A NATION AT WAR - The Second Civil War Book II (The Second Civil War - BOOK II 1)

by Marshall Huffman

  Never one to waste much time, she immediately began to plot her strategy to move into the number one position. She would have to do something about Quasim. She began turning over ideas in her head.

  ****

  President Quasim was no fool either. He had appointed Hanna Cole to the VP spot so he could keep a closer eye on her. He was pretty sure that she would try to parlay her VP position into being President.

  By having her in the White House, he would know everything that she was doing. Security had placed several hidden cameras and bugs in her office. They would be monitoring all hardline calls as well as all cell phone calls.

  Devious in his own right, he was going to use her as a fall person if anything went wrong. Her public image would hurt her immensely if and when the time came.

  You did not get to be the President without knowing how to play dirtier than anyone else in Washington. There it was survival of the fittest.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Attorney General Noel Haskin, Homeland Security Director Adam Little, and Roland Clarke, the Secretary of Defense, sat in the lavish conference room at the HEADLINE NEWS Corporate Headquarters. Across from them sat Bolin Thompson, CEO and thirty-one percent owner of the mega-conglomerate. No one else even came close to the number of shares he held. Next to him were three attorneys and his Chief Operations Officer, Duane Bateman.

  “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Haskin said.

  “Always a pleasure to deal with the White House. Now, what can we do for you?” Thompson asked.

  Thompson seldom had time to waste on idle conversation. He wanted to get right to the heart of the matter.

  “The President in evoking war policy effective today,” Hastings said.

  “War policy? What does that mean exactly?”

  “Starting today, any article carried by any news media, electronic, internet or print about the war will need to be expurgated by a team from Homeland Security.”

  Thompson didn’t move a muscle. They were talking about censorship no matter how they dressed it up.

  “You are telling me that we will need approval from the White House to run any story about the war? Losses? Victories? Upside? Downside?”

  “Essentially that is correct. You have to understand that this is just temporary until the war is over. When you run news stories about the losses of American lives it causes everyone’s morale to drop. We don’t want the citizens going around thinking that everything is gloomy.”

  “So you want to paint a rose colored picture.”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way. We just don’t want them to be despondent over what is going on,” Haskin replied.

  “Despondent? Despondent? Hell, it’s more than despondent. It’s downright frightening. Do you know how many lives have been lost in just this past five months? Despondent my ass. It’s terrifying.”

  “You’re right and we don’t want that fear to spread. Articles that dwell on deaths, wounded, and prisoners of war are causing people to become apprehensive. We need to give them something positive to focus on.”

  “So you just want to lie to them. Is that about it?”

  “No. Not lying. Just not putting emphasis on the negatives.”

  “Where I come from, we call that lying.”

  “Mr. Thompson. We would like for you to simply go along with this until the requirements are lifted. Then you can go back to running the business as you see fit.”

  He sat there looking at them for a few seconds, then leaned over and whispered to one of his attorneys. The attorney shook his head and reached into his briefcase and pulled out a tape recorder.

  “I want a record of exactly what you are telling me. I want a signed affidavit stating that the recording is true and that you delivered the message to me in person.”

  “Mr. Thompson,” Adam Little said, “This is not meant to be adversarial. We are just asking you to understand that the security of the country has to come first. When morale drops, all sorts of unpleasant side issues suddenly crop up. We have more than enough problems without the media adding to them.”

  “Ah...so now it is the media’s fault. You want to shift the blame to us.”

  “It’s not about blame. It’s just a fact that this is necessary for the security of the country,” Little argued.

  “Mr. Haskin. I want a recording of you explaining exactly what we can and can’t do. You are, in effect, suspending the first amendment and the freedom of the press. I want that recorded,” Thompson said.

  “Fine. Here you go,”

  “Wait,” Haskins attorney said and rewound the tape before pushing the record button.

  “Okay.”

  “Under the provisions enacted by the President of the United States, President Benjamin Quasim, you are hereby being delivered the following Presidential Proclamation. All media of any type that includes written, internet, or other means distributed over the electronic media, must submit all articles relating to the war for perusal by the newly created Homeland Media Clearance Office. Failure to do so will result in the immediate suspension of your FCC license and your facilities will be subject to seizure by the FBI or Homeland Security at the discretion of the Attorney General’s Office,” he said reading from the page he had been handed by Clarke.

  “So you are saying that this is a provision of the President's War Policy.”

  “That is correct.”

  “And that you are suspending the first amendment to the Constitution in doing so?”

  “I believe the statement speaks for itself. Good day, Gentlemen,” Haskin said, standing.

  “You may think that you are bigger than the press, Mr. Haskin, but remember we put that bastard in the White House. We are the ones that got behind him and brought him from a nobody to the highest office in the land. You screw with us and by God, we will find a way to bring you down,” Thompson said.

  “A little late for that isn’t it Mr. Thompson?” he said opening the conference room door.

  ****

  “Who in the hell does that little pipsqueak think he is? Does he think he can suddenly suspend the First Amendment? I can’t believe he thinks he can get away with that.”

  “Sir. I hate to be the one that points this out but HEADLINE NEWS was behind him when he violated the Second Amendment. We went so far in our editorials as to side with his decision on Operation Clean Sweep. This is the same thing.”

  “That’s totally different. The Second Amendment is fundamentally flawed,” Thompson replied.

  “How is it different?” another attorney asked.

  “It just is,” Thompson said stubbornly.

  “Yes, well it appears the First Amendment is fundamentally flawed as well according to the White House.”

  “So you are siding with them?”

  “No but you can’t have it both ways.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Crocker and Jamie were walking along through the middle of town. It was weird not seeing anyone about except other patrols. They were still looking for any of Williamson’s militia that might have slipped through the cracks.

  They had been walking for almost an hour, stopping to check houses from attic to basement. So far they had found nothing.

  “So what do you think?” Crocker said.

  “What do I think? About what?” Jamie said.

  “Oh come on, you know.”

  “Would you mind telling me what the heck you are talking about? I have no clue,” she said, stopping and facing him.

  “Uh...well...I, Ah the hell with it. Never mind,” he said and started walking off.

  She had to run to finally catch up with him. They walked in silence for another block before Jamie put her hand on his arm and stopped him.

  “Are you trying to ask me out?” she said, looking at him intently.

  “Well...yeah. I guess I sort of am,” he said, looking down at the ground.

  “Sort of am or am?”

  “The last one.”

 
; “Heck, why didn’t you just say so? I would be honored to go out with you, if there was someplace to go,” she said and laughed.

  He grinned and said, “They are going to open the movie theater tonight. I got two tickets already.”

  “Pretty sure I was going to say yes, weren’t you?”

  He didn’t say anything just reached out and touched her arm, “You are the prettiest thing I have ever seen.”

  “And you are a damn fine man.”

  ****

  “Señor President,” a courier said, standing at attention.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “General Portocus says that they have the plans almost ready and you would know what they referred to.”

  “And?” President Medrano asked.

  “And he wanst to know how far north you intended for them to evaluate?”

  “Tell the General I said as far as the end of California and all the way to Oregon.”

  “Yes sir. I will convey the message. He also asked if all branches of the military would be available without restrictions.”

  “Yes, yes. I told him to use whatever it takes,” the President said, waving his hand.

  “I understand Señor President.”

  “Good. You are dismissed.”

  “Thank you sir.”

  ****

  The submarine USS Springfield SSN 761 had a crew comprised of ninety-seven enlisted men and twelve officers. It was in the service of the ARM and currently in the Albemarle Shelf Valley, just off the coast of Norfolk, Virginia. They had been watching the arrival of the ships coming from the west coast.

  The sonar room was a beehive of activity. They were checking the arriving ships' electronic and acoustic signature library recordings against the actual visual sighting of each of the ships. So far twenty-seven of the ships had been dead on. Only one, a DDG was off and that was due to a new six blade prop being tested. They quickly updated the new data in the library.

  “Captain, I am picking up a faint contact bearing 221.”

  “Got a fix yet?”

  “Not yet but I think it is a killer sir.”

  “Okay. All hands, this is the Captain. We may have a killer lurking. All hands to battle stations until further notice.”

  “Oh crap,” came over the speaker followed by “Sorry sir.”

  “What is it?”

  “Captain I’m pretty sure it’s the new USS Dakota.”

  “Are you sure? I thought it was still doing sea trials.”

  “Sir, I’m ninety percent sure.”

  “Okay, keep me informed. What is its bearing now?”

  “Still on course 221. Range?”

  “6500 meters and closing at seven knots.”

  “It’s looking for something. Maybe us,” the Captain said to the boat Chief.

  The Chief just nodded,

  ****

  “Captain. Range 2900 meters. Course is steady.”

  “Depth?”

  “600 Feet”

  “Copy.”

  They waited in silence. The Captain wanted to be a little deeper but had decided against anything that would cause the least bit of noise. He looked over at the depth gauge for the hundredth time. They were hovering at 700 feet. He knew the new USS Dakota no longer used a periscope but a high resolution digital camera instead. They could also launch unmanned vehicles. If they got a whiff of the Springfield it would be in big trouble.

  Minutes seemed to turn into hours. The normally cool environment was now hot and humid as the crew collectively held their breath.

  “1200 meters,” sonar reported in a voice just barely above a whisper.

  “Three-quarters of a mile,” the Chief said to no one in particular.

  “500 meters,” a whisper came over the speaker.

  A few seconds later, “Passing over us but slowing.”

  The captain couldn’t do anything at this point but wait.

  “Slowing. Two knots.”

  “Stopping.”

  “Dead in the water, 90 meters ahead.”

  Only three hundred feet of water separated the two submarines. If they put a UMV out it would probably see them. They waited.

  An hour went by. Then two, with neither sub moving.

  “Dropping sir. Slowly.”

  “Damn,” the Captain muttered. Considering the closeness it was possible that the Dakota could actually scrape or hit his sub. It was going to be really close if they dropped to seven hundred feet.

  “Seven-fifty.”

  “Seven hundred.”

  Everyone was braced for impact. The sub was so close they could hear it creak as it slid by.

  “Six fifty.”

  The Captain let out a breath. No telling how close it had been but it couldn’t have been more than a few feet. An hour later, the Dakota started moving away from them. The Captain looked down at his shirt and realized it was totally soaked in sweat.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “Son of a...” Thompson said, throwing the script down on the desk.

  “Can you believe this?” he almost shouted.

  The others in the room knew better than to speak up. The story had been about the fighting in Williamson. According to the Homeland revision, the American Revolutionary Militia had crossed over the border to attack the town but had been thrown back across the river.

  The story went on to say that the brave citizens of Williamson had killed over two thousand of the ARM fighters and taken fifteen hundred prisoners. It was a total fabrication.

  “What do you want us to do?” the editor asked.

  “Print the truth.”

  “Sir, we are really going to do that? I mean won’t they totally shut us down?”

  Thompson rubbed his face. This was pure propaganda. How in the hell was the White House going to explain the fact that the town was totally controlled by the ARM? There was no way could they keep this a secret. At some point someone would stumble across the truth.

  “Sir?”

  “As much as I hate it, print their version,” he said shaking his head.

  How far was the White House willing to go? This is just like Germany in WWII when the Nazi’s told the people about their great victories until one day bombs started falling on Berlin.

  “Just like they have it?”

  “Word for word,” Thompson said getting up and slowly leaving the room.

  ****

  “Captain. Ships bearing 144. Speed twenty-eight knots. Hold it. Make that three ships. They are coming out of Norfolk,” sonar informed him.

  “What the hell is this all about?” the Chief of the boat said.

  “They must have picked us up somehow. They are headed right for us.

  “Sir. The choppers are dropping sonar buoys.”

  “Distance?

  “3500 meters.”

  The Captain frowned. What was this all about? Maybe it was a drill of some kind.

  “Four helo’s have buoy’s in the water. They seem to be sitting over something.”

  “Think it could be the Dakota?” the Captain asked.

  “Not sure sir. Whatever it is, they must think they have it trapped.”

  “Whoa, torpedoes in the water. Three of them. They are searching.”

  “How far from us?”

  “No more than 3000 meters.”

  “All hands. Brace for explosion,” the Captain ordered.

  He had hardly hung the microphone when a tremendous shock wave hit the submarine. The Springfield was shoved over on its side and another explosion sent a second shock wave that rocked the boat again.

  “They got whatever it was. It’s sinking, going down fast,” Sonar reported.

  “I guess it wasn’t a drill,” the Chief replied.

  “Apparently not. You think they sunk the Dakota by mistake, thinking it was us?” the Captain asked.

  “It’s possible. They probably don’t have the ship's electronic signature on file yet. Hell, I didn’t think it had made it through sea trials yet.”r />
  “Doesn’t look like they are ever going to,” the XO added.

  The last thing they heard was the dying song of the submarine.

  ****

  “General Ascot, the President and I agree. The town of Williamson needs to be terminated,” Cole said.

  “Terminated? You don’t ‘terminate’ an object. You terminate people, assets.”

  “Call it whatever you want, the point is, the entire town on both sides of the river needs to vanish,” she said.

  “What about the citizens that are being held as prisoners of war?”

  “What about them?”

  “Well, we would be killing our own people. They are United States citizens. Shouldn’t we try to get them out of there first?”

  “General. Listen to me. I will make this as clear as I can. The media already knows what happened there. We have taken measures to suppress the story. What I...we want you to do is destroy every inch of the entire damn town. Now if some civilians get killed, that’s the price that has to be paid for us to win. If they had fought harder, maybe they wouldn't be prisoners of war,” Cole said.

  The President had been sitting at his desk, doodling on a pad of paper. He was watching but saying nothing.

  “Mr. President. Are those your orders? To destroy the town and everyone in it?”

  “I believe the Vice President made it very clear.”

  “But sir. There will be women and children in the town. Surely you don’t want us to kill them as well.”

  “General Ascot. We are at war. Collateral damage is bound to happen. It has in every war. I am sorry we have to do it this way but...well, there you have it,” he said, laying his pen on the pad of paper.

  “Are we authorized to use MOAB?”

  “What is that?” Hanna asked.

  “A Massive Ordinance Air Blast.”

  “Is it a nuclear bomb?”

  “Oh no. It is a fuel-air explosive device that not only sends out a supersonic shockwave but a huge fireball that incinerates everything in its target radius,” the General told her.

  “Ah. That would be perfect. We could say that they not only killed the prisoners but burned the town to the ground as well,” Cole said.

  “So, we can use them?”