Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) (71 page)

Silence met the admiral's statement.

"Has this information been passed on to Congress?" Ross asked.

Davis nodded. "Yes, sir. I delivered it myself this morning. The Judiciary Committee Chairman—”

"Judiciary committee? Where the hell's the Armed Forces Oversight Committee? Where the hell is the Speaker?"

Davis shook his head. "Unknown, sir. The Secret Service is also trying to track down the VP Jorgenson.
 
They've had no contact with several of the top members of Congress listed in the chain of command under President Reed's COG orders. As it stands, the Secretary of the Department of Education is next in line for the Presidency."
 
Davis looked up from this tablet.

Nella closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "Jesus H. Christ." He opened his eyes and stared at Davis. "Please tell me they at least know where the damn Education Secretary is currently?"

"The Chairman of the Judiciary Committee informed me this morning when I dropped off the intel packet they have a good idea where Secretary Benson is, but he couldn't confirm they actually
found
her yet."

Nella shook his head. "Gentlemen, we're going to have a bigger mess on our hands than we first anticipated. I knew it was bad, but I didn't realize that we'd lost as many members of Congress…"
 
He turned back to the screen.

"Once this is settled, we're going to have to seriously consider persuading what's left of Congress to hold special elections. This country can ill-afford three years of bickering and infighting among the survivors to decide who's going to be top dog and run the show. Next thing we know, they'll be arguing over redrawing congressional districts and it will be a decade before we finally get a new CNC."

Several of the generals and admirals in attendance muttered agreement and talked quietly amongst themselves. The mood appeared grim. They all knew what was coming. Davis knew too.
 

"Brad, I think it's time we put Endgame in the play."

General Ross cleared his throat and looked around for support.
 
"Admiral Nella, I admire everything you've done for this nation and your ability to bring
Roosevelt
halfway across the world to help repel the Russian invasion. But I can't be a part of this. What you're proposing, in my opinion, will be the start of World War III."

Nella waved his hand to encompass the screens on the far wall that depicted American military assets around the world.
 
Battles, hotspots, and conflicts currently raged on five continents and six of the world's oceans.
 

"Open your eyes, Brad, we're
in
World War III. What I'm proposing will
end
this—at least one half of it—and ensure the safety of the people living on the west coast."

"To date," began Ross, "this conflict—no matter where it’s been fought—has remained conventional. I don't think it sets a good precedent for the United States to be the first to lob a tactical nuclear weapon into the fray."
 

Nella nodded.
 
"Noted, but at this point we don't have much more we can do. The Chinese need to be stopped dead in their tracks.
Immediately
. There is a power vacuum on this planet right now, gentlemen," Nella said addressing the rest of the officers. "For too long the United States has been the number one target on the planet—we've been weakened by politicians bent on preserving their careers rather than preserving the country. We all knew something like this was coming, we just didn't know it would happen in our lifetimes."
 
He glared at the assembled officers.
 

"I for one am personally glad it's happening now, so our grandchildren will not have to deal with this." He turned to look back at the screen and pointed at China. "There lies the enemy gentlemen. Not Russia, not the United Nations—they made their play and failed. To date, the Chinese have destroyed 17 American cities and towns, including Phoenix and Flagstaff.
 
Let me be brutally clear: the PRC has caused
 
an estimated 2
million
American deaths. That. Is. Unacceptable."
 
He turned to point at the map again.

"We can infer from their troop movements and supply chain they're planning on cutting off the American southwest and creating a zone of influence, not unlike the Russians in Florida. We cannot and
will
not allow them to reach the Pacific coast. Those cargo ships Capt. Davis displayed on the screen," Nella said gesturing to the next giant screen on the wall, "are more than likely filled with military supplies and ammunition, just waiting to resupply the conquering forces coming in from the east. When that happens, the balance of power will shift irrevocably in their favor."

"Admiral Nella—” began Gen. Ross.

"Los Angeles," Nella said, ignoring the interruption, "is a total wasteland thanks to the wildfires no doubt set by terrorists in league with China. There is a vast swath of now relatively unpopulated American soil, teaming with resources to be used as the perfect beachhead for a full scale invasion by China. If our power grid was back on and the civilian population could receive support and critical services, the military could focus all of our power into this area," Nella said pointing at Arizona.
 

"There would be no stopping us and China knows it. With most of the country in the dark and our comms out due to satellite failures, the best we can do is patch things and keep the status quo. They know that and so we must do something more to stop them."

"Launching a nuclear strike? That's not going to solve anything, admiral. The only thing that will do is escalate matters to the next level. They will in turn launch theirs—”

Nella rounded on Ross.
 
"The Pacific fleet was relatively unscathed in the collapse, unlike the carrier battlegroups in the Med and the Atlantic," Nella said calmly. "We have reestablished secure comms with Pearl and Adm. Lewis is quite confident he's already located up to 95% of the Chinese surface and subsurface Navy.
 
Davis?"

"Yes, sir.
 
Gentlemen, the good news is this all happened before China could get their military on par with our own. Our subs are better, faster, and bigger than theirs. When we launch Endgame, our naval assets in the Pacific will wipe the ocean clean of the Chinese."

"It's a risk," Nella said, looking back at the gathered officers, "I won't deny that.
 
No one ever said there was no risk in war. What we're trying to do here is nothing short of ensuring the very survival of the United States. Every option needs to be on the table, every plan must be considered, and every risk must be taken. We have no other choice. They have backed us into a corner and it's time to strike back while we still can."
 
He sighed and faced the group again.

"What we need is breathing room—to regroup, restructure, rearm, and counterattack. President Reed's strategy was plain in the days before his untimely death. He wished to secure the United States and launch an overwhelming response against our enemies the world over. There is only one way we can accomplish this now, and that is with China decisively out of the picture."

Davis stood and watched as the other admirals and generals argued amongst themselves for a few minutes, with more and more of them nodding in agreement.
 
Finally the lone dissenter step forward.
 

"Very well, Admiral Nella. I can see I'm outnumbered here. If we are going to do this, then we need to do this from a position of overwhelming strength and power. If that way includes Endgame, then so be it."

"I'm sorry I'm glad to hear you say that, Brad. I truly wish there was another way, but this is the only option we have left to knocking China out of the game permanently. This will not only nullify China's global presence, but it will provide us with the least damaging option to their civilian population."

The bank of officers and Adm. Nella stared at each other for a moment before Nella turned to face large screen. "Are we in agreement then?"

"We are," said the commanding general of the Air Force.

"Very well then. Send the order to launch Operation Endgame. May God bless United States and grant mercy upon our souls."

Chapter 77

Something to Fight For

T
HE
GUARDS
,
MOST
OF
them with long hair and lots of tattoos, all had that mean, caged look of animals long denied freedom.
 
They laughed at him from on high. Erik realized if he was alone, if he didn't have friends waiting to inflict violence upon those that had caused so much misery, he'd be a far sight more scared than he was. Just knowing Ted was maybe 200 yards behind him, hiding in the bushes along the shore, ready to take out the guards with his M4 that now mocked him made Erik want to smile.
 

The urge to smile faded quickly.
 
When did I change? All I ever wanted was to play video games and be a teacher, love my wife, and start a family. Now? After all that's happened and everything we've done to survive, I'm standing here before an 18th century fort hoping to see men die.
 
What happened to me?

"Ooo, check this shit out!" a guard called to his partner.

"Big redheaded fucker comin' in!" another shouted.

"Hey, fish!" someone yelled to a round of laughter.
 

"Someone get Carl!"

Erik clenched his fists.
They killed my parents that's what happened.
 
They destroyed everything I had left in this world for no other reason than it was there.

"Wait till Billy Ray see you—he likes redheads!"
 
More laughter.
 

As he looked up at the silhouetted guards against the cloudless skies above and watched them laugh and hurl insults at him, as they lorded over all the people wallowing in filth and misery, his heart hardened for the last time. There was no going back.
 

Every one of these sons of bitches is going to die.

Erik unconsciously blinked and found himself standing in the portal to the gate house.
 
How many times had he been to the fort in his youth? How many times had he walked through this very gate and felt a little tingle down his spine as he realized the great personages of history who had done the same exact thing?
 

As was his custom as a youth, Erik approached the old bronze plaque and reverently ran his fingers down the names.
 
He read the inscription to himself:

Through this entrance to the place d'armes of the fort have passed: George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, Benedict Arnold, Horatio Gates, Anthony Wayne, Arthur St. Clair, Henry Knox, Phillip Schuyler, Richard Montgomery, Ethan Allen, Seth Warner, Major Robert Rogers, The Marquis de Montcalm, The Duc de Levis, Sir Jeffrey Amherst, Sir Guy Carleton, Major John Andre, Sir John Burgoyne, Thaddeus Kosciusko and a host of other great men of our history.

Erik paused as he stared at the last line.
 
It was his favorite.
 
He ran his fingers over the bronze letters, soaking in their meaning.

You who tread in their footsteps remember their glory.

Erik glared at the graffiti rudely sprawled across the aged metal. To think the animals who now occupied this majestic building had defaced it with common spray paint made Erik almost as angry as to see the dozens if not hundreds of innocent and downtrodden people camped in fear just outside its walls.

"It's a damn shame, but nothing anybody can do about it. Keep moving," warned the Colonel.
 
"Shit.
 
Here comes Carl—he's Spike's XO.
 
All right, just play along like we planned."

Erik stepped through the portal and back into the Middle Ages.

The parade ground that took up most of the interior of the fort was unrecognizable.
 
The crushed pea gravel that he remembered stretching across the entire open space was almost non-existent.
 
The ground had been covered with trash, clothing, sports equipment—it looked like an immense flea market.
 
Three open-sided banquet tents had been erected in the middle of the junk heap.
 

Erik swallowed.
 
Loot.
 
It was loot.
 
The only open space lay to his left, in front of the officer's barracks—their target.
 
An area about twenty feet square had been left clear.
 

A big man with wide shoulders, greasy black hair and a bushy, unkempt beard met him just inside the gate as they passed under the enlisted men's quarters.
 

'Carl' wore filthy jeans that looked two sizes too small and a denim vest with frayed seams.
 
He walked up to Erik and stood before him in the middle of the walkway, Spike's lieutenant scratched his crotch and belched, politely turning his head to the side while keeping his eyes focused on Erik.

So this is the son of a bitch that killed mom.

"What the fuck do you want?" growled Carl.

Amazing
, Erik thought.
There must be 200 people just outside the gates while they stay inside and gorge themselves on stolen food. How many homes over there in Vermont lay vacant or occupied only by corpses because of men like you? How many lives have you ruined?
 
How many families had you destroyed over a can of Spam?

"My bounty," replied the Colonel.
 
"Heard you're offering."

"Leave him here, I'll get back to you."

"I said I want my bounty," the Colonel shot back, his voice tight.
 
Erik felt the gun push into his spine a fraction of an inch.
 

Carl's eyebrows moved down over his wide, Neanderthal-like brow and his expression hardened.
 
"I don't give a fuck what you want, old man. Them's the rules. You don't like it, get the fuck out of here. But you better do it quick before Spike decides to make an example out of you for any of these other old fuckers who might wanna get uppity."