Power Games: Operation Enduring Unity I

by R A Peters

  Sophie’s helmet was nowhere to be found. The girl popped her bare, pony-tailed head out of the hole and took a peek into hell. All the shooters that were next to or in front of her were now gone. Well, not a hundred percent true. She could see an arm or leg sticking out of the rubble here and there. Both fuel-packed wings were still intact, but the plane’s upper fuselage looked like some giant took an ice cream scoop to it. The miracle of her survival would haunt her for years.

  A few SF fellows also survived, for a while. Sophie’s quick responding team took out some before she stopped them. “Keep one or two alive. I’m sure the Guard’s intelligence guys could learn a lot from them.”

  Even the choppers above were running. Their fighter escort had finally been finished off. Rebel interceptors from all over Nevada now prowled the area, looking for payback. None of the Battle Hawks would make it back to base.

  More friendly Guard troops arrived within minutes to police up the damaged, but non-leaking nukes. In all the excitement, Sophie had completely forgotten about them. She hugged her surviving militia fighters, then straddled one nuke and flipped a bird in the direction the helicopters flew off.

  Miles away, a Global Hawk banked slightly and zoomed in with 128-power intensity. The hideously expensive machine would be shot down by Nevada’s air defenses within minutes, but for the moment, she streamed back east chilling images. The president was, by now, personally observing the operation in real time. His face held no expression as this girl, only a few years older than his own daughters, tossed all their strategic calculus on its head.

  The rebels were now a nuclear power.

  A superpower.

  Chapter 12

  Capitol Building, Tallahassee, Florida

  20 March: 1500

  “Mr. Speaker!” The latest congressman to hold that title fielded the question from a reporter his staff already thoroughly screened. “Does this blanket amnesty also apply to the renegade Supreme Court Justices hiding in California?”

  There was a good reason the veteran politician was selected for this role. His down home shrug and easy going, youthful grin belied the gravity of the situation.

  “It doesn’t apply, because they haven’t done anything wrong. It is the position of the president and this Congress that they have simply resigned their posts. The Senate has already approved the president’s new appointees. We even sent out the old Justices’ final paychecks. At least the post office is still loyal out west!” No one laughed at his joke. He quickly changed the subject by answering an unasked question.

  “No, of course we do not recognize the legitimacy of this ridiculous, fantasy government in certain states. Nonetheless, the Healing Act is valid nationwide, not just here in Florida. Everyone is being given a second chance.”

  The same reporter surprised the politico’s handlers with a follow up question. “Does that mean, in fact, that you are willing to let people get away with murder?”

  He was ready for the trap question. It was the single most divisive issue in Congress today. “Of course not. A soldier fighting for their homeland is not murder. We will evaluate every case individually, but you’re missing the key point. Anyone willing to lay down their weapons and pledge an oath of allegiance to the legitimate Federal authorities will be pardoned for any crime committed in the misguided attempt to overthrow the legally chosen government of the United States.”

  The poorly vetted reporter lost her professionalism. “I thought the pledge of allegiance was to the Flag, the Constitution, and to liberty and justice for all. When the hell did the Feds get inserted?”

  Some of the other reporters laughed nervously, others applauded and a few shouted at the provocative woman to shut up. The Speaker was a real pro though. Heckling didn’t throw him off stride. He kept going as if he hadn’t heard a thing.

  “That includes everyone who voted for these so-called ‘freedom referendums.’ Even any member of the military, or civilian government employee, who has taken up arms against our country or otherwise acted against us. It’s time to end this senseless fighting. We are all Americans. Let our differences strengthen our land and not tear it apart.” With proper dramatic flair, he stopped grinning and stared unflinchingly at the camera cluster.

  “With that said, this generous plan is also a limited time offer. Do not test the resolve or patience of the legitimate American government. You have 72 hours to come to your senses. After that deadline, any secessionist or terrorist activity will be met with overwhelming military force. Guantanamo Bay has been reactivated to house domestic terrorists; don’t make us fill it up again.”

  Gathered behind him on the state’s capitol steps, a couple dozen stone-faced senators, congressmen, generals and admirals solemnly nodded. The cameras zoomed out for a panorama view of the core architects behind the Great Reconciliation Plan presenting a united front. Conspicuously absent were the most hawkish politicians and officers.

  It was thought prudent that those opposed to immediate reconciliation be left out of the photo op. If people saw the grinning faces of leaders that advocated nationwide martial law and waging total war against rebellious states suddenly supporting the Act, its credibility might just be undermined. In this war, image management and news spinning were more effective than guns and bombs.

  On the plus side, panning out gave the cameras an incredible view of hell on earth. From behind the Capitol, a buzzing grew incessantly louder. The reporters thought the large remote controlled plane cresting the dome and then circling ominously was part of some elaborate power demonstration. The thick cordon of soldiers ringing the perimeter didn’t recognize it as part of their inventory. Must be some special model used by all those Secret Service agents protecting the big wigs. The suit-wearing bodyguard detail assumed it must be some experimental military job, but they’d never seen anything like it before. Novelty alone was enough to spook them.

  Even though the drone thing seemed to be slowly gaining altitude and not kamikazing into the crowd, the lead agent decided to get his principals inside anyway. It took a few seconds for him to decide, but before too long the old “stranger, danger” reaction won out.

  Had he not hesitated… well, they all would have still died. Just as the agent took the Speaker by the arm, a weak bang echoed from above. He threw himself on the politician, drew his pistol and searched for the threat. The toy plane broke apart in a small explosion about 40 feet in the air. A silvery smoke cloud expanded outwards. Not falling, but spreading almost 60 feet in diameter. A faint wisp of propane filled the gawking onlooker’s nostrils a split second before the air itself ignited.

  Fuel air explosives work differently than the more traditional type. The oxygen in the air is the real explosive. The propane and fluoridated aluminum in the bomb is merely a booster charge. The explosion is also relatively slow, Hollywood-style. You can briefly see the blast wave coming towards you. Unfortunately, that won’t help much to save your life.

  The real killer wasn’t that impressive fireball, but the sledgehammer wave of overpressure ahead of it. The mini-nuke punctured the internal organs of body armor-clad soldiers a hundred yards away. They died without a single outward sign of injury. Closer into the hellfire, all the air was sucked away to feed the devil’s toy. So fast that the lungs were immediately ruptured.

  The dignitaries directly underneath the blast spent their last moments alive suffocating from the sudden vacuum around them, even as the fireball incinerated them. The few survivors were so badly torched and permanently disfigured they’d wish they weren’t so “lucky.” For the first time in their careers, these statesmen and generals were getting a taste of the shit storm they so easily threw young soldiers into. The stench of overcooked, high-fat human meat and that gut wrenching scorched hair smell would hang over the square days after the bodies were removed.

  *

  Two miles away, a silver Prius didn’t slow down and gawk as a stream of ambulances wailed past. With the video feed to the drone no longer availa
ble, Marcus had to get his after action report over the radio like everyone else. He felt fleeting regret for the reporters caught in the slaughter, but his sympathy didn’t last long for those ghouls. Where were they when his world ended? His family’s lives apparently weren’t worth the airtime, but these asshole generals and politicians deserved wall-to-wall breaking news coverage?

  He only worried about the loss of the heavy-haul drone his grad students built. What a marvelous machine they whipped up. Reliable and able to carry his 700-pound homemade thermobaric bomb almost a mile from the city park to the capitol building. He honestly felt shame for stealing and destroying it. He’d have to find those young people and make it up to them somehow.

  Which would be a little more difficult now. He couldn’t imagine himself ever going back and teaching at the university. The authorities would surely put the pieces together eventually and find out who did this. A distinguished fifteen-year career as a respected chemistry professor flushed down the drain. Just like that. Marcus switched of the radio and drove in silence.

  Compared to what he’d lost already, who cared about work? No, the real problem was his revenge wasn’t as fulfilling as he expected. That could only mean he hadn’t gotten enough.

  On his way back from the state capitol, he cruised past his old home in Gainesville. The debris was left exactly as it had been that terrible day. Well, almost. Someone had removed the aircraft wreckage. The anger at the only monument his wife and daughter would ever have being hauled away like so much trash brought the hate back.

  Marcus wasn’t even with them that dark, sunny day during the initial invasion of Florida. He was across the street, talking to a pro-Fed neighbor about keeping an eye on the house while they were gone. He’d waited way too long to evacuate his family. Who could’ve imagined that the fighting would reach so far south? Everyone knew it was supposed to be more or less symbolic resistance. Maybe a short firefight, but then one side or the other must cave in. Instead, the whole world collapsed.

  He only remembered his neighbor’s open mouth, a bone-rattling roar and then the heat. When he managed to roll over after the explosion, he crawled aimlessly through the black fog so thick you needed a knife to cut through it. Eventually, he reached a clearish space and his heart stopped.

  Only the tail fin of an F-22 jutted into the sky from where his garage had stood. Maybe if, by some miracle, Rachel and Jessie had stopped packing the car and were back in the house…it wouldn’t have made a difference. The whole property, as well as the neighbors on both sides, were one solid wall of flames. The only thing not burning was the tail assembly of that damn jet. A marker from God to show where his family had been taken.

  He didn’t waste any more time crying down memory lane. The school’s ROTC instructor was missing. Supposedly, gone underground and joined the rumored resistance. Through a friend of a friend, he made a date for tonight to grab a beer and discuss politics. The way his seatbelt dug into his gut, maybe the middle-aged professor wasn’t in the best shape. Nor had he ever even touched a gun in his entire life. Not a promising career change.

  On the other hand, the insurgents might just be able to find use for someone that could safely make bombs from a thousand everyday ingredients. He also wasn’t just a chemist…he was a damn good teacher.

  Shortly before the government announced their humane amnesty plan, an alphabet soup of federal agencies swarmed over the state and hauled off thousands. Rubber-stamped warrants or not, it was an old-fashioned purge of dangerous characters. Well, they missed the most dangerous person with their lettres de cachet: the intelligent man with nothing left to live for except revenge.

  Washington, DC

  22 March: 1500

  “Damnit David, we’ve been on opposite sides for years, but this isn’t some budget showdown. You people can’t keep playing these games. You offer blanket amnesty one day, total war the next. We need a concentric and consistent plan to put this country together again. It’s time to quit screwing around. We’re talking about the future of the Union. The future of democracy!” The president subconsciously avoided the windows in the refurbished Oval Office.

  The new Speaker of the House, the hastily appointed replacement to that unlucky post, held up his hand. “For once, you’re correct. That’s why we can’t afford new elections right now. Probably not for a long time to come. You’re the best man to handle this crisis. Mr. President, your resignation will not be accepted.” They both pretended like that mattered.

  “Meaning I’m the sacrificial lamb? What did I ever do to you? Seriously, you’re taking this in the wrong direction. We’ve lost control. One side has to give in or this division will be permanent. Elections allow everyone to save a little face, as well.”

  “Damnit, Mr. President! You were right; we were wrong. There, are you happy? When’s the last time some Representative sat in your office and told you that? Your term has already been extended for one year by a near unanimous vote, something unprecedented in US history, and now you want to back down?”

  After fighting uphill for so long, the president struggled to grasp that other politicians could believe in him. As much as he tried to rationalize it, he knew that things had moved way beyond who was sitting in the Oval Office. Too much had changed, and too many people liked the changes. Whether the East or the West or whatever side won didn’t matter much. Either way, peace would only be found on the other side of war. Maybe he could speed up that process and make it as painless as possible.

  “Ok, but if you’re going to stick me with all this responsibility, you’re going to give me the necessary authority. No standing around acting innocent and self-righteous when I send American soldiers to fight against other American soldiers. No pretending you had nothing to do with it.”

  The Speaker didn’t even try to act as if he had no idea what the president meant. “I understand. That’s the main issue I wanted to discuss today.” He delved into his bag and tossed the president a binder. There were no aides or advisors in this meeting.

  “Here’s what we’ve been working on since California went off the deep end. The vote’s in the morning.”

  It didn’t take him long to read it all. The resolution was short and vague for a reason.

  “My God. I’m surprised this even got out of committee. Maybe you can swing the votes, but the Senate will never accept this. It’ll take so much watering down to pass as to be meaningless.”

  “Give us some credit, Mr. President. This draft was written by a bicameral and bipartisan committee. No political games this time. Its passage is a mere formality.” The congressman grinned wide, crossed his legs and threw a flabby arm over the sofa’s back.

  “Sir, I don’t think you really appreciate the new political landscape we’re working in. Just like in the Civil War,” the president grimaced at the comparison, “our colleagues from belligerent states in both houses have been expelled. Well, they’re still physically here in Washington and some of these sad souls wander into session. They aren’t recognized to speak and their votes don’t count, but they try anyway. You should see how irate they get. The Capitol Police have to kick someone out almost every day! Which is a hell of a funny sight to see.” He laughed a little at this one bright spot in the whole disaster.

  “Anyway, the net effect of all the chaos is that 142 representatives and 36 senators have been banned, killed or in the hospital. Since the rest are terrified, it’s breathtaking what we can accomplish. A painful weeding process, to be sure, but incredibly effective.”

  The president wasn’t so excited. “This thing is essentially a domestic War Powers Act. You are authorizing me in advance to do anything I want. As you so loosely state it: ‘To approve and confirm any necessary acts of the President of the United States, for suppressing insurrection, rebellion and domestic terrorism.’ What’s the catch?”

  “None whatsoever…as long as you win this war.”

  “So, you all would make me a dictator just to avoid the responsibility o
f making decisions on your own?” The president shook his head in resignation, not in refusal.

  The congressman didn’t look half as embarrassed as he should have. “Come on, you know wars can’t be led by a committee. We are in dire need of true leadership. Someone to do the dirty, grey area of the Constitution work. Just the type of terrible decisions that no politician worrying about reelection can make. Plus, let’s face it, you are either the most beloved or hated man in this country. No one alive today, for better or worse, can shrug you off as a weakling.”

  The president said nothing as he wandered away from the sofa and towards his desk. He produced a pack of Newport Menthols from a bottom drawer, took one out and tapped the tobacco far longer than necessary. There was a lighter in there too, but he didn’t touch it. He hadn’t had a cigarette since the reelection over four years ago. Sure, he made a promise to his wife, his kids and to himself, but come the hell on! That was all before this shit popped up. Twirling the cancer stick, he bought some time.

  “Let’s make it clear from the start, Mr. Speaker, so there are no false perceptions. You realize that I’ll have to slap Florida under martial law, right? It may even be necessary to suspend Habeas Corpus temporarily and the right to bear arms in much of the country. Hell, for rebel-held and occupied lands, the Constitution will be an extremely flexible document. I don’t want to do it, God help me I’ve tried everything to avoid getting this far, but I won’t hesitate to use every ounce of power that you give me.”

  The congressman didn’t hesitate before answering. “We all know that. It’s not something we relish either, but someone has to assume the role. You’re now that someone.”