Debt Bomb

by Michael Ginsberg

  The Florida’s control room appeared onscreen. Toppled chairs, shattered computer screens, and dangling wires littered the room. A severed arm lay on the floor, the now-dried blood that had emptied from it coating the floor. Three dead sailors, their faces bruised, bloodied, and swollen, were still strapped to their seats.

  Andrea put her hand to her mouth. The pictures were graphic indeed. She tried to take her mind off the images by counting the number of stars on the service logos on the wall.

  “Good lord,” President Murray exclaimed. “Did anyone survive?”

  “Not many. The command staff was all killed. Only the sailors in the bow or stern of the boat furthest away from the missile impact survived.”

  Andrea glanced over at Mason to see his reaction. He was chewing the ends of his glasses. The graphic photos had gotten his attention. Maybe the blunt presentation would change his mind about funding the war after all.

  Admiral Wilkerson continued. “This next photo is the sunken wreckage of the USS New York. A surface-to-surface missile hit her broadside in her stern.”

  The New York’s stern had been blown to pieces.

  “Here is a picture of the New York’s engine room,” the admiral said. “This one’s graphic too. We sent divers to look for survivors. What you’re about to see is all they found.”

  In the flooded engine room of the New York, the bodies of two drowned soldiers bobbed silently. Their bloated faces stared hauntingly, the shock of their last moments on Earth fixed upon their frozen countenances. Broken metal shafts and turbine blades littered the scene. The camera flash reflected off the oil-stained water, giving the scene an eerie greenish hue.

  Andrea turned away, her hand covering her eyes. She thought about Aaron and Michelle. These dead sailors were somebody’s children.

  She glanced at Mason. He was jotting on his notepad. From his hand motion he was underlining something emphatically. He must have sensed Andrea looking at him because he lifted his head and his eyes met hers. She looked away, embarrassed he’d caught her watching him.

  “Do you want me to continue?” Admiral Wilkerson asked. “I’ve got at least thirty more photos like this.”

  President Murray put his hand to his temple and exhaled. He looked around the room at the other attendees, as if to silently gauge their thoughts.

  “Do you really have thirty more photos like these?” said Mason. Even he seemed aghast.

  “Yes, sir, at least thirty more. And I started with the least gruesome ones. The next ones are worse by orders of magnitude.”

  Andrea’s mind raced with plausible excuses she could give to leave the room.

  “I’ve seen enough.” Mason put his pen down and wiped his eyes. “I don’t need to see any more.”

  “Maybe just give us the bottom line,” President Murray said.

  Admiral Wilkerson cleared his throat and straightened his posture. “Mr. President, the first two weeks of the war have been a bloodbath. We’ve lost fifteen ships. Seven have been sunk, including the Reagan. The other eight are so badly damaged they won’t be usable for at least a year.”

  “Casualties?” Murray asked.

  “Over two thousand. Nine hundred dead, eleven hundred wounded. Many badly,” said Admiral Wilkerson, folding his arms in front of his waist.

  General Ogden weighed in. “And the Chinese have kept the Air Force from taking the Chinese air defenses out. We’ve lost seven F-35s and ten F-15s.”

  “How about the situation in Taiwan?” the president asked.

  “It’s no better,” Admiral Wilkerson reported. “Our Army and Marine detachments have suffered two thousand casualties, including five hundred deaths.”

  Admiral Wilkerson gestured to the staffer in the back of the room. The staffer clicked a mouse a few times until he reached a photo of two large building complexes.

  “These are the Taiwanese parliament building and presidential palace, Mr. President. Both are flying Red Chinese flags.”

  Mason pulled his glasses off his face in astonishment. “I never thought I’d see the day Taiwan fell to the Chinese,” he said. “The Chinese have wanted to take back Taiwan for nearly a century. They’re probably dancing in the government compound in Beijing. If we lose this war, the post-World War II international order will end, and China will be the predominant global power.”

  “That’s exactly right, Lew,” Murray replied. “But it doesn’t have to end this way. We need funding to fight back and avenge our soldiers and sailors, funding only you and the Appropriations Committee can provide.”

  Mason nodded. “I’ve never seen pictures that gruesome. I know what my constituents would want me to do about this. I’ll need to convince the Appropriations Committee, especially the Debt Rebel Gang members.”

  “I’m glad you’ve come around, Lew,” the president said. “After Andrea told me how your lunch went, I thought you’d made up your mind.”

  Mason sneered at Andrea. “You shouldn’t have sent her to talk to me. After her antics in that televised hearing, I needed to put her in her place and remind her who runs appropriations in this town. Now that I’ve gotten that taken care of, we can get down to negotiating.”

  Andrea was on the edge of her seat poised to defend herself when President Murray shot her a look. She understood. The president had gotten what he wanted from Mason. He didn’t want her to say anything that might upset his hard-won victory. Andrea grimaced but nestled herself back into her seat.

  “I can send Andrea and a team up to the Appropriations Committee to hash out a deal on funding if you want,” President Murray said.

  “Don’t even think about that,” Mason replied. “She’s persona non grata with my committee.”

  “I’m willing to go up personally if that’s what it will take,” the president offered.

  “No, let me talk to the committee,” Mason said. “Trust me, I have more credibility with the Debt Rebel Gang members than any of you do. The only way they’ll be convinced to fund the war is if I can assure them the Debt Rebellion won’t excommunicate them as heretics.”

  “Okay, Lew, let us know how it goes,” President Murray said.

  “We stand ready to help in any way,” Admiral Wilkerson added.

  The budding lovefest left Andrea cold. She couldn’t tell if President Murray was feeling the same discomfort she was. Mason had already screwed her once when he denied her his endorsement in her congressional race. She was uncomfortable having her fate in Mason’s hands once again. But the president appeared at ease.

  “Gentlemen,” said Mason, standing from his seat and preparing to leave, “when I have an answer for you, I will be sure to communicate it to you and to the public. I want to rally the public to my position.”

  “Thank you, Lew.” The president walked over to Mason, followed by Admiral Wilkerson and General Ogden. They each shook Mason’s hand as he left the room.

  “Gentlemen, thank you for the briefing,” President Murray said to the admiral and the general. “Please keep me posted on war developments, and I will let you know if we need your help getting funding from the Hill.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Admiral Wilkerson said. He and General Ogden saluted and left the room.

  Driving back to the White House complex in the Beast, Andrea couldn’t hold her doubts back any longer.

  “I don’t trust Mason,” she said. “Do you really think he’ll be able to convince the rest of the Debt Rebel Gang and the Appropriations Committee?”

  “Don’t worry about them. They’re probably just worried they’ll be disinvited from next year’s TrueCon Fest if they vote for the war funding.” President Murray laughed. “I’m sure once Mason promises they can vote for the war funding and keep their anti-Establishment cards they’ll fall in line.”

  “Just remember what he did to me when I was running for Congress,” said Andrea.

  “You still have PTSD from your congressional race, don’t you?” He chuckled. “Don’t let it overwhelm your judgment now.
He didn’t have any problems screwing you back then because you were a nobody accountant from Bumblefuck, USA. I’m the president of the United States.”

  If you say so, Mr. President.

  Andrea felt cautiously optimistic after the Pentagon meeting. Maybe President Murray was right. Maybe once Mason came around the country would be able to fund the war. But the sight that greeted her when she arrived at the EEOB the following morning snapped her back to her default pessimism.

  “What is going on out there?” she asked as she walked into her office suite. “The whole place is surrounded by police and metal barricades. And there are a ton of people out there. I could barely get in.”

  “There’s a big anti-war protest this morning in Lafayette Park,” said Rachel. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Our polling has gone into the toilet.”

  Andrea flipped through the Washington Post and New York Times. Rachel was right. Seventy percent of Americans now opposed the war.

  “I guess the American public didn’t react well to the sight of sinking American ships and outgunned landing forces,” Andrea said. “Anything else to brighten my day?”

  “There’s a report Mason might break his silence and go public with his position on the war today in a speech on the House floor,” Rachel said.

  That was quick. Maybe Mason had no trouble getting his Debt Rebel Gang cronies in line. And maybe what he says will calm the protesters.

  “When is he speaking?”

  “Not sure yet, but I’ll keep you posted. The protest will be starting in a little bit if you want to hunker down somewhere.”

  Andrea looked down at the papers and thought for a moment. “Actually, I might go out there and see how people are feeling for myself. Us non-political types don’t always believe the polls. You think it’d be safe for me to go out there and see how people are feeling?”

  “You’re the OMB director, not the Beatles,” Rachel said. “I think you’ll be okay.”

  Andrea made her way outside onto the stretch of Pennsylvania Avenue in front of the White House. It was barely nine and Lafayette Park was already teeming with protesters. They had completely stopped traffic on H Street at the north end of the park. People were streaming in from Sixteenth Street and Connecticut Avenue to the north, New York Avenue to the east, and Pennsylvania Avenue to the west. There had to be at least five thousand people crammed into Lafayette Square and the surrounding streets.

  The massive throng held a dizzying array of signs. “Taiwan is a Western Colony,” read one. Another said, “America Is Not the World’s Policeman” on one side and “Let Someone Else Protect the South China Sea” on the other. A protester with a bullhorn shouted about “nation-building at home, not three thousand miles away.” Chants of “gut the military, not Social Security” and “pay for Medicare, not war,” echoed off the stately façades of the nineteenth-century townhouses lining Lafayette Square.

  What member of Congress is going to vote for more Medicare cuts to fund this war now?

  Andrea’s worst fears were coming true. President Murray had started a war he might not have the money to finish.

  She lowered her head, undid her ponytail, and waded into the crowd. She thought letting her hair down might help hide her as she wandered through the protest.

  It was a strange mix of aging hippies with guitars and tambourines, young millennials with iPhones Instagramming the protest, feminists with pink anti-war shirts, even some shirt- and-tie professionals who looked like they were on break from one of the local law firms.

  Counter-protesters had made their way into the crowd and mixed uneasily with the protesters. A few “Don’t Surrender to the Chinese Commies” signs dotted the landscape. It didn’t take long for Andrea to run into two protestors arguing.

  “It’s not America’s job to keep ships going through the South China Sea,” shrieked an older woman who appeared to be in her sixties. “We’re spending all this money and watching our soldiers die for other countries. If it’s so important to keep the South China Sea open, let other countries fight for it.”

  A middle-aged man in a leather bomber jacket and crewcut shouted back, “Did you see what the Chinese did to us? They killed thousands of our troops, and they had a right to be there. They’re holding American ships in Taiwan hostage. We should fight those bastards to the death!”

  The anti-war protesters had formed a circle about six feet in diameter around the arguing counter protestor and the others with him.

  “You fucking warmongers!” an anti-war protester on the circle’s perimeter yelled.

  “Chicken hawk bitches!” yelled another.

  Andrea didn’t like where this was heading. She scanned the crowd for Park Police or Secret Service.

  “Fuck you, you wannabe Vietnam anti-war protest play actors,” another man bellowed as he rolled up his sleeves. “If you don’t want to fight the Chinese, American blood is on your hands!”

  He lurched toward the crowd and started swinging. The protesters mobbed the counter-protesters.

  “Stop it, stop it!” Andrea shouted.

  Andrea found herself in the middle of a scrum of protesters and counter-protesters. She was feeling around her pocket for her cell phone to call for help when a group of Park Police in full riot gear moved in, slammed several people to the ground, and handcuffed them. Andrea was knocked down in the melee.

  “You all right, ma’am?” An officer outstretched a hand to pull Andrea up.

  “I think so,” Andrea said. “Just a little jostled, that’s all.”

  “Miss Gartner?” The policeman recognized her. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Wanted to see what people were saying up close and personal.”

  The officer shook his head disapprovingly. “It’s not safe for you to be out here during protests. They should have gone over that when you started. If you really want to come out here like this, you need to call the Secret Service first and get an escort.”

  “All right, mea culpa,” Andrea said. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

  The morning had left no doubt in Andrea’s mind. Americans were at each other’s throats. And time and money were running out.

  The policeman led her back to her office in the EEOB.

  “Good lord, Andrea, what happened to you?” Rachel exclaimed. Andrea glanced in her office mirror and saw her jacket was covered in dirt, her hair was a mess, and her lipstick was smudged on her face.

  “Are you her assistant?” the officer asked.

  “I am.”

  “Do me a favor and don’t let your principal go running around protests again by herself, okay?” he said.

  “Okay, okay.” Rachel turned to Andrea. “Let’s get you into your office and on the couch. You look dazed.”

  Rachel seated Andrea on the couch and brought her a bottle of water.

  Just then the phone rang. Rachel went to Andrea’s desk and picked up the phone. “It’s Stanley Marshal.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  Rachel pressed the speakerphone button so Andrea could take the call from her couch. “Stan, what’s up?”

  “Congressman Mason has scheduled a speech on the House floor this morning. The president would like you to join him in the Oval Office to watch.”

  “Of course, Stan. I’ll be there.”

  “So it’s true Mason’s finally going to take a position,” said Rachel. “I guess he was able to get in touch with his TrueCon Network buddies to find out what the anti-Establishment position is so he could take it.”

  “You’re more of a cynic than I am.” Andrea smirked lightly.

  “I’ve been in politics longer than you, sweetie,” Rachel replied.

  “Mason was supportive of more funding when we left the Pentagon yesterday.” Andrea’s voice betrayed uncertainty. “He said it himself that if we lose this war, China will become the preeminent world power. That seemed to change his tune.”

  “Like that’ll mean anything to Mason and company,” Rachel grumbled.
“If you ask me, it’ll all depend on what his voters are saying.”

  “For once, I hope you’re wrong,” said Andrea.

  The energy in the Oval Office was tense. Vice President Campbell, Brooks Powell, Admiral Wilkerson, and General Ogden were already there when she arrived. The protestors in Lafayette Park remained in full throat. President Murray seemed focused on the television in front of the Oval Office fireplace. It was tuned to C-SPAN’s coverage of Mason’s speech. Lawmakers were shuffling into the House chamber, murmuring greetings to one another.

  The lawmakers’ gathering lacked the jocular atmosphere of a State of the Union Address. A sense of foreboding filled the air. Yet the president seemed unusually confident. Perhaps he knew something they didn’t.

  “Thanks for coming, Andrea,” the president said with an assured smile.

  “I’m worried about this speech,” Andrea replied. “That was awfully quick for him to convince the Debt Rebel Gang.”

  “Relax, Andrea. Mason said he’d get the Appropriations Committee and his Debt Rebel Gang cronies in line,” Murray said. “He hasn’t called to report any holdouts. If there was a problem, we’d know by now.”

  “As soon as he announces the additional war funding, we can implement some of the additional attack strategies for dislodging the Chinese from Taiwan,” said General Ogden.

  Mason took to the floor. C-SPAN’s cameras panned the House chamber. The House, usually empty for these floor speeches, was filled with members awaiting Mason’s comments. What Mason said in the next fifteen minutes would determine the course of the war, the course of the Murray presidency, and the course of world events. Andrea’s pulse quickened.

  The cameras cut to the ornate rear doors of the House chamber made famous in every State of the Union speech. They flung open and in marched Mason, speech in hand.

  “He’s in his element now,” said President Murray. “A packed house and all of America watching. He’s about to work his ‘no-one-is-more-conservative-than-me’ shtick for all it’s worth. At least he’ll be using it to help us for once.”

  Mason strode to the well of the House. A hush descended over the chamber. Mason unfolded his speech and began.