Secession: The Storm (46 page)

Heidi broke eye contact with the reporter, trying to move on, but he wouldn’t let her loose. “A follow-up, ma’am. The actions I was referring to were almost two years after the storm. It appears as if the government was mounting a campaign to downplay the consequences of the gun confiscation and using some heavy-handed tactics to do so. Is it your position that justice was served in Mr. Hendricks’s case against the city?”

It was a critical moment, millions of viewers watching their Commander in Chief, and Heidi knew it. If she said no, then there would be calls for investigations that could only lead to strengthen the small-government right wingers. If she said, yes, she would be portrayed as aligned with the anti-gun fanatics on the far left.

In those brief milliseconds, under the pressure of national exposure, Heidi became angry. That one single question from a hostile news outlet served as a fulcrum for the entire debate – an argument that in her mind was outdated and ridiculous.

As the press paused for her response, her outrage mounted. How had this issue gathered so much momentum? What was it that the right didn’t understand? What possible justification could reasonable people have for wanting unlimited firepower in their living rooms? Didn’t the incident in Houston prove that? What about justice for her dead staffers and all of those law enforcement officers slaughtered by a mentally unstable individual who could legally purchase a weapon of terror?

With a voice dripping with frustration, she finally responded. “Given the man’s later actions in Houston, it seems to me that justice was not served. If Aaron Miller is guilty of anything, it is having let Abraham Hendricks walk free.”

The turnout was impressive, with 85% of the eligible voters waiting in long lines at Texas schools, courthouses, and municipal buildings. Some precincts were forced to remain open until the wee hours of the morning just to ensure every voter could exercise the right of choice.

The computers then began their work, struggling to tally more ballots than had been cast in the previous two presidential elections combined.

It was 9AM the following morning when the results were called. Fox News was the first to make the announcement. Texas had voted to secede from the United States by a margin of 52 to 48 percent.

All eyes turned to Washington, the president’s signature now required to grant the state its independence.

President Clifton sat in the conference room, surrounded by the solemn faces of her cabinet.

“Be careful what you ask for,” were her first words after the election results were posted.

Gauging his boss’s mood, Aaron spoke up. “There are many experts who believe austerity can be a product of limited size. Without Texas and her conservative leanings, you can proceed with our agenda, ma’am. We can begin invoking an entire series of reforms and improvements for our citizens. My prediction is the new republic will fail, leading to talk of their return to the union within five years, just like the last time this happened.”

“So you believe I should ratify the treaty? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Yes, ma’am. I believe you have to sign it.”

Heidi’s head snapped up as if she’d been stung. “I don’t
have
to sign anything.”

Aaron shook his head, “I didn’t mean that literally, Madam President. I was only speaking from a political perspective. The conservatives now feel empowered. Many will relocate to Texas; others will sense their side is now vastly outnumbered, and they will seek to compromise. The federal government of the United States can again begin to function and improve the lives of its citizens.”

“And if I refuse to ratify the TOS?”

“Then your presidency will end with the next election. You will be attacked without mercy, from all sides, both for going back on your word and wasting all this time,” Aaron replied in a low tone. “Be rid of them, ma’am. Accept this event as one of the most opportune in the history of our country. We have eliminated a political segment of the population that no longer shared the same values as the majority of the country, and we will have improved the overall standing of our nation in the process. It is a win-win for all involved. Embrace it. Ride the wave of success and start implementing your objectives and agenda.”

Turning to her press secretary, Mrs. Clifton nodded. “In today’s press briefing, go ahead and let the media know that I will sign the treaty.” 

On July 3, the coastal city of Corpus Christi, Texas awoke to an unusual sight. It wasn’t uncommon to see hefty ships in the city’s namesake bay. After all, the port was one of the busiest in the United States. Nor was it unusual to witness massive hulls plying the dredged channel, since the facility was one of a handful along the Gulf Coast capable of handling Panamax-sized vessels.

What the sleepy-eyed residents weren’t accustomed to seeing was a line of warships approaching the city’s skyline. A lot of warships.

Stretching into the sun-brightened, eastern horizon, the grey outline of a dozen naval vessels gradually appeared out of the early morning mist. First came the Arleigh Burke-class destroyers, their decks bristling with missile launchers to protect the fleet from airborne threats. Next, sped a larger Ticonderoga class cruiser, its arsenal of Tomahawk cruise missiles making it one of the most powerful offensive weapon systems in the world. And finally, dwarfing all others, streamed the USS Ronald Reagan, a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier.

As long as three football fields and displacing over 100,000 tons,
Gipper
was an ominous, nuclear-fueled symbol of power projection. With an air wing of 88 state-of-the-art warbirds, this single ship boasted more offensive capabilities than the entire air force of many countries.

Fortunately for the citizens of Corpus, the carrier strike group gliding toward their town had no hostile intent. In fact, quite the opposite was true.
Gipper
and her escorts were on their way to a new homeport where they would participate in a ceremony welcoming the fleet to the Republic of Texas. Before the festivities on the 4
th
of July were concluded, over 40 such ships would lower the U.S. Stars and Stripes and raise the flag of their new nation, an emblem sporting a single, solitary star.

Zach stood on duty at the base of the reviewing stand, a mere six feet in front of Governor Simmons, wishing he could watch the big boats instead of the immediate surroundings. The nautical spectacle might have salvaged the morning.

Not only had the day’s ceremonies cut into what was a rare, 3-day weekend for the ranger, the president-in-waiting’s itinerary had required leaving Austin no later than 3:30 AM. Way too damn early, even for a country boy.

But today was special, the first, and most visible handover of U.S. military assets to the new republic as part of the Treaty of Secession. Tomorrow, there would be two countries celebrating their independence.

When the official date of the TOS was announced, Zach thought the choice was in bad taste. Many Americans were already stinging mad over the country’s split – to make it all official on a national holiday commanding such historical significance was just throwing salt in the wound.

He’d mentioned as much to Major Putnam, his new boss’s response being a grunt, joined by sarcasm, “Why Ranger Bass, I’m impressed with your sensitivity toward your fellow man.” The derision wasn’t lost on Zach.

Besides the lost time off and the early hour, Zach couldn’t ignore the hypocrisy of the entire event.

The ranger, having been assigned to the governor’s security detail at the time, knew full well that Texas no more coveted an aircraft carrier than it sought a mile-wide sinkhole. While the delegation from Austin had negotiated for a significant number of ships as part of the 9% defense allotment, the defensive specialists could see no reason for the Lone Star republic to require force projection of such magnitude. Many believed that carriers were on their way out, soon to be the dinosaurs of the seas.

After a quick scan of the growing crowd indicated no threat to his protectorate, Zach’s eyes then glanced at the USS Lexington, a decommissioned WWII carrier moored nearby and open to the public as a museum.
Maybe they’ll dock this one over there beside her
, he mused.  

The entire argument, one of the thousands of such disputes between the two parties, had been an interesting dichotomy.

Much of the mainstream media often portrayed the new republic as a future bastion of hawkish, conservative, gun-toting rednecks that would show little mercy for the unfortunate or anybody that disagreed with their philosophy.

One editorial in the
NY Times
even went so far as predicting that Texas would be the first country to use nuclear weapons in the modern era – such was the intolerant nature of her spirit.

Yet, throughout the seemingly endless TOS bartering, the representatives sitting under the Lone Star had shown a pronounced tendency to barter for fewer military assets and more public infrastructure.

“We don’t want an aircraft carrier,” Zach had heard repeatedly. “We don’t need nuclear submarines or stealth bombers. We would prefer more water rights along the Rio Grande, co-occupation at some U.S. embassies overseas, and a higher percentage of existing trade agreements.”

For a while, it seemed like the Pentagon was trying to pass off all of the high-dollar, marginally effective weapons programs onto the new government. But the men and women selected by Simmons were four-star generals and senior admirals, professionals who knew the game and wanted to change the rules.

Some of the bitterest haggling had been over the small, insignificant assets. The U.S. delegation had readily sacrificed a full, heavy, armored division, but didn’t want to pay more than a dollar per year to acquire a 99-year lease on the Johnson Space Center outside of Houston.

Texas, at one point, had walked out of the talks over Washington’s offered address for the new Texas Embassy in the nation’s capital, the delegates claiming the new republic was being corralled into an undesirable location.

But they got it done, and the ships now rolling into Corpus Christi Bay were proof of that. Tomorrow, at high noon central standard time, the formal handoff would be finalized. At that same moment, broadcast all over the world, the Stars and Stripes would be lowered for the last time on every military base, federal courthouse, postal delivery building, and U.S. office in the Lone Star State.

Zach wished he could watch, but he would be busy packing up and heading back to Alpine. His tenure as a bodyguard was up, the ranger gladly accepting reassignment to the criminal investigation arm of the Texas Rangers.

David pulled into the club’s parking lot, hustling his bag out of the trunk with more urgency than normal. He wanted to get in some distance work on the putting green, but it wasn’t looking good. A late start, looming tee time, and busy holiday crowd were all working against him.

Rounding the corner of the locker room, he stopped mid-stride, a manifestation of surprise commanding his usually stoic expression. There wasn’t a soul on the first tee or the practice facility. As a matter of fact, there wasn’t anyone in sight.

“The course can’t be closed today,” he mumbled, turning to the main clubhouse. “No way they’d shut it down on a holiday.”

His state of isolation ended soon enough. Opening the heavy glass door of the lounge’s entrance, he was immediately assaulted by a wave of sound. He strode into a standing room only crowd inside.

He shouldered his way through, more than a little curious about what was going on and searching for familiar faces among the multitude. Within a few steps, it was clear everyone was focused on one of the many flat screen televisions scattered around the facility.

He spotted Andy, Jimmy, and Paul at a table, his friends pointing at the single empty chair. “We’ve been saving this for you,” Paulie greeted.

“Thanks. What’s going on?” David asked, taking a seat while still studying the mass.

“Where have you been?” Andy asked across the table. “Today’s the transfer of the flag and the signing of the Texas treaty.”

Craning his neck to see above the gathered throng, David finally found a clear view. He watched as the U.S. flag was lowered, the scene looking like it was being broadcast from a naval vessel. On the other side of the split screen, the president was signing some sort of heavy-bound document. He recognized the governor of Texas penning an identical copy.

The view of the ship changed, a more distant shot that panned over hundreds of sailors in their bright, white uniforms lining the deck of an aircraft carrier. When the Texas flag began climbing the pole, all of the military personnel saluted crisply.

“That shit just isn’t right,” someone said forcefully from the bar. “That really pisses me off. I’ve been taxed to death the last 20 years to pay for that fucking ship, and now Clifton just gives it away like it’s last night’s leftovers.”

The television then changed, displaying an image of a scoreboard-like sign - the national debt clock. On cue, the number declined drastically, taking into account the amount of the obligation now the responsibility of Texas.

“See there,” someone answered the big mouth at the bar, “The president didn’t give away those ships; she sold them to pay down our debt. Our country is now 1.2 trillion to the better.”

“Sold them, my ass,” another responded. “Practically gave them away if you ask me.”

“Who needs Texas, anyway?” someone else shouted from the crowd. “Good riddance.”

A sequence of assorted buildings and other facilities flashed on the screen, the American flag being lowered all around. Some of the video images were clearly courthouses and office buildings, but many were of military installations.

“This is Dyess Air Force base,” stated an announcer, “Until a few weeks ago it was the home to one of America’s B1-Lancer bomber squadrons. While the Texas Department of Defense won’t finalize its deployment strategy for some months, most analysts believe Dyess will become the home of one of the new nation’s fighter wings. After the full transfer is complete, Texas will own over 1500 aircraft, including state of the art F-22 Raptors and other stealth planes.”

David noted the gathering had grown quiet, the mostly male assembly staring at the images being broadcast all over the world.

“This is Fort Hood in central Texas,” came another announcer’s voice as a new scene streamed on the displays. “Home to the newly named Texas 7
th
Calvary, a heavy armored division, complete with hundreds of Abrams M1A2 tanks and Stryker armored vehicles.”

Someone at a nearby table broke the room’s trance, “I was stationed at Fort Hood,” noted the calm voice. “I thought I’d never see the day when an American flag wasn’t flying over that base.”

On and on the pictures continued, some drawing comments from the subdued mass, others met with melancholy, silent expressions.

“I knew this was going to happen today,” Andy said, never taking his eyes off the screen. “But it just seems so… so… so disheartening. I had no idea it would hit me this way.”

“It’s almost like we lost a war and are surrendering,” Jimmy added.

“Nothing’s going to change, guys,” Paulie announced in a cheerful voice. “Your customers aren’t going away; your taxes aren’t going to change, and you’ll still be paying me money at the end of 18 holes. No big deal.”

David evaluated the mood of the room as mixed. About half of the members seemed upset, many lowering their heads and frowning. The other half seemed not to care. He had to admit, the greatest country on earth seemed a little smaller now.