The captains were willing to throw in the towel. The young, unbloodied lieutenants wanted an Alamo-style last stand and the first sergeants wanted to try a breakout. His normally conservative XO held the minority opinion to join, in his words, the “rebels” and march on Washington. He was less than half-joking.
Fifty minutes of arguing only solidified their positions. As for the opinion of the junior enlisted men, out vigilantly maintaining the perimeter, no one asked or cared. They kept their ideas in heated, but pointless debate amongst themselves.
The first rays of dawn slithered through the pines when the colonel finally noticed something strange. “Where is the Sergeant Major? What’s he doing that’s more important than this?”
The Headquarters Company captain looked thoroughly puzzled. “He’s with the scout platoon, sir.”
“Ok…and where the hell is my scout platoon?”
“They’re out probing the enemy’s cordon for weaknesses, sir. The Sergeant Major said you ordered…ah, shit!” It wasn’t a cuss of anger, but one of hope.
The colonel knew the rest of the story even before his personal phone vibrated. The ammo dump was the only place Brown wanted to go all night. On a whim, he put the phone on speaker.
“Hey sir, damn good job! Keep buying us a little more time. Maybe 15 minutes and we’ll be back.”
“Sergeant Major, what in God’s name do you hope to accomplish? The situation is untenable!”
“It’s amazing how easy it is to infiltrate these amateurs’ lines at night, sir. Especially when you wear the same uniform and speak the same language. You know, we’re probably overcomplicating things. Bet we could march the whole damn battalion right out under their noses! He haw!
“Anyway, Santa Claus is a comin’. Got us about three dozen AT-4 rocket launchers, six Javelin missiles and even a TOW missile launcher! We didn’t get enough vehicles for everybody — didn’t want to draw too much attention. Just enough to get us and our goodies back there.”
“Hold where you’re at, Sergeant Major. We’re surrendering, effective immediately. There’s no honor left in this anymore, and I’m sick and tired of this damn debating!”
“What the hell, over! I’m telling you, sir, it’s a clusterfuck back here. The Guard’s got a dozen different units running around, each thinking they’re in charge. With some heavy weapons to hold the Brads at arm’s length, hell, they’ll probably fold with one big push. We could, at a minimum, break contact pretty easily. Maybe steal some civilian cars in town. It’s only about an hour drive till the border—”
Anderson cut the phone off and stood up. He dropped his K-Pod and shed his IBA. The cooling kiss of only warm air wafting over his heated, sweat soaked body made him sigh. Florida winters were always mild, but this year was insane.
“It’s over, gentlemen. Collect your units’ ammo and stack arms. Battalion formation here in 10 minutes. I still want every sensitive item accounted for.”
Everyone was on their feet now, but all the rest still in their battle rattle. The XO began shaking, his hand unconsciously dropping to his sidearm.
“Robert, I can’t believe you’re betraying us as well. I, ah, I think we need to discuss your ability to retain competent command.”
The captains moved to the colonel’s side. The first sergeants reached some private agreement with a shared glance and took a step backwards. The lieutenants uniformly had a deer-in-the-headlights look.
By his reserved standards, the colonel lost control. “Major, is it even necessary to point out how out of fucking line you are? You have just relieved yourself of your duties.” He drew his own sidearm, but aimed at the ground. “Now hand over your weapon or I’ll take your rank too!”
The oldest first sergeant nodded at the other enlisted and stood at parade rest. “Sir, I have a suggestion. How about letting us slip out in small groups? If you go parlay with them, for just a little bit longer…I mean it’s still half-dark. Like the sergeant major said, they’re disorganized. The officers and senior NCO’s will, of course, stay behind and keep up the masquerade while the rest of the men break contact by squads. I think we could get most of the boys out that way.” He strived for the missing words. “That would be the most honorable compromise, sir.”
Like a true professional, he always listened to a NCO’s advice, but like a true officer, he then ignored it.
“We’ve had enough of this every man for himself shit tonight. We fight as a unit, we die as a unit and, in this case, we will survive as a unit.” He raised his sidearm to the low ready. “If anyone has a problem with that, we can begin summary field Court Martials!”
The XO flipped open his holster cover unnoticed, or so he thought. The colonel’s 9mm flashed dramatically straight up. His warning shot was almost anti-climactic. Whether it was the therapeutic effects of letting off rounds or just impotent rage, he couldn’t stop there. He let off three more shots into the air.
Leaning over the engine block of a utility Humvee blocking the road, a righteously pissed off young Florida Guardsman jumped at the sound of gunfire. No official word had come down yet, but he heard from a medic buddy that his cousin died fighting at the AHA. It was bad luck for everyone that he was just moving on to the anger phase of grieving when shots rang out from somewhere over at the airstrip.
He didn’t care enough to bother telling the difference between an M16 and a pistol. Nor did he touch the radio or wait for an order. He ripped off a solid 15-round Rambo style burst from his SAW, more or less in the general direction of the sound.
Two hundred meters away, a federal paratrooper lying in a shallow, hasty foxhole answered the wildly far-off shots with a perfectly placed grenade from his M320 grenade launcher. Guided by the small laser range finder attached to it, he dropped a range perfect shot right over the truck’s hood. The 25mm flechette grenade popped barely two feet in front of the target’s face. The guardsman’s battle buddy didn’t have a chance to return fire. He was a little too pre-occupied dragging his partner’s headless body behind the Humvee.
An ironic calm radiated from the skirmish. Action, so long delayed, left everyone in a thousand yards from the explosion unsure how to take the initiative. Well, almost everyone.
Florida National Guard Colonel Beauregard wasn’t sure himself who had the initiative, but he knew who had the artillery. He issued a string of long awaited orders. For the first time in this busy night he strapped on his body armor. Noticing the quiet around him, he added a little heat in his voice.
“What the hell are you waiting for Captain? You heard me. Execute the prepped fire mission.” Keeping the order in familiar, safe military terminology sanitized the thought enough for the young Fire Support Officer to suppress his doubts and obey.
“WILCO, sir.”
Unlike most of the guardsmen under his command, Beauregard didn’t find it hard to believe the president was trying to seize complete control of the country. A megalomaniac himself, the political chaos gripping the nation presented an obvious opportunity to grab power. He was even in the same party as the president. Were he in the White House, he wouldn’t have hesitated to do the same thing.
In fact, the only thing that pissed him off was knowing that Guard officers from an opposing state would probably never rise high in the new regime. If only he’d been approached personally to assist with the coup, well…that’s not how it happened. Being on the other side, his only route to power and fame lay with being the man that decisively halted the dictator’s ambitions.