Sam paused and scratched his stubble. “Sir, we’re seeing a statistically-manageable attrition rate in our forces. It’s not like we need a hundred percent force to put down civilian riots. It’s not as though they’re armed with RPGs. You’re missing the point: we’re getting these cities under control. Please come look at the battle screen and you’ll see what I mean.”
They moved from the hallway to the conference room. The big screen TV looked like Christmas and Halloween had been thrown in a blender, then tossed on a map of the United States.
“I know the black areas are blackouts and the orange areas are troop concentrations. What are the red and green areas?” Dutch asked.
“Red areas are active civil disorder and green areas are pacified.” Sam pointed to Detroit, which was still red with an orange blob at the periphery. Then he pointed to Atlanta, which was black with a green blob in the center. “We’ve pacified Atlanta, but we haven’t pacified Detroit yet. There’s a combined force of Michigan state guard and regular army from Fort Custer closing in on Detroit now. The jammed roads are slowing them down, but we expect they’ll reach the city soon.”
“Well, I can see why we’re still in the air,” Dutch tapped the screen over the Washington D.C. area, a large, red blot without any orange or green inside.
“The cyberattack seems to be hitting the area around D.C. particularly hard—Richmond has been dark for thirty-six hours and our forces at Fort Lee are entirely occupied with city-wide civil disorder there. To the north of D.C., Baltimore is an absolute shit-show. Andrews and the White House are hemmed in by four hot spots and the roads are blocked. The Marine Corps barracks at 8th and I St. have barricaded themselves in and they’re waiting for mechanized support. Sir, we cannot land back in D.C. until we make some substantial progress in that area.”
“Please walk me through the situation on the ground in D.C.. I need to understand what’s happening.”
“I’m not sure D.C. is a good example, Dutch. We’ve had an asymmetrical reaction to our peacekeeping force in some cities, including D.C.. Marines from Quantico immediately responded to my call to move on the White House, but they were on weapons hold, so they couldn’t do much more than look nasty. Here’s where it gets weird; they were driven back to their beachhead by a coordinated force of armed civilians—gangbangers, they thought. The Marines took a lot of incoming fire.”
“What do you mean by ‘a coordinated force of civilians?’” Dutch tried to picture it—gangbangers squaring off against Marines—and he couldn’t.
“The Marine ground commander said that civilians were maneuvering on the Marines in a coordinated fashion, flanking their forces and trying to cut off their avenue of retreat. His exact words were that the civilians—‘urban irregulars,’ he called them—fought like Chechen Muslims in Iraq.”
“Wait. He said they were Chechens—Russians?” Dutch interrupted.
“No. He thinks they were gangbangers. He later compared them to trained fighters. Chechens in Iraq were trained by the Russian military before becoming Islamic terrorists. In other words, the Marine ground commander thought that these gangster guys maneuvered like trained warfighters.”
“Were enemy troops inserted into D.C.?” Dutch’s worldview threatened to take a precarious turn.
Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so. We’re working a few theories. In any case, the Marines will crush them now that they’re weapons hot.”
“Tell me about the theories?”
“Nothing substantial. The CIA had a few uncorroborated reports of military age males from the gang population engaging in militia-like training in the woods of Virginia. We wrote it off as urban legend. Maybe we were wrong. Maybe some Mexican cartel was preparing to take advantage of civil disorder. The only entities we could think of who might do that would be the cartels or the Russians or maybe both.”
“That’s insane, Sam. Now you’re sounding like one of those alt-right talk show hosts. I know you have a bit of a burr under your saddle about the blacks and Hispanics, but you don’t actually believe this, do you?”
Sam Greaney shrugged. “Is anything really beyond the realm of possibility right now? Strange came out of the woodworks last night. Some smart criminal or maybe a rogue nation prepared for this. It’s just a few hot spots in a few cities, but some of the gangbangers are more than just pissed-off criminals. They’re insurgents. And social media isn’t doing us any favors. They’re recruiting much faster than we are.”
“Until we’re talking about more than just a couple of firefights, let’s put these theories on ice, Sam.”
Dutch didn’t like his SecDef’s worldview. The president had entered the zone of regret when it came to sharing leadership with Sam Greaney. Dutch reluctantly admitted to himself that he may have taken the “Team of Rivals” thing too far. He’d imitated the personal leadership style of Abraham Lincoln by building a cabinet of bullheaded critics and devil’s advocates. It had played well for Dutch, but that didn’t mean the strategy was bulletproof. His misgivings about Sam Greaney churned in his gut like last night’s Thai food.
The racism thing was coloring Sam’s judgment, but that didn’t necessarily mean Sam was wrong. It did mean he was insecure though, and insecure people with power could be dangerous.
The conundrum wasn’t worth pursuing. They had bigger problems than Sam’s daddy issues—or whatever they were.
“There are a lot more troops around D.C. than just the Marines from Quantico. What’re we doing to take our capitol back?”
Sam stepped up to the map, as though to show troop movements, but the scale was too large. Still, Sam pointed at Washington D.C., a red blob that bled into the red blobs of Baltimore and Richmond.
“There aren’t as many combat troops as you might think near D.C., sir. We’re tapping some ceremonial and administrative units, but they’re still soldiers and Marines. First Battalion, Third Infantry is moving out of Fort Meyer to form a cordon to the south of the capitol and expand the zone of control southward toward Richmond. Mechanized and MP units out of Fort Bragg are en route, but they are experiencing delays due to massive traffic jams. When they get to D.C., they will set up a blocking force to the north, facing Baltimore. 91st Engineer Battalion from Belvoir will split in two and help the battalions from Meyer and Meade clear roads north and south, enforcing a growing area of order. They need to clear Highway 1 into D.C. first. That’ll take a day, maybe two. Our ground units at Andrews are going to expand out from the base, linking up with the Marines and the D.C. Guard to create a protected corridor back to the capitol. The Marines at Quantico will serve as shock troops for the D.C. Guard in taking back the streets of D.C.. We’ve called up the Virginia Guard and they’ll be joining with the Strykers at Fort Pickett to clear the 95 toward Bragg. We would like to get the 7th Transport Group from Fort Eustis in the game, but we’re having trouble reaching their commander. Either he’s tied up with civil disorder in Richmond or they’re intentionally not returning our calls. Take your pick.”
“When can we land?” Dutch asked again.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, sir. There is no major command-and-control base with a big enough airstrip where I can guarantee your safety. If you land, it might generate a surge of protest among civilians. Men could die defending you. Virtually all major airbases are near population centers. I need more time to pick the right base and to create a buffer zone around it.”
Dutch wanted to be part of the solution, not part of the problem. Landing at a new base might exacerbate the problem. Maybe he was more useful in the air, as miserable as it was.
“I’d like to land as soon as we have a reasonably secure landing area—somewhere I can take command and de-escalate the situation from the ground. In the meantime, what’re we doing to get the stock market under control?”