The President sat back in his chair digesting what Tom had just said. “Gates really shielded me from a lot,” he realized. He wondered how his friend had managed to stay so calm under all this pressure, and how he had managed to hide the dire circumstances of the war.
Looking at Tom and then Molly, the President’s eyes narrowed. “This has to stop. We can’t allow these organizations to pose this significant of a risk to our winning this war. I have no problem with people exercising their First Amendment rights, but not at the expense of putting our soldiers’ lives at risk. Director Emerson, if you can find a legal link between these organizations’ activity and the Russian GRU, then I want these groups disbanded and labeled as GRU-sponsored groups. If people participate in these types of activities — stopping the day-to-day operations of a factory, port, or any other function that would result in the delay of war stocks arriving at the front lines — then I want those people charged with providing material support to the enemy during a time of war. Is that understood?” he asked.
The three of them nodded.
Shaking his head for a second, President Foss waved his left hand slightly. “I’m sorry that I got us distracted down that rabbit hole,” he said. “Where is Mr. Talley at this point?”
Molly took her cue. “The day of the assassination, Mr. Talley traveled to Chicago. He gave a speech at the University of Chicago the day after and then participated in a work stoppage rally at Boeing’s downtown office, which happens to be where their design team is for the various suite of military drones we are currently using. As of right this moment, he is scheduled to give a speech at the University of Pennsylvania tomorrow morning and then catch a flight back to London tomorrow night.”
“Apprehend him tomorrow before he gives his speech,” the President ordered. “Try to do it quietly if you can, maybe do a raid on wherever he’s sleeping.”
The group talked for a few minutes more before the directors of Homeland Security and the FBI left, leaving just the President and his National Security Advisor. Looking at Tom, the President commented, “What you told me about the supply problem is really disconcerting.” He paused, then blurted out, “Why is the problem so bad? Why are we not able to keep our army properly supplied?”
Tom briefly turned away from the President as he grabbed one of the nearby chairs and pulled it up to the President’s desk and sat down. “I’m sorry, Sir — my back is killing me,” Tom said as he got comfortable in the chair. “The issue with supply chain is our capacity to meet the demand. We’ve drafted millions of young men and women into the military. The ammunition needed to properly train this new army of millions of people is incredible. We are actually consuming nearly as much ammunition in training as we are in combat operations in Europe and Asia. The other problem is that we have active battle campaigns underway in the Russian Far East involving more than 200,000 soldiers, an active campaign in the Philippines involving more than 180,000 soldiers, and two campaigns in Europe involving 360,000 soldiers. Our forces are spread too thin, and we aren’t able to concentrate on any particular theater because we’re being hit on so many different fronts.”
“What did Gates want to do about this problem prior to being killed?” asked Foss, running his fingers through his hair.
“He wanted to slow the war down,” McMillan answered. “He’d ordered General Cotton to place everything on hold in Europe and stay on defense. Gates prioritized the invasion of Taiwan over everything else. His thinking was that once Taiwan was back in our hands, we could shift our focus back to Europe while we continued to grind the Chinese economy down through cyberattacks and precision airstrikes.”
Foss leaned in. “Why prioritize Taiwan over Europe?”
“It comes down to weather, Mr. President,” explained Tom. “From November to March is considered typhoon season in Taiwan. If we don’t land our forces and establish a beachhead before the prolonged severe weather sets in, then we risk starting a major invasion and possibly having a typhoon interrupt our ability to support the ground force. If we wait to invade until the spring, then we just give the Chinese another eight months to entrench themselves, and they’ll be that much harder to remove.”
The President grunted.
McMillan continued, “As it stands, combat operations are starting to peter out in the Russian Far East as winter creeps ever closer. We have to remember that most of that is Siberia — incredibly poor infrastructure and horribly cold temperatures. With the defeat of the Indian Army a month ago, the priority threat to our forces there is now going to be the freezing temperatures. As operations there come to a close until spring, we can shift more of our resources to Taiwan and Europe.”
“How soon until we’re ready to invade Taiwan?” asked the President. After the assassination of Gates and the horrific attacks on Statin Island and Jersey City, the country was reeling. Foss wanted to be seen as decisive in the face of all this chaos. The country needed a win.
“We had planned on launching the invasion on October 1st, Sir,” said McMillan. “In light of everything that has been happening here, we can probably move the invasion up by fifteen days, but I wouldn’t try it any sooner. We should also speak with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and get his opinion to make sure the military is ready.”
The President crossed his arms. “Set up a meeting for tomorrow with the war council, then,” he ordered, “but call the chairman today and let him know that I want to launch the invasion of Taiwan at the soonest possible date.”
Foss stood, indicating the conversation was over.
“Yes, Sir, Mr. President,” Tom answered, and they walked out together, ready to get to work.
Battle of Taiwan
Loading another thirty-round magazine and placing it in one of his front ammo pouches, Staff Sergeant Conrad Price smelled the pungent scent of jet fuel intermixed with the humidity and smell of death that still permeated the air around this hard-fought military base. Sprawled out in the recently repaired cargo hangar were the men of Bravo Company, 2nd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, the US Army’s premier shock troops. The Rangers had just finished their preflight briefing and were now doing their final equipment checks before they would load up into the C-17 Globemasters that would ferry them to their drop zone.
Price looked down at his right hand, his trigger hand, and saw a slight tremor. He quickly flexed his fingers and went back to loading another magazine before anyone noticed. His nerves were starting to get the best of him as his mind wandered back to one of their earlier combat jumps. No matter how hard he tried to push the image out of his mind, he kept seeing his best friend, Joe Perez, lying in his arms, bleeding out from multiple bullet holes. Joe had saved him that day, and he’d paid the ultimate price for his country and his fellow Rangers. The look of fear on his friend’s face as his eyes had pleaded with Price for help would often cause him to break down emotionally when he was alone. He couldn’t afford for those emotions to surface now, not before a mission.