Foreign Enemies and Traitors (87 page)

                Mirabeau shook his head ruefully.  “And
he’s
the one who’s listed as a
deserter
?  Hell, it sounds like he’s the only one who’s been fighting!”

                “So it would appear.”

                “Sergeant Major, who do you know at NORTHCOM?  Specifically, who do you know on Lieutenant General Armstead’s staff?  Do you have a hookup there?”

                The command sergeant major was a squat fireplug of a man, with a pale complexion and black hair.  He thought for a moment, and smiled.  “Yes sir.  I know a few people at NORTHCOM.  In fact, I know General Armstead’s CSM quite well.”

                “Well, that’s good, because I have a short-fuse mission for you.  You’re getting on one of those Blackhawks outside, and you’re flying up to Fort Campbell.  You’re going to find your counterpart or do whatever you have to do, and then you’re going to put these pictures into General Armstead’s hands.  You personally, into his hands, personally. 
Mano a mano
, understood?  Then you’re going to stay clamped onto him as tight as a tick on a hound, until you see him look at the pictures.  All of the pictures.  I’m going to write him a letter to go with the pictures.  Oh, and let’s include a copy of Jenny McClure’s deposition.  After he’s seen the photographs and read my letter, ask him if he has a message for me.  Then fly back here, or wherever our headquarters is located by then.  On the way back, fly over these grid coordinates and shoot some pictures, but don’t be obvious about it.  Don’t orbit, just make one pass.  If you can’t get them, don’t sweat it, we’ll send up a UAV when we can.  Take whoever you need to shoot the pictures, or have the Blackhawk’s crew do it.  This mission won’t be a problem, will it, Sergeant Major?”

                “No sir!  No problem at all!  It’ll be my honor.  And I can goddamn well guarantee that I’ll have these pictures in General Armstead’s hands by this afternoon, and I’ll see you again by dinner with his answer.”

                “Outstanding.  You take care of the Blackhawk, and we’ll get the package ready.”

                                                       
27

President Tambor met with Sidney Krantz
in his special “quiet room” off the Oval Office.  Tambor sat in his black leather recliner, smoking a cigarette.  He was dressed casually, in jeans, loafers and an open-necked white dress shirt.  Krantz was opposite him in another comfortable leather chair.  “I’m running out of time,” said the president.  “That’s why I called you down here.  The Camp David conference is Thursday, and I’m supposed to have finalized our policy for dealing with the foreign military units.”

                “Why Thursday?  I thought it was Friday.  That’s not much time.”

                “It’s a Muslim thing.  They didn’t want it on Friday.”

                “I see.”

                “And now the Joint Chiefs are playing the passive-aggressive game.  They won’t commit to anything.  They don’t want to take responsibility.  They’ve given me a range of options, but they’re staying noncommittal.  They want the decisions to all be on me.”

“Well, let’s face it,” said Krantz, “you didn’t put them in the JCS because of their backbones.”

“True.  Now the big sticking point is whether to have U.S. or U.N. control of the foreign units.  The foreign leaders want the U.N. seal of approval on this operation.  They want blue berets, blue helmets, everything.  They hate being called mercenaries and contract soldiers.  They don’t want to do it like Tennessee.  They want the U.N.’s blessing all the way.  That’s one of the things I have to decide before Camp David.  But our reactionaries will go ballistic if they see the U.N.’s imprimatur on this operation.  Whatever we gain in the Northwest we might lose elsewhere, if it leads to more resistance to federal authority.  So I need to find a way to split this baby like Solomon, without killing it.  How can we satisfy our foreign allies without enraging our own Neanderthals?”

“Well, you certainly can’t put blue helmets on them.  Don’t even consider it.  I’d say we follow the North American Legion model.  Put the U.N. flag on one shoulder and their national flag on the other.  Or put an American flag on one shoulder and a U.N. flag on the other.  Hell, those flag patches are only velcro anyway.  They can change them or stick them in their pockets whenever they’re told to.  They can even put on North American Legion flags, why not?  Who’s going to know?  Let them wear whatever headgear they want, just as long as it’s not U.N. sky blue.  When they wear helmets, just let them use old American helmets.  It’s all about symbolism.  We can tell our allies it’s a U.N. mission, but that doesn’t mean we need to tell our own citizens.  I don’t see the mainstream media making a big issue of it.  They’re still on our side at least.  Which countries are providing the major forces for the operation?”

The president hesitated, and then answered.  “Turkey and Pakistan are providing two full divisions each.  The Saudis and the Gulf States are sponsoring the Turks, and China is sponsoring the Pakistanis.  Russia is sponsoring the Uzbeks, the Kazaks and the Bulgarians.  Actually, some of them will be Russians, but they won’t be in Russian uniforms.  There are some others, but those are the main players.  The Chinese, the Russians and the Saudis will be the primary beneficiaries, after we subdue the Northwest.  It’s been in the works for a long time, but I couldn’t tell you.”

“What are they getting out of it?”

“Trade concessions, port deals, some mines…it’s a long list.  Coal, gas, grain, all of it.  ‘Payment in kind,’ they’re calling it.  They’re not interested in our treasuries, not at any interest rate.  They say we’re in technical default, and they won’t take any more of our paper.  They want physical control of the assets, nothing less.”

Krantz whistled softly.  “It’s a good thing the media are still behind you, or you’d be crucified.”

“I know, I know, it’s a total nightmare,” said the president.  “But I just can’t see any other way to break the rebellion and reassert federal authority.  Tennessee proved that we can’t rely on our own military to wipe out an insurgency.”  He took a long drag on his cigarette, his head back against the recliner, staring at the ceiling.  “So we have to rely on foreign peacekeepers…but just how do we do it?  It’s very tricky.”

Krantz said, “Wasn’t there just a problem in Tennessee between the Kazak and Nigerian peacekeepers?  I’m hearing rumors about the Kazaks getting a little overexcited and burning some homes down.”

“Burning some homes down?  You think that’s all?  You should see the reports I’m getting.  Now there are bombs going off, and allied peacekeepers are being killed by the dozen.  Rebels in Tennessee have even stolen tanks and gone on rampages!  Just in the last few days, more than twenty Kazak and Nigerian peacekeepers have been killed by terrorists.  Some North American Legion troops too.”

“Wow!  I’m sure not seeing any of
that
on the news.”

“No, of course not,” said the president.  “Media cooperation has been one of the few bright spots in this mess.  But that cooperation can only go so far.  We need to wrap up the Mid South as quickly as we can.  We won’t be able to bury these stories forever.  Tennessee needs to be finished.”

“Oh, I
hate
those goddamn rednecks,” Krantz snarled.  “Who would have ever thought that we’d still be trying to root them out a year after the earthquakes?”

“I’m convinced they’re pathological,” said President Jamal Tambor.  “They’re not rational, like normal human beings.  They won’t even act in their own self-interest, no matter how much we’ve reached out to them and tried to help.  They see a uniform and they shoot at it.  It’s all guns and religion down there; there’s just no reasoning with them.  Sidney, I’ve about had it with them.  If I could just throw a switch and make all of those damned crackers disappear, I’d do it.  If we still had neutron bombs, I swear I’d drop them down there in Tennessee.  Don’t smile, I’m not kidding.”

“I know you’re not,” said Krantz.  “I happen to agree.”

“So I’m certainly not going to get worked up about the Kazaks burning down a few houses.  Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.  Sometimes it’s the only way to deal with ideologically committed diehard reactionaries.  There’s just no reasoning with them.  They’re socially retarded; they’ll never fit into the new order.  I swear, they’re like a fish bone stuck in my throat.  The sooner we can get them out of the way, the better.”

“Assuming that you can shape the media coverage and the public perception,” added Krantz.  “That might be just a little difficult with neutron bombs.”

“Well, I was using just a
bit
of hyperbole there.  But I want you to tell that rural pacification guy—what’s his name?”

“Robert Bullard.”

“I want you to tell Robert Bullard to step up the pressure.  Tell him to keep pushing those foreign contract battalions in Tennessee.  Too many of the locals are still resisting us, and I want it over as fast as possible.  I just want it over.  I’m done with Tennessee; we have bigger fish to fry.  Get it done, no matter what it takes.  I’m beyond caring about how, just as long as it can be kept quiet in the media.”

The president took another pull on his cigarette, and exhaled a blue stream.  Then he said, “Give Bullard some extra motivation, if that’s what it takes.  Pay him off, promise him the moon, I don’t care.  Tell him he has to get finished down there so that he can head up my new Department of Internal Security.  Tell him that we’re launching the DIS just as soon as he wraps up the Mid South and he’s free.  That’ll get him moving.”  The president took one more drag, stubbed out his cigarette, and stood up from his recliner to leave.  As he got up, he had a small coughing fit.  Krantz rose immediately after him.  The cigarettes might be calming his nerves, but they were doing nothing for his health.  At each visit, Krantz noticed a few more wrinkles, a little less hair, and now the smoker’s cough.

****

Lieutenant
General Lucian Armstead
was walking from his car up the sidewalk to NORTHCOM headquarters, on his way back to work after lunch.  When he reached the canvas-covered awning in front of the main doors, a short, burly command sergeant major in a dark blue ASU Class A uniform was coming the other way after exiting the building.  The senior enlisted man raised his hand to render a salute, and the general prepared to reciprocate, in passing.  Unexpectedly, the CSM turned almost directly in front of the general, blocking his path and holding his salute.  The general was more than a head taller than the unknown senior enlisted man.

“General Armstead, good day, sir.  I’ve just come from Corinth, Mississippi, where Lieutenant General Mirabeau has his forward HQ today.  The general sends his regards.  He’s not sure if you’re aware of the refugee situation down around Corinth, with thousands of refugees coming out of Tennessee.  General Mirabeau has instructed me to put this package directly into your hands, and stay with you until you read his letter.  It’s personal and urgent, from him to you.”  The CSM dropped his salute and extended the manila folder with his left hand, and General Armstead accepted it.  Then the sergeant major stepped backward and remained at a position of attention.  Behind the general his own command sergeant major, who had already been tipped off by his visiting friend, was holding the general’s aide and CSO at bay with a few whispered half-truths.

Lieutenant General Lucian Armstead knew that fresh trouble was brewing in West Tennessee.  Flash message traffic was flying concerning a friendly-fire shootout between the Nigerian Peacekeeping Force and the Kazak Battalion.  He had read the messages, but West Tennessee was not under his direct authority or control.  The situation there was under the purview of the so-called department of rural pacification, and through them, the foreign “peacekeeping” units. 

The chain of command in these “special administrative zones” went from the White House and the State Department, through the Department of Homeland Security to the nonexistent “department of rural pacification” and onward to the foreign military units.  He was current on his reading of the message traffic, but new refugees, he had not heard about that.  Besides the ongoing preparations for the Northwest campaign, the big story today was the continuing fallout from the blue-on-blue firefight between the Kazaks and the Nigerians.  This amazing cluster foxtrot had resulted in numerous casualties among the peacekeepers on both sides.  It was during times like this that General Armstead was glad to let the civilians in the rural pacification program take responsibility for the situation in West Tennessee.

The flap of the ten-by-twelve manila envelope that had been handed to him was sealed with a string wrapped between two small cardboard discs.  He unwound the string, opened the envelope, and pulled out a handwritten letter clipped to a standard tan file folder.  The letterhead was Mirabeau’s invention, completely unofficial, undoubtedly created on a computer as a humorous gibe, although it looked genuine.  It read “Commanding General, U.S. Army South.”  There was no such command in the United States Army.  Armstead chuckled.  Marcus Aurelius Mirabeau was making a teasing reference to his own command of NORTHCOM, U.S. Army North.  He read the note, and his smile disappeared.

Lucian:  This happened in your AO on Saturday, in Radford County   TN near Mannville.  Done by Kazak Batt.  Est’d 400+ dead.  Have met eyewitnesses—story checks true.  If Duty, Honor, Country still means anything to us, this cannot stand.  I cannot and will not abide this.  We need to meet ASAP.  Send meeting time and location via return courier.  Suggest Fort Rucker visit tomorrow in order.  If no timely response, I will act with forces under my command to resolve situation SW TN.  Lucian, please get on the right side of this.  Join me, please.  Tempus Fugit.  God is watching us.