“At the cost of thousands of European lives,” Luong said softly. “Democratic states; democracy, the political movement that we are trying to encourage… lost forever in Europe under the Russians.”
McDowell held up a hand. “If I may finish?” Luong scowled, but nodded grimly, privately promising himself that he would fight tooth and nail. “The main rapid reaction force here in the States was the Airborne unit, which we dispatched post-haste to Iceland at their request. We have a handful of National Guard units that are assisting the border patrols and units in Cuba that are holding the island down while the Cuban exiles make good little Americans of them. The long and short of the matter, Madam President, is that the most we can spare is a handful of units, none of which can be moved over to Britain in time to be useful.”
He sighed. “We had plans drawn up for a rapid reinforcing of American soldiers in Europe during the Cold War,” he concluded. “They included supplies that were pre-positioned in Britain and Germany; these days, we don’t have anything in Britain that can be used beyond a handful of isolated airfields the British kept in mothballs and have reactivated for their current predicament. It would take weeks to move a serious force into Britain, months, if not years, if you want to reverse the conquest of Europe. It can’t be done.”
The President looked up at him. “There’s nothing that we can do?”
“We can send the British some of our supplies — I understand that Canada is doing that already; problem is they don’t have a serious army or serious stockpiles — and we can take in refugees if the British want to try to evacuate some of their population,” McDowell said. “We have the Clinton sailing near Peru; we can move her down to the Falklands and cover the islands, ensuring that the British don’t get knifed in the back by Argentina, therefore allowing the British to withdraw their task force quicker. We can continue to supply them with intelligence and perhaps even transfer a handful of aircraft to them, but… I think that that would be scraping the barrel.”
The President glanced at her assistant. “Stephanie, I want to see the Argentinean Ambassador and read him the riot act as quickly as possible,” she said. “Right after this meeting, if possible; tell him that it’s urgent. Are there any other considerations…?”
“Only that an intervention in Europe, even for Ireland, would be politically disastrous,” Ambassador Eugene Lockwood said. He had been the Ambassador to France and had been lucky enough to be in America before the war had begun, sending insurgents to attack the embassy and butcher all the staff. Luong didn’t like him much; Lockwood had ambitions of becoming President himself one day. “The heat on the Hill makes that clear; senators and congressmen are hearing things like thousands upon thousands of Americans died in two world wars… to make the world safe for the French to take cheap shots at us. They go into their cafes, eat Freedom Fries, and remember how the French and the European Union ensured that American blood would be shed in the Middle East.”
He glared around the room. “The trade wars, the economic conflicts, the loss of Britain as a dependable ally… all was caused by the European Union,” he snapped. “The General claims that the Russians may have cut off the terrorists; their very public offer to hand over whoever we wanted from Europe has been cheered on the streets. The average Joe and Jane Public would like nothing more than to see Brussels reminded of just how bad the world can be; a few years sucking Russian cock will do that for them. Why waste American lives on helping them when the Russians will collapse in a few years anyway?”
Luong stared at him. “Because they might end up as a threat to us?”
“How can they?” Lockwood asked. “They are going to have to spend years bringing Europe into their empire, and there will be resistance; hell, we can even encourage it for them. After the Europeans start resisting, it won’t be long before the Russian Federation — the New Russian Empire — collapses under its own weight.”
“I have made a decision,” the President said. Luong saw her taut face and knew that the news was not going to be good. “General, I want you to see to sending the British as much in the way of supplies as we can, and accepting refugees as well. Have the NRO continue to send them intelligence, including the latest communications intercepts; they have to know everything.”
CIA opened his mouth; the President glared at him, and he closed it again. “We will do as much as we can for them,” she said. “Once we end the war in the Middle East, perhaps then there will be a chance to settle scores with Russia, and repay our debt to the British. Andrew…”
“I understand,” Luong said. It was real-politic at its shameless worst. “I just wish there was a better way.”
Chapter Forty-Four: Waiting
“My mother said violence never solves anything.” “So?” Mr. Dubois looked at her bleakly. “I'm sure the city fathers of Carthage would be glad to know that.”
Near Dover, United Kingdom
It was the waiting that was the worst part.
Two weeks had passed since the Russians had chased the remains of EUROFOR off the continent and into Britain, two long hard nervous weeks. Colonel — he had been promoted for some reason — Stuart Robinson watched as the men under his command prepared part of the defence line, and scowled; the work wasn’t going quickly. He had heard, during a brief promotion ceremony, that the remains of the high command had also been worried; if the Russians had managed to force a landing on British soil right after Ostend fell, they might well have defeated the British in a single campaign. Robinson might almost have welcomed the battle; the brief interlude with Hazel had only reminded him of how much danger the entire country was facing… and how weak the defences were. The noise of jet fighters, almost every day, reminded those who tried to forget; the Russians were upping the pressure every day.
Dover itself had been completely evacuated — including one very irate landlady who had complained incessantly about stains on the bed — and the city-port was carefully being turned into a strongpoint. The planning had been limited, there just hadn’t been the time or equipment; there were accidents, some of them fatal, almost every day. Soldiers were everywhere, seeming to swarm across the land in infinite numbers, but Robinson knew better; there were barely five thousand soldiers committed to defending Dover and the surrounding area, while the remaining tanks and artillery were held in reserve. It had worried him; Russian satellites had doubtless probed all of the British defences from orbit, and they might try to land somewhere else, perhaps along the south coast, or even north towards Ipswich. Dover seemed the logical target, but the Russians might well know that too; all they had to do was land elsewhere and they would have valuable time to get established before the British forces could react.
“We have submarines in those waters,” Major-General Langford had said, when he had seen the General and broached the issue with him. “I know the Russian commander; he’ll try to keep the variables down to the lowest possible level, and landing elsewhere will mean exposing his forces for longer.”
Robinson had accepted the argument, reluctantly; he still needed more supplies. Several of the soldiers had taken to burning photographs of Princess Diana in effigy; they needed landmines and they had almost none. The Americans had shipped over a few hundred mines and they had been carefully emplaced on some of the possible landing zones, but there were nowhere near enough. If there had been a stockpile maintained by the British… but no, the campaigns to ban the weapons had resulted in only a handful of mines being kept, all of which had been lost in the opening days of the war. They needed weapons, they needed SAM missile launchers; only the fact that they would have never managed to save one of the CADS from Germany had saved him from facing a court martial over losing it. Intelligence suggested that Generalmajor Günter Mühlenkampf had met the death he craved… and failed to slow the Russians down for more than a few moments.