Power Games: Operation Enduring Unity I

by R A Peters

  Where the name United Republics of America came from is still shrouded in historical uncertainty. The favorite story claims it was first used in a heated exchange between Ms. Salazar and the president shortly after his emergency term extension. During one of the last conference calls, just before reunification negotiations broke down for the last time, her assistants and their federal counterparts were at each other’s throats. She and her rival president ignored the insults and teenager-like threats their staffs traded. Mostly.

  The president’s staffers mocked the concept of a rival government and in particular her status as the legitimate president. In response to the remark that, sure, there were two Americas, the USA and the United Sociopaths of America, she stepped into the debate and coined a new term.

  “The first President of the United Republics of America would like to speak to the last President of the United States of America privately.” The legitimate sounding URA silenced the president’s men. She drew a solid and dangerous line in the sand by showing that they’d moved well beyond legal squabbling and headline grabbing.

  The least favorite, though most likely story, claimed the name was a product of some LA advertising agency. The well-crafted result of countless focus groups. It’s also possible that both versions hold a little truth.

  Origins aside, a name was finally necessary if they were ever going to achieve complete legitimacy. It was getting confusing every time so-called federal officials warned of the dangers from other people calling themselves federal officials. URA authorities vehemently denied they were in any way, shape or form seceding from the Union, even as they redesigned the flag. Those early days were confusing, to say the least.

  One unintended consequence of the title adoption is that it gave foreign powers a government to recognize. Not that anyone in Sacramento had sought such recognition. Some back channel feelers were put out, but the initial feedback wasn’t reassuring. Formal requests were not sent out to foreign governments over fear of the political embarrassment rejection could cause.

  But this didn’t keep some traditional enemies of the US from immediately recognizing the newly minted URA as a legitimate nation. Iran and North Korea issued friendly press releases the same day California passed the Freedom referendum. The compliments were accepted by Sacramento with awkwardness. Unsure of the appropriate response to this unwelcomed support, URA politicians did the same as their USA counterparts: they ignored it.

  One nation no one could ignore, however, was the People’s Republic of China. In a tongue in cheek mocking of the USA’s long standing quasi-recognition of Taiwan, they announced their own “One America” policy shortly after the name adoption. While publically stating that there was only one America and one legitimate American government, they chose to remain neutral and not oppose either claimant. This roundabout granting of legal status to the new regime from someone actually important opened the diplomatic floodgates.

  Within weeks, most non-NATO members accepted some variation of China’s policy. Not that China offered only moral support. Apparently, in the diplomatic world, there is a huge difference between “not opposing” and “not supporting” something. In less than two weeks, a private, nonprofit “Chinese Institute of America” opened in Sacramento.

  This new nongovernmental organization graciously offered to perform citizen and consular services, as well as serve as a point-of-contact for trade issues in America. Not in the USA or URA, but simply in “America,” according to their website. That this company employed double the staff in their sprawling office park as the official embassy in DC surprised no one.

  That the onsite manager of this firm was not a high-ranking Chinese bureaucrat, but a senior Chinese military officer was surprising, though. Oh, the general resigned his post to work “in the private sector,” but the deputy operations officer of the Chengdu Military Region Special Forces doesn’t walk off the job without official sanction. In fact, the company had a strange habit of recruiting almost exclusively from ex-military, intelligence and foreign ministry workers in the PRC. All mundane administrative details were outsourced to some local US company.

  Washington’s reasoned response to this insult was to return the PRC ambassador’s passport. At the urging of Congress, the president reluctantly ordered all PRC missions in loyal areas closed. Two weeks later, a terrified Taiwan received the official recognition from a spiteful US Senate they always wanted…just as all US military forces were being withdrawn from the Pacific. Mainland China’s outrage was epic. Who cared though? What could they do way over there?

  The greatest annoyance for the California led republic was how helpful the PRC’s were. In Beijing’s eyes, the only thing better than one giant export market like the US were two markets. They were supposedly the communists, but man oh man, did they have a lot of ideas on how to profit from the crisis.

  From day one, they’d been proposing one scheme after another to increase military cooperation between the two countries, in order to strengthen “mutual defense.” Proposals to trade military technology fell through when it was clear they had little to offer. Their hopes to sell arms to the provisional government likewise fell on deaf ears.

  Never mind that there were good reasons the Chinese government stole weapon designs from the US and not the other way around. The big driver behind the growing military buildup in the URA was as much economic as political or strategic. Too many jobs had already been lost in the economic devastation of the last few months. Sacramento officials tactfully, but firmly made it clear that these new defense contracts would go to domestic sources.

  Undaunted, their representatives persevered with one creative scheme after another. The solution they pushed the hardest, though politely rejected every time, involved getting Chinese troops stationed in the new country. With foreign peacekeepers on hand, the USA would never dare attack for fear of starting World War 3. The Chinese seemed genuinely interested in the security of the new government. They were even surprisingly frank about their rationale. A hot war would be a disaster…but an inter-American Cold War would be pretty damn good for business.

  To be fair, that last point was echoed by many movers and shakers throughout both Americas.

  Fort Myers Beach, Florida

  3 April: 1500

  Three federal MRAP 4x4 trucks coasted lazily along Estero Blvd. Thirteen soldiers on board scanned their sectors just as casually. Between the stunning view of the Gulf Coast a hundred yards away and the bikini-clad girls playing volleyball, they were far from alert. Their “patrol” was more in an armed Baywatch style than the expected wet version of Iraq. Which suited the men just fine.

  The lead truck’s gunner enjoyed the best view. “Dude, all these years I bitched about the Army sending me to shitty, dusty places. I always hoped we’d invade somewhere with a beach! I just joined the Service too soon.”

  His driver was equally impressed, but less enthused. “Except that these are fucking Americans, man. I got an aunt who lives in some retirement village around here. How crazy is this shit?”

  “What ain’t crazy about the military? At least this time the craziness is hot…” Their sergeant lost track of his thought as he admired some hot pants wearing chicks rollerblading past them and waving.

  Seemed a lot of people around here had respect for the US Army. Just as many flashed thumbs up at them everywhere they went as glared with unshielded hatred. Of course, the majority in this town didn’t give a damn one way or the other. Things were way different farther north, where the real combat took place, but down here, you felt on vacation rather than on duty.

  The gunner stuck his head into the truck. “No bullshit, Sergeant, how long you think we can milk this? How long until they send us to the front?”

  “Hell if I know. I am but a mushroom. Same as you. Kept in the dark and fed shit.”

  The know-it-all driver already had everything worked out. “As soon as they figure out where the ‘front’ is. Remember Kansas? They were staging a whole
shitload of gear and troops there when the state just upped and joined this ‘New America’ thing. No referendum, no speech making, just called out their Guard and closed the border to everyone except those Western militias.

  “Most of the armored vehicles and heavy equipment were surrendered in exchange for allowing the trapped troops to leave unharmed. It was a huge disaster, and all over the real news. We lost, like, a division or so of gear without hardly firing a shot. How do you invade a country that has no fixed border?”

  “Yeah, I heard about that, but you forgot about all the guys that didn’t leave. Even the liberal news outlets admitted that thousands stayed behind and joined the enemy.”

  The sergeant’s voice cut in with deadly seriousness. “It’s best to forget about them. Nothing good can come from discussing this. You hear about these desertions all over the country…but they’ll start cracking down on them at some point. I don’t mean a slap on the wrist either; I’m talking real bad shit.”

  The new specialist in the back finally pitched into the conversation. “I know what you mean, Sergeant. In my last unit, they were chaptering people out of the Army left and right. Make one joke that some officer takes the wrong way and you’re gone.” He snapped his fingers and laughed. “I’ve never seen anything like it. There used to be no way out of the military once you raised your right arm, and now people have to fight tooth and nail to stay in!”

  He suddenly stopped laughing. “At first, I mean, that’s all they did. Just kick you out. The day before I was transferred here I heard about some rough shit going down.”

  Everyone was all ears. “A bunch of guys being kicked out hit up the armory on their last night. Made off with most of a company’s worth of small arms and machine guns. No one knows if they went out west or what. Several guys still on active duty were arrested for ‘aiding and abetting the enemy.’ The colonel even talked about executing the highest-ranking one! I transferred out the next day, but I hear the whole base is on lockdown still. No one can trust anyone there.”

  The driver’s voice oozed skepticism. “I didn’t hear about that and I read every issue of the Army Times cover to cover.”

  The sergeant threw up both hands. “A lot of stuff gets conveniently left out of the Times. It used to be pretty good, mostly independent, even if cheesy. In the last couple of weeks though, Christ, it’s like some propaganda piece out of World War Two.”

  “How fucking old are you, Sergeant?”

  The NCO bit off a comment about being old enough to knock up the driver’s mother. He had to get these dumbasses to pay attention. As usual, they weren’t taking things seriously enough.

  “Listen, I believe him. All the higher ups are nervous as hell and suspicious of every damn little thing. As I said, you should watch what you say. Speak your mind around me; I don’t give a shit. I think you’re all idiots anyway, but remember, these are ultra-sensitive issues with the officer folk.”

  The driver spit out the window. “You are what you lead, boss!”

  The NCO reached over the radio mount between them and playfully punched his helmet. “Shit, they’re wasting money with these new loyalty tests nowadays. What we really need are IQ tests!”

  The driver flipped him the bird. “Seriously, Sergeant. Think about it. What they’re doing is stupid, even by the Army’s low standards. Just let these bitches go if they want to puss out.”

  The new guy was the thoughtful type. “Most of them aren’t chicken, really. I know at least one of them pretty good. He was a real badass. Even got a Silver Star back in Helmand. When Big Army started these loyalty tests, he just went AWOL and drove back home to Idaho the day they joined California’s new government stunt. He emailed me after he enlisted in their ‘Army.’ They gave him an immediate promotion to staff sergeant and now he’s a damn drill instructor. He has a class of a hundred civilians that he’s turning into soldiers. Say what you will about his politics, but he’s got guts. That’s no pussy.”

  The gunner hollered down the hatch. “Speaking of pussy, when are we going to get a chance to mingle with the locals, hmm? Try to win some hearts and ass.”

  “It’s hearts and minds, dipshit.”

  “Believe me bro; I ain’t picky about her mind!” Even the uptight new guy laughed.

  Their NCO took one last look around the peaceful, idyllic beach island. “Maybe we ought to mosey our way back to the FOB.” He radioed the rest of the section.

  “Alright, boys, let’s head on back to Naples.” The horny soldier above him moaned. The NCO grinned and added a quick FRAGO. “On second thought, let’s grab a bite to eat along the way and do some ‘relationship building’ with the natives.” The gunner clapped him on the back and hooted.

  It didn’t take long for the hulking armored trucks to get off the island. After the dense beach district traffic, the two-lane causeway heading towards the mainland felt wide open. The convoy crossed a bridge and roared onto an even smaller sandbar called Lovers Key State Park. What a beautiful name for such a terrible place.

  A few seconds after crossing the bridge they saw something that made them slam their brakes hard. A 10-foot gator lay sunning itself in the middle of the road. None of these fellows had ever seen one before. This was Florida after all, but still…

  Novelty spooks a professional soldier like a break in routine puts a dog on edge. The NCO barked immediately over the radio. “Watch your spacing. Crew served’s: give me 360°. Dismounts out and do your 5 x 25’s, over.”

  The convoy took up defensive positions without further discussion. Those soldiers that weren’t driving or manning a “crew served” machine gun got out in pairs and began searching for threats. The “5x25” system is, by now, a basic counter-insurgency tactic. One soldier would take a knee and cover his partner. The other man advanced in five-meter increments, scanning intently his immediate vicinity for signs of IED’s, until he got 25 meters away from the vehicle. The whole effort seemed incredibly out of place in this vacation retreat, but SOP was SOP. No matter how ridiculous.

  Even after each element reported clear and any possible moment of surprise had clearly passed, their section leader still felt uneasy. He personally approached the gator and cleared the surroundings. No telltale signs of anything. Only after his gunner scanned the full perimeter twice with the vehicle mounted thermal set did he begin to relax. The hi-resolution imaging equipment was top of the line. Even in broad daylight it could penetrate through the thick bush on both sides of the road and find anything lurking nearby. No one was around for at least a hundred meters.

  “Is the Warlock still on?” shouted the section leader.

  His gunner back in the truck made a quick check of the vehicle’s electronic signals jammer. The manufacturer claimed that this big green box created an impenetrable “bubble” of electronic jamming within a 300-meter radius. The entire electromagnetic spectrum, except for those bands used by friendly radios, was thoroughly denied to the enemy and any radio-frequency command detonated IED’s. From cell phones to garage door openers, nothing was supposed to get through. It even worked, more often than not. What more could you hope for with technology?

  “Roger. Full strength and not actively intercepting anything.”

  Maybe he was overreacting. This wasn’t freaking Afghanistan, after all. Let the dumbasses take a few pics with the gator. “Alright, get your damn photos, but stay alert.”

  Despite his standard issue gruffness, the sergeant figured it was pretty damn cool too. He took photos for his guys while still throwing one eye on the Mangrove trees around them. He couldn’t quite put his finger on the problem, but something puckered his asshole. A car horn honked behind the convoy.

  “Keep them back! No one passes us until we’re done. You know the drill.”

  At that point, something clicked. The whole time they were playing there, not a single vehicle had come from the opposite direction. They were just so used to the traffic parting for them that no one thought twice about why no oncoming c
ars came their way. After so long stopped here…that couldn’t be an accident.

  The gunner who swept the entire area with his thermal sight paid no attention to the heat signature from the gator. It never crossed his Minnesotan mind to wonder why a cold-blooded reptile would have a warm belly.

  One of the soldiers, the bravest, if not the brightest, poked the mini-dinosaur with his rifle. “This gator is dead,” he announced with authority as he also lifted the tail.

  “Contact 12 o’clock. Get down!” The explosion drowned out everything the NCO screamed after “contact.” Not that hitting the deck does much good when a 50 pound artillery shell, surrounded by hundreds of BB’s packed in a bag inside the gator’s belly, blasts off at your feet. It took hours to police up all the tiny pieces of the two guys that stood over the gator.

  The bomb even shredded the NCO diving to the ground five meters away. His body parts were mixed in a bag with his men. They would need DNA testing to sort it all out.

  The troops in the high speed “Mine Resistant, Ambush Protected” armored trucks were unscathed. Of course, all that advanced armor did little good if you were dismounted. They’d always feel a little survivor’s guilt after nearly every man outside the vehicles were killed or to some degree wounded.

  Several hundred yards away, blocking the other bridge on the far end of the island, a couple of exceptionally well-armed policemen didn’t jump when they heard the blast. Instead, they hopped back into their squad car and tore off back to the mainland, away from the explosion. The piled up traffic could finally go ahead.

  A few minutes later, a report reached the occupation headquarters in Orlando. An aide stuck a black flag pin into a wall map of Florida. The colored pin represented location and type of lethal insurgent attack. This was the first entry on the map, but far from the last. The board would be full by the end of the month.

  A hot spring

  15 April: 1500

  Admiral Zheng He, rising star of the People's Liberation Army Navy, lowered his parka’s hood. The artic wind nibbled at his exposed neck, but he only grinned. Zheng drank in the freezing air from the bridge of his flagship and peered over his shoulder. Attu Island, which the Japanese briefly overran during the early days of WW2, lay over 1,200 miles behind him. His historic fleet should just now be entering the Gulf of Alaska.