None of this meant anything to the men he so poorly led and even less to the battalion of US paratroopers on the receiving end of his massed artillery. Not one known for noble gestures, the hour cease-fire he granted was spent arming and sighting his 18 heavy 155mm howitzers and the 8 lighter, but faster firing 120mm mortars. The next hour would be spent killing more Americans than died in the First Gulf War.
The men of 2–6 Airborne gritted through three end-of-the-world volleys before they realized that time and ammo were on the enemy’s side. There were no senior leaders left to order an advance. Colonel Anderson and most of the unit’s core leadership were powwowing in the exact center of the incoming Steel Rain, apparently trusting too much in the armistice. They hit the dirt at the first whistle of incoming, but there wasn’t much cover around.
None would get up again.
Still, you didn’t need an officer to point out that the only way to survive the hell storm around them was to close with the enemy as fast as possible. If they could get close enough, maybe they could fight their way through the scores of armored vehicles ringing their position. It was more a collective hope than a plan, but in the absence of heavy weapons, hope was all they had.
The survivors began bounding forward by squads and fire teams, laying down suppressive fire as they went. That subtlety didn’t last long. The overwhelming urge to get close enough to the surprised guardsmen, to get out of the hammering artillery kill zone, culminated in an old-fashioned charge. With a collective shout of “Airborne!” heard even over the artillery and machine guns, they surged forward all across the perimeter. Their “wild” firing was not only intense, but also incredibly accurate. These were some of the Army’s most experienced troops, after all. Elite men with a narrow mission and only a few hundred yards till revenge.
They almost made it.
The scout platoon charged down a dirt back road towards the maelstrom. The fear of missing the big fight, of letting their brothers die without them, was a horror worse than the slaughter itself. Everyone rushed to the battle except the sergeant major. He stopped his Humvee and contemplated the tracers, all the same color, in the distance.
Despite the personae he’d cultivated for years, he wasn’t all balls, no brains. You didn’t survive the things he’d been through or climb so high in the ranks without having a good sense for which battles to pick. With the single TOW missile launcher on the Humvee’s roof, he couldn’t make much of a difference to the disaster ahead.
Brown spent all of thirty seconds wondering where a single antitank missile could have the most impact. He chose his battle. In the confusion gripping the base and the rest of Florida, no one bothered stopping a lone Humvee heading north towards the border.
Chapter 4
Context
“Yes, that’s correct Dave. We’re just getting confirmation that the last of the president’s handpicked storm troopers have been captured. However, as you can see, they wreaked incredible destruction before the authorities could subdue them.”
The curvy, angry blonde waved a microphone over her shoulder while the unbiased camera followed. The rows of body bags and several still burning vehicles in the distance were context enough for millions of stunned American viewers.
Twenty feet away a hot, snobby brunette provided context for her studio. “Yes, that’s correct Tom. The local militia claim to have finished massacring the rest of the US soldiers. We still don’t know why they attacked the president’s peacekeepers, but as you can see, this is Governor Rhett’s vision of a New America.”
The rows of body bags and several still burning vehicles in the distance confirmed the suspicions of millions of other stunned American viewers.
Thirty feet away, an older reporter for a local news channel offered depth, context and reasoned analysis based upon the facts he could corroborate. Everyone changed the channel. His producer went into damage control mode. Before too long, the context-obsessed reporter was sent to find and harass, correction, interview the new widows.
All these wild rumors flying over the internet and television, not to mention the straight up insanity pouring out of the radio, should have been easy to disprove. Problem is, retractions are simply not that profitable. The truth has slim margins. Any pangs of journalistic integrity the media suffered from were washed away by the never-ending flood of ever-greater provocations and senseless violence. If you weren’t first with a story, you were last.
Disgusted as they were with the superficial, ADHD coverage of the “mainstream” media, so many people turned to the “alternative” media outlets. Millions of Americans were now getting updates on the most important and complicated events affecting their lives from the most respectable news source they could find. The internet.
Thank God there weren’t any crazy people there.
Washington, DC
Self-proclaimed President Pierce’s smile lasted long after the last camera was shooed out of the Oval Office. The sitting president’s smile fell apart before the door even shut.
“Wipe that smirk off your face. My resignation might help you, but you’re still a long way from sitting in that chair.” Already tired of the formalities, he leaned back on the Resolute desk and folded his arms.
“How do you plan to fight the Supreme Court, Senator Dimone and the whole state of Florida? The rebels need to be dealt with—”
Pierce came around the desk to admire the view. He laughed the president silent. “My God, man! What rebellion? Why should anyone have to fight? Four years without having to campaign has really left you out of political shape, hasn’t it? According to the Supreme Court, your vice president will be forced to resign as well. That drops the ball on the Speaker of the House.
“And who do you think was appointed this morning to that vacant role? We’ll sidestep the Supreme Court ultimatum and congressional stubbornness by following the letter of the law. That will give us a legitimate president until we can hold new elections. Now, I’m sure being the man who prevented a civil war won’t hurt my campaign!” He turned back to the president.
“That only leaves our runaway senator friend. Once you’re out of the picture, he’ll no longer have any illegitimate foe to demagogue against. A rebel without a cause. His popular support will fade away as quickly as it came. As for his financial backing, well, I’ve already approached Dimone’s biggest financiers. They aren’t interested in throwing good money after bad. I know exactly what they want and find it an acceptable price. It’s a bit funny how they’re willing to sell him out so cheaply. They’ll settle for even less than my own supporters will. Maybe I’m in the wrong party!” He was excited as a schoolboy, while the president just shook his head.
“Anyway, with Dimone defanged, I’ll offer that calculating attorney general running the show in Florida a face saving way to come back into the fold. Another notch on my belt as the hero that brought this country back from the brink. I don’t know why you never thought of it. You’ve dealt with harder political problems over the last eight years; why were you stumped by this one?”
The president tried hard to hold the disgust out of his voice. “You think this is some sort of political campaign? Do you have any idea of the social and economic forces aiming to subvert our democracy? The struggle we’re facing is harder and even more dangerous than the Civil War! Those rumors about holding ‘independence referendums’ out west are real. We as a nation are on the verge of the greatest fight in our history, and I don’t know how to stop it!”