The Second Civil War- The Complete History

by Adam Yoshida

The Captain looked around the bridge with a scowl. The young officer who was controlling the helm shrugged.

  “I’ll be right down,” finally said the Captain, as he grabbed his jacket and stormed on down to the flight deck.

  The Captain stormed out on the deck, moving towards the Merlin at a quick pace with a view towards upbraiding the pilot for wasting his time. Surrender or no surrender discipline must be maintained onboard any ship of the King’s Navy. He was stopped in his tracks when, as he approached the helicopter, he caught sight of a figure who looked familiar sitting in the open door with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

  “Your Grace…” the Captain began, stumbling over his words.

  Lieutenant-Commander Henry Windsor, the Duke of Edinburgh and a Prince of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, smiled warmly.

  “I was rather hoping that I might catch a ride, Captain,” he said.

  USS Ronald Reagan (CVN-76), 960 Miles East of Puerto Rico

  The Fifth Fleet was still on high alert, but no shots had been fired for nearly two hours. Almost everyone remained in a state of near-maximum tension and would for a considerable period of time. The loss of so many space-based reconnaissance assets made modern naval warfare a particularly frightening business, one where death could come from an unexpected direction at almost any moment. Admiral Layton, however, was feeling a little better than most. He had a small personal spreadsheet that he was using to keep track of roughly how many missiles had been fired at the fleet to date. The enemy’s magazines had to be just about empty. The lack of further contact suggested that they were retiring to somewhere in the north and probably almost-wholly depleted.

  That General MacKenzie, who had remained carefully out-of-sight throughout the naval engagement, had now reappeared was the best sign that the engagement had now ended.

  “Well Admiral Layton,” he said, “this was some very fine work you’ve done here today. I suppose some of those bureaucrats at the Pentagon - or wherever we set up our headquarters when all of this is done - may try and give you some trouble about the business with the John C. Stennis, but this is a war. Risks must be taken and losses must be accepted.”

  “That is true, General,” admitted the exhausted Admiral.

  “Now, Admiral,” continued MacKenzie, “I have gathered from my staff that the slow progress of the fleet in the hours since the end of the fighting arises from both the need to guard other damaged ships as well as the time taken in accepting the surrender of certain damaged vessels belonging to the enemy. Is this correct?”

  “Basically so. Though we also have some concerns about crew fatigue,” said Layton.

  “I’m not going to tell you how to do your job, Admiral,” said MacKenzie, “but you know as well as I do that time is currently of the essence. We must get home and smash the enemy before he permanently divides the country. I do not need to tell you this.”

  “I know my duty, General,” said Layton.

  “I never doubted that, Admiral Layton,” replied General MacKenzie.

  The General took a long look at the Admiral before continuing.

  “I tend to believe that the best course of action at this point would be to accept the risk of leaving behind a small residual force to deal with the rest of what must be done here and for the rest of the fleet to head home at best possible speed. I know that you must fear a repeat of what happened a few hours ago - but all of our best intelligence says that there aren’t any more Kirov-class ships wandering around out and about there. If they had more they would have used it when it counted.”

  “You’ve just won the largest sea battle in the better part of a century, Admiral,” continued MacKenzie, “I don’t want to detract from that. I’d hate to issue a direct order overriding the best judgement of such a figure or to have any disagreements between us at this late stage suggest that you and I were ever anything less than fully aligned.”

  Admiral Layton looked back at the General for a moment, collecting his words.

  “As soon as we have our prizes in hand, we will move at best possible speed. Another hour or two. And then we won’t stop until we hit home.”

  “That would be very fine, Admiral.”

  HMS Queen Elizabeth (R08), 1425 Miles East of Puerto Rico

  Admiral Childers took a moment to breathe. The Combined Fleet wasn’t in anything resembling a formation at the present time. After the American strike package had found the Russians and he and the French had recovered their aircraft, he had elected to order all ships to make their way to the east at best possible speed in order to prevent an American second strike. In spite of the fact that the Combined Fleet was almost wholly disarmed, such a strike had never come.

  Though they had lost sight of the American fleet, the best assumption was that they continued to head towards the North American coast. The latest direction from the DU’s military planning committee suggested that they should maintain their presence at sea in order to both pick off straggling ships from the American fleet and to present a threat that would distract the survivors of that group from their core mission.

  Of course, he thought, the people who thought up those mad orders have no idea as to the actual condition of this fleet.

  Childers paused for a moment and looked at the written instructions in front of him. Then he looked up.

  “Please signal the Admiralty: we are returning to base immediately. All units are almost wholly out of ammunition and any question of further combat under such conditions is quite impossible.”

  He looked around at the rest of the men and women on the Flag Bridge.

  “They might order my court-martial for that particular message,” he said, “but I’d rather be tied to the mast and shot through the heart than to get all of you killed fighting a futile battle.”

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  With Mitchell Randall now a major candidate for the Presidency he was surrounded twenty-four hours each day by the press and the Secret Service. Sneaking him into Arizona in order to secretly meet with Governor Schmidt was simply impossible. The Governor, on the other hand, while prominent, was not quite that closely watched. It had proven fairly simple for him to quietly slip away on a Sunday morning and take a private jet to Las Vegas.

  “Governor,” said a smiling Mitch Randall as Schmidt entered his hotel suite, having been brought into through a service entrance. The Senator put down his coffee and took the napkin that was in his lap and folded it up upon the table before he rose to shake hands.

  “I’m glad that you were able to find some time to meet me in person,” said the Governor as he looked around at the flurry of activity in the hotel suite in amazement.

  “You managed to put together a damned professional-looking campaign team quickly, Senator,” noted Schmidt.

  “Yes,” agreed Randall, “during the first stages of the war, pretty much everyone was forced to support Rickover default. I mean, after all, during the Great Mutiny and all that followed that he pretty much was the Federal Government for a time. But remember: no one ever elected him to any national office. He was elected by one Congressional District in Virginia and a majority of the House Republican Conference. That’s it. A lot of people came out of the woodwork as soon as I announced. Of course, none of them had the balls to do it themselves.”

  “Let’s talk about that for a moment,” said Schmidt, “do you ever get any privacy?”

  Randall raised his voice slightly.

  “Can we have the room, folks?” he asked. Instantly everyone began to file on out.

  “Ok,” said Randall as soon as the door closed behind the last of them, “what is it that you wanted?”

  “No, Senator,” replied Schmidt, “it’s not really a matter of what I want. I need to know what you want. Why are you running for President?”

  “You must have done your research,” said Randall.

  “I’ve read your press clippings, if that’s what you mean,” said Schmidt, “but those only tell me w
hat you want other people to know. I want to know what you’re really about.”

  The Senator said nothing for a moment, then reached for his suit coat and pulled out his wallet. He methodically withdrew a slightly-worn newspaper clipping and handed it over to Schmidt who looked it over for a moment.

  “I know that this is an obituary,” said the Governor, “but that’s about all that I get from this.”

  “This is my nephew’s obituary,” said the Senator, “he was nineteen years old. Before the war he was supposed to to to Harvard. Instead he ended up as an infantryman along the static lines in Virginia.”

  “He was just one boy, but he had a family and hopes. How many people from our ships in this battle in the Atlantic that Rickover is busy celebrating aren’t coming home? And for what there?”

  “I know that half of my supporters are Democrats and secret friends of the Federation. I’m not naive. I know that and I know what Rickover and his supporters have done to try and maintain liberty in this country. That’s why I used to be counted among them, as are you. But I’m sick of death. I’m sick of boys and girls with promising futures dying so that we can return to some theoretical ideal state of affairs. And even then, we won’t do that. Because once we’ve conquered all of the east, then we’re going to have to govern it. Occupy it, in effect. And then there’s the whole rest of the world.”

  “What do you want with me?” asked Schmidt, “we’re hardly natural allies.”

  “Far from it, Governor. When I was Governor of Washington I had to conform to win, of course. But I’m no flaming liberal. I think that we should rebuild an America for Americans - for those who want it. Not an empire. Not a nation entangled with the affairs of distant lands about which we know nothing. I should also say that I’d damned well start by securing the borders and making sure that Mexico paid for what they did to us with more than a few pin-prick cruise missile strikes. It’s one thing for us to go venturing abroad to deal with Europe, but it’s another for us to be ensuring that our borders are safe.”

  Schmidt looked at Randall for a long minute.

  “Governor, you’ve got yourself a running mate,” he said.

  Broadway and Canal Street, Manhattan

  Detective Juan Mancini watched the frantic activity on the street with a sense of amazement. The disruptions of a global war hadn’t managed to even so much as slow the activities of the people selling things out on Canal Street. The stands were as full as ever, with tables covered with fake handbags and Burberry scarves stretching out almost as far as the eye could see. Though there was a heavy police presence here, even with the NYPD stretched pretty thin, it still made an ideal place to meet because it was nice and open and the attention of the cops on the scene were largely focused on keeping the open criminality on the street orderly.

  “I’m going to need at least another two million,” said the Captain who met with him evenly.

  “That much?” said Mancini.

  “Look, look,” said the NYPD Captain, “now there’s a lot of sympathy for the Feds. No one likes the way that shit is being run now and I don’t think that anyone gives a fuck for the Federation. But, that being said, people are being asked to assume a lot of risk and some people need more than patriotism for motivation.”

  “What are we getting for that kind of money?” asked Mancini.

  “Two more precincts on the Upper East Side. Now, that’s going to be territory that you’re going to need to take right away, what with those fuckers camped in the park.”

  “You know,” said Mancini, “this is going to taint all of us when they write the history books.”

  “Yeah, well principles are all good and maybe they keep you warm. But they don’t feed my kids, or the kids of these guys whose salaries aren’t even being paid half of the Goddamn time now,”

  “You’ll get the money,” said Mancini.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Unravelling

  Memphis, Tennessee

  The fact that the Randall campaign had chosen to stage their announcement of the Vice Presidential pick in Tennessee had instantly set off a flurry of speculation. Both of the state’s Senators were moderates, but one of them was over eighty and the other had never been prominent in either Washington or Colorado Springs. The state’s Governor was new and not particularly distinguished. The late pick was unusual in and of itself. Technically the Randall campaign had missed the ballot deadline in several states and had filed, instead, with “dummy” Vice Presidential candidates listed. Owing to the unusual nature of the situation and the expressed desire of the Acting President to avoid the perception that he had won for “technical” reasons most states were expected to waive any deadlines and ensure that whoever Randall picked was allowed on the ballot. Given this (and the fact that the election was currently more or less deadlocked) everyone expected a surprise of some sort. No one, however, predicted what they got.

  “I present to you the next Vice President of the United States: Governor Robert Schmidt of Arizona!”

  As Randall spoke the words, there was a near-silence from the crowd. The jaws of the reporters in the room were practically on the floor. Randall was the moderate candidate in the race, after all. He was the sort of Republican that the “effete corps of impudent snobs who characterize themselves as intellectuals” that made up much of the media and the urban elites of America could work with. He had gained the support of Hollywood and the other surviving bastions of liberalism that remained in Terrance Rickover’s America and now he had picked for Vice President a man who had openly speculated to the press that one day there would be a “cure” for homosexuality. That had been just two years earlier. Unsurprisingly, the initial applause was mild as the Governor took the stage.

  “Thank you, Senator Randall,” said Schmidt, “and thank you to all of you, for that very warm and generous reception.”

  That got a few laughs from the audience.

  “I know that I’m probably the last person who you expected to see here today and I know my reputation. I’m the Cowboy Governor - the Neanderthal from the Southwest. Maybe I deserve some of that. Maybe I even deserve a lot of it.”

  “But let me tell you why I’m here today and why I - despite our many differences - agreed to serve alongside Senator Randall, who I am going to work to make the next President of the United States.”

  That got some applause from the Randall supporters in the crowd.

  “I went into law enforcement when I was a young man. I did it because I believed in protecting people and I believed in saving lives. Now, I know that I’m a little bit rough around the edges - but that’s what I always tried to do when I was the Sheriff of Maricopa County and it’s what I do as the Governor of Arizona.”

  “Now, many years ago, when I was a young Deputy, there was this one house that I used to always get called to. It was always one thing or another. A young couple lived there. I don’t believe that they were married, though I could be wrong on that point. This could be an easy story - one where every time I went to that place, the woman had more bruises. I know how to deal with that, at least where I come from. Eventually if you see that sort of thing enough times, even if the lady doesn’t want to report, you know that the guy just needs a good ass-kicking and you also know that that kind of bully doesn’t need much provocation to provide any cop worth his salt with an excuse to give one out. But this isn’t that kind of story.”

  “They both hit each other. I arrested both of them on various occasions. Both of them were wrong. But, no matter what happened, the next day the other one would be down at the station bailing the other one out. This went on for around a year or two.”

  “Finally, one day, I get a call out to the now-familiar address. Slightly weary, I headed on down there for the same old thing. Only, instead, I find the lady of the house on the front porch rocking back and forth with a gun. She’s crying and so I go up to her and ask what’s wrong. She says that Jack is dead and inside the house. So I take a few steps in
and, sure enough, Jack is dead in his big rocking chair.”

  “I asked her why she shot him, if it was in self-defense or anything like that. She just shook her head and said that she’d had enough. Was it the violence, I asked? She laughed. Laughed. Said that she hit him at least as much as he hit her. Her lawyer tried to take the same tack. Didn’t work. Now he’s still dead and, so far as I know, she’s still in prison.”

  “Now, I don’t know if either of them were bad people - but I know that they didn’t belong together and that trying to stay together is what led to that sad ending.”

  “And that’s what’s going on in this country today. I like and respect President Rickover. I know how much he’s done for us and, frankly, he’s done a lot for me personally. But he’s trying to make something work that just ain’t going to work.”

  “Do Mitch Randall and I have difference? You bet that we do. But we’re united on one point. We have problems here at home that we need to take care of and we’re not going to be able to deal with any of them until we end the fighting and stop the killing. We’re not going to be able to solve a damned thing for anyone if we’re busy fighting insurgents and involved in European wars. It’s enough. It’s just enough death and destruction for anyone’s lifetime.”

  “You’ve seen the pictures, but do you really know how things in Arizona are these days? A lot of our infrastructure was bad even before multiple armies rode roughshod all over it. Now it’s all wrecked. People are hungry and desperate and there’s not enough money for anything. That’s a lot of America these days and it’s going to be until we can get things back to something more like normal.”

  “You may not like some of the things I’ve said in the past and I respect that. You might not believe some of the same things that I do and I understand that. But I think that all of us here today - and I hope a majority of us out in the country - are in agreement on one very important point: we’ve had enough of war.”