by James Rosone
Ten minutes later, the President asked the only real question he had for her. “What do we do, Wendy? Is JP Morgan salvageable, or what?”
All eyes turned to Wendy. She gulped, then blurted out the only real answer. “No, Mr. President, it’s not—not unless you want to do a 2008-style bank bailout.”
The words hung in the air like many needles, piercing each one in the room.
“The best we can do as the Fed is make sure the FDIC honors its deposits and we do our best to help the bank unwind their holdings and sell them off,” Wendy continued. “I’m sure we can get other banks to buy up parts of JP Morgan. It’s not like they’re an unprofitable bank, but they have no equity or cash to cover their current holdings, and no matter how much stock they’re offered or what they sold off, it wouldn’t equal the amount they just lost. If I may, I do have a recommendation that I believe will help to soften the blow to some people.”
“Yes, please, what is your recommendation?” the President asked, desperate for anything that would ameliorate the situation, even a little bit.
“The FDIC only protects a person’s deposits up to $250,000 per person at the bank. So, if Mom and Dad had a joint account in their names, they would be protected up to $250,000 each. While most people don’t have that much sitting around in their bank accounts and are going to be fully protected, the wealthier individuals who do all of their banking and investing at JP Morgan are the ones who will be devastated. I propose that for this one specific instance with this bank, we increase the $250,000 limit per individual and raise that up to $1 million. In the case of a business account, I propose the limit be raised up to $5 million. While this won’t recover all the lost monies that a lot of individuals and businesses will incur, it will help.”
The President nodded. It seemed reasonable.
Wendy continued, “With regards to businesses, I propose that any business that had its accounts with the bank be allowed to borrow directly from the Fed at a 1% interest rate for up to five years. This will help make sure businesses both large and small are not suddenly without money and frozen out of the credit market. This will be critical to making sure we don’t have an immediate economic collapse. Now, as to the investment side of the bank, their portfolios—we’ll move to get them sold tomorrow to other firms who will take over the management and positions of the accounts. Because the money was already invested, the individual holders won’t lose anything. We just need to have the management of the accounts transferred to a new bank that is solvent to manage them going forward.”
The President held his head in his right hand as he thought over everything that he’d just been told. At the end of the day, the bank was still going to become insolvent, and over 250,000 employees were suddenly going to find themselves unemployed. But if they moved decisively, they could prevent this one collapse from destroying the rest of the financial sector and the economy.
After nearly an hour, the President thanked the financial folks for their input and help, and then dismissed them to begin putting the plan into action. He signaled for the FBI and DHS directors to stay put as they turned their attention to the response to this brazen attack.
Looking each of the women in the eyes, the President asked, “You are clear there is no doubt that this attack was directed by the Indians?”
Both women nodded in agreement.
Foss turned to look at the SecDef and Admiral Meyer. “I suppose we have our response to our ultimatum, gentlemen. Admiral, I want our cyberattack to commence immediately. Jim, I want our naval assets to begin hitting their targets as soon as possible. I also want their navy hunted down and destroyed. Let’s move forward with the immediate capture of Chennai. The sooner we can get some air bases set up on land, the sooner we can start to pound them into submission.”
With the decisions made and the orders issued, the leaders of America’s military began to get the wheels of their forces moving to crush India. The Indians might have just hurt the US economy, but the US was about to hammer their society by crippling their transportation sector.
Operation Fight Club
Bay of Bengal
Sergeant First Class Conrad Price smiled a bit at the sight of so many of his men snoozing like babies. The hum of the engines on the C-17 had lulled most of the soldiers in the cargo bay asleep. Many of them had smartly taken the opportunity to grab some shut-eye before they had to get ready for the jump, but he couldn’t sleep.
Once again, the Rangers of 2nd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, were being called upon to capture an airport in a hostile nation. This time, they were going to seize the Chennai International Airport ahead of a seaborne invasion. This airport, unlike the past ones they’d seized, was a large commercial airport. Current intelligence didn’t show there to be any military units present or even nearby, though that could change quickly once the enemy figured out where their little air armada was headed.
Flying advance for them were several airwings from the US Navy’s Task Force 92. They had spent the better part of three days hitting every Indian air base within a 400-kilometer radius of Chennai to make sure there would be no enemy fighters to greet them. Flying several hours behind them was a long gravy train of 747 planes, carrying a brigade from the 82nd Airborne. Even further back were more C-5 Galaxy and C-17 Globemaster cargo planes, which would be landing their ground equipment.
Ninety minutes out from the jump, Sergeant Price roused the men from their slumber so they could begin to get their equipment ready. They all went over last-minute tasks and objectives for what felt like the hundredth time. Thirty minutes from the jump, the Rangers psyched themselves up for what should be an easy jump. Their past few jumps had been on hostile airfields that had been heavily protected, but the airborne gods appeared to be throwing them a bone with this one, or so they hoped.
Sergeant First Class Conrad Price walked the row, making sure his platoon of soldiers was ready for the jump, checking their equipment and also making sure the squad leaders were ready. The responsibility of his new position still weighed heavily on him. When their company had been pulled from the front lines in Taiwan back to the airfield, one of their trucks had hit a landmine, killing their first sergeant and his platoon sergeant in one fell swoop. It had been a devastating loss, especially since they had just been ordered to the rear. A few days later, Staff Sergeant Price found himself in the company commander’s office being told he’d been promoted and would be taking over the platoon, along with a handful of new replacements fresh from training.
A week later, their unit was sent back to the front to do some deep reconnaissance for the Allies as they continued to hunt down the remaining PLA forces on the island. After spending another month in the field, they were pulled from the line and officially sent to Indonesia.
The memories were all jolted out of his mind as the jump master yelled out, “Five minutes! Get ready!”
Price walked up to his spot in the line, making sure he’d be one of the first to jump. He felt it was his job to make sure he was one of the first guys in the platoon to hit the ground and figure things out. The platoon leader would be the last to jump, making sure everyone got out the door, which suited their captain just fine. Not that he was a bad guy or anything, he just wasn’t one of those types of officers who charged out in front of his NCOs in combat.
The next thing Price heard was the jump master shouting, “Go, go, go!”
He quickly followed the two guys in front of him out the door. The first thing he saw when he exited the plane was the runway below them.
“Wow, they’re putting us right on the tarmac!” he thought. An extra adrenaline rush flooded his system, and his heart pounded wildly.
In minutes, his feet hit the ground. He tucked and rolled just like the previous jumps and came up ready for action. He quickly unsnapped his parachute and grabbed at his drop bag, pulling out his rifle and pack. With the basic essentials ready and no visible signs of danger, he wrapped up his chute and ran to a spot just of
f the tarmac, where he dropped it. Looking around, he saw a number of soldiers following his lead and heading toward him, rallying on him and dropping their parachutes there as well.
When he’d collected a dozen Rangers and still they hadn’t received any enemy fire, he signaled for them to follow him quickly across the taxiway to the parking ramp and the actual airport terminals.
“Thank God we’re doing this at night,” Price thought. He was sure the place would have been crawling with people in the morning. He and the other Rangers continued to run toward the terminal, which still had half a dozen aircraft parked there. A dozen or so civilian ground crewmen were doing their nightly work on the aircraft.
As they approached the terminal, Sergeant Price’s men swiftly took the airport workers into custody and secured the area. With one squad handling the prisoners, his other three squads made their way into the structure and started to clear the individual rooms and the terminal as a whole. Another platoon made its way around the outside of the terminal as they moved quickly to the airport entrances. Their goal was to lock down the entry points and ensure no one else tried to enter the facility.
Within an hour, the entire battalion had landed and secured not just the airport, but a several-block radius around it. Price’s platoon found themselves perched on a hilltop that overlooked the entire airport, the Trichy-Chennai Highway, and the southeast side of the city. It was a lot of ground to have to secure with just a single platoon. Once the 82nd Airborne started to arrive, two additional companies of soldiers would take over control of the area, and his platoon would act more like a quick reaction force or QRF for them.
Already, a heavy weapons platoon was trudging up to join them with their equipment, bringing with them several mortars, antitank missiles, and several M2 .50 heavy machine guns. In a few hours, they’d turn that hilltop into a well-defended firebase, able to provide good support to the surrounding area and the airport.
******
Elliot’s Beach, Chennai
The Stryker vehicle jostled a bit as the LCAC made its highspeed run toward the beach. First Lieutenant Slater figured they must be breaking some sort of rule or Navy policy, riding in their vehicles while packed on this hovercraft.
“If this thing takes a hit or starts to sink, we could all drown,” he thought. Looking up through the troop hatches, he could see the moon was still high in the night sky. “At least everyone should be asleep when we land.”
Seeing the nervous faces looking back at him, Slater knew he should say something. “It’s going to be OK, guys. This is just like Indonesia. No one knows we’re coming, and there won’t be anyone waiting for us on the beach. We’ll land, we’ll head to our targets and we’ll secure the area and await further orders.”
The soldiers seemed to be put a bit more at ease and they nodded their heads. So far, their company had been lucky—they hadn’t lost many soldiers in Indonesia and they’d been spared some of the heavier fighting in Asia thus far. The unit wasn’t chosen to head into Malaysia or take on any of the Chinese units, the ones who would undoubtedly fight back. They’d been saddled with the Australian and New Zealand Task Force, and up to this point, they hadn’t had to fight it out like the soldiers in Taiwan, Korea or Russia. For that, Lieutenant Slater thanked his lucky stars, but that could easily change now that they were the tip of the spear in India.
Within ten minutes of leaving the troop ship, their LCAC neared the beach. One of the Navy personnel announced, “We’re almost there.”
Then the hovercraft left the water and gently glided over the sandy beach as it made its way up to the edge of the road that separated the beach from the city. Once they’d reached the end of the shore, they dropped the front hatch, and the four Strykers and two JLTVs of his platoon sped off. With his platoon off the LCAC, the hovercraft spun up its engines again and darted back to the sea to pick up the next platoon and bring them forward as well.
Slater ordered his men, “Move forward into the city as quickly as possible.”
Standing up so he could see outside through the troop hatches, he got his first glimpse of the city they had just invaded.
“What a dump,” was the first thought that came to his mind. As they raced down the narrow road, he saw clusters of dilapidated shacks, stores, and run-down houses that lined the street and dotted the beach area. The next thing he noticed was the stench.
“Holy crap, Lieutenant. What the hell is that smell?” moaned Private Leiter, his heavy gunner.
The smell of feces and other unknown decay bathed their senses in its putrid odor, causing some of the soldiers to retch at first while others used a cloth to cover their noses.
“Get used to it, soldier,” remarked Slater. “It’s raw sewage. You see those steep cement cuts next to the side of each road?” he asked. The soldiers instantly looked down. “Those are the sewage pipes.”
Several soldiers shook their heads and went back to scanning their sectors. Once they got away from the initial beach zone, the scenery around them changed dramatically. They entered a much nicer area, and the horrid odor left immediately. The road was now lined by small and medium high-rise apartments and looked to be in much better condition.
Fifteen minutes went by as they made their way through the area and eventually found what they were looking for. Their objective was to find and secure the Adyar police station and a large maintenance depot directly across the street. The maintenance depot would become the company headquarters by the end of the day, giving them a secured compound from which to operate and secure their vehicles.
When they approached the police station, they saw a handful of police cars parked in front of the small building and a few police officers milling around out front. Lieutenant Slater hopped out of his vehicle with his translator quickly following him. He made his way cautiously toward the police officers. None of them had made a move for their weapons yet, and Slater held his hands open and out to his sides to show that he meant no harm, and that he had not come to fight if it could be avoided.
The police officers squirmed a bit and suddenly became quiet as they saw dozens of armed soldiers with their faces covered in dark face paint. After all, they were fully clad in body armor and carried more weapons and grenades than the men had ever seen before. The soldiers immediately fanned out in the street. Some soldiers made their way around to the back of the police building, while others positioned their vehicles to block the roads and take up defensive positions. As Slater got closer to them, they all settled their gaze on him.
“My name is Lieutenant Ian Slater,” he said slowly and calmly. “I’m with the American Army. We don’t wish to fight you or harm you. Who is in charge?” His translator followed him, speaking rapidly to the men in their language.
One of the police officers spoke to the translator, gesturing angrily toward Slater and his men. The translator then turned to him, saying, “They want to know, if you are not here to harm them or fight them, then why are you here? What do you want?”
Smiling, Slater suddenly felt good about the situation. “This just might work,” he thought.
“Tell him I would like to know if we can sit down and talk together. Tell him I’ve brought his men some food and American cigarettes as a peace offering,” Slater announced. He turned and signaled for Private Leiter, his M240G machine gunner, to bring a small patrol pack to him. The police officers eyed Leiter nervously as the stocky giant of a soldier approached with his multihundred-round belts of ammo wrapped around his body armor and his giant machine gun. He also had some pretty hideous-looking face paint markings on that made him appear even more menacing, as did many of the men in Slater’s platoon. It was somewhat of an adolescent ritual, but Slater didn’t care as long as it pumped up the soldiers in his platoon.
Opening Leiter’s patrol pack up, Slater pulled out a carton of Marlboro Reds out and tossed it to the man who appeared to be in charge. Smiles quickly spread across the officers’ faces, and some of the initial tension relaxed.
The police officer jabbered on to the interpreter, who said, “The man says his name is Captain Aarav Anand. He thanks you for the cigarettes. He wants to know if you would like to come to his office and talk privately. He also is asking if you can have your soldiers lower their weapons while we talk. He assures us that no harm will come to us. They are police officers, not soldiers.”
Slater turned to his platoon sergeant. “Tell the guys to stay alert, but we don’t need to keep our guns pointed at them right now. Secure the area and get the depot locked down. I’m going to go inside and see if we can work out some sort of arrangement with the captain here.”
“Copy that, LT, just don’t let your guard down,” Sergeant First Class Starr replied. “We’re on their turf, and these guys might try to take you as a hostage.”
Slater grinned as he answered, “Come on, Starr, when have you ever known me to let my guard down?”
The sergeant chuckled and then began to bark out orders to the other soldiers to get moving. They had a job to do, and it was already 0350 hours. The sun would be up soon, and that meant the city would start to wake up and it would become a real mess around here.
“Private Leiter, you’re coming with me, along with Sergeant O’Neal. I want you guys as backup,” Slater announced. “Oh, and try to be nice. Maybe smoke a few cigarettes with these guys and pass out some of the food we brought with us, will you?” He motioned for the police captain to lead the way, and his interpreter faithfully tagged along.
Once in the small office, the captain signaled for them to sit. Slater took the chair as opposed to the couch. With all this gear on, he wasn’t sure he could get out of the couch quick enough, should he have to.
