime Minister,” replied Jackson.
“Intervention? Well, you know my thoughts on it... But it just isn’t feasible, Bill.”
“Actually, there is a possible compromise on that,” explained Jackson, “don’t actively intervene – at least not for now. Instead, I want you to offer an early honorable discharge to the whole of the 1st Armored Division and to make a gift of its equipment to a private volunteer force. You could spin it as returning the favor that we were granted during the war.”
“That wouldn’t be very popular, either. And it would be seen right through.”
“Perhaps,” said Jackson, “but – without such a compromise – I’m afraid that we’d be forced to take an absolute and principled stand on this tax issue. On the other hand, if I were forced to resign my seat in the Parliament to devote myself full-time to a private venture, I imagine that my successors would prove to be less passionate and stubborn on this particular point.”
“You want to take the largest part of our army and go where? Colorado?”
“Yes, Prime Minister.”
Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center, VA
While most of the rest of the civilian government had hastened back to Washington in the aftermath of what was now known as the “Great Mutiny,” President Kevin Bryan had remained at the special facility at Mount Weather. The reasons for this varied depending on whom one asked. Allegedly the primary reason was the elevated risk that there would be an attempt on the life of the President – hardly an unreasonable fear, given recent events. From his secure base at Mount Weather, the President had appeared on television a number of times and seemed wholly normal. However, darker and unstoppable rumors constantly circulated that the President had suffered a mental collapse and was being hidden away from the public while a small circle of other officials really ran the county.
The truth, reflected Jamal Anderson as he stood and waited for the elevator to take him deep underground, was somewhere in-between. President Bryan remained in overall control of the government, but he was withdrawn, morose, and often unresponsive to requests and information. It was as if the realization that a significant portion of the nation was not only against him, but so against him that it was willing to resist him with force, had broken something within the man.
“Mr. President,” began Anderson as he walked to the reclining chair in the Mount Weather apartment where Bryan often spent much of the day, “we’ve made good progress with the Europeans. They want to help us. But they have conditions.”
“Hmmm...” murmured the President, taking up a sheaf of papers that Anderson presented him and beginning to read through them.
“They’re open to an invocation of Article V. But they want economic inducements.”
“Well,” said Bryan quietly, “we expected that much.”
“Yes, Mr. President. But they’re also extremely concerned about CENTCOM.”
“Why? They’ve behaved so far.”
“Yes, Mr. President, they have. But they’ve done so, for lack of a better term, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. And both the Europeans – and the part of the intel community here that’s still functional – shows that the command over there has very clos
e ties to the rebels. Frankly, they’re scared shitless that they’ll be sending a major portion of their army here to North America – it’s worth recalling that the European defense establishment is very small these days – while leaving several hundred thousand hostile soldiers in their rear. If General Mackenzie turns out, as seems far from implausible, to fancy himself another Caesar then he might very well move out from Jerusalem and the surrounding area and march on Paris or Berlin or, perhaps, even both.”
“What would they have us do?” asked the President.
“They want us to make use of the Russian option,” said Anderson quietly.
“They want us to abet an attack upon elements of the military on an overseas mission by a foreign nation?” asked Bryan incredulously.
“They certainly want assurances, if they’re going to embark upon this crusade to ensure that radical right-wingers don’t take over the United States, that a radical right-wing army won’t be left at the ready to attack them.”
“Well...” said the President thoughtfully, “we’ve have to make sure that our fingerprints weren’t on the thing.”
Riyadh, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia
Augustus King had quietly made his way from Jerusalem to the Saudi capital for an emergency meeting with Prince Sultan bin Salman Al Saud, the Minister responsible for the Royal Saudi Air Force and fourth in line for the throne.
“Thank you for seeing me, old friend,” began King as he sipped his cup of tea.
“Of course,” said the Prince.
“You know,” said King, “I’ve always found the story of your country genuinely astonishing. Ibn Saud was practically born in a barren desert just eleven years after Appomattox. His first battles were raids against other tribes probably not that different in character than those fought in the days of the Prophet Mohammed. When he died, seven years after Hiroshima, he had laid the foundations of a modern nation. How many men are there in the world of which such may be said?”
“Not many,” conceded Prince Sultan.
“And he did it – and his successors have maintained his legacy – by always playing a long game and being smart about it.”
“Indeed.”
“Your country has been a friend of America for many years,” stated King.
“We have. But the situation as it stands now is extremely confusing,” said the Prince.
“Not if you look closely at it,” said King, “Americans love liberty. That’s not true of every single citizen, to be sure. But it is true of the population as a whole. And it is true of the smart and capable people in America. They’re the kind of people who win wars. The sort of people who went to the Moon. The people who created the automobile, the plane, and the internet. And those are going to be the people who are going to win.”
“I don’t know, my friend,” said Prince Sultan, “there are a lot of people around the world and in this country who think that your time has passed.”
“Perhaps,” said King, taking a sip of his tea, “but there were a lot of people who thought that Ibn Saud was a dangerous fool. But we both know that among the many things he was, he was never that.”
“What you have to understand,” said King, standing and buttoning his jacket, “is that the Americans who love liberty are going to win. And, when they win, there are going to be scores that will be settled. The America that will emerge from the other side of this war will be a different country. It will be stronger, tougher, and better. It will be a place less-prone to foolish sentimentality and ruled by hard men who know who their friends and who their enemies are and who will treat each accordingly.”
Temporary Seat of the United States Government, Cheyenne Mountain, CO
“Mr. President,” began Deputy Secretary of Defense Shawna Williams as she called up the first slides for the daily briefing, “our technical assets have confirmed that at least three divisions of European soldiers – a French armored division, a German armored division, and a mixed trans-European unit anchored by a British mechanized infantry brigade and under the command of a British General – has left European ports and is on its way to North America.”
“Three divisions in total?” asked Rickover, looking up from his tablet.
“That’s it for the time being,” answered the Deputy Secretary.
“Could we stop them from coming ashore?” asked the Acting President.
“I don’t know. What intel we have says that there’s a pretty powerful escort around the convoy. Four Carriers of various sizes – British, French, Spanish, and Italian. A lot of destroyers. The smattering of Strategic Command assets that were not destroyed during the Great Mutiny wouldn’t be enough to launch a serious air strike, and the shorter-range assets that we have wouldn’t be able to strike until they get close to land and, by all accounts, the government has a lot of surface-to-air missies deployed these days. An approach by sea is more promising, but challenging.”
“What we have we got at sea?”
“In the Atlantic? Not much. The Carriers there were trapped in port and, although they don’t have the sailors to put them to sea, they ended up in the hands of the Bryan Regime. Some submarines and a handful of surface ships, but those have had to retreat to the ports that we do control deeper in the South. Two Burke-class destroyers and the Zumwalt down at Charleston. We have more assets in the Pacific – most the Pacific Fleet came over to our side – but we’ve lost the majority of the shore facilities. In fact, that’s becoming a major problem that I’ll have to circle back to. The rest of the Navy is under the control of Mackenzie and the Central Command, with whatever’s going on there.”
“We do have submarines, through,” pointed out Rickover.
“Yes, Mr. President, we certainly do,” agreed Mark Preston, “but they have a pretty effective anti-submarine screen based upon the intelligence that we do have. Assuming that the Europeans are going to come into this thing – and I think that they are – I think that there’s a pretty solid case to be made that the best play to be made is to let them engage in the first overtly hostile acts.”
“And sailing soldiers to American soil isn’t a hostile act?”
“Well, nominally they’re going to Halifax. Supposedly as part of a large-scale exercise to train the new Canadian Army.”
“Bullshit,” said Rickover.
“Certainly so, but they probably are going to Halifax – both to provide cover and because it’s a shorter crossing. They’ve move by land and rail from there. If we strike before they actually commence hostilities, they’ll use it as a pretext for their efforts against us.”
“They’ll come for us,” predicted Michael Nelson confidently.
“Well, obviously,” said Preston, “that’s why we need to be prepared. But we have to consider the wider implications of it.”
“Such as?”
“Well, Mr. President,” the Secretary of State, a former Missouri Senator named Jon Simpson stepped in, “the European public is hardly in favor of going to war here in the United States. And major – and growing – elements are in sympathy with our cause. If we torpedo their ships on the high seas, then even the most rabidly anti-European politicians in France and Germany are going to bay for our blood.”
“What’s happening with AMARG?” asked the Acting President, conceding the point and changing the subject.
“The facility fell into our hands without a fight,” answered the Secretary of Defense, “and most of the personnel were willing to volunteer for the Air Force for the duration. We’ve begun to move materiel out of Arizona to what bases we have.”
“Well, good,” replied Rickover, “we’ll have that at least. That’ll be a hell of a fucking surprise.”
“We have a more urgent matter,” noted Preston, “our fleet in the Pacific is running seriously low on supplies and needs maintenance. Most of the Navy will and the only major port facilities in our hands are in the South – within range of the government’s air assets in the northern states.”
“Well,”
said the Acting President, “we’ve talked about the Hawaiian solution before.”
“We have,” agreed Secretary Preston, “and, I must say, I think that it’s now the only viable road.”
“And I have to renew my objection,” said Secretary Simpson, “I think that making the first overt act is a grave mistake – as much of one as it would be in the case of trying to sink the European fleet in the Atlantic.”
“It’s a very different situation, Jon,” said Rickover, “in one case we are talking about initiating hostilities against a foreign power. In this case we are simply talking about using force to gain access to ports and facilities that, after all, we claim by right to be our own.”
“If we make the first large-scale military move since the end of the Great Mutiny, we’ll shatter whatever peace remains,” insisted the Secretary of State, “and give Bryan and the rest a pretext to move.”
“They’re going to move anyways,” insisted Rickover, “and there’s perhaps a hidden benefit.”
“What’s that?” asked Simpson.
“We’ll show them – the loyalists and all foreign nations – that we are willing to kill,” said the Acting President.
Western States’ Conference, Helena, MT
Governor Mitchell Randall had managed, under the protection of elements of the Washington, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, and Utah National Guard, to gather together officials from a dozen Western states in order to discuss a political solution to developing Second Civil War.
“The problem is insoluble,” explained, Robert Baron, the former Attorney General of California, “because too many of the voters are dependent upon the government. They will vote for whoever pays them and we call it democracy. Even if, in truth, it is no more democratic than the legions of Rome proclaiming whatever functionary promised them the most gold as the new Emperor.”
