Gleason shook his head. “I won’t be gouged. Stick to Latin American stocks and buy all they have, paying in gold from our reserves, and at the market price prevailing the last day international commodity markets were open. If they won’t accept that, we’ll take the food by force if necessary.” He looked at the Secretary of Defense. “I want nuclear carrier battle groups off both coasts of South America. Any food cargoes leaving South American ports will be bound for the US or no place at all.”
The Defense Secretary nodded and Gleason turned back to the Secretary of State. “Before we evacuate our embassies in Russia and China, have our ambassadors assure those governments we have no designs on any surplus food stocks in Africa or Australia/New Zealand.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Secretary Suarez said.
Gleason nodded and turned to the Secretary of Energy.
“Okay, John,” Gleason said, “your turn. And I hope you have something better to offer than you did this morning.”
“Ahh … yes, sir, I believe I do.” He cleared his throat. “While our capacity to produce electrical power remains largely intact, the lack of transformers severely limits our ability to efficiently distribute that power. The key word being ‘efficiently.’ Even without the transformers, we can still use the power within a limited distance from the source. By designating certain nuclear power plants as manufacturing hubs, we’ll dedicate remaining resources to converting nearby facilities to manufacture transformers. Simply put, we will bring the manufacturing facilities to the power. With nuclear, fuel supply won’t be a problem. As we produce transformers, we’ll rebuild the grid outward from the nuclear plants.” He hesitated.
“Go on,” Gleason said.
“There are … significant challenges, Mr. President. Not only will such an accelerated effort require a tremendous share of our remaining labor force and industrial resources for the foreseeable future, but it will require nationalization on an unprecedented and massive scale—the national electrical grid, all power plants, all related manufacturing facilities, as well as all private assets within a designated radius of each plant will become government property. It’s never been done before, sir, and quite frankly, I question the legality.”
“Well, the world never ended before, John, so I suppose an unprecedented disaster requires an equally unprecedented response. And starting three days ago, it’s legal if I … if we … say it’s legal. Now. How long before we get the lights back on?”
The Energy Secretary set his jaw. “Unknown, Mr. President. And it will still be unknown, even if you demand a time. I simply do not know, nor does anyone else. We’ll work just as hard as possible to make this happen, but I still believe it will be years and not months. You may replace me with someone who’ll tell you what you want, or demand, to hear, but that won’t change facts.”
Gleason had been leaning forward in his chair, but he slowly sat back, the glare on his face dissolving. After a moment, he nodded. “You’re right. But I want a timetable. I’ll give you thirty days to begin implementation and then we’ll reassess and set deadlines. Deadlines you will meet. Are we clear on that?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Good,” Gleason said, nodding at Oliver Crawford. “Let’s hear from Homeland Security. All right, Ollie. Bring us up to date on the unrest.”
“It’s not good, Mr. President. The blackout overwhelmed first responders. Rioting and looting is widespread in all major cities. It’s the typical blackout scenario, focusing on looting of consumer goods, but that will change. The average city has less than a week’s supply of food on hand. Escalation of violence is inevitable as people begin to compete for dwindling but vital resources. Our most optimistic estimate is millions of deaths in the next six months, from violence and other blackout-related causes. The elderly and the chronically ill requiring maintenance medication are the most vulnerable. Hunger, polluted drinking water, and disease will take the rest.”
There was silence around the big table, broken by the Secretary of Defense.
“My God,” he said. “We have to try to get ahead of this. Call out the National Guard—”
Gleason raised a hand to cut him off. “First we have to fully understand our options.” He turned back to Crawford. “How many millions?”
“Unknown, Mr. President, but perhaps as much as half the population.”
The room grew quiet again. Gleason shook his head.
“That can’t be right! I understand violence and casualties among the ‘at-risk’ population with the medical infrastructure overwhelmed, but half the population? Mass starvation? What about FEMA stockpiles? We’ve spent a lot of taxpayer dollars on disaster preparedness, are you telling me that bought us nothing?”
“On the contrary, Mr. President, we’re well prepared for disasters, but not an apocalyptic event. Our models call for stockpiles sufficient for three separate but simultaneous regional disasters, each of thirty days’ duration. They further assume impacted regional populations of twenty-five million, since a disaster would not impact all regional inhabitants. Thus we have supplies for seventy-five million people for thirty days distributed among regional FEMA warehouses, with the bulk prepositioned near the coasts. The military maintains its own emergency stockpile, and the figures above are for FEMA stockpiles only. However, it’s likely FEMA stockpiles might be needed to support military personnel at some future point.”
“Sounds like a lot,” Gleason said.
“The population is over three hundred thirty million, Mr. President. Even supposing we could meet the enormous distribution challenges, FEMA stockpiles wouldn’t last more than a week, ten days at most. The previously mentioned stores of winter wheat and barley could help, again assuming we seize that grain in the national interest.” Crawford paused. “There is no realistic scenario that sees us feeding the majority of the US population long enough to harvest a crop in the fall, or even hold out until the arrival of the foreign grain shipments we’ve been discussing.”
The President looked around the room, studying the shocked faces of his cabinet secretaries. He wasn’t encouraged.
“All right,” Gleason said. “We obviously have to give this more thought. We’ll adjourn now and I’d like you all to begin immediate implementation of the plans we’ve discussed so far. We’ll reconvene here tomorrow at—”
Doug Jergens, the Chief of Staff, cleared his throat. Gleason shot him an annoyed look.
“Ah. Sorry to interrupt, sir,” Jergens said, “but the transfer …”
“Oh, right,” Gleason said. “We’ll meet tomorrow morning at seven o’clock at Camp David.”
The White House
Oval Office
Same Day, 6:00 p.m.
Gleason slumped in the armchair, staring into his glass as he swirled the amber liquid. Oliver Crawford sat on the sofa across from him, sipping from his ever-present bottle of water. Gleason wondered for what must have been the thousandth time whether or not he really trusted a man who wouldn’t take an occasional drink.
“How many?”
“Approximately ten million, Mr. President,” Crawford replied, “not counting the military and assuming we have to sustain our civilian core group no longer than six months, eight at the outside. I figured in a small contingency in case the harvest is worse than average or the foreign grain imports are inadequate.”
“Will that be enough?” Gleason asked.
“It will have to be. It’s the most people we can keep fed, sheltered, and productive, and the absolute minimum we’ll need to keep the power-restoration project going forward until we get a crop in, along with government workers to administer it all,” Crawford said.
“What’s the breakdown?”
“Approximately two hundred thousand government administrative employees and twice that number of security personnel. Everyone else will be dedicated to either power restoration or agriculture, the bulk of them agriculture. There’ll be a lot of manual labor needed there.”
Glea
son nodded and stared into his drink.
“If I may ask, Mr. President, why are you assigning me these various tasks? I’m happy to take them on, but a lot of them rightly fall under the responsibilities of the other cabinet members. There may be … problems.”
Gleason looked up. “Because this can’t be run by a goddamned committee, that’s why. I could sense it this afternoon, and I’m sure you could as well. We’ve both been reading people a long time, Ollie, and despite all the ‘Yes, Mr. Presidents,’ I sensed a great reluctance to make the hard choices demanded of us. You’re the only one who seemed to immediately appreciate what we’re up against. I need someone to help me run things.”
“The Vice President—”
“The Vice President is on his way to a hole under Cheyenne Mountain, and there he’ll stay.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Crawford said, his face impassive.
Gleason drained his glass and held it out. Crawford leaned over and accepted the glass and rose and walked to the sideboard, where he replenished the President’s drink. He returned and handed the drink to Gleason before resuming his seat.
“Thank you, Ollie,” Gleason said, “and you know I’m right. How do you think Agriculture will react when he hears we’re nationalizing all grain and seed stocks and all agricultural holdings and farm equipment, or Labor when she hears we’re recruiting our migrant farmworker force out of state refugee camps on a ‘no work—no food’ basis? What’s that name you came up with? The Civilian Agricultural Initiative?” Gleason snorted. “We can pretty it up all we want, but I doubt we’ll fool anyone.”
“We’re not nationalizing ALL land,” Crawford temporized, “only holdings larger than five hundred acres. Family farmers on smaller holdings will produce fruits and vegetables on the truck gardening model. We’ll even provide starter seed and fertilizer if available, as well as providing labor—”
“And take ninety percent of their crop in return.”
“Which will still likely leave them more food than most people,” Crawford said. “I KNOW we could sell the whole program to Secretary Jackson—”
“That’s the damned point, Ollie! I don’t have to SELL programs to anyone, especially someone who works for ME! This isn’t a debating society, we just don’t have the time. YOU understand what’s necessary and are on board with the program, so I’m putting you in charge. That’s that. Now, what’s your plan on lodging the workforce?”
“My initial thoughts are to quarter the power workers on site in redevelopment zones centered on each of the nuclear plants we’re bringing back on line. The agricultural workforce will have to be more transient with the crop and the season. I’m thinking a dozen semipermanent regional camps with temporary satellite camps as and when needed. We’ll need perimeter security on all of them. We don’t want to lose trained workers at peak labor periods.”
Gleason nodded. “What about the administration workers?”
“Staying in the cities is a nonstarter. I was thinking cruise ships, maybe anchored off Annapolis. They’ll be self-contained offices and living quarters with plenty of amenities and a lot easier to defend at anchor. And we can move them around if we need to set up regional HQs,” Crawford said. “And what’s more, they’ll mostly be out of sight of the general population. There’s bound to be resentment, and there’s no need to advertise the fact that government workers are living in decent conditions.”
“Good idea,” Gleason said. “Actually a damn good idea. They should be thick out of the Florida ports and the Caribbean this time of year. Try chartering them on payment guarantees like we’re doing overseas, but if that doesn’t work, just seize them by force. And speaking of force, how do you think our friends in uniform are going to take all this?”
Crawford didn’t answer immediately, but when he did, it was obvious he’d already considered the question.
“It’s my greatest fear, actually. The worst-case scenario is for the military, either collectively or individually, to decide these very necessary steps are unacceptable. If we send them out to put down civil unrest, I think there’s a good chance they’ll turn against us. No one’s going to be happy firing on starving refugees. The last thing we need is a bunch of disaffected military personnel deserting and taking their weapons and training with them,” Crawford said.
“What choice do we have? I can’t see how any of this works without them.”
“First, we get rid of any potential troublemakers. I’d say anyone who wants to leave, we grant an immediate discharge. Let them leave with their personal possessions and maybe a few days rations. Not only do we lose a lot of problems, but also extend military food and water reserves, at least in the longer term. Service personnel with families on base will likely stay, and we can beef up security around the base perimeter and also take in as many dependents of remaining troops as possible. We clear a quarter-mile security perimeter around all bases, both to provide clear fields of fire and prevent refugee camps from springing up next to the bases. And finally, we have to discourage fraternization with the civilian population completely, and immediately discharge any military personnel caught doing it. To the degree possible, we need to build a psychological wall between the troops and the civilian population. The civilians will grow to resent those inside the wire, and the troops will feel doubly protective of both the base and their families the base is sheltering. In six months, possibly less, the military will be with us completely—presuming we don’t drive them away in the short term.”
“Just great, Ollie, but what do we do in the interim? Use the National Guard—”
Crawford was already shaking his head. “The Guard’s too close to their respective communities, and for the same reason, we shouldn’t let Defense mobilize the reserves. We’re trying to sever connections between the civilians and the military, not build them.” Crawford paused. “I have another idea.”
Gleason cocked an eyebrow. “Mercenaries?”
“Private security contractors,” Crawford corrected. “Most are very experienced in chaotic conditions in third world countries. They’ll have no problem doing whatever needs to be done. We can use the regular military for overseas missions like the South American thing, or maybe duties not likely to be challenging, like guarding the power plants. But if something looks likely to be domestic and messy, we’ll use the contractors. They’ll be the tip of the spear.”
“We can’t just send in armed thugs,” Gleason said.
“They’ll all be members of a FEMA Special Reaction Force, something I’ve been working on for a while. I can have it up and running in forty-eight hours.”
“You’ll have enough merc … contractors?”
“I’ll have enough to form the backbone of the unit and get things started. They’ll set the tone; then we’ll fill the unit out by selective recruitment from the regular forces,” Crawford said. “We’ll restrict it to single individuals and then station them in SRF units far from their regular units and in places where they have no former ties to the civilian community. They’ll be isolated, and the SRF will become their home—and if they fail to adapt, we’ll strip them of weapons and equipment and ‘discharge’ them into the civilian population.”
“How are you going to recruit them in the first place?” Gleason asked. “I can’t see too many of our regular troops being eager to join a ‘contractor’ force set up to keep the lid on civilian unrest.”
Crawford smiled. “I’m going to lie, of course.”
Crawford glanced at his watch. “It’s almost time for you to be off, Mr. President. I think the chopper is—”
“Going to leave when I’m ready to leave, Ollie, and there’s one more thing I’d like to set in motion ASAP.”
“Yes, Mr. President, what did I miss?”
“Spin, Ollie. Any of our citizens who survive on their own over the next months are going to be mad as hell. So if we end up with a nation of say fifty or a hundred million angry citizens, we have no chance of governing even if we restor
e electrical power. We have to make sure we give them someone other than us to hate.”
Crawford nodded. “Makes sense, but how?”
“By making state and local officials the face of a failed relief effort. I want your folks on the horn, assuring governors and other state officials that stores are tight, but we can meet the near-term requirements and that distribution will begin immediately. Tell them we’re not calling out the National Guard at the federal level, because we don’t want to ‘panic the population’ or some such excuse. Make up something plausible, you’re good at that sort of thing. Then tell state officials FEMA is going to take a secondary and supportive role and encourage the governors to call their own Guard out for state service to set up state-run shelters and distribute the FEMA-supplied stores. Invite the governors and other state officials to join the appeal for calm and make sure they get plenty of airtime on the Emergency Broadcast System to do it. I think those guys will all jump at the chance of being heroes.”
“So THEY’LL own the relief effort when it goes belly up?”
“Exactly,” Gleason said. “I also want you contacting all the ‘administration friendly’ news anchors and entertainment celebrities you can reach. Give them jobs at DHS Public Affairs Office, and find places for them and their families on those cruise ships. Got it?”
Crawford nodded again, impressed. “You’re thinking when we need to get the word out on something, we use spokespersons the public already trusts? But what happens if they come aboard and then develop journalistic conscience?”
Gleason shrugged. “Then we terminate their employment and evict them from their cushy new quarters. I’m sure we can arrange to establish some brigs on these cruise ships. They’ll fall in line, trust me.”
Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 Page 3
