Power Games: Operation Enduring Unity I

by R A Peters

  Now, before these utopian fantasies could be realized, there was one large element of the old government that needed to be dealt with purely for non-financial reasons. The vast military presence on the West Coast was the great wild card in the game.

  The pro-Freedom media blitz of the past couple weeks likely didn’t have the intended effect on all those Service members that it had on the general populace. What might sway a civilian into voting one way or another wouldn’t convince a professional soldier to betray their comrades. All the advertising in the world couldn’t accomplish that.

  In the First Civil War, regional identity was a clearly definable thing. The US was a smaller place back then. Not just in land area but in perspective. Most people, unless they were immigrants fresh off the boat or wealthy, had never travelled more than a few miles from their place of birth. You could count on, by and large, a soldier from New York being loyal to the North and one from Virginia, loyal to the South.

  150 years later, things were more complicated. In such a highly mobile, deeply intertwined country, which views buying your groceries at Wal-Mart versus Whole Foods a significant cultural difference, something as deep as political allegiance is incredibly unpredictable. How do you gauge the regional loyalty of a soldier who grew up in some Midwest red-state, went to college in Florida but has been stationed in California for years? Plus has a spouse from New York to boot?

  Hence, the delicate gloves the new government used with the military. Those troops in any base not willing to pledge allegiance to the new government were merely offered a special half-pay, reserve status and ordered to stay home. A gentle way to take them out of the equation.

  Attempts to double the pay for those that signed loyalty oaths backfired. Far more troops were insulted than tempted. Any group that wanted to move as a unit back east was allowed to, but without their arms and equipment. It was all such a logical plan on paper, but messy in practice.

  Facilities and hardware were so easily absorbed by legislative fiat, in the politicians’ fantasies, but reality was a “no spin zone.” Occasionally, victories came cheap. Some bases and units with a large percentage of sympathetic staff simply integrated themselves into the local National Guard command structure without incident. Sometimes there was more…push back. In such cases, it was safer to let the military work things out amongst themselves. Let the blood be on their heads.

  Still, every now and again, there were exceptional cases.

  Just such a special problem brought Sophie to Las Vegas for the first time in her life. Of all the military facilities throughout the rapidly growing New American territories, Nellis Air Force Base on the east side of the city might be the most valuable. The base was best known for being one of the Air Force’s premier training schools. It was less famous for its primary value to the growing new American government: home to a major nuclear weapons stockpile. Any country can have tanks and ships, but only superpowers wielded nukes.

  Technically, California’s little occupation force could be considered an invading army. Nevada only voted on their referendum today. Their polling stations were still open. It was almost assured to pass, but the results hadn’t yet been ratified when the California task force crossed the border. Of course, of all the quasi-legal and outright illegal acts ordered by the new Federal Government over the last 48 hours, the raid could be considered small potatoes. The prize was surely worth the bad press.

  This wasn’t the first attempt by the new Feds to get their hands on part of the country’s nuclear arsenal, but they learned a hard lesson from the first try. As soon as the state of Washington joined the movement, a mixed team of guardsmen and State Police showed up at the sprawling naval base in Bangor, Washington just across Puget Sound from Seattle. When the gate guards refused them access, the local authorities forced their way in. That turned out to be a terrible mistake.

  Security there was far tighter than at most installations, since the base was home to half the US strategic submarine force. That made it the single largest repository of nuclear weapons in the free world. The haphazard breach was not met, as expected, by a senior officer willing to discuss surrendering his command, but rather a Quick Reaction Force of well-armed marines. The loyalty of the defenders to the regime back east wasn’t terribly strong, but politics aside, they had a clear mission: Keep those weapons from falling into the wrong hands.

  Needless to say, the entire rebel party was either killed or interned on base. Not only did they fail to secure any nukes, the outright aggression lost the support of most of the post. Solidarity with your comrades trumps politics. This well-armed, independently run base next to a major rebel population center was still a thorn in the side of the new republic. One that no one knew what the hell to do about.

  This raid in Nevada would be different. Key agents from the provisional capitol in Sacramento, California contacted the brand new base commandant via back channels ahead of time. For a hefty fee, and the promise of a higher rank in the new Air Force, he handed over his base the moment Nevada looked like they would join the cause. The 300 California National Guard troops in the contingent were along just in case he or any of his personnel had a change of heart. The 50 handpicked militia fighters were along because nobody had the guts to tell them otherwise.

  Those militia folk weren’t hastily raised and desperate volunteer forces like in Florida, either. These people were well funded, well equipped and well trained. Originally organized to fight against the state’s security forces, they were rapidly becoming an integral part of the budding nation’s security apparatus. As privately funded units, they were a hell of a lot cheaper than professional soldiers or overtime working police officers. Which was a great boon for the cash strapped new Federal Government.

  The only real point of concern was that their reclusive, but well-connected financial backers insisted on maintaining a separate command and control structure. The Freedom Brigades had a parallel leadership hierarchy cooperating with, but not necessarily subservient to, the official chain of command. Curious and annoying, but hardly problematic. There were even historical precedents for such affiliated but private armies. These and more were some of the rationalizations the elected folks told themselves to pretend they weren’t so desperate.

  The Californian Guard commander practiced tolerance, at least. He was firm that “no fucking civilian will get within 100 yards of a nuke,” but except for that he treated the volunteers as real auxiliaries. Sitting there guarding the outer perimeter around the ordinance bunkers, the Freedom Brigade fighters felt like part of the mission and not merely a public relations stunt. Not just there to show the “grassroots” nature of the new republic.

  Buck Sergeant Sophie snatched a lit cigarette from an older man in her squad and stubbed it out. “No smoking while on duty, Private. All those regular military types are watching us. Time to be professional.”

  The man stared down his nose at her. Pretty easy to, since he was a good foot taller. “Damnit, girl! You know how expensive those things are? You get a tiny bit of rank and you think you’re better than me? I was a real specialist back in my Army days.” He yanked out his pack from a shoulder pocket to light another. Sophie ripped the case from his giant hand and tossed it into the truck. Laughing, he effortlessly pushed her out of the way and went to retrieve his precious.

  With the black Humvee blocking the real soldiers’ view, she followed closely behind him. As soon as he turned around, she cupped a handful of his nuts and squeezed. Hard. She didn’t like to fight dirty, but he had body armor on over his solar plexus. While he wrestled with his stomach over not puking, she put a knife to his throat.

  “I got these stripes by killing a marine during the street fighting. You don’t look tougher than a marine. This isn’t the regular Army, big boy. No enlistment contracts. You’re free to go whenever you’ve had enough, but while you’re here, you will respect my rank or I’ll bury you. Might piss off the Lieutenant, but the worst he could do is fire me. So, are we
cool?” Only when his eyes showed sincerity did she release her grip and pull the blade back.

  “This is stupid shit, Jamal. If you have a problem taking orders from a woman, then don’t think of me as a girl. Think of me as your worst fucking nightmare!” She slapped him on the back.

  “You’re a stupid brute sometimes, but a good fighter most of the time. I respect that. Now, let this shit go. Let’s get back to work. We won’t talk about it again.” She turned her back on the suddenly quiet big mouth, just in time to see their militia lieutenant coming around the front of the vehicle.

  Like a good officer, he pretended not to have seen anything. “Hey Kampbell, we’ve got a new mission.”

  “When and where, sir?” She kept one critical eye on her squad even while talking to him.

  The LT grinned wide. He was ex-military and amazed at the quality of some of these amateurs. With a little time and proper coaching, she’d make a great leader. In a perfect world, the platoon sergeant would be responsible for developing her. In their far from perfect organization, the LT was both platoon leader and platoon sergeant. Similar to being a single parent. There just wasn’t the time to do everything that needed doing.

  “Sacramento doesn’t like having all their eggs in one basket. They’re suddenly in a hurry to get these things scattered. We’re going to move some of the bombs back to secure homes in California.” He lowered his voice.

  “I don’t want to freak anyone out, but I think it’s only a matter of time before the Air Force, the real one out East, levels this whole place. Despite the lies the base headquarters are feeding them they must be guessing by now that things aren’t kosher here.”

  Sophie didn’t look worried, just curious. “Do you think they’d really do that, sir? How many hundreds of bombs are sitting around here? Wouldn’t an air strike cause the biggest nuclear explosion ever?”

  “Nah, detonating a nuke accidentally is impossible. I was talking with one of the NBC specialists over there earlier. Fire, shock, explosions, etc…that just destroys the delicate arming mechanisms. The rougher you are on a nuclear device, the less likely it is to go off. They’ve had bombs on planes that had mid-air collisions without a problem. Even had one in a bomber back in the Cold War days that crashed into the side of a mountain without a detonation. No, it’s not the nukes I’m worried about. It’s our fragile little asses that aren’t so hardy.”

  He looked up as if he expected to see B-52’s at any moment. The sight of four friendly F-16’s circling high above should have been reassuring. The protective air cover only reminded him why they needed it. Well, it was an officer’s job to worry like an old woman and a sergeant’s to get things done.

  “So, we’ll be escorting the packages? There never was much time for convoy training, but we’ll do the best we can, sir.” Sophie didn’t wonder about planes and strategy, just about who would make the best driver.

  The LT shrugged. “Even easier than that. They’re moving out in three convoys. Heading north, south and west. We got lucky. Our platoon goes with the westbound team, the quickest way home.”

  He waved his hand at a busy bunch of vehicles parked in front of bunkers five hundred yards away.

  “The Guard will carry the weapons in their 5-ton trucks. They’ll provide the real security with those light armored cars of theirs. Our job is simply traffic control. We’ll move in two sections. One ahead and one behind the convoy. We’re responsible for blocking intersections and clearing lanes through traffic jams; that type of stuff.”

  He tossed her a short-ranged, encrypted military issue squad radio. The militia’s privately bought models were better, but she pretended to be appropriately impressed. “Here’s a gift from our Guard partners. I’ll take the first section and you’ll be leading the second. If there’s anything wrong you can talk straight to the regular troops. I know it’s a major responsibility, but you’re the best I’ve got for this mission.” He searched her young face for any hint of uncertainty or self-doubt. How frightening that he found none.

  “Ok, Sophie, but we need to be on the same page. Nothing can slow this party down. Our orders are to make sure we don’t stop for any reason until we’re at, well, wherever we’re going. They won’t even tell me the final destination.” He waved at all the armed people around them. “Sometimes I think there’s no more trust left in the world!”

  Thirty miles away and almost ten high, a Global Hawk launched from Texas loitered in lazy circles. Even at that distance, the $120 million drone’s classified sensors could still read the nametags of the specks crawling around the desert base below. Positively identifying the slick, 12-foot long silver bullets they were cramming into the back of trucks was child’s play.

  US Northern Command Headquarters

  Fort Bliss, Texas

  15 March: 1430

  “Without a doubt, sir. We just moved from Broken Arrow to Empty Quiver status. The terrorists are preparing to move ‘em.”

  You could have heard a mouse fart in the joint headquarters. There were contingency plans, sure, but no one knew them by heart. The theft of nuclear weapons had simply never occurred before.

  The White House liaison staffer spoke first. Shaking his head, he stole some random colonel’s seat. “You have to call off the airstrike, General. If the nukes are outside the bunkers, God knows how much radiation would be released. We’ll have to try something else.”

  The Air Force general still struggled to fathom just how far discipline had broken down at Nellis. An entire wing going over to the enemy…nothing like it had ever happened in Air Force history.

  “Negative. The bombers will stick to the plan and sanitize the area. Even if it only slows the terrorists down, that’s enough. I have a Delta Force and Green Beret task force en route to secure the nukes. They’re already airborne. We also have a battalion of Army Rangers right here gearing up to retake the rest of the base. We just need to hold these sneaky bastards in place until our troops get to Nellis.”

  This suit was the same one the president sent to keep an eye on the doomed Florida airborne operation back in January. He was here now because of his “extensive experience” coordinating with the military. The general hated him almost as much as he did the rebels. This kid who couldn’t tell the difference between a Bradley and an Abrams was the president’s eyes, ears and mouth to the Armed Forces. What a world.

  “General Lyon, did you not hear me? I understand these things can’t detonate; you people have been talking about that for hours. Still, it’s about the public relations damage of playing with such fire. The president cannot run the risk of even trace amounts of radioactive material being spread about the base.”

  “Listen up, son. We know what we’re doing. The big HE bombs will hit specific command and control facilities far from the nukes. The cluster bombs will blanket the ammo area, true, but they are small explosive devices. Dangerous to people working around there, but most unlikely to damage one of those warheads. We’ll carry on as planned.” He turned his back on the civilian and focused on receiving updates from subordinates.

  The bureaucrat couldn’t wrap his mind around this insubordination. In his world, political connections equaled rank. “General, you are out of line. I gave you a direct order. This is an extremely important operation. If you aren’t going to cooperate, then I will relieve you and find someone else that will. Damnit, man. Don’t you have any honor?”

  The suit was the type that thought having his chauffeur hit the brakes too hard a violent altercation. A wet stain spread down the front of his pants when the general grabbed him by his $500 tie and dragged him out of his chair. The general waved his free hand at the security detail.

  “Airman! Get this fucking little shit off of my base, right now! Honor? What the hell do you know about that? I was dodging flak over Baghdad while you were having your diapers changed by the maid. I will obey a direct order from the president personally, but no longer from any of the vampires he surrounds himself with. No wonder the
se rebels prefer to fight than serve you people.”

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  15 March: 1445

  Jamming a GPS signal is disturbingly easy. The satellites might have been high tech, but they communicate via old-fashioned radio waves. Since, even at their closest, the sats orbit 22,000 miles away from the receiver, that signal is not terribly strong. Even a weak transmitter broadcasting on the same frequency only a few miles from the target can effortlessly drown them out. Car thieves have been using cheap handheld jammers, bought anonymously over the internet, to outwit expensive GPS-based antitheft devices for years. It was scandalous how long it took the military to copy them.

  Except for the circling friendly fighters, nothing showed on the radar screens up in the Nellis control tower. Nothing at all. Not a single civilian plane, big or small, was airborne within a 50-mile radius. A quick call to their counterpart civilian air controllers at the international airport scared the rebels the most. The FAA had grounded all flights in or out of the city and set up a no fly zone around the base. Without any explanation given. Just a firm order with no expiration time. No one from the government bothered calling the base to inform them. Not a good sign.

  The base commander fidgeted. He was always the decisive type, for a senior officer. There wasn’t any point in scrambling more fighters. The only four pilots he could positively count on were already airborne. The tolerance of his people was, to put it mildly, nearing its limits. Sending up the rest of the squadron might just be giving the enemy reinforcements. He paused at the E-word thought. So strange, but it felt right.