by James Rosone
Half an hour later, they were finally sent on their way. They made it to his sister’s house an hour later. She and her husband welcomed them with open arms, along with Bill’s neighbor and his wife. They had now officially joined the ranks of internally displaced refugees in their own country.
Chapter 9
Operation Snowman
February 7, 2021
The Ritz-Carlton New York, Central Park
Marshall Tate reviewed the intelligence summary put together for him by some of Page Larson’s people. The more he read, the sicker he felt. Tate wanted to vomit, but he knew this was not the time or place. He needed to push through and read this information so he’d be ready for his private meeting with his Secretary of Defense, David Hill, and his National Security Advisor, Page Larson. The three of them were trying to come up with a joint statement responding to this latest round of hostility.
I didn’t sign up for this, Tate thought. This wasn’t the way he’d been told this would play out. He had to find a way to put an end to this before the country was completely ripped apart.
He couldn’t concentrate. Tate decided a moment of procrastination was needed and flipped on the flat-screen TV in his room. A CNN report immediately caught his attention, and he turned the volume up. Soon he sat there transfixed.
The television anchor asked, “Jay, can you explain to the viewers what you’re seeing?”
The reporter responded, “Yes. Apparently, earlier this morning, nineteen Republican state legislators and their families were apprehended by state militia and brought to a detention facility outside the city of Milwaukee. The details of what happened next are still a bit murky as we’ve been unable to confirm exactly what transpired, but what we do know for sure is that the buses that were transporting these individuals were attacked.”
The reporter paused, letting out a deep breath. “No one survived the assault. Along with the legislators and their families, eight state militia members that had been transporting these individuals were also killed.”
This is getting out of control, Tate thought. He clenched his fist angrily before changing the channel to RT Worldwide. A reporter who looked like he’d been up all night was speaking.
“Looting is running rampant in the city of Los Angeles as all civil functions have completely broken down. The entire southern half of the state is without power. Without electricity, there is no running water, no refrigeration for food or medication, no working traffic lights, and for now, no cellular service. It’s pure chaos here. The police are completely overwhelmed.”
The anchor asked, “What about the California Civil Defense Force? Or any other government support? Is anyone providing them with assistance in this terrible tragedy?”
“It would appear that the southern half of the state is completely on its own,” the reporter answered. “After a large percentage of the California Army National Guard defected back to the US government’s control, the California CDF in this part of the state was largely slaughtered by the US Marines when they captured the ports of LA and Long Beach. At this time, the US Marines have not ventured into the city and have primarily remained camped out on the ports and along the US-Mexico border.
“The elements of the California Army National Guard that defected to the Marines are also nowhere to be seen. The last we heard, they were also along the US-Mexico border, working with the Marines to prevent the Chinese from liberating the state from federal control. We received a message via our satellite phone from the governor of the state, pleading with the Chinese to expedite their plans to free them and provide immediate support and assistance to the people of Southern California.
“We’ll continue to report on what we’re seeing. We anticipate that the Chinese ground forces will make a concerted move to help bring humanitarian assistance to this portion of the state that President Sachs has abandoned.”
Disgusted, Tate shut the TV off and went to the bathroom. He closed the door and looked at himself in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes seemed far more apparent than before, and he wondered if he had developed more gray hair and wrinkles overnight.
Suddenly, he bent over the toilet and puked his guts out. After a few minutes, he had emptied his stomach but continued to dry-heave several more times until he felt like he could finally regain control of himself.
Someone knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you OK, Marshall?” asked his wife.
“I’m fine,” he responded, trying to sound calmer than he felt. “I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me.” He hoped that the answer would keep her off his case for now.
Tate splashed some water on his face. Then he pulled his razor out and proceeded to shave the evening stubble off. Next, he proceeded to take a very long, hot shower as he wrestled in his mind with what to do.
The jig is up, he thought. We can’t keep doing this. He couldn’t help but be horrified by the realization that millions of people were dying unnecessarily. All of this so Sachs wouldn’t be president a second term? he wondered. Couldn’t his “sponsors” have simply waited him out?
Turning the water off, Tate grabbed for a towel and began to dry himself off. Things started to become clearer in his mind. He knew what he needed to do. Now he just had to figure out how to tell the others and make sure they listened to him.
*******
Marshall Tate meandered down the hallway of the Ritz-Carlton, making his way to the series of working offices and briefing rooms that had been set up for his exiled government to use. Each door he walked past represented a staffer running a key part of the administration or a cabinet secretary. Too many of the critical positions remained unfilled—until his government controlled Washington, they only had influence in the liberated states and cities. Even that was fluid as the front lines continued to ebb and flow.
Tate shook his head. Every time he walked through one of these fancy corridors, he couldn’t help but feel it was pathetic being in a hotel instead of governing from the White House.
He reached his destination: a smaller briefing room situated in the center of the hallway. Several guards held the door open for him. When he entered the room, those in attendance stood out of respect and stayed at attention until he had taken his seat at the center of the table.
Seated before him were Admiral David Hill, his Secretary of Defense, Page Larson, his National Security Advisor, Richard Isaacson, his Secretary of State, General Ryan Jackman, the head of his military/CDF, and Janey Roberts, his Attorney General. These were his most trusted advisors. Tate surveyed their faces—several of them looked as somber as he felt. He hoped that maybe some of them had come to the same conclusion he had and knew that they couldn’t continue to keep this charade up.
Before Marshall could say anything, SecDef Admiral Hill chimed in. “Mr. President, what happened last night was appalling. I…,” he stammered. “I don’t even know what to say or how to respond. This wasn’t part of the plan.”
Secretary of State Richard Isaacson pounded his fist on the table. “This was never supposed to be part of the plan!” he yelled. “The Chinese were supposed to join the Europeans and invade at the same time. By applying pressure on Sachs from all angles, we were going to force him to realize it was futile to resist. Then he should have resigned. By waiting and then losing their ever-loving minds and using nuclear weapons, they’ve screwed us all over!”
Attorney General Janey Roberts jumped in. “Have you seen what’s happening in California?” she asked, exasperated. “More than half of the state is blacked out—none of their electronics work. I got a call from the governor last night right after this happened, and he told me most of the state was going to fall into anarchy, and he has no way of stopping it. What few National Guard forces he has that are still loyal to him are caught up in conflicts with military forces loyal to Sachs—more than half of his CDF force was wiped out by the Marines last week.”
“Yes, we know it’s bleak,” replied Page Larson nonchalantly, flickin
g her wrist, “but they’ll have to make do.”
AG Roberts’s face turned crimson. “Are you mad?” she growled. “California represents an enormous block of the constituency that supports us. We need to hold on to the state! Writing them off like you just did will alienate a huge chunk of our voters that backed us at a time when we are still struggling to maintain our legitimacy.”
Marshall Tate stood and waved his arms downward. “Let’s just take this all down a notch, shall we?” he urged. Both women crossed their arms and stared daggers at each other, but they remained silent for the time being.
Tate turned to his Secretary of State. “What about international aid, Rich?” he asked. “Are there any foreign efforts we could mobilize to help the people in California?”
Page Larson shot him a look that implied she thought this was a tremendously stupid question, but she managed not to say anything aloud.
Richard shook his head. “No, Mr. President. There is no foreign aid that can be sent to California. For one, it’s an active warzone right now, so no aid organization is going to want to get involved. Second, while we largely control things on the ground out west, we do not control the skies. We don’t really have an Air Force to speak of, and unfortunately, our UN allies who had an air force have been soundly defeated.”
He sighed. “Sir, I don’t like this any more than you, but Ms. Larson is right. The people in California are largely on their own until the Chinese are able to break through the Marines at the border. Once they have captured San Diego and Los Angeles, they can begin to restore order and bring in help.”
Lieutenant General Ryan Jackman leaned forward. “Richard, when you spoke with the Chinese, did they give you an estimate of when they will be launching their main offensive?” he pressed.
“Soon was all they told me.”
Jackman snorted and shook his head. He and Admiral Hill exchanged nervous glances.
Tate couldn’t let the interplay between them go unaddressed. “Secretary Hill, General Jackman—I know we don’t have General McKenzie with us, but can you give me an update on how things are progressing on our side of the equation?”
The two looked at each other for a moment before Hill spoke up first. “Mr. President, the CDF continues to grow following your inspirational inauguration speech. We’ve grown our ranks from approximately thirty-five thousand to over one hundred and sixty thousand members. The biggest challenge we have is equipping and training them, and keeping them supplied so they can fight—not to mention there have been issues keeping them under our control.”
“What exactly do you mean by that?” Tate retorted.
Admiral Hill tilted his head toward General Jackman as if to tell him, “You take this one.”
General Jackman let out his breath in a huff. “Mr. President, we’ve broken the CDF down into battalion-level commands and largely kept them local. The challenge I’m having right now is being able to mobilize the units. For example, how do I move a unit from Boston down to New Jersey to help the New York and New Jersey CDF battalions fight federal forces around Trenton? The chain of command becomes muffled. Also, in terms of ‘control,’ we do have some issues keeping this relatively green force disciplined when pressed by the federal Army—at times, they can tend to evaporate. Some have also gone off on their own to carry out unsanctioned attacks.”
Tate held up a hand. “Hold up. What do you mean ‘unsanctioned’ attacks?”
Jackman sighed. “OK. Here’s an example, Mr. President. Yesterday, one of my battalion commanders in Ohio called me directly and told me he had to relieve one of his company commanders and place half of the unit in jail. They’d apparently taken it upon themselves to get some political payback, and a group of them went to a neighborhood outside of the Toledo area and raped and killed as many people as they could in a day.”
Aghast, AG Janey Roberts blurted out, “They did what? How many people were attacked before this battalion commander stopped it?!”
General Jackman shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I, um…the details are still a bit sketchy, but he told me they probably killed somewhere around three or four hundred people. As to the number of people raped, I honestly couldn’t even give you an idea.”
Tate leaned forward. “And what have you done to these men?” he asked pointedly.
“Um. Nothing yet,” Jackman mumbled. “I mean, I know it’s bad what they did, but we need all the fighters and help we can get right now. I don’t think you understand how precarious the situation is on the ground, sir.”
Admiral Hill quickly added, “Mr. President, we all agree this was a terrible act of barbarism and it shouldn’t have happened, but let’s be honest—this is a civil war. This isn’t the first atrocity, and it won’t be the last. We can’t come down on units every time we hear of something like this. The fact is, we need units like this to help us win this war.”
Tate shook his head in disgust. “We may need units like this to fight and win, but we’ll never win the peace if we conduct the war like this. I want it to stop. As a matter of fact, I want an example made of these men. Execute them. Make it known that this type of behavior is not tolerated. We are liberators, not a raping, marauding army to be feared.”
Page Larson stood. “Sir, could I have a moment to speak with you privately?” she asked.
Tate paused for a few seconds, then agreed. “All right, everyone. Clear the room for a minute, please.”
There was a bustle of activity as the rest of the advisors stood and walked out. When it was just the two of them, Page moved around the table so that she was sitting in the chair next to Tate. Looking at him, she asked, “What’s the problem, Marshall?”
“What do you mean, Page?” Tate asked, crossing his arms.
“You can’t have units like this executed,” she asserted. “David’s right. We need units like them to win this war.”
He shook his head. “No. Not that kind of win,” he insisted. “I didn’t sign up for this, Page. This isn’t what we agreed to.”
Page sat back in her chair and laughed. “Of course you did, Marshall,” she said icily. “You said you’d do anything to become President. You said you’d go along with the plan and you’d do as you’re told. In exchange, you’d be made President and serve two terms.”
Stiffening at the comment, Marshall quickly shot back, “The plan obviously hasn’t worked, or we’d be having this discussion in the White House and not in New York.”
“Yes. Things haven’t gone exactly according to plan, but that doesn’t mean we abandon the strategy,” she insisted. “The dominoes have started to fall, and none of us can stop them. We need to see our piece through to the end.”
“And what is that end, Page? The Chinese controlling half of America? They clearly had a different agenda than what everyone else agreed to. They let the UN force die on the vine and waited to attack until Sachs’s forces had largely defeated the UN. Now they can come in like a knight on a shining white horse to liberate us from the evil Jonathan Sachs, and in exchange, they get what…the West Coast and the American Southwest in compensation?”
Page sat there for a moment, calculating her response. Finally, she sighed. “If this civil war ends and you are President, will it matter if the Chinese control Texas and California? You’ll still control the rest of the country. The Chinese will have the resources and people to help us rebuild. You’ll be the fearless leader who fought and defeated a horrible tyrant in the White House. You’ll go down as one of the greatest American presidents in history, the man who saved the Republic.”
“And all it’ll have cost me is two of America’s most valuable states in exchange?” Tate asked incredulously. “Page, you are striking a bargain too one-sided for anyone to accept. Even if I did win, the American people would never settle for the Chinese controlling the American Southwest. They’d demand they leave, or that we fight until we force them to.”
Page leaned forward and fixed Tate with a steely look. “Marshall, if you
aren’t willing to see this plan through to the end and honor the bargain that’s been struck to make you President, then another person will take your place. Is that understood?” Page stared at him for a second before her expression softened to a smile. “Just continue to play your part. You’re doing great.”
*******
February 9, 2021
Monticello, Illinois
First Lieutenant Trey Regan had just been promoted to captain. He had been given command of the newly reconstituted Bravo Company as the 198th Armor Regiment geared up for the much-anticipated Midwest counterattack. They were going to retake the central Midwest and push the European and Russian forces back across the Canadian border. Regan was excited at the prospect of helping to finally defeat this foreign invasion.
Most of Regan’s original company, along with Echo Company, had been slaughtered during the mad dash of the first couple weeks of the war by the German-Dutch Division Schnelle Kräfte. After nearly a ten-day lull in fighting, their brigade had been augmented with a few hundred new recruits from basic and advanced training, along with thirty-six new M1A2 main battle tanks from a cold storage depot. Having been reconstituted and brought up to ninety percent strength, they’d been moved to a position between Decatur and Champaign, Illinois.
The regimental briefing had just finished a few minutes earlier, but Captain Regan wanted to get a better picture of what was going on all around them, so he headed to the part of the tent where a map board was hanging from some five-fifty cord. He stared at it blankly for a moment before the overall strategy began to make more sense to him.
