The Second Civil War- The Complete History

by Adam Yoshida

  “General,” said the soft voice of a female Colonel who served as a senior aide to the Joint Chiefs of Staff, “we were wondering if it would be convenient if you could come for a meeting at 1200 hours.”

  “Of course,” said the General nonchalantly before slowly setting down the receiver.

  “General?” asked Colonel Dunford.

  “It’s time,” said Jackson simply.

  The drive to the compound at the former site of Peterson Air Force Base - still under repair after being severely damaged by Federal air attacks during the run up to Pueblo - that now served as the temporary national military command centre was short and relatively quiet.

  “East or West?” asked Dunford in oder to break the dull monotony of the SUV’s engine. General Jackson looked up from his papers and over his glasses.

  “Flip a coin,” he said, “if we go to the East, we can coordinate with our forces in the South. But it’s an awfully long way, even with our advantage in trained troops. Depending on how many recruits Bryan’s proclamation brings in… It could be a long-hard slog. And then there’s the possibility of a reverse, if they can muster the strength. We could very well find ourselves in the middle of Goddamned Illinois or Ohio and they could throw one hell of a haymaker at us.”

  “But,” noted the General, “we don’t win the war without going to the East. And if not now, then when?”

  “On the other hand, the West is a shorter route. If California falls into our hands, then we’re not going to see serious resistance in Oregon and Washington. America will extend from one sea to the other and international trade can freely flow across the Pacific again. But it could be a fucking awful fight, especially if they put guns into the hands of all of the fucking Mexicans they have there. And, of course, who knows what price the Chinese will demand. And the war won’t be over until Washington is back in our hands and Bryan and his crew are either dead or imprisoned. Preferably the former.”

  “So,” said Jackson as the SUV came to a stop, “flip a coin.”

  “Do you think that they’ll use us?” said Dunford as they stepped out and walked towards the front entrance where a pair of Marine guards were standing watch.

  “Use us? We’ll spearhead the fucking offensive if I have any say whatsoever in the matter.”

  “You don’t think that they’ll have reservations about using Canadians in such a vital operation?”

  “Canadian? I’m not a Canadian anymore and neither are you,” snorted Jackson.

  “Well, what are we then?” said Dunford.

  “Defenders of liberty,” said Jackson.

  City Hall, New York City

  “This President and this Administrative,” began William Engels, “are leading us towards not only a new a better future for America, but also a better future for New York City. As the Mayor of this great city I will do everything within my power to uphold the Constitution and to defend the government against the forces of bitter and selfish reaction.”

  The Mayor sighed deeply as he finished his last words.

  “There? Does that work?” he said to the journalist who was seated in front of him.

  “Yeah,” said Sandra Heep, the New York Times reporter who was working on a multi-part article on the efforts of the Mayor and other officials like him to uphold the Constitution in face of the Rebel assault.

  “What I should really say,” said the Mayor as he stood and crossed the room to the small fridge that he kept in his office, “is that his incompetence is leading us to destruction.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?” asked Heep.

  The Mayor’s shoulders slumped as he searched through the fridge for a cold bottle of San Pellagrino. He’d been in office for nearly a decade now, having managed to win himself a third term by, much as his predecessor had, using the pretext of the ongoing national emergency to argue that his continuation in office was indispensable to the health of the city. If he had failed to achieve the lofty ambitions of his first campaign, at least he hadn’t had 60% of the city rise up in arms against him.

  “The situation is much worse than the White House - or even the supposedly neutral media - has let on,” explained the Mayor, “the Rebel forces not only beat our army at Pueblo, but they’ve also put themselves in a position, increasingly, to strange our own territories. Consider the bigger picture. They’ve got the Seventh Fleet and the Marine forces occupying Hawaii - which represents a threat to the West Coast even if they don’t send an army marching out of Colorado to take California from us. They have a force approaching 200,000 men in the South. Sure, a lot of that isn’t very well-organized, but it’s enough to check us here. And then they have the whole of the Central Command ready to sail on over.”

  “And you don’t think that the President’s proclamation will make a difference?”

  The Mayor wrinkled his nose.

  “Some. At the margins. Maybe.”

  “So, what, then? Off-the-record, of course, is this thing over?”

  “It depends on what you been by over, Sandra. Are we going to conquer the Rebels? No, I don’t think that we are. That was over with Pueblo. Maybe even before. Perhaps as far back as the first days of the mutinies, when it became clear that most of the military establishment was going to go with the Rebels. Even Fidel and Che would not have won if they’d faced a national security state of such size and scope. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t win our freedom.”

  “Look at the dynamics of the Rebellion. Read through the demographics of the Rebel soldiers. It’s one thing to observe how they behave when they’re under assault - when they imagine that their own freedoms are at stake and endangered by powerful forces out to destroy them. It’s another when they’re going to be asked to invade places full of people who hate them, armed with massive caches of guns and improvised weapons and in possession of urban terrain whose topography they instinctively understand. Will they still fight in the same way then? Or will they elect to simply pack up and go home?” I’m betting that it’s the latter.”

  “You’re talking about secession? Not everyone here would support that,” said the reporter.

  “Yes,” said the Mayor, “that is regrettably so. We are not as uniformly progressive as I would like. Certainly, some people will leave us when the work is done. People we’d be better off without, anyways.”

  “And, of course, there are others who won’t be so quiet. Sometimes it’s necessary for someone to start the revolution early,” said the Mayor.

  Foreign and Commonwealth Office, Whitehall, London

  “This is a dangerous gambit, Prime Minister,” said Sir Gavin Ellington, the Foreign Secretary, as he carefully reviewed the documents set in front of him.

  “Of course it is, Gavin,” said the Prime Minister over the web chat, “but that’s rather the point, isn’t it? Think of what a reactionary victory in America would mean for the cause of progress all around the world. Imagine what a military and Tea Party-run America would look like on the world stage. We already have to deal with the bloody Western Canadians, who’ve torn up every damned environmental agreement that there is. And consider how they’d treat us, now that we’ve set our teeth against them.”

  “True enough, Prime Minister, but this carries with it the very real risk of creating a general war. A world war, even.”

  “We’re already at war with those people. British blood was shed at Pueblo, after all,” pointed out the Prime Minister.

  “True enough, but this extends far beyond that. This potentially widens the war to include areas a lot closer to home. And, if we try and trap their overseas armies, who is to say that they won’t just fight their way out?”

  “They might,” said the Prime Minister darkly.

  “And then what?” said Ellington.

  “Well,” said the Prime Minister, “if we have to fight this massive force, then every bit of attrition that we can do - or have others do - along the way is going to be a tremendous help.”

  “And
what do our European partners think of this at the highest levels? I must say, speaking to my colleagues, they’re not sure whether or not we ought to be taken seriously at all at this level, given that our commitment to the Union may well not long outlive this government - and that this government’s days, with all due respect Prime Minister, well be numbered if the present opinion polls are to be believed. Especially if this proposed coalition comes to pass.”

  “Yes, that is a concern,” replied the Prime Minister serenely.

  W 105th Street, Manhattan

  “Jesus, this guy really fucking gets around,” said Roman Moore as he sat, dog-tired, in the passenger seat of the aging Ford Fusion in which he’d spent the last eleven hours.

  “Trust fund baby,” snorted Mack Dallas from the driver’s seat, “doesn’t have a job.”

  “Do you think he’s coming out soon?” said Moore, checking his watch.

  “Why? Do you have a date?” said Mack.

  “No,” answered Moore, “but there’s a McDonalds around the corner, just off Broadway and they’re going to stop serving breakfast at 11.”

  “You and your fucking breakfast,” said Mack.

  “Only way to get a decent meal, sometimes, is to have breakfast three times a day. Come on. I’ve been waiting all night for a damned Sausage and Egg McMuffin.”

  “We’re supposed to get this done and get it done right,” said Mack, his voice wavering ever-so-slightly.

  “It’s just around the corner. And, anyways, we’ve been watching this fucker for a week. We know that when he goes up there - or to any of his girlfriend’s places - that he’s going to be up there for at least an hour. He just went up, what, ten minutes ago?”

  “Fuck,” said Mack, “fine. But you owe me $20 if he comes back and I have to do this thing myself.”

  The last word was barely out of Mack’s mouth before Roman was out the door and off in the direction of the McDonalds. Mack stayed in the car, twiddling his thumbs and keeping an eye on the front door of the building. The man who they were tracking was a noted student activist up and Columbia. He was a major supporter of both the city and the national administrations, leading countless demonstrations in their support. He was also, sub rosa, one of the leaders of the growing movement of pro-government terrorists who were responsible for a series of bomb attacks and other threats against corporations and other New York City-area institutions who were believed to be either opposed to or insufficiently supportive of the Bryan Administration.

  Mack checked the time on his phone. Roman had been gone for the better part of ten minutes.

  “Fuck,” he said to himself, “this is cutting it close.”

  Mack spied the door opening. As he did, he leaned forward slightly to get a better look. It was the target.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he said as he moved to open the door and popped the trunk of the Ford.

  “Hey!” he shouted in the direction of the target.

  “Uh, hi,” said the fresh-faced young man.

  “Yeah,” said Mack, “my car isn’t starting. I think the battery is dead. One of these doesn’t happen to be yours and you don’t happen to have a set of jumper cables, do you?”

  “No… Uhhhh…” replied the young man.

  “Well, can you help me lift up this panel? I think I might have a set in here, but it seems to be stuck,” said Mack as he reached into the trunk.

  The man looked around.

  “It’ll just take a second,” said Mack, using all of his energy to summon up a smile.

  “Oh… Alright,” said the man.

  Mack turned back towards the trunk and began to pretend to reach inwards, grabbing the taser that he had carefully set down before calling the young man on over.

  “I just…” continued Mack as the man walked towards him. He waited and carefully watched the approach, waiting until the man had closed to just a few feet away. When he did, Mack turned suddenly, striking the man with the electrodes and sending him convulsing to the ground.

  Mack’s eyes darker from side-to-side to see if anyone was observing the scene. What he was doing was, he knew, incredibly reckless, but their timetable was exacting. Just in case, he reached with his free hand for the Colt M1911A1 pistol that he had carefully stashed in his waistband.

  As he watched the young man convulse on the ground, Roman came around the corner, a bag in his hands.

  “Oh shit,” said Roman.

  “You think?” said Mack, “help me get him into the fucking trunk.”

  National Military Command Center, Peterson AFB

  General Jackson knew what was up as soon as he saw the small cadre of Navy and Marine officers clustered towards the side of the room. To date the maritime services had not had a large presence in Colorado.

  “Well,” he whispered to Colonel Dunford, “it’ll be the Pacific route, then.”

  The General and his aide took seats, befitting their status, towards the end of the long central table and waited as others slowly assembled.

  Before the war had begun, Lieutenant General Xavier Monroe had been the commander of the Joint Special Operations Command, the somewhat-shadowy body that ran the operations of covert Special Mission Units within the broader Special Operations Command. When the time had come, in the aftermath of Pueblo, to build out the command structure of the revitalized armed forces under the control of the government in Colorado, “General X”, as he had inevitably been designated, was the first choice to serve as the new Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of staff. Somewhat-short for an ex-Green Beret at 5” 8’, the silver-haired commando’s appearance was intimidating nevertheless. As the General walked into the room in the company of the Secretary of Defense, the seated attendees all rose to their feet.

  “Never mind,” said Monroe, waving his hands in the air, “keep your seats.”

  Continuing to whisper quietly to one another, Monroe and Preston made their way to the end of the table and took their own seats. Monroe and Preston spoke quietly for another few seconds before General Monroe turned to address the entire room.

  “Alright, I’ll get right to it. You have all been called here because you have a part to play - either in terms of direct action or a supporting role - in the first major offensive operation to be undertaken by the government of the United States since the commencement of hostilities with the remnant regime in Washington.”

  “Specifically, the objective of the operation that you will participate in is to secure control of a large portion of the State of California for the purpose of ensuring that supplies can be delivered across the Pacific in sufficiently quantities to improve the present civil situation as well as to supply a planned future offensive from here to the East.”

  “The effort that is planned will be multi-pronged and multi-faceted. The enemy possesses at least 50,000 soldiers in California and that number is being augmented on an almost-daily basis, particularly as a result of the recent decree of Mr. Bryan. Their forces are growing in strength. If they are able to concentrate in a single location, it is quite possible that they would be able to defeat our forces or at least an element of that force in a pitched battle. Given this, our intent is to attack on three fronts and to manoeuvre so as to avoid a single confrontation with the main force of the enemy until our superior air power can be brought to bear.”

  “Furthermore, the operation will be timed to coincide with movements on other fronts that will prevent the enemy from responding by moving against our lines in the East.”

  “Operation Vera Cruz consists of four major operational elements.”

  “First, a force of two divisions - designated as VII Corps - will advance along the southern route out of Colorado, moving through New Mexico and Arizona with the apparent objective of securing the city of Los Angeles and the Port of Long Beach. Our intelligence operation will leak this objective in advance.”

  “However, the real objective of the southern advance will not be Los Angeles, but San Diego. It is necessary, however, that this ob
jective be disguised because one of the primary reasons for taking San Diego is to secure Naval Base San Diego, which remains in the hands of the enemy but is relatively lightly-defended. We have every reason to believe that the enemy will destroy this facility rather than allow it to fall into our hands, as was certainly the case in Norfolk. It is vital to the survival of the Seventh Fleet as a fighting force, however, that we take control of this facility with minimal loss in war materiel as the destruction of our facilities as Pearl Harbor and Norfolk has, thus far, notably depleted our supplies of vital munitions and other spare parts.”

  “The intent is for VII Corps to draw away a large portion of the enemy forces stationed in Southern California in order to allow a picked force of Special Operations personnel to seize control of Naval Base San Diego some forty-eight hours in advance of a surprise landing by III Marine Expeditionary Force. Once San Diego is secure, VII Corps will manoeuvre in concert with the Third Marine Division in order to force a decisive battle with the enemy’s forces somewhere in in Southern California.”

  “As a secondary operation, an airborne unit will be deployed - with the support of local insurgent forces - to seize control of Naval Base Kitsap at Bremerton, Washington simultaneously with the landings at San Diego. Though this will not be followed with immediate further operations in Washington, the enemy forces on the ground in that region are relatively thin and we believe that a force landed there can, with regular resupply, hold out indefinitely. In the event that this operation meets less resistance than expected, the operation in Washington may expand to also include the seizure of Joint Base Lewis-McChord.”