by R A Peters
The president scratched at a pink spot on his wrist just beginning to scar. “General, I hope you’re right. We’ve made the mistake of underestimating this rebellion far too often. Despite how they’re spinning it, Florida is a secessionist state. The problem’s not just their terroristic leadership. Look at the polls. If we don’t cut that tumor out cleanly, and on the first try, the whole damn country will fall apart.” He deep rubbed his temples with both hands.
“I mean that literally, not as hyperbole. California, Washington, Arizona… at least 10 states out west so far are planning to hold referendums on whether to stay in the Union. How do their PR people put it? Whether or not to form their own ‘legitimate’ Federal Government!” The president shoved the tactical map away and pointed at the wall map of America.
“If we don’t stamp this shit out now we might never have another chance. Congress has already amended the Posse Comitatus Act. They gave us a 30-day free reign to do whatever we need to. I fear that we don’t have a month. Too much is happening too fast. Now, I’m ordering you to use overwhelming force, anything you need, to put an end to this war before it gets started. Do I make myself clear?”
The general didn’t exactly look convinced, but he wasn’t a fool. “Crystal clear, sir. That’s exactly what we’re doing. By any measure, our response is an overkill.” He launched into his patient teacher routine as an aid turned on a beam projector.
“As you can see, we’re mobilizing a reinforced heavy division for this operation. Of course, sir, we could be ready faster if you weren’t so insistent that the Georgia and Alabama National Guards must take part. We don’t need them. It’s more of a logistical burden to have them on board than anything else.”
“We’ve been over this often enough, General. We have to show the country that this isn’t Big Brother stomping on some independent state. I want to head off all that ‘states rights’ nonsense from the beginning. Showing resolve is not enough. The perception of unity is needed. We have to make it clear that the entire nation stands against Dimone and his rebels. I admit, it is a political decision, but these are the type of politics that have military repercussions.” He paused and counted to 10 as he heated up. He got to three.
“Do you want to have to repeat this invasion over and over with every radical state? Don’t you see what’s happening out West? Those referendums are not political theater. The people themselves are about to decide whether to end this 240 year old American experiment. Not since World War 2 have we had so much riding on a single operation. We will only get one chance to influence that public opinion.”
He got out of his chair and had to pace.
“I know, some of you think I’m losing it. That I’m trying to go out in a blaze of glory and want to take the country with me. Isn’t that how some news networks put it? Ladies and gentlemen, this disaster is bigger than any one man. We are way beyond politics now.
“Whenever people focus on a single issue at the expense of all others, especially when egged along by our modern media with its insane advertising pressure and short attention span, then the people are ripe for exploitation by demagogues and all sorts of crazies. Mark my words, if we don’t crush this rebellion now, and decisively, things will only get worse. For starters, it means the end of my Administration and everyone in it.”
The president already looked older than God, but somehow aged even more in the last few minutes. “If that was the only worry, damn, then I’d resign immediately. God help me, I’m tempted to! But it won’t end there. Not by a long shot. Every day Dimone stays in control of Florida the fabric of this nation is torn a little more. If the rebels even remotely appear like they might get away with their treason, how many opportunists will jump onto the band wagon? Ultra conservatives, ultra liberals, those two well financed extremes terrify me alone, without even counting the run of the mill crazies America breeds like rabbits. I’m telling you, failure here will mean the end of the United States as we know it!”
The president’s Lincoln personae didn’t faze the assembled bureaucrats, whether in or out of uniform, but the prospect of losing their careers did. The four-star general smiled as one of his assistants, a real PowerPoint Ranger, flipped to the next series of slides.
“No worries there, sir. We’re going to come down on them like a freight train. A reinforced brigade of air assault troops will secure the state capitol in Tallahassee and link up with the besieged forces at Eglin Air Force Base, 60 miles west. For all practical purposes, that gives us control of the Panhandle. At the same time, two light brigades will secure the population center of Jacksonville in the northeast and stage for further advances down the East Coast if necessary.” He stood at parade rest, really getting into the groove.
“But the primary thrust is with the bulk of the 3rd Mechanized Infantry division already stationed in Georgia. That’s nearly 20,000 men with plenty of armor and artillery. The division will push down the relatively thinly populated center of the state along the I-75 corridor. We plan to occupy Gainesville by the end of day one. A short pause to rest and refit and then we make the final push. The ultimate objective is the provisional Florida capitol in Orlando. Shouldn’t be any reason to advance farther than that. All totaled, a two day, three at the outside, campaign.”
Every general and admiral nodded vigorously. The whole table of white, blue, green and brown costumes were in complete agreement. A rare sight.
“Whatever loyal forces they can muster will have to fight us before we get to Orlando. This is all sparsely populated, relatively dry and flat land. We’ll never have to enter the real swamps in the southern part of the state. Everything north of Orlando is decent maneuver country for armored vehicles, in the unlikely event we meet true resistance and have to deploy off the roads. Most importantly, there’ll be few civilians caught in the middle.
“Again, sir, this operation will more closely resemble a race than anything else. We plan to avoid any real urban combat. They’ll have to come out to us. As far as our sat intel can discern, that’s exactly what they’re preparing for. The bulk of the enemy’s forces appear to be massing and digging in across the interstate, right along the axis of attack.”
The general leaned forward to hide his partial erection. “Which is the worst possible strategy an outnumbered force could pursue. Remember sir, the FNG have no real tanks, limited artillery assets and even less of a logistical support train. It’s top heavy in infantry, primarily light infantry. Let’s face it, sir. How professional can you expect a force that only trains one weekend a month to be? In a stand up fight, they’d never stand a chance. I think they know that as well. At first contact, they’ll break wide open. If by some miracle they nut up and hold their ground…well, that’s why they say God’s on the side with the heaviest artillery!”
The president skimmed the printed details with little interest. “And their Air Force? They’ve caused us enough trouble already.”
An admiral chimed in. “Well, sir, their air power appears impressive, but we should be able to negate that advantage on Day 1 and with minimum losses to their equipment and personnel.”
The president made a sour face. “I’ve heard all these promises before, but how are you going to deliver this time? How are you going to keep this from becoming another disaster?”
A different Air Force general answered him, but not with his first thought, By not letting you micro-manage the operation.
“By surgical air strikes, sir. All their combat aircraft are concentrated on just five airfields. We’ll crater the runways, without hitting the aircraft themselves or the support facilities, with guided bombs fired from F117 stealth fighters. The laser designation will be provided by UAVs instead of Special Forces operators on the ground. Quick and clean. Minimum damage and even fewer chances for collateral damage, but hideously effective nonetheless. They won’t know what hit them. By the time they can repair the fields, the Army will have the insurrection well in hand.” His supreme confidence was infectious.
>
“Sir, they cannot hope to resist for more than a few hours, days with incredible luck. Frankly, I’m surprised they’re even trying. If I hadn’t seen the satellite imagery of their feverish preparations or hear Dimone’s fanatic followers on the news, I wouldn’t believe it myself.” He shook his head.
“One more thing, sir. We really wish you would reconsider the No Fly Zone option. If we went ahead and grabbed air superiority now, while waiting for the ground forces to get ready, we could significantly attrit their maneuver units before the first man crosses the border. We might even break their will to resist before we set any boots on the ground.”
This time the president’s chief of staff was the one telling the military how to do their job. “No, no. The president is correct that this needs to be a shock and awe type of operation.” Someone groaned at that worn out phrase.
“Call it what you like then, but we need to go in there without warning, without preamble. We can’t let their media people have time to define the talking points. We hit them like a bolt from the blue and the shock value is even stronger. The perception of the fight will be just as important as the fighting itself.”
An Air Force general pleaded directly to the president. “I understand your concerns, sir, but these Rules of Engagement make it more likely that there will be a fight. For example, demanding that a two-star general or above personally approve every air strike, regardless of ordinance used or quality of intelligence, drastically degrades our air power’s effectiveness.
“We’ll have air superiority early in the invasion. Why not use that advantage to smash any enemy task forces by air? Smash them long before the Army gets within range. We could shut down their artillery and keep any force larger than platoon size from massing to oppose us. The Army would just have to mop up. Even if we can’t break their will, we’ll have the opportunity to break their ability to fight before they get a chance!”
The president snorted. “Gentlemen, I don’t know the difference between a platoon and a task force and neither do most Americans. What they do know is the difference between military and civilian casualties. I don’t care if you can hit what you’re aiming at 99% of the time. Just one bomb falling short and hitting a school or hospital will undermine the entire purpose of this mission.”
Some random civilian aide, who had never served in the military, felt knowledgeable enough to chime in. He had never even met someone who had served before coming to work at the White House, but he still somehow knew all about warfare. “Let’s be realistic, General. A soldier face to face with a rebel is far less likely to misidentify him with a civilian than a pilot flying at 300 miles an hour at 15,000 feet.”
The general didn’t know where to begin explaining that it’s usually a soldier on the ground telling the pilot exactly where to drop his guided bombs, or that officers are too busy to micromanage fire support. They had an elaborate system of target acquisition and checks and balances to reduce civilian casualties. How do you distill decades of hard-learned experience into a simple explanation that these kids could understand? He tried hard to find a witty analogy, but hadn’t prepared for this type of argument. After a few false starts, the president closed off the conversation.
“The American people can shrug off a bombed mosque in some far away land as just ‘collateral damage,’ but things will be quite different if they see the First Baptist Church of whatever Podunk town crowded with worshipers blown up. Not another word about this; my decision is final. Damn, I can’t believe we’re even discussing this!”
Florida Defense Forces Headquarters
Ocala, Florida
25 February: 1300
The attitude inside of Florida’s Joint Forward Operations Center was even more chaotic than the storm outside. Several dozen personnel, including several civilian contractors and trusted volunteers, alternately screamed, pleaded or threatened into twice as many phones and radios.
In the eye of the storm, some six-foot colonel with a pro swimmer’s build attempted to stare down a lanky S-3 officer. For the skinny guy, the big man was just one more bullet point on a long To Do list. He listened courteously, but with little interest, while trying to balance a laptop on his knees, a radio on the shoulder, a satellite phone in one hand and a coffee thermos in the other.
“No way the general signed off on that op order, Major. My brigade is the most experienced fighting force you have. We sure as hell proved that against those paratroopers up at Blanding. Seventy percent of my troops have at least one combat deployment under their belts and we’re at 98% preparedness, with nearly every single combat platform up and running. Despite all that, you’re telling me we’re being held in strategic reserve?”
He kept talking right over Gorgas.
“You’re going to let that disorganized militia mob form the center of our defensive line and that joke of a ‘Minuteman Brigade’ cover the flanks, while keeping us spinning our wheels back in the sticks!? I didn’t expect brilliance from a simple staff officer, but I expected at least basic competence!”
Gorgas wiped the colonel’s spittle from his computer screen and feigned confusion.
“That’s why we need a leader like you to bolster the line, sir.” Major Gorgas intentionally ignored the contribution of the blowhard’s unit in order to penetrate straight to the colonel’s ego. He kicked it up a notch by lowering his voice and letting him in on the “Big Secret.” The great big secret that should have been obvious.
“I think you deserve to know the truth, sir. Those vigilantes aren’t expected to hold the line. The Feds will plow right through them. The whole point is to get them to speed down here convinced they won’t encounter significant opposition. That’s when you’ll strike back. Our best commander, personally leading our best unit must deliver the decisive blow. Just like you so famously did at Camp Blanding. Sir, please, we need you!”
Colonel Beauregard pondered that for a moment. “Well, aren’t you a sneaky son of a gun. Ok, if the general wants me there, that’s where I’ll be. Carry on then, Major.” He showed the major a new measure of respect by returning a half-assed salute before strutting off.
Gorgas wasn’t the type to mull over confrontations and get all stressed out by them. He built his whole career on smoothing ruffled feathers, pampering delicate egos and just generally manipulating senior officers into actually doing their jobs. All the while being looked down upon as a cowardly staff officer.
To be fair, he was an oddity. The Army tries hard to rotate officers between staff and command positions in order to broaden their horizons… or to keep them from becoming competent at any one job, depending on your point of view. Gorgas had the dubious luck of always falling through the cracks. Training, planning, organizing, but in his 20 year career, he’d never once commanded soldiers.
The strange thing is he really was combat arms by training, an artillery officer. It was just that at every new unit he arrived in they never seemed to have a command slot available. So, they’d plug him into a staff support role while he waited for his chance. There he would always commit the same mistake: he’d do a good job. Just like in the civilian world, nothing keeps you from being promoted more than being irreplaceable.
That’s why he left the regular Army and joined his home state Guard. Pretty much the only chance he’d ever have to make lieutenant colonel someday. Then the president just ups and declares war on his home. Florida needed every leader they could get; surely now would be his chance. No dice. Turns out, building an army from nearly scratch requires a real organizer. Apparently, he was the man for the job, or so said everyone who didn’t want to do it. He never could catch a break.
He wasn’t particularly proud of the militia trick that impressed the colonel so much. That’s only a minor game that may or may not pay off. His success in unifying the new Florida Defense Forces is where his pride came from. The real trick was the Herculean task of organizing scores of independent National Guard and Reservist units, with widely varying grades of l
oyalty and motivation, as well as thousands of civilian volunteers into a somewhat cohesive army with a unified command, control and supply network.
But he did it. All in the span of just a few weeks and with hardly any funding, since the Federal Government wasn’t chipping in anymore. Organization might be boring. It definitely wasn’t sexy like clever battlefield tricks, strategic surprises or secret weapons. Still, all those cool things weren’t useful, let alone even possible, without an efficient foundation.
From the ancient Romans to modern armies, it wasn’t brilliant leaders or super weapons that were dangerous, but rather the simple bureaucratization of war that allowed killing to be so efficient. That’s what both won wars and made them so terrible.
It’s not the highly skilled, renowned sniper that’s the real threat on the battlefield. It’s the far seeing planning staff that puts him in the perfect firing position and the well-organized supply staff that ensures he has ample food and ammo. Those paper plans and background support are what makes sure that the war fighter can keep on killing. If a sniper is taken out, a new one could be simply reassigned to take his place. If that discipline and organization breaks down, then the fighters are as good as dead, no matter how well armed and courageous.
Of course, he couldn’t claim all the credit. Having General Cooper on board was a lucky break. The man was the closest thing America had to a respected general. The best part was, he hailed from Texas and wasn’t just a local hero. Should help to show the nationwide breadth of their struggle. So they hoped. If nothing else, his briefing style excited and motivated the civilians.
General Cooper was also the one who demanded a free hand from the politicians to prepare the Florida Defense Forces as he saw fit, and had the guts to keep them from trying to micromanage things. He even sold the idea of not taking every halfwit with a gun into the FDF. President Dimone’s now famous call to arms rallied close to a 100,000 volunteers in that first week! The politicians, as usual, wanted to take them all without the slightest idea what they were supposed to do. Throw them in human waves at the Feds? Hoping they ran out of bullets before we ran out of idiots?
