Power Games: Operation Enduring Unity I

by R A Peters

  All these wild rumors flying over the internet and television, not to mention the straight up insanity pouring out of the radio, should have been easy to disprove. Problem is, retractions are simply not that profitable. The truth has slim margins. Any pangs of journalistic integrity the media suffered from were washed away by the never-ending flood of ever-greater provocations and senseless violence. If you weren’t first with a story, you were last.

  Disgusted as they were with the superficial, ADHD coverage of the “mainstream” media, so many people turned to the “alternative” media outlets. Millions of Americans were now getting updates on the most important and complicated events affecting their lives from the most respectable news source they could find. The internet.

  Thank God there weren’t any crazy people there.

  Washington, DC

  24 January: 1945

  Self-proclaimed President Pierce’s smile lasted long after the last camera was shooed out of the Oval Office. The sitting president’s smile fell apart before the door even shut.

  “Wipe that smirk off your face. My resignation might help you, but you’re still a long way from sitting in that chair.” Already tired of the formalities, he leaned back on the Resolute desk and folded his arms.

  “How do you plan to fight the Supreme Court, Senator Dimone and the whole state of Florida? The rebels need to be dealt with–”

  Pierce came around the desk to admire the view. He laughed the president silent. “My God, man! What rebellion? Why should anyone have to fight? Four years without having to campaign has really left you out of political shape, hasn’t it? According to the Supreme Court, your vice president will be forced to resign as well. That drops the ball on the Speaker of the House.

  “And who do you think was appointed this morning to that vacant role? We’ll sidestep the Supreme Court ultimatum and congressional stubbornness by following the letter of the law. That will give us a legitimate president until we can hold new elections. Now, I’m sure being the man who prevented a civil war won’t hurt my campaign!” He turned back to the president.

  “That only leaves our runaway senator friend. Once you’re out of the picture, he’ll no longer have any illegitimate foe to demagogue against. A rebel without a cause. His popular support will fade away as quickly as it came. As for his financial backing, well, I’ve already approached Dimone’s biggest financiers. They aren’t interested in throwing good money after bad. I know exactly what they want and find it an acceptable price. It’s a bit funny how they’re willing to sell him out so cheaply. They’ll settle for even less than my own supporters will. Maybe I’m in the wrong party!” He was excited as a schoolboy, while the president just shook his head.

  “Anyway, with Dimone defanged, I’ll offer that calculating attorney general running the show in Florida a face saving way to come back into the fold. Another notch on my belt as the hero that brought this country back from the brink. I don’t know why you never thought of it. You’ve dealt with harder political problems over the last eight years; why were you stumped by this one?”

  The president tried hard to hold the disgust out of his voice. “You think this is some sort of political campaign? Do you have any idea of the social and economic forces aiming to subvert our democracy? The struggle we’re facing is harder and even more dangerous than the Civil War! Those rumors about holding ‘independence referendums’ out west are real. We as a nation are on the verge of the greatest fight in our history, and I don’t know how to stop it!”

  Pierce still kept his perpetual grin on, but his voice held no humor. “No sir, I’m afraid it has always been you doing way too much fighting. You, by staying in power beyond your term and using military force to defend that position, have not only created this crisis, but made it worse at every turn. The only real threat to democracy that needs to be dealt with is you.”

  The president’s eyes burned for a fight. The soon-to-be president backed off. “Ok, I know it’s not as cut and dried as all that, but you know how these things work. Come on, the people need a scapegoat. Five hundred dead or wounded soldiers on both sides is not something we can pass off on an overzealous subordinate. ‘We need to hold someone’s feet to the fire.’ ” Pierce grinned harder at his favorite campaign slogan.

  “Not to worry though. This is politics, nothing personal. I’ll pardon you in a few months when things settle down. As part of the healing process. Sure, we’ll have to let Congress haul you up for some televised grandstanding hearings, but that’s all.”

  Pierce wagged his finger. “Your biggest problem will be all those pissed off soldiers and the families of the fallen. If I were you, I would be spending these next few months reinventing myself as the greatest and most generous veterans advocate around. Have your handlers talk to my PR people; they are great at this stuff and will help with all the details. To help show there’s no hard feelings.”

  The president ambled away from the desk and over to the Lincoln portrait on the far wall. “You know, they, Buchanan and even Lincoln at first, thought the same thing back then. That the growing southern rebellion was just political stuntery and could be countered by other political games. They failed to take decisive action until it was too late to stop the war from happening.” He hung his head.

  “My mistake wasn’t sending in the Army, but rather calling them back. I lost my nerve and now I seriously doubt the military will follow me again. I don’t dare to push them and find out. You should learn from that mistake.”

  He spun around, jabbing his desk with one finger. “Dimone has bitten off more than he can chew. From everything we can tell, what’s happening down South is turning into an honest to God secessionist movement. If you don’t rip this tumor out now, the demonstrations spreading around the country will only be the beginning.”

  Pierce sat slowly, almost hesitantly, in that famous office chair. “Good God! Are you listening to yourself? After sitting in this seat so long, are you starting to think you’re Lincoln or something? Your paranoia and stubbornness sparked this whole catastrophe. What you so casually shrug off as ‘political games’ can put a halt to this senseless violence without another shot being fired!”

  Leaning back, Pierce relaxed even deeper in the plush chair. “I see this was too much for you to handle, but I’ve got the whole situation in hand. By the end of today, this crisis will be a footnote in the history books. Not some type of damn civil war you are so hell bent on starting. I’ll–”

  KADUSH!

  In the movies, people outrun the explosion and jump to safety or something. The human mind simply cannot process the threat an explosion represents fast enough to do any good. The president did not blink, speak or react at all until several seconds after he was literally blown out the door of the Oval Office. Pierce, gesticulating in front of the window, wasn’t blown away…just blown apart.

  The president had no direct experience with explosives. Still, even he thought it was strange how the blast radiated in a narrow cone from the punctured, bulletproof window and left most of the Oval Office unscathed. One bomb, one kill. If only all military operations could be so sanitary. As he slipped out of consciousness, he was impressed by how beautiful a surgical strike could be when properly carried out.

  *

  After the impact, Sergeant Major Brown nodded and dropped the radio missile guidance control box. He climbed as casually as could be back into his stolen pickup and drove away without a backwards glance. The TOW launcher stayed in the bed of a second borrowed truck, exactly where he fired it from. Except for wearing gloves while handling the equipment, he wasn’t terribly worried about covering his tracks. He knew they’d catch him one day. Just not today.

  He launched his baby from the Thomas Jefferson memorial parking lot, across the tidal basin from the Washington Monument, right after closing. At a distance of 2.7 km, the launch site was well outside the Secret Service’s enhanced threat security cordon, but still easily within range of the antitank weapon. For a half-ba
ked revenge scheme, put hastily together on the road and relying on radio news reports for his intelligence, it went pretty well. By the time the Capitol Police discovered the launcher, he was a good 20 miles inside Virginia and whistling Hail to the Chief.

  He was thinking he’d head back to his base, have a couple homecoming beers with his buddies who must think he’s dead and then go make the local MP’s famous in the morning. Those plans changed when he pulled over for gas in North Carolina and saw a TV. The president gave an impromptu press conference from a hospital bed somewhere. Maybe he didn’t look too great, some burns and superficial shrapnel injuries, but the bastard sounded strong and lucid. Humbled but defiant, said the broadcaster. His approval ratings spiked a good 10 points within hours.

  Brown hadn’t yet worked out the details, but instead of heading home, he pointed the truck towards that dangerous hellhole he swore he’d never visit again. He headed back to sunny Florida.

  Outside of needing more gas and a quick burger, he made only two more stops along the way. At a bank and then a gun show.

  Orlando, Florida

  26 January: 1600

  A nervous State Trooper opened the hotel room door for a relaxed attorney general. Senator Dimone mumbled hello without looking up from the television. A pudgy man in a sweaty suit stepped away from the air conditioner, hung up his phone and extended his hand. The grip was surprisingly firm. “Governor Pickens, thank you so much for accepting my invitation. I think together we can make quite a difference to your cause.”

  “Please, call me Frank. Remember, I’m not the governor. I’m just a simple civil servant trying to maintain neutrality and law and order in the wake of the real governor’s criminal actions.” He smiled even brighter and pointed at the distracted senator.

  “Or…a brave, Constitution loving freedom fighter standing up to tyranny. We’ll have to see how this plays out.”

  The unnamed man, you don’t need introductions in the political world when you’ve financed as many campaigns as he had, laughed heartily and put his arm around the attorney general.

  “I like you; damn if I don’t! Oh, I think we can do business. You see, you forgot the third option. How about going down in history as a loyal and high-ranking member of the new administration? With a presidential pardon for all so-called “crimes” committed in the name of defending the Constitution.”

  The attorney general gazed around the hotel suite that was larger than his house. “Well, I’ve never been a history buff. What would this high ranking position pay?”

  As he so often did, Senator Dimone ignored the conspiring around him. He had two televisions sitting side by side to monitor. Each tuned to a major liberal or conservative network so he could compare the slants in real time. You don’t get to be a five-term senator without having an intuitive grasp of popular opinion… and right now popular opinion scared the hell out of him. The only point both sides agreed on was that the time for compromise had passed.

  He interrupted the acting governor and Him. “Don’t you think we’re escalating this too far and too fast? After the assassination, we don’t enjoy the rock solid public support you think. A lot of people still believe we were behind that, despite your advertising blitz. I mean, have you seen this footage? Just look at all these people pouring out of Florida. The only ones coming in look like militia nutjobs!”

  The Forbes “Man of the Year” finished fixing a drink for their guest and rested a well-manicured hand on Dimone’s shoulder. “You can’t see the forest through the trees! Don’t lose your nerve on me now. We have them on the ropes. Look at all these demonstrations nationwide! Hell, even in the president’s home state! The Administration’s support is crumbling around them. People weren’t even this fired up during the campaign.”

  He waved at the press release on the table. “It’s political theater, that’s all. How’s it any different from when you shut down the government over a budget dispute? You do whatever it takes to force the other party to negotiate. It’s time to turn up the heat.” He was almost sexually excited.

  “The president is barely standing. One strong push now and he’ll fall fast. Not to mention all those congressmen that fought against his impeachment. I even have it on good authority that two of the Justices will be retiring this year. All of this is too much stress for them. Good God, man! Don’t you realize what’s at stake? Stay the course now and our party can control all three branches of the government in one fell swoop! We’re making history here. Don’t piss that chance away over a few dead soldiers! How many have died far more pointlessly? Honor their memory by making sure they didn’t die in vain!”

  Senator Dimone was as enraptured as a schoolchild. “Christ! I thought I was a cynical, calculating son-of-a-bitch. On the other hand, when you’re right, you’re right. Let’s do it then. Get it over with. Close the border and all the rest, but we have to play this carefully. No one else gets hurt, clear?”

  They were so enthralled with the fun little details of their plotting that no one noticed one of the State Troopers step outside. As an ex-marine, loyalty ran deep with him. Sometimes though, disgust runs even deeper. He called an old buddy from the Service he heard was doing something for the CIA nowadays.

  Los Angeles, CA

  1 February: 1400

  Sophie put the final touches on her picket sign as her father finally muted the TV and sauntered into the kitchen. “Honey, for the last time, don’t go out there with all those hippi…” he changed tack swiftly when she stabbed him with her eyes, “all those protestors. This isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen before. I mean, this could be worse than Rodney King.”

  She sighed and rolled her emerald green eyes. “We’ve been over this a hundred times, Dad. How can I sit back and let the president take over the country? This is a coup! It’s like something that would happen in Africa. Do you really want to see America run like a 3rd World military dictatorship?”

  It was her father’s turn to roll his eyes. “Come on, you don’t believe those new political advertisements, do you? I raised you smarter than that. For every one calling the president a dictator there’s another one calling the Floridians terrorists and secessionists. Either way, this fight has nothing to do with us. Just don’t get involved. I’m begging you baby, please.”

  For a moment the pleading in his voice almost swayed her. Unfortunately, a moment is not enough to hold a nineteen year old’s sense of righteousness at bay.

  Some horn blared outside and cut off the growing battle. Sophie girded her already short brown hair into a tight ponytail and snatched her world-changing signs. “Ben’s here! I have to go. Look, we’ll be safe. I’m just trying to raise awareness, that’s all. Seriously, I’m not some type of revolutionary! Love you, Daddy. Bye.” She was out the door in seconds while he fantasized about putting his foot down.

  She kissed her boyfriend and slid into his hybrid with her other friends. They left the suburbs and headed downtown like any normal weekend. They stumbled into a police barricade a good mile from where they intended to meet up with some college classmates. That should have been the first clue that things were bigger than they imagined.

  Onward on foot they went, joining in with whatever group happened to be marching on that block. They chanted with the unemployed, cursed with the environmentalists, laughed with the gays… it was a great time with the regular crew. However, closer into town they began noticing new actors. The themes changed from broad social issues to narrow political ideas. In contrast to the professional protestors, the amateur crowds here voiced disturbingly specific complaints. Most ominously, they also had narrow and clear solutions.

  Around the next corner Sophie’s gang took, a well-dressed and mostly middle-aged group demanded the president’s impeachment. In the blink of an eye they began cussing and shoving against a strikingly similar looking group demanding the arrest of so-called “traitors and murderers.” The youngsters were so enraptured by the sight of what could have been their parents fightin
g in the street like teenagers that they ignored the random gunshots in the distance. Even the faint whiff of burning plastic and oil was chalked up as just the smog.

  The police were nowhere to be seen. In fact, throughout the city, they were spread thin on the ground. That was partly due to the sheer size of the unrest. The nation-wide call up of Reserve and National Guard personnel didn’t help either. Too many local cops were also weekend warriors. Of course, the single biggest drain on resources was the run of the mill criminals. From teenagers organizing “flash mobs” at stores to armed gangs clearing out banks, everyone took advantage of the situation. Hell, at that moment someone was stealing Ben’s car a mile away.

  During this chaos the media stuck to their predefined narratives. Demonstrators on their smartphones, especially the young, gaped open-mouthed at images of cops elsewhere in the city rounding a corner in formation. They pumped out tear gas and beanbag rounds into the crowd as if paid per shell.

  The image cut off for a moment and came back with several of officers firing live rounds at someone off screen. Unarmed protestors, according to the newscaster. Some bright boy at the studio had the award-winning idea to superimpose the president’s voice from a recent speech promising, “To do whatever it takes to restore law and order.”

  There was no mention of the surprised gangbangers who, in panic at a wall of police officers trumping towards them, fired wildly at the law. In the rush to be the first with something different, the media had no time to explain such subtlety. The job for the police only got harder, but with every drop of blood some news outlet grabbed an extra “two share.” When the governor deployed the already mobilized National Guard, and Congress authorized limited use of federal troops as well, the media practically orgasmed.