“Hello, Mr.…? I’m sorry? I didn’t get that. You’re breaking… Where are you calling from? What are you doing in China while all this is going on!?” The president shook his head. “Well, how soon can you get back to Florida? Who’s running things in the meantime?” Another staffer wrote a quick note for the president.
“Wait…no, he’s not out of the hospital yet. Fine, I’ll play along. Here’s what we know. He’s had a stroke and is out of commission for the foreseeable future…Governor. Now, I want to know how we can turn this craziness off. I’m sure the ex-governor kept you in the dark about many — pardon me?” His amused exasperation turned suddenly darker.
“No, that’s exactly why you need to get back as soon as possible. How can you not be interested in…now wait one God damn minute! I’m not impeached! I’m still your president, you son of a — hello? Hello!”
No one wanted to be the first to speak. Not even the chief of staff. Strange, because the president was the type of leader who liked to let his subordinates duke it out. He usually weighed in only after ideas survived the first contact with their opposition. That’s when he’d step in and, in the words of a predecessor, “be the Decider in Chief.”
An advantage of this “never proposing anything” leadership style is that your staff can mercilessly dissect bad proposals without fear of offending the head honcho. The key to getting recognized in this environment was having great ideas. There wasn’t any ass to kiss. The boss never voiced an opinion until after your thoughts were already clear.
It was a sign of his stress and worry that the president stopped staring out the window and made up his mind. He didn’t propose anything or attempt to provoke any further debate. He made his decision.
“People, I understand exactly what we need to do.” Striking that election-winning stance and intelligent grin, he realized how presidential he appeared in front of that famous Oval Office desk. Shame there were no cameras around for this.
“My staff will work with Congress and find some legal grounds for direct intervention. General Jacobi, your mission is clear. I want federal troops occupying the major Florida National Guard bases by tonight. We will remove any chance for them to commit additional atrocities. I don’t want to see any fighting and under no circumstances any bloodshed, but we must have our men on the ground physically controlling the situation inside of 12 hours.”
The general thought only a politician could consider that order “clear.” Still, he said the same thing every senior American officer ever said to their civilian leadership when given one of these impossible missions.
“Yes, sir.”
Jacksonville International Airport, Florida
“Who’s your source again, Major?”
“My wife’s cousin, sir.”
The Florida Air National Guard wing commander still had humor left to smile. “We really don’t have time for this.” He swiveled his chair back around to his cappuccino and the day’s emails.
The fighter pilot standing at rigid attention behind him wasn’t about to back down so easily. “I know it sounds weak, sir, but he’s a senior maintenance technician at Fort Bragg. He wasn’t just passionate when we talked; he was exact. Five C-130’s, escorted by eight F-22’s, would make up the first wave. Their goal is the big base at Camp Blanding. A second flight will hit Tallahassee two hours later because they didn’t have enough transports available immediately. A third flight will—”
“Hold it! Take a breath, Major. Between you and me, I don’t care either for that asshole in Washington, but it’ll all get worked out in the courts before too long. Now, go on back to your duty station. We need to stay alert for real threats, not fantasy. Contrary to the rumors, I can assure you the president is not trying to take over the country.”
The commander stood up and clapped the young pilot on the shoulder, while doing his best not to chuckle. “And he’s sure as hell not going to invade Florida.”
“But sir, I-”
“Son, you’re trying my patience. Since the government shutdown, we have enough baseless rumors flying around and making everyone jumpy. Now, not another word about this. You’re dismissed.”
A nervous radar operator chimed in before the pilot left. “Sir, we’ve got a large flight inbound coming over southern Georgia. Five C-130 transports, plus intermittent contact with eight smaller, much stealthier craft.”
Hairs prickled on the National Guard wing leader’s neck, but he didn’t give over so promptly to paranoia. “Call Moody Air Force base in Georgia and find out what’s going on. I want the name of who screwed up and didn’t send us the flight plan.”
Another officer tapped the radar screen with a satellite phone. “I’ve been trying, sir. I’ve called every Air Force base in 500 miles. No answer. Same over the radio. Equipment’s working fine; just no one wants to talk to us.”
“Check the gear again and keep trying!” The wing leader snatched his phone so fast he didn’t noticed his overpriced coffee falling from the desk and sloshing over his pants. He dialed the personal numbers of several senior officers up north.
None answered.
Another tech ripped her headset off and bounced out of her chair. “Sir, the FAA just declared a no-fly zone in a 50 mile radius around Camp Blanding. No other details.”
All eyes were on their commander. He alone had the authority to launch air defense craft. Did anyone above him? Tapping his useless phone against his leg, he glanced down at the last two emails he received, within seconds of each other. One direct from the Pentagon announcing his troops were now under federal authority and must ignore their local chain of command. The next one came from the governor’s office, citing endless legalese why he should follow the chain of command and ignore Washington.
Shit, he wasn’t a lawyer. He was a simple soldier. On the television in the corner of the room, the president and Florida’s attorney general, now acting governor, held dueling press conferences, both calling each other madmen. He had to make some type of decision. With that much firepower bearing down on them, even doing nothing was doing something. Regardless what action he took, or failed to take, he’d still be picking a side.
Not one known for hesitation, libertarians usually aren’t, the wing commander made a call. He knew full well where his responsibilities lay, even if loyalty was becoming a fuzzier subject. The craziest order of his life, but someone had to do something.
“Ok, we’ve identified possible bandits. Scramble the alert flight. Intercept, try to divert, harass if necessary, but they will not go weapons hot unless they get a direct order from me. No exceptions. Not even in self-defense.”
Chapter 3
Somewhere over the Okefenokee Swamp
Southeast Georgia
“Colonel Anderson, I gotta tell you one more again. In my 15 years in uniform, from Afghanistan to Syria and everywhere in between, I ain’t never seen a more half-assed, hare-brained operation than this. Sir, this is hands-down the dumbest mission I’ve ever been sent on.”
Not many people could talk to the battalion commander like that and even fewer would try, but Command Sergeant Major Brown wasn’t most men. The lieutenant colonel sighed. “I’m not terribly excited about this myself, John, but at least we have the element of surprise.”
The Mississippian spit the last of his dip into an empty Dr. Pepper bottle. “Fuck surprise, sir. I’d rather have artillery! I mean, I’ve seen some political shit, but that pencil dick from the White House staff telling me which weapons I can bring on a mission takes the cake! Rifles only. No heavy weapons? Good God! Well, I couldn’t do anything about the big explosive gear, but we were pretty selective about defining the rest of the weapons.”
The big man gave his boss a sly wink. The colonel tried not to grimace. A smile from Brown was never a good sign. “Don’t worry, sir. I followed those orders to the letter. No ‘heavy weapons’ came with us.”
Brown turned to the side and shouted down the rows of tightly packed paratroopers. “Ain’t that right, boys! Who’s got a weapon that’s too heavy?” A dozen machine guns and grenade launchers pumped in the air. Twice as many young men grabbed their crotches and cracked dick jokes.
The colonel, quite used to these excessively macho displays of self-affirming aggression among the yeomen class of landed freeman infantry, simply ignored them. He fiddled with his VMI class ring and frowned at his senior enlisted advisor. “Sergeant Major, that’s why I leave the details to you. Frankly, you are correct in your assessment of the tactical situation. We have no air support, no organic fire support of any kind in fact, and at least four hours lead-time until the rest of the brigade conducts a movement-to-contact. Not to mention that the, ah, less than transparent rules of engagement will present many command and control challenges. It is my intent—”
The sergeant major slapped him on the back. “You must be nervous, sir, if you’re getting all technical War College on me. Don’t you worry none. We’ll secure that airfield and ammo dump right quick and then curl up like a masturbating porcupine until reinforcements get there. That’ll make the rules of engagement pretty simple: Stay out of our way or pay.”
The last was delivered as a yell and rapidly picked up in a “Hooah” chant from the rest of the company. The pilot’s “20 minutes till drop zone” announcement only heightened the war whooping.