The president held no illusions. The technological underpinnings of the ROAS were its greatest strength, yet, those same assets were the biggest prize, ripe for the taking. In her opinion, to survive her country hadn’t a choice. It was time to take off the gloves and fight back.
Ortega looked across at the tall, lanky man seated to her right. As usual, Secretary of Security Jim James was a mess. He wore crumpled pants and a dress shirt that didn’t match, combined with a sport coat begging for a wash. She shook her head at the sight. Yes, he was an information-security genius but also a bumbling pain in the ass. But she needed his help in handling a tough situation. “James, as we discussed, let me take the lead on this. When I want you to add something or interject, I’ll ask. Otherwise, please keep your mouth shut.”
“Of course,” James replied. “I appreciate the difficulties facing us. Your willingness to sacrifice everything to save our nation is admirable.”
Julia frowned at the patronizing. “Follow my lead, that’s all.”
Above the single entrance across the room, the status light turned from green to red, and the door opened. General Story entered the SCIF, closing the portal behind him. At once, the light turned green, indicating the room secure.
In a flash, the president detected an air of resignation about the general. The way he slouched, frowned, and moved with a slight shuffle into the room was disturbing. One of the few senior officers with true combat leadership experience in the entire ROAS Armed Forces, she needed him. He’d defected from the US a decade prior, leaving a successful military career behind. Once free of his native country, he applied for a commission into the ROAS military and passed a thorough loyalty investigation. Through the process, she became a supporter and believed in his ability. Ortega promoted him into his current role. Still, doubts lingered. The country needed a fighter, someone willing to take risks, even against long odds. Events forced decisions, and she would make one today.
To ease the troubled general, she started the conversation with a soft tone. “General, thank you for taking the time to meet under such dire circumstances.” She nodded towards the empty chair opposite the secretary. “Please take a seat.” Not missing a beat, she waived towards the skinny man next to her. “I believe you know Secretary James.”
The general, with a grim expression, reached out and shook hands with the secretary. “Welcome to ROAS Central Command.”
“Thank you, General,” James replied.
“We’ve much to discuss. Please sit,” said the president.
The general complied, and the room grew quiet.
Ortega, noting the general’s countenance, sighed. Before discussing more productive topics, she’d ask for the bad news first. “General Story, please give us a quick rundown on Mesquite.”
Before answering, the general glanced at the lanky man across from him. “Madam President, can you please explain why Secretary James is here? I thought our focus was Mesquite and possible next steps. No disrespect, but I’m not sure his expertise is needed for those discussions.”
“Trust me. I’ve asked James to be here for a reason. Bring me up to speed on Mesquite,” said President Julia Ortega.
The general shrugged his shoulders and cleared his voice. “Madam President, after I hung up with you, the enemy hit us with extreme force. Brigade Commander Colonel Rourke died within moments of the start. In quick succession, across our entire front, using joint tank, artillery, missile, infantry, and air assets, the enemy struck hard.”
“I see,” said the president. The execution of Felix Manuel was terrible, and now, for the first time in her career, she’d put soldiers in harm’s way. “How bad was it?”
The general crossed his arms and gave the straight facts. “Estimated losses stand at one hundred percent. The actual number of killed, wounded, captured—only the US Army knows for sure.”
“A hundred percent?” asked the president, shocked by the number.
“Yes.”
The president tried to imagine the carnage, but she’d never seen a battlefield and had no true concept of the loss and suffering. She’d ordered the battalion to resist and not to withdraw or surrender. Maybe she’d made a mistake? No. The nation would learn and grow from this. She put on a strong façade and asked, “Have US forces entered Mesquite?”
“Yes. We informed city leadership before hostilities that in case of an enemy breakthrough, they were not to resist.”
Ortega, with a heavy heart, turned to another pressing issue. “I saw the first press reports coming out of Mesquite: claims of heavy fighting at the border followed by quiet. An official announcement needs to go out soon. We need to tamp down any panic. My press team is working on a preliminary statement.”
“From a defensive standpoint, we’re in extreme trouble. Minus the infantry battalion destroyed today, we’ve a single under-strength infantry brigade positioned near Las Vegas. In Reno, we have another brigade minus two detached battalions covering other major border crossings. That’s all we have in Nevada.”
The president chewed her lip, caught herself, and resolved to quit the nervous habit. “Those forces aren’t enough?”
“No. Today, the US Nineteenth Army didn’t even commit their full strength. If they choose, they can bring much more to the table. To stop them, we’ve got nothing of any real consequence standing in the way.”
Ortega knew the long military odds facing her country. But hearing the details, the large loss of life, their vulnerability to future attacks, she shuddered. By resisting, she’d hoped to set an example—heroics to share with the people and stiffen backbones. The big question needed to be asked. “Did our people resist?”
General Story closed his eyes for a moment as if replaying the battle. “Our troops did the best they could under difficult conditions.”
Not appreciating the vague response, the president asked, “Did we resist or not?”
The general sighed. “The sheer unrelenting force of the attack kept our troops pinned. They never stood a chance. In less than twenty minutes, the battle was over. Throughout, other than a few instances, we detected no material return fire.”
The president slumped and asked, “It doesn’t seem possible.”
“Madam, even with advanced warning the outcome was certain. In this case, not only was the attack unexpected, but the US force arrayed against us was insurmountable. The battle, as I warned, was over before it started.”
Ortega felt a pang of guilt. She imagined a bloody battlefield, troops terrified by an unyielding onslaught. All of them dying in place, unable to strike back. Still, there had to be a silver lining. The country needed something from the sacrifice, no matter how small. “I’ll take responsibility for the events of today. You advised a withdrawal, even a surrender, but I ordered resistance. In my statements to the public I’ll make my position and your role clear. Please, you mentioned in a few cases our people resisted. Explain.”
The general shrugged. “Not much to say. In the first case, we observed explosions near a few enemy tanks, but their APS—Active Protection Systems—were effective in countering our missiles. One tank appeared to take a glancing blow and lost mobility. We also shot down many of their incoming missiles, though not enough.”
“So we fought back,” she said with a hopeful smile. “You claimed several instances. Are there more?”
The general sat higher in his chair and gave a quick grin. “Yes, one more. A confirmed kill on a single enemy vertical-lift aircraft. A US Custer was shot out of the sky. Full fireball upon impact. We’ve excellent drone video of the event. For an unknown reason, the enemy APS didn’t engage. Anyway, a hand-held Javelin missile struck the Custer broadside.”