A flick from the amateur anarchist’s Zippo lighter crystallized the gunner’s thoughts. He let go of the machine gun and aimed his rifle for a point a few feet ahead of the outstretched arm.
Thankfully, the target stood on soft grass and only a few yards away. Little chance of having some bystander endangered by a ricochet. The sharp craaack of his warning shot shocked the would-be bomber as if he’d been hit. The idiot let the Molotov cocktail fly in what should have been a hilarious, slapstick-comedy way. The comedic value dropped considerably as he accidentally sent the flaming bottle sailing through the Humvee’s rear passenger window and showered homemade napalm on the gunner’s boots.
Seeing his buddy shriek and bolt out of the hatch, literally with heels of fire, pissed the 19-year-old driver off to no end. In a couple of quick strides, he slammed the butt of his M16 into the gaping jaw of the stoned arsonist. Whipping his rifle around, he covered the homeless dude’s other pals, still with unlit bottles in hand. He snarled, “Drop it, motherfuckers, or I’ll drop you!”
The glare from the Humvee bonfire behind him limited his range of vision, but the light from the excited camera crew frantically panning back and forth caught his eye. “Ah, damn…” he murmured as the camera obviously zoomed in for a close up.
Despite never seeing combat in his short enlistment, the soldier hit the ground first as the ammo in the Humvee cooked off in the fire. That dive saved his life and would have been a good example for the obsessive cameraman to follow. Instead, he tried to catch the action of the stampeding crowd. His camera missed the real action of the belt fed ammo rat-a-tatting in the fire. Busy as he was videotaping the other folk dying, the reporter missed a great vantage point when three rounds struck him in the chest.
The young soldier high-crawled over to the wounded wannabe Pulitzer Prize winner and tried to stop the bleeding. Despite the grim situation, the guardsman couldn’t suppress a grin at the reporter’s tenacity as he shoved the camera into the soldier’s face with his last dying breath.
Washington, DC
“Mr. President, you should see this.” An aide cranked the volume up on the TV as the president wearily slumped into his chair.
“…are graphic and not suited for all viewers. The fearsome silhouette of a soldier in the shadow of something burning screams at the camera: ‘Drop it, mother (beep) or I’ll drop you!’ The scene cuts to civilians running from the sound of machine gun fire. An orange tracer round catches a fleeing young woman in the back. The scene cuts out with a grunt from off-screen and the camera falling to the ground. It comes back briefly to show a bloodstained lens and a close up of some grinning soldier hovering over the dying cameraman. An extremely sadistic looking grin in the dim firelight.
“The previous video was obtained by our local NBKR affiliate in Gainesville, Florida. The video-taker bravely gave his life to bring us the truth of what Governor Robert Rhett is doing in Florida. We cannot, as of yet, confirm whether the governor personally gave the order for his soldiers to open fire on unarmed demonstrators or if his men were just following his general order to ‘shut down the Federal Government.’ The only thing that’s certain…”
The president was on his feet instantly. “His soldiers? His men?!” He slammed his fist on the side table. “He doesn’t have an army! That’s all part of The Army!”
Several staffers visibly shrunk away from this rare display of aggression from their usually mild-mannered, ex-law professor boss. “Get me Governor Rhett on the phone, now! No more excuses. No more games. I’ve put up with a lot of crap from that blowhard and his party for eight years, but he’s gone too far now. This political grandstanding is getting out of hand. I want to know exactly what he really wants.” A young aide jumped at the chance to get out of the suddenly quiet Oval Office.
The Commander in Chief stabbed a finger at the tight-lipped four-star general sitting speechless on the sofa. “General, since the federalization order, those guardsmen are under your command. What ideas do you have to stop this nonsense?”
Before the general could answer, the president’s chief of staff chimed in. “Obviously, the federalization order is not enough. It makes us look weak and highlights our slackening support. We need a show of force. We must get some Regular Army types on the ground there ASAP. We need to get out ahead of this thing or the press will eat us alive.”
The general waved his hand dismissively. “If this is a political battle, then why am I here?” No one seemed to hear him.
The president scratched his prematurely graying head for a moment. Another aide, one of his political research people, jumped in. “It’s not without precedent, sir. Eisenhower did the same thing in Arkansas back during desegregation. Their governor called out the Guard simply over black kids going to school. He had huge popular support, before Ike put his foot down and sent in Regular Army troops. That strong reaction changed the whole moral character of the desegregation effort. With a quick, bloodless military deployment he accomplished what the Courts couldn’t.”
The president stared around the Oval Office at the portraits of his predecessors. He paused between Washington and Lincoln, trying to remember who came in between. “Eisenhower, hmm…now there’s a president not easily forgotten.”
His longtime chief-of-staff knew he had the president hooked. Loading his most reasonable voice, he zeroed in for the kill.
“Every minute this pompous ass defies Federal authority makes you look weaker. The Senate is pressing ahead with the impeachment. That’s sure no stunt. Every day brings more desertions to Dimone’s wing of the party. Even with the sudden House backing, you survived the last floor vote by only one ballot. Strong leadership now is the only chance you have to ensure your legacy.” The president didn’t hear his muttered comment afterward. “Not to mention saving my career in the bargain.”
The general stiffly sitting on that strange green sofa wasn’t exactly known for his sense of humor, but even he had fun. “Gentlemen, excuse me, but are you really suggesting we invade Florida? Tell me, how many tanks should I send into Disney World? Come to think of it, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard. I bet we already have a thousand marines in South Beach partying it up right now.”
The chief of staff crossed his arms and tried his best, which lasted all of five seconds, to stare the general down. “No one’s talking about invading anywhere. Just a show of force. We’re upping the political ante to the point where the governor can’t play anymore.”
No one thought it was possible, but the general narrowed his eyes even further. “Once you have armed men facing other armed men, it’s no longer politics. This is an extremely dangerous game you’re suggesting. It’s too easy to spiral out of control. I mean, didn’t you just see the news?”
The young assistant came back in without knocking. “Sir, Governor Rhett’s office claims he suffered a stroke and is in the hospital. He’s supposedly in critical condition. We managed to track down the lieutenant governor, but, well…he’s, um…he’s on line one, sir. It’s probably best if you talk to him directly.” The president raised an eyebrow even as he reached for the phone. “Well, at least we can finally talk to someone.”