Erik picked up his pace and was practically jogging by the time they got to the gate and entered the Freehold.
NORAD
The Speech Heard ‘Round the World
The Congress shall have Power To…declare War, grant Letters of Marque and Reprisal, and make Rules concerning Captures on Land and Water.
—Article I, Section 8, U.S. Constitution
Letters of Marque: (n.) Archaic. A letter of marque issued by a nation to a private citizen (privateer or mercenary) to act on the behalf of that nation for the purpose of retaliating against another nation for some wrong, such as a border incursion or seizure.
Reprisal: (v.) Archaic. An act taken by a nation, short of war, to gain redress for an action taken against that nation. For example, seizing a ship in retaliation for a seized ship
—The Constitutional Dictionary
I WANT AN update on our satellites, and I want it yesterday.”
“Mr. President, we’re working on it, but it seems that most of our birds have been disabled. We’re still trying to find out exactly how extensive the loss is, but it looks like at least 80% of our orbital assets are down,” replied the Chief of Staff for the Air Force, General Kenneth Neville. The old Vietnam Vet hated to admit that his eyes in the sky were blind, and didn’t have a clue as to how it happened.
“Well, fix the damn things. I’ll sign an EO to commandeer the civilian satellites if have to, not like they’re doing anyone any good right now. We can’t run a war blind! Someone did this to us, and I want to know who.”
“Yessir.”
“Mr. President, I’ve got some disturbing pictures here from NOAA.”
The President shifted his weary gaze to Admiral Bortsen. “Sam, what the hell does NOAA have anything to do with—“
“I used one of their old geo-stationary weather satellites to get some shots of the Pacific coast. It’s all I have left, sir.”
The President smiled. “I will be dipped in shit. Good to have some ingenuity. Alright, Sam, what did you find?”
The Admiral handed some large glossy photographs to an aide off-screen. In a moment, the images were scanned and placed on the displays of every member of the meeting. “Sir, do you remember about a week or so ago we noticed that…I hesitated then to call it a fleet, but that large group of commercial shipping that put to sea from China?”
The President whistled as he looked at the impressive number of dark tiny shapes on the smooth surface of the ocean in the photograph. There were at least twenty wake lines that he could count at first glance.
“My sentiments exactly, sir. That’s a large number of ships to be heading this way—“
“This way?” said the President, holding up his hand to stop the Admiral mid-sentence. “What do you mean?”
“Well, sir, they’re not heading for the U.S., that much we can tell. But they are heading east, for what looks like Mexico. Southern Mexico.”
“What?”
“Why the hell are the Chinese sending all these ships to Mexico?” asked the Commandant of the Marine Corps. “You’re positive they’re not warships?”
“Absolutely,” replied the Admiral. “Our Intel boys went over the ships already—they’re just standard commercial scows. Some supertankers. Just cargo ships really. Though we’ve never seen this many—49—in one formation together.”
“Where’s their Navy?” asked the President, his suspicion growing by the second.
“Near as we can tell, they’re still bottled up in the western pacific—there’s only about fifteen ships we can’t account for but there are a dozen or so in dry dock—or there were when we had satellites. No one has slipped through. The waters should be clear all the way back to Hawaii. There’s nothing except what’s ours. A few Aussies down south but that’s it. No other warships or subs.”
“China was not pressuring Mexico to go along with the U.N. sanctions. In fact, at the last minute, China decided to abstain from the vote to send peacekeepers here,” offered the Secretary of State.
“Tim, you really think those duplicitous bastards are going to keep their noses out of this stink?” asked the President.
“No, sir, not really. I’m just telling you what I know.”
“I’ll do the same thing, sir,” said General Pete Rodney. “I can put a shitload of Marines on each one of these here ships,” he said. “And their gear and equipment. Hell, I could put a good chunk of the entire Marine Corps to sea plus a whole air wing. That’s a lot of firepower sir. These things are huge—“
“We’re talking super-carrier size, sir,” confirmed Admiral Bortsen.
“I want to point out we have no information coming from the Chinese or our sources that would lead us to believe there’s anything suspicious going on here,” warned the SecState. “In fact, we haven’t had any contact with the Chinese government now for almost five days…”
“That’s precisely why I’m suspicious, Tim.” The President glared at the photos. “They’re up to something. Sam, I want you to bird-dog ‘em.”
“Already done sir, I’ve had four fast attack subs trailing them since they crossed the meridian of the Pacific. No unusual sonar or radioactive signatures. For all intents and purposes, they’re just cargo ships. Makin’ enough noise that we could hear ‘em in the Atlantic.”
“Ken,” the President said.
“Sir?” asked General Neville’s image on the screen.
“I want you to keep an eye on this fleet as well. Send in SAC or something.”
“Yes, sir, though I doubt Strategic Air Command will be necessary. Targets this big, hell our training cadets out of Edwards would take ‘em all down blindfolded. Those tankers are sitting ducks. Almost too easy.”
“That’s why I’m nervous.”
WELL, ADMIRAL, I got the high-gain online…sort of,” said the exhausted radio operator.
“Explain.”
“Sir, she’s really temperamental. After we got hit, she just don’t work right. But if she ain’t tossed around all that much she’ll pick up stuff, at least on this side of the world.”
“EAMs?” asked the Theodore Roosevelt’s captain, arms crossed next to the Admiral.
“No sir, no Emergency Action Messages can get through, the UHF is fried. That missile that took out the radar mast did us in on that one. Sorry. Sir,” the man said, his unease as evident in his voice as the sweat on his forehead. He swallowed and began to speak again. “I can try and rig one up…but it’ll take time.”
“Do it, and get it done in half as much as you think you need. We’re blind, Gonzalez. We’ll have to rely on the Anzio to relay messages for the time being.”
“Yes, sir,” the radio op said, returning to his soldering of circuit boards, glad to be rid of the brass.
The Captain rubbed his bruised chin. He raised an eyebrow to his CO. “Deck’s still listing a little off center.”
“At least that’s an improvement.” When the carrier took a missile hit to her aft hangar bay, it set off a secondary explosion that ruptured the hull just below the waterline. The ship began taking on water but was soon resealed at the cost of several valuable crewmen who sacrificed themselves to save the wounded carrier. The water was slowly being pumped back out and the ship brought back to even keel.
The Captain looked about the bridge. Everything was in a state of semi-disarray. Still. The Egyptian missile had just missed taking out the entire command structure when it hit the radar mast and communications array. The ship was blind and mute and limping, but it was alive and far from helpless. “Any luck getting with the satellites?” asked the Admiral.
“No, sir,” replied the dejected radio operator. He looked sorry to be dragged into the conversation again. “I can’t find anything. It’s like…well, it’s like the damn things aren’t there anymore…pardon my French, sir.”
The Captain was about to speak when another crewman grabbed his headset. “Incoming transmission from the Anzio, sir.” He held up the headphones to the Admiral
.
“Put it through, son,” grumbled the Admiral. After a switch was thrown, the radio operator gave the thumbs up sign.
“Roosevelt here,” called out the ship’s captain.
“Anzio. We just touched base with our Italian friends. Evidently, their ports are not welcoming us anymore. What did we do to upset them?”
“I was hoping on being able to hole up for a few days...” mumbled the Captain in dismay.
“Washington probably pissed ‘em off,” said the frowning voice of the Anzio’s commander Doug Mitchem, some ten miles northeast of the Roosevelt.
The Admiral sucked in his breath in a kind of reverse sigh. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. Son, patch me into the fleet.” He paused, waiting for the radio connection to be established and the other ships to link up.
“This is Admiral Nella. New SitRep. Italy is off limits. As of this moment, I’m placing every foreign vessel on the watch list. Initiate no contact, except if confronted. Report any and all foreign vessel sightings. We know the French, Germans and Russians are out for us, but we don’t know about anyone else, so let’s be cautious, gentlemen. Maintain course and speed for the Straits of Gibraltar. That is all.”
The Roosevelt’s Captain handed back the headset to his radio operator. “Keep me informed on your progress with the satellite uplinks. And get that EAM mast up and running, will you?”
“Yes, sir!”
THE PRESIDENT LOOKED at his assembled cabinet. He had to suppress a grin. My virtual cabinet. The most power people in our government reduced to pictures on a flatscreen panel. He was once again in the War Room deep in the bowels of NORAD. Once again, they all had bad news. It had been over almost three weeks of bad news. Every day.
He glanced down at his papers, spread out neatly in front of him. The casualty reports from the sinking of the two Marine Amphibious Carriers. The jet-liner shot down by the Germans. The Roosevelt, still missing.
A whole carrier battlegroup vanished after a surprise attack. He prayed for survivors, but without satellites and with old allies suddenly giving the cold shoulder, it was damn hard to find out anything about the super-carrier and her sailors, aviators, and Marines.
He looked at another stack of papers. Israel. They were surrounded by Arabs, and in a few days, the Russians would most likely be on the scene as well. Jerusalem was cut off. Israel was on the verge of being cut in half. Rumors delivered from the British ambassador at the U.N., were that the Israelis had already used nuclear tipped artillery shells with devastating effect on the advancing Muslim horde. Nothing could be confirmed.
The President looked up, watching his cabinet members argue and worry about the Chinese merchant fleet, the Arabs, the wildfires still burning out of control in the west. Chicago. He watched the Army and Navy Chiefs of Staff argue over how to pacify the great city without destroying it further. Rumors there had the leader of this so-called rebellion fleeing into Canada already.
The Army wanted a full-scale assault. Level the high-rise buildings and send in the tanks—just so happens a small army was sitting there on its ass outside the downtown area, waiting for orders. The Navy wanted to use its Great Lakes fleet and maybe bring some big guns in from the Atlantic fleet and pummel the city from offshore. Then when it was duly pacified, they could land the Marines and mop up the mess the Army was making of the city. Perhaps even the threat of sending in the Marines would be enough to quell the rebellion. After all, the Army didn’t do any good for New York. He could see their mouths moving, hands gesturing and faces redden, but had stopped listening.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hank Suthby, head of Homeland Security and de facto leader of America’s domestic concerns. The man was pretending to look at his own documents but was clearly watching every move the President made. It made the Commander in Chief uneasy looking at that man and knowing he was watching him and ignoring the bickering going on all around him.
Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Too many other issues were clamoring for his attention. He didn’t have time to worry about conspiracies—Americans were dying out there, most just trying to come home. Under Suthby’s guidance, at least the domestic situation seemed to be gradually coming under control. But at what cost? Is control worth it if the curfew and martial law are turning America into a police state? And I’m the one that signed the order…
The U.N. His mind was racing through the list of hazards. Land invasion, European fleets mobilizing in the next month, maybe right now. Armies forming. Nations merging their forces together. The E.U. becoming a heavyweight counterbalance to a crumbling NATO. His imagination saw hundreds of foreign warships in American ports, bombarding the cities into submission. Just like his advisors were considering for Chicago…
And then there was the disturbing reports of vigilantism popping up in the southwest along the border with Mexico. Reports of battles, hundreds killed. He was sure most were blown out of proportion but still…with everything else going on, he couldn’t rule out the fact that Americans were sick and tired of Mexicans sneaking across the border and now had a perfect opportunity to do something about the problem.
Something needed to be done. Things were not happening fast enough. Some things were happening too fast. America was tearing itself apart and the U.N. hadn’t even set one foot on American soil. The country needed to be unified to fend off the foreign invasion that was coming. The weight of the world was approaching like the proverbial freight train.
He suddenly remembered something his father had told him years ago, when he began his career in public office. “Son, against all the evil, the misaligned, greedy and self-deluded of the world, the light of freedom shines alone. We are that light. We are lighthouse to the world. That light must never be extinguished. Never.”
The light seemed to the President to be flickering and growing weaker by the hour. Something needed to be done. Now.
“Jack,” the President said quietly. When he spoke, everyone in the room fell instantly silent. Men and women turned their heads mid-sentence to see what their over-burdened leader had to say.
The President’s press secretary perked up. He was more of an after-thought at these meetings and rarely had a chance to participate. His input was valuable, because he had press connections all over the world. His job was to gather information from outside the country—find out what the rest of the world thought.
“Uh, yes, sir?” asked the surprised man, grabbing for a pen and some paper. He had been half asleep, lulled into semi-unconsciousness by the constant arguing cabinet members.
“Jack, get on the horn to all the major media outlets. I want air time and I want it tonight. Shouldn’t be too hard all things considered... I want radio spots too. In fact, just get me on everything. Hell, even the internet, if it’s still up and running. Send out notices to our foreign friends as well. I want everyone in the world to listen in. Can you make sure they get it?”
“Of course, sir…I’ll have to pull some major strings, but…”
“Just make it happen, Jack. That’s all I ask.”
“Yes, sir!”
When the Press Secretary had left the room, the National Security Advisor spoke up. “Sir, what’s all this about? What are you going to do?”
“I’m a politician, Alicia. I’m gonna give a speech.” The President sighed. The faces of his military leaders were all worn and weary, most were looking down, taking a moment to gather thoughts. Only the Commandant of the Marine Corps looked like he had spirit in him to spare. The wiry old man watched the President with a keenness in his eye reserved for hardened warriors.
The President met his gaze and studied the old Marine’s face. He thought back to his history lessons and wondered if Julius Caesar had a look like that at the battle of Alesia. The Romans had cornered the Gauls and besieged the hilltop town. Before long a colossal force of reinforcing Gauls then besieged the Romans, cutting off their tenuous supply line. And yet Caesar did not give i
n to the overwhelming numbers of the enemy both in front and behind. He split his small force and attacked both sides at once, eventually achieving a hard fought victory and the conquest of Gaul at last.
Well, Julius, we copied your government, your legal system, hell even your army and navy to some extent. Let’s see if we can copy your luck, thought the President.
Lost in his own thoughts, the President never saw the look of surprise and worry appear on the face of Hank Suthby from across the long table. The head of Homeland Security would have something new to fret about in his schemes.
WELL, THERE YOU have it. I’ve made my speech,” said Erik, standing on the Stage, looking out over the pool deck at the assembled residents of the Freehold. The lit tiki-torches were competing with the setting sun. “You all know where I stand on the issue. I think Art should be welcomed into our community.”
“Yeah, and you’d have us start an army—three boys were killed today!“ someone heckled.
“Those boys were probably rapist and thieves! Looters!” someone else called out.
“Probably? We’ll never know, will we?!” someone else countered.
Erik held up his arms to stop the bubbling in the crowd. “Come on….people, hey, hold it together for a second. Look…” he said, pacing a bit and waiting for the murmuring to die down. He could feel the eyes of Lentz boring into his head from behind. “I know a lot of you haven’t liked the way I do things…” He continued quickly before anyone could interject. “But you have to admit, since I have been either in charge of the community or its defenses, we have suffered only slightly.”
“Tell that to Ryan’s widow!” someone shouted. Angry rumblings issued forth from the crowd. The pain was still fresh from the Battle.
Erik chopped the air with his hand, cutting through the dissent as if with the sword that hung from his belt. “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you honestly think that the deaths of everyone who I fought with mean nothing to me? That’s all I think about!” he roared. Tears of frustration and rage and shame bubbled up in his eyes but he fought to keep from shedding them. “If I didn’t care so much about this place, I assure you, I’d give up this post in a heartbeat. The responsibility is enormous! Does anyone else here want to deal with it? Do you want to have to tell someone their husband or son or brother has just died to protect them and everyone else?” He pointed at the loudest protester. The man shrunk in shame. He didn’t want the job.
Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) Page 47
