by Adam Yoshida
“Do it,” ordered Jackson.
“General,” said Colonel Benson, “that would violate your understanding with General Mackenzie.”
“Forget about that. These are emergent circumstances and the commander on the ground has to make a call. I’ll smooth it over with the General later. Launch the attack.”
Bravo Troop, 2nd Squadron, 7th Cavalry, 3rd BCT, 2nd Armored Division, Near Buffalo, New York
The FNASA soldiers looked tired and bedraggled. A lot of them weren’t even wearing anything that could be called a proper uniform anymore. More than a few of them appeared to be civilians - perhaps militia drawn from Buffalo itself. However, in spite of everything that was against them, they still fought like furies.
In the aftermath of Montreal, Bravo Troop had been assigned fully ten moderately-functional Strykers. All of them were being put to good use now. The soldiers who were charging towards the American cavalrymen couldn’t be described as organized in any real sense. They were using a mishmash of weapons and didn’t appear to have maintained anything like a conventional unit organization. This had allowed them to make an effective use of the handful of anti-tank weapons that they possessed, as it was difficult for Bravo Troop’s soldiers to make out exactly whom was carrying and firing missiles amidst the giant crowd. Of course, the corollary of this was that the cavalrymen, in particular the Stryker gunners, felt little compunction about firing randomly into the mob that was approaching them.
Dumont watched as a missile roared outwards from what appeared to be a pile of bodies and proceeded to strike and destroy one of his precious vehicles. In the seconds after that explosion six M2 .50 caliber machine guns carried onboard the three closest Strykers was instantly turned towards the source of the threat. These guns threw hundreds of bullets into the pile of already-mangled human bodies from which the missile had emanated in order to neutralize any remaining threat.
Dumont took a second to attempt to estimate how many human bodies in total were now laid on the ground before Bravo Troop. Of course, many of the corpses were only partially-intact at best, but all of them, the Captain was well-aware, had quite recently been whole. Counting was quite impossible under such conditions. Taking a look at just one area, a spot where a wire fence had formerly stood, and multiplying it by the number of sections of fencing that had formerly existed on a line that extended beyond his field of vision Dumont guessed that there were at least five hundred people lying dead before him. That number, he knew, was increasing with every passing second.
The FNASA infantry attempted to take shelter behind the corpses of their dead comrades whenever possible. This grim act was necessitated by the fact that every other natural or manmade obstacle between the attackers and the soldiers of Bravo Troop had already been obliterated by the fighting. The cavalrymen attempted to dispense with the impromptu fortified firing positions by launching grenades at them. Dumont watched as the grenades detonated and added to the horror and gore.
Dumont moved away from his original position and pulled out his personal smartphone. The drones circling overhead gave him a superior picture of the battlefield versus what he could see with his eyes alone. In fifteen minutes of heated fighting, fully a third of the men and women of Bravo Troop had been either killed or injured badly enough to render them combat ineffective. That they had managed to kill several of the enemy in exchange for each of those losses was of only small comfort given that there appeared to be thousands of additional enemy soldiers coming towards them.
He played with the controls on his phone for a minute and picked out a target. As tempting as it was to call for close air support to obliterate the front rank of the enemy assault against his soldiers, Dumont decided against that option. The pilots of the aircraft that were on call had to be at least as tired as his own soldiers. He would rather give them a large margin of error than a small one. Anyways, he reasoned, having bombs going off behind them and facing withering fire in front of them would be incredibly demoralizing for the enemy forces.
Nearly a minute passed before Dumont caught sight of several tiny specks in the air. He visually tracked the specks as they rapidly increased in size and moved towards their position. For just a moment he felt a twinge of doubt and fear - it was possible that there were still some FNASAF assets somewhere in the region - but those receded as he mentally calculated the course of the planes: all four of them were headed towards the enemy’s lines.
As the aircraft approached closer, Dumont was able to make out their silhouettes. They were definitely USAF F-16s. The four planes swept in low. The noise of the approaching fighters caused a temporary lull in the fighting as the soldiers fighting on the ground stopped and looked skywards. Seconds later the first of their bombs began to detonate just beyond the range of Dumont’s vision. As soon as the bombs detonated, the fighting suddenly resumed as the attacking soldiers both individually and collectively came to the realization that the only immediate means of escape available to them was to punch through the thin line of cavalrymen that was obstructing their exit.
As Dumont scanned the distance he realized that he could see little other than blood and viscera coating the ground. This, he thought, is probably the stuff that they’ll leave out of the textbooks.
Alpha Company, Third Battalion, Second Brigade, 200th Infantry Division, Buffalo, New York
There hadn’t been time to define anything more than the most-general sort of operational plan. The 200th Division had barely arrived when they were ordered to pull up stakes and move into the city itself. This sort of operation would normally be accompanied by days of careful planning and detailed orders that provided for exactly where everyone was supposed to go and when they were to arrive. Instead, on this occasion, the 200th Division had, along with the rest of the units that had been setting up to besiege Buffalo, had simply been ordered to advance and not to cross over into the sectors that had been allocated to the 42nd Infantry Division and the 2nd Armored Division.
The first of the Company’s Merkava tanks moved down the streets at speed of nearly thirty miles an hour. The lead tank came across an improvised barricade that had been set up on the street. The obstacle, made up of abandoned vehicles, had been thrown together in minutes by a small group of FNASA soldiers who had been given an opportunity to practice the avocation that had led them to their present state in the first place.
“Just keep going,” ordered the Company Commander as he observed the lead tank begin to slow. The Merkava collided with an old Honda Civic that had been left in the centre of the road, slapping it aside with contemptuous ease. The other tanks followed quickly in the path blazed by the first, simply colliding with any obstacles and continuing to drive themselves forward at a rapid rate. The eleven surviving tanks of the company moved several more blocks down the road without encountering any further obstructions. At a corner characterized by a number of mid-rise office buildings an anti-tank missile raced out and narrowly missed one of the tanks.
“West Huron and South Elmwood,” reported the Company Commander, “fire for effect.”
The tanks moved onwards without even slowing. Within seconds the first artillery rounds began to fall all around the intersection as the units behind Alpha Company were rerouted until the buildings were flattened. XII Corps had no intention of spending the lives of any of its soldiers needlessly during this operation.
A dozen blocks to the west, the Company passed over into a residential area. The streets were lined with old and small houses whose value had, due to their proximity to the downtown core, managed to soar in recent years. It was here that Alpha Company first encountered the ragged remnants of the Unified Army Group, some of which were attempting to make their way forward admit a traffic jam of commandeered civilian vehicles.
“Those school buses are being used as troop transports,” reported the commander of the First Platoon, “I can see that they’ve got troops loaded up in them.”
“Cleared to engage,” reported the Company Commande
r.
The first Merkava immediately began to fire HEAT rounds at the buses and other vehicles that were lined up in front of them. The first round burst into a spectacular explosion that cracked open the bus that it hit. Burning men ran screaming from the buses at the Merkava tanks opened fire with their machine guns into the crowd.
The sudden appearance of the enemy spread panic through the ranks of the FNASA forces. Vehicles began to attempt to escape at maximum speed, resulting in collisions that added to the carnage as the fire of the tanks was maintained.
Unified Army Group Headquarters, Buffalo, New York
“It’s no good,” said General Wesley as he watched the map that was displayed in front of him become increasingly chaotic. The units of the army were simply melting away under the pressure of the unexpected American assault. In fact, as he was fully aware, the map actually understated and sanitized the gravity of what was going on in front of them. Each unit marker that winked out of existence represented hundreds of desperately scared men and women who were being shot to death on the streets of the city. The gutters of Buffalo were running red with blood and that was, in a very real sense, Wesley’s fault.
“Do we have the ability to communicate with General Jackson?” asked Wesley.
“Yes,” replied Colonel Chernow, “their electronic warfare people have been broadcasting a number that we can contact them at.”
“Do it,” said Wesley, “and signal that we are willing to discuss terms of surrender immediately. And also that we request an immediate cease fire.”
Chernow nodded and picked up a phone. A few seconds after he dialled someone picked up on the other end.
“This is Colonel Chernow, Chief of Staff of the Unified Army Group, Federation of North American States Army. I have General Eugene Wesley, my commanding officer, on the line. He would like to speak to General Jackson directly.”
“Stand by,” said the voice on the other end of the line. A minute passed in silence at Chernow and Wesley waited together, each too exhausted to speak any of what they were thinking to each other. Finally, a voice came on the line.
“This is General William Jackson, XII Corps, United States Army, commanding. To whom am I speaking?”
Chernow handed the phone to Wesley.
“This is General Wesley,” he said quietly.
“How can I help, General?” said Jackson.
“The military situation is clearly hopeless for my force,” said Wesley, “I wish to request an immediate cease fire with a view towards negotiating the surrender of this force.”
“I will only order a cease fire upon the complete and unconditional surrender of your force, General. Those are my orders and I do not intend to deviate from them in any fashion whatsoever,” replied Jackson.
“I have only one condition,” said Wesley.
“No sir,” replied Jackson, “your surrender will be unconditional.”
“My only condition,” insisted Wesley, “is that my soldiers will be treated properly, as prisoners of war.”
“That is a condition that I cannot and will not accept, General,” replied Jackson, “the people who are under your command will be treated in accord with the written and unwritten laws of war. That is what I will promise.”
“The unwritten laws of war that you claim let you shoot prisoners, and let the murder of Kevin Bryan go unpunished?” shot back Wesley.
“Only an unconditional surrender is acceptable,” replied Jackson before adding, “think about it. I’m not in a hurry.”
At that, the line went dead and Wesley and Chernow were left with little more to do than stare numbly at one another.
Army of Northern Virginia Headquarters, Dayton, Ohio
General Mackenzie watched the footage being streamed from over Buffalo with a Predator drone with a sick feeling in his stomach. A few of the units of the Unified Army Group had maintained cohesion and were maintaining their assault upon the defenses set up by the U.S. Army units that had made their way to Buffalo, but most had been decisively broken by the unexpected decision by General Jackson to take the city by storm. From high above the city the Predator drone captured the scene as tanks roared down city streets and massacred the fleeing FNASA soldiers.
The feed on the main display changed to show what appeared to be a school’s field that had been used as an assembly area by a FNASA unit. A group of Abrams tanks had made their way to the location and, after taking out the vehicles that were supposed to transport the men away, had begun to circle the field and to fire flechette rounds into the writhing and suffering mass of humanity that was sitting at the centre.
“This isn’t war,” said General Mackenzie, “this is murder.”
“They still haven’t offered their surrender,” noted the G3.
“That’s because we’ve told them, more or less, that they’ll face the hangman when we’re done with them,” replied Mackenzie.
On the screen in front of him a tank turned towards the field and charged forward at a group of men, crunching several of them beneath its treads before opening fire on a group in the distance.
“Get me General Jackson,” he said disgustedly.
“Yes sir,” replied the G3.
After few moments the face of General Jackson appeared on the screen.
“This is a massacre,” said Mackenzie.
“Yes, it’s a bit of a turkey shoot,” agreed General Jackson chirpily.
“Don’t you think that we should do something about it?” said Mackenzie.
“No,” replied Jackson flatly.
“The plan was to wait until we could fully besiege them. At that point a bloodless surrender might have been possible,” said Mackenzie.
“They attempted an attack and I saw an opportunity. As the officer on the scene, I used my own judgement to do what seemed best under the circumstances,” said Jackson.
“Well, if they weren’t broken before, they’re broken now,” said Mackenzie, “I think that we should stop.”
“We will do no such thing,” replied Jackson evenly, “these are the criminals who have brought so much suffering to this country. They will all pay for what they’ve done, one way or another.”
“This is slaughter,” insisted Mackenzie, “purposeless slaughter.”
“That’s where I would disagree with you, General,” answered Jackson, “this is purposeful slaughter. They have brought this upon themselves. And, I would remind you, that they could earn themselves a respite by offering their unconditional surrender at any point in time.”
“They won’t surrender unconditionally if they can avoid it,” said Mackenzie, “because they’re afraid that you’re going to shoot them if they do.”
“I won’t - and the President has ordered that we not - accept anything other than an unconditional surrender because it would foreclose our options in that regard,” said Jackson.
“As the commanders in the field, we have the authority - and the responsibility - to make decisions in accordance with the laws of war,” said Mackenzie.
“Don’t lecture me,” replied Jackson, “I know that my job is.”
“I won’t be a party to a war crime,” said Mackenzie, “that’s one of the things that you learn when you join the United States Army.”
“I didn’t get to go to West Point like you, General Mackenzie,” said Jackson, “but I know a thing or two about what the law is.”
“I’m not going to let this go on,” said Mackenzie, “I’ll order my forces to stop.”
“I have enough forces to continue the attack and to bring this to an end,” said Jackson, “and, if it be a sin to covet honor, than I am the most offending soul alive.”
Mackenzie hung up the phone.
“I won’t let that foreign madman stain the honor of the Army,” he said, “put me in touch with the FNASA commander and get me a helicopter.”
Public School Four, Buffalo, New York
General Wesley looked around nervously as he waited for the his guests to
arrive.
“Aside from the Israeli tanks that the 200th Division has, how the fuck are we supposed to tell one unit from the other?” the commander of the battalion that was holding the sector had asked. Wesley had told him that they’d be flying a flag of truce, for what that was worth.
“Did you know General Mackenzie before the war?” Colonel Chernow asked, seeking to pass the time.
“Only in passing,” said Wesley, “we both served in different units of the XVIII Airborne Corps at one point in time. That’s about it. But he always had a good reputation. Especially over at CENTCOM.”
“Well, we’ll see,” said Chernow, “I suppose that it could be a trap.”
“Maybe,” agreed Wesley, “but I don’t think so.”
The two men waited in silence as they watched a Platoon of Abrams tanks come rolling down the road towards them.
“Here they are,” said Chernow. The men and women of the Unified Army Group’s headquarters stood nervously waiting to see what came next. A single machine gun would be enough to wipe out the entire high command of what was left of the the Federation’s field army.
Behind the tanks, there was a single old-fashioned HUMVEE. As the tanks came to a stop it continued forward and pulled all the way up to the front of the aged public school that served as the headquarters of the Army group. As the vehicle came to a stop a tall man in a field uniform emerged. The soldiers of the headquarters saluted him and he quickly returned their salute.
