The Second Civil War- The Complete History

by Adam Yoshida

  Park Slope, Brooklyn, City of New York

  Moore had already gotten up and begun to pack up before Dallas even had time to react.

  “Did you get him?” asked Dallas as he hurried to catch up with the ex-Army sniper.

  “Yeah,” said Moore nonchalantly as he continued towards their vehicle. After a few seconds he stopped and turned to face Dallas.

  “Mack,” he said, “can I ask something?”

  “Of course,” said Dallas, stopping to look Moore in the eyes.

  “Do you think that somewhere will be open where we can get a decent breakfast, or is the fighting going to fuck all of that up?”

  USS Ronald Reagan (CVN-76), The Mediterranean Sea

  Vice Admiral Quinten Layton had shifted his flag from the John C. Stennis, presently in the Arabian Sea, over to the Ronald Reagan for the most perilous part of the operation. Once CENTCOM had decided, in the face of the Russian threat, to take the long way home - sailing south through the Indian Ocean and all the way around the horn of Africa - it has become necessary for the portion of the fleet that remained in the Mediterranean Sea to transit the Suez Canal, pass through the Red Sea, and then link up with the rest of the U.S. Navy’s forces to the south. During these operations the Navy’s surface ships, bottled up in a contained area, would be acutely vulnerable to attack from the air. Layton had debated whether or not to come for nearly an hour before he had come to his final decision - transferring his flag could be seen as a sign that he lacked confidence in the men and women of the Fifth Fleet.

  From the Stennis’ Combat Information Centre Layton and the rest of the command staff of the fleet were watching for any signs of trouble as they made their transit. The first few hours of the movement had been almost wholly uneventful, but then worrying portents had made themselves known.

  “Admiral,” reported one aide, “the Seawolf continues to have a good fix on that Russian submarine and they report that it is moving in an aggressive fashion in the direction of our forces. The commander wants permission to fire.”

  “Denied,” barked out Layton harshly, before softening his tone of voice.

  “Our orders are clear,” he explained, “we’re not to fire here unless we are fired upon first. If the Russians or anyone else moves against us, then we’ll open up with everything that we have - but only then. In the meantime we can’t give our enemies any excuse for attacking us. Anyways, we’ll be able to begin our transit soon and the submarines can hardly follow us through the canal.”

  “Admiral,” a breathless Lieutenant shouted, “we’ve received a signal from the shore - the Egyptian government is instructing us not to attempt to transit the canal. They are ordering us to halt our movement.”

  “Please remind them that, per international treaty, the canal is to be open to all in times of war and peace and that we intend to continue our transit,” said Layton. As soon as he was finished speaking, the Lieutenant began to relay the message.

  “Sir,” said the Lieutenant seconds later, “they tell us to stop or we will be fired upon.”

  “Get CENTCOM on the fucking line,” ordered Layton, slamming his hands down upon the console in front of him.

  Temporary Seat of the Government of the United States, Colorado Springs, Colorado

  “Those motherfuckers,” said Acting President Terrance Rickover as soon as he video call from Jerusalem ended.

  “That about sums it up, Mr. President,” replied Secretary Preston.

  “I don’t know how much credibility we should assign to this threat, Mr. President,” began General Xavier Monroe tentatively, “I mean, the Egyptian military was pretty severely battered during the course of the conflict between themselves and the Israelis, and they haven’t really recovered since.”

  “They can block the fucking canal,” replied Admiral Mike Wahl, the Chief of Naval Operations, “you don’t really need weapons for that. And who knows what else exactly they might have. The Russians - or even the Europeans for that matter - might have shipped them hundreds, or even thousands, of anti-ship missiles or other weapons. There are points along the Canal where you could hit one of our ships with a rocket-propelled grenade or even a Goddamned machine gun operating from the shore. Never mind if these Russians forces that are menacing us attack. They might just be waiting for us to be half-way through the Canal in order to pounce.”

  “Well, then what’s next?” asked Rickover.

  “We need to take the Canal, Mr. President,” said Wahl flatly.

  “Take the Canal? Most of what CENTCOM’s got is already packed up for shipment and we have practically no logistical tail left in the region,” replied Monroe.

  “The Israelis…” began Wahl.

  “Israel needs pretty much every soldier that they have in order to secure their own frontiers,” said Monroe.

  “What we need to do is scare the shit out of Egyptians,” said Monroe.

  “The Israelis already nuked their army,” pointed out Wahl, “and they know that we don’t have the soldiers to occupy their country.”

  “So, we don’t threaten to nuke their army,” replied Monroe.

  Two Miles South of Wellton, Arizona

  The first wave of the attack had come just after sundown. Wave after wave of Rebel F-16s had streaked across the sky to launch their payloads of anti-radiation missiles, working overtime to suppress the Loyalist’s ground-based air defenses. This initial stage had been of little consequence for Dave Edmonds and the vast majority of the soldiers of the 14th Division. It was rough for the air defense boys and girls, of course, but they were a tiny minority of the overall force engaged in the battle.

  “Ignore it,” newly-promoted Corporal Edmonds had told the squad that he’d been given, “and get yourselves some sleep.”

  Of course, had Edmonds had a deeper military education he would have appreciated the fact that the Wild Weasels would not have been engaged in such a desperate assault if there was not worse still to come.

  After the air defense suppression missions had ended, the second wave had come in the form of two full squadrons of B-52s - nearly everything that the Rebel air force could muster - carrying full loads of unguided bombs had come streaking high and steady across the night sky. Collectively this “Arc Light” mission had dropped over a kiloton of high explosive onto the positions of the 14th Division. The thousand pound bombs had dropped in almost-luxurious waves, landing upon the ground in long lines with one satisfying thump after another. What from the air had looked almost artistic was hellish on the ground as the explosions incinerated some men, grievously wounded others, and shook the earth over and over again. It had seemed to have gone on for so long that, before it was over, Edmonds could no longer remember what the world was like when it wasn’t exploding all around him.

  Before the screams of the wounded and dying men had even begun to diminish, the next wave of the assault come over the horizon. Ancient A-10s, A-6s, and everything else that the Rebels had managed to salvage from the boneyard and put back into service now came in, flying low and slow over the shattered Loyalist formation. They dropped dumb bombs seemingly at random, looking to do nothing more than to create maximum chaos and destruction, while those with canons made low strafing runs over the trenches and bunkers that held the survivors of the division. Behind the fast-movers came a wave of Apache helicopters and Avenger drones that targeted every single armored vehicle that they could find. These were supported, in turn, by a handful of more-advanced aircraft that engaged bunkers and other fixed structures with precision-guided munitions.

  “Keep down,” Edmonds ordered his soldiers as the world around them exploded.

  “They wouldn’t be hitting us like this unless they were coming - and coming soon,” he explained to the frightened soldiers who shared with him the small network of trenches that had, somehow, miraculously remained untouched.

  He and the rest of the squad didn’t have long to wait. The Rebel soldiers of the 200th Division made their push even before the
first light began to flicker across the sky. This time their armored vehicles - which had proven to be so vulnerable during the assault of the previous day - hung back to provide support. Through his binoculars, Edmonds observed a mass of Rebel infantry heading in his direction.

  “Backbeat,” he called out over the radio, we’ve got Rebels headed our way. At least a platoon. Maybe two. We need support.”

  As he spoke those words, in what seemed to be an act of cosmic mockery, the first Rebel artillery shells began to explode near his position.

  “…there is no support. Artillery’s gone, roads not passable,” came back a radio call in reply.

  “Fuck,” said Edmonds as he pulled his M-16 up and aimed it.

  “Wait until they close up the range,” he ordered, “and then open fire.”

  1st Battalion, Ninth Marines, Lower Manhattan

  In the midst of a crisis plans will sometimes simply take over. In taking out the Mayor of New York City the Rebel forces had initially paralyzed the command structure of the Loyalist forces in the city, but they had hardly ended the threat that they faced. The objective, therefore, of the Marines who had landed in New York City was to push rapidly north in order to seize the transportation links between Manhattan and the rest of New York City. It was hoped, if the NYPD did not resist, that this could be accomplished by a small force of Marines stationed at each bridge, supplemented by militia, special forces, and whatever other personnel could be convinced to join the fight. Some of the transportation links, judged to be non-essential to the immediate post-war future of the city, would be destroyed if it appeared that they were to be used to allow the government to re-take control of the city.

  “Captain,” Colonel Durham explained to the NYPD Precinct Captain who had managed to get all the way forward, “I need you to get all of these people off the streets.”

  “I haven’t had any orders from the Commissioner,” replied the Captain.

  “I have a Marine battalion,” replied Durham.

  The Captain looked up and down the street for a moment.

  “Fair enough,” he replied and he began to walk off into the distance.

  Major Latifpour came jogging up to the Colonel.

  “Major,” said Durham, “how’s the deployment going?”

  “We’ve had a little bit of shooting, but nothing we couldn’t take care of,” replied the Major.

  “Shooting?” asked the Colonel.

  “Alpha Company ran into what must have been pro-government militia near the NYSE at Broadway and Exchange, but other than that we’ve been good. No KIA, but two wounded on our side.

  “And those fuckers?”

  “Took ‘em all out.”

  “Problems with the locals?” asked the Colonel.

  “Some shouting. But no organized efforts or demonstrations so far,” replied Latifpour.

  “Good,” said Durham, “signal Colorado that we’re good to go.”

  Two Miles South of Wellton, Arizona

  “Ammo check!” shouted out Corporal Edmonds, attempting to make himself heard over the sound of dozens of weapons being fired all around him.

  “I’m out!” called back a Private next to him. In response, Edmonds pulled a magazine from his own pocket and tossed it to the Private.

  “Single shots only” he ordered as he carefully trained his eyes upon the advancing Rebels. He squeeze the trigger of his M-16 and sent a round flying downrange that struck an opposing soldier in the arm, sending him falling to the ground. Two of the Rebel’s comrades moved to drag him to safety and so Edmonds shot both of them as well.

  “Need ammo!” cried out another of the soldiers in the trench. He wasn’t familiar to Edmonds.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he asked, looking around and noticing several new bodies.

  “They’ve overrun us to the south,” replied the soldier, “so we ran for it. This strongpoint is still holding out.”

  Edmonds turned back and raised his rifle to fire again. When he did the weapon made a tell-tale click.

  “I’m empty,” he said, “anyone else got ammo?”

  Here and there along the line there were a few shots that testified in the affirmative, but he could clearly see and hear that the pace of fire was slackening. The soldier next to him raised his rifle and attempted to fire, getting off one burst before his magazine was also emptied.

  “I’m out!” the soldier shouted, joining an increasing chorus up and down the line.

  “Backbeat, come in,” Edmonds hissed into the radio. No response was forthcoming.

  “Is anyone there?” asked Edmonds, the pitch of his voice rising slightly. Again, there was no response.

  “Fuck!” he shouted, hurling the radio to the ground. A bullet few directly into the trench, passing through the cheek of a soldier standing just feet from him. Blood sprayed directly into Edmonds’ eyes.

  “Does anyone have any ammo left!?!?” Edmonds asked again, this time shouting as loudly as he could, to the point that his voice was reduced to a whisper. There was no response, just a few scattered shots as the soldiers in the trench fired off their last rounds.

  “Alright,” he said, looking around, “that’s it for us. Weapons down, hands up.”

  Initially there was no response from the other men in the trench.

  “Weapons down!” he shouted, as he set his own M-16 onto the ground and put his hands up in the air.

  The cry began to pass on down the line and, one after another, the soldiers of the augmented squad set down their rifles and raised their hands. Over the course of the next minute, the firing in the local area slowed further until it died off altogether. As this unfolded, the Rebel soldiers began to approach the trench.

  “Who’s in command here?” asked a fresh-faced Rebel Lieutenant.

  “I am,” hissed Edmonds, struggling to make himself heard.

  “You’re all in the trench?” asked the Lieutenant.

  “Yes,” replied Edmonds, “I think that we’re it for this sector.”

  “Yes,” agreed the Lieutenant solemnly, “you held out a lot longer than anyone else. All of you have set down your weapons?”

  “We have,” said Edmonds, “and we’re all out of ammo anyways.”

  “Ok, give be a second,” replied the Lieutenant.

  The Lieutenant took a step back and viewed his handheld device, squinting at it for a few long seconds. When he finished he put it back in his pocket and turned back to face his own men.

  “Alright,” he said, “command says to waste the motherfuckers.”

  The Lieutenant turned to face Edmonds.

  “There’s no mercy for traitors,” he said simply.

  Edmonds began to stammer out a protest, but before he could get the words out the Lieutenant drew his pistol and fired a round directly into his head. The resultant wound, though it immediately obliterated Edmonds’ vision, was not instantly fatal. Seconds after he fell to the ground he heard the rest of his men screaming and scrambling, followed seconds later by then concussive blast of a dozen grenades. Edmonds felt everything as one of the grenades shredded much of his lower half and left an blended mixture of what had been inside of him spilling forth onto the ground. The last clear words that he heard, aside from the dying screams of his men, were those of the Lieutenant.

  “Have fun in Hell,” the Rebel Lieutenant said as he walked away from the scene.

  Temporary Seat of the Government of the United States, Colorado Springs, Colorado

  “Mr. President, both treaty and long-standing precedent provide that the Suez Canal is to be open to the passage of vessels of all nations during both wartime and peacetime,” Secretary of State Jon Simpson maintained in a firm voice.

  “I understand that, Mr. Secretary, the Egyptian President replied, “but ultimately all international obligations - even the most solemn - are subject to the necessity to assure the protection and survival of a nation. Surely you understand that.”

  “No, sir, I do not understand,” replied
the Secretary of State, “this is a grave breach of Egypt’s obligations under international law - and it is one that we may very well reply to by the force of arms. We would be within our rights to do exactly that. To take the Canal and to operate it ourselves.”

  “That may be so, Mr. Secretary,” answered the Egyptian President, “but that would take a considerable amount of time. And, if I may be so bold, I do not believe that you have that sort of time. In any case, we have considered our position in this matter carefully and we are prepared to accept that there may be consequences, even far-reaching ones, should we proceed. But we are determined to do so nonetheless.”

  “Mr. President,” said Simpson, “be prepared to hear from the President directly on this matter.”

  “Mr. Secretary,” replied the President, “while, of course, we do not recognize yours as the legitimate government of the United States, I would be happy to speak with him. I look forward to his call.”

  The Secretary hung up the phone and set it down on the table.

  “We could take the Canal,” said Admiral Wahl flatly, “if we have to. I mean, like I said earlier, it’s not ideal… But we could do it. We’ve have to turn around ships, unload, and probably borrow some stuff from the Israelis and the Arabs…”

  “Taking the Canal doesn’t do us any good if they sink ships in there and block the fucking thing,” said General Monroe.

  Ira Skelton, the President’s Chief of Staff, entered the room carrying yet another phone.’