Navus carefully made his way down the hallways, flash light leading the way. His light bounced across every glass plate in the hall, illuminated small areas in a dim glow, while the rest was engulfed in utter darkness. The walls had no seems, no bolts, no obvious defects or weak points either; it was one continuous mirror. The airlock door on the far end however, appeared intact and there was another antique control panel on the right hand side of it.
He ran his hand over the panel…nothing. He tried to tap the screen and do everything he knew how in order to make the control panel work. Nothing still. Navus began to kick the control panel in frustration, then froze when the sound of something heavy dropped onto the platform he had come from…followed by heavy footsteps coming down the hall in his direction. Navus tensed up, drew his pistol, and turned as fast as he could…but there was nothing. The footsteps continued to come closer…and closer…but there was still nothing in sight. What the hall was going on? Was he hearing things?
Navus glanced over at the mirrored wall and saw a distorted shadowy silhouette that was not his own, slowly making its way toward him. He felt a surge of panic and began to fire his pistol wildly with his good hand, until it clicked empty. The footsteps had stopped, and the eerie silence returned. Navus remained posed with his empty weapon aimed. He pulled more .45 caliber bullets from his belt to refill the revolver’s spent cylinder magazine, only to hear the same footsteps immediately start and stop directly behind him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he reflexively froze in alarm; he forced himself to think and started to plan his next move. He was going to turn and shoot like crazy…no he was just going to run and climb back up the elevator…no he was-
A sudden and relentless force sent Navus flying forward across the hallway. Navus struggled to stand back up, but the force came at him again, slamming him flat on his front several times. He tried desperately to move but couldn’t find the strength, the force picked him up off the ground and tossed him straight into a wall, cutting his head open and knocking the wind out of him. His gun was only a few feet away…maybe he could crawl over and-
The force picked him up again and threw him on his back with a crippling amount of force. He coughed and struggled to regain his breath through the pain. It felt like his ribs were broken for sure, among many other part of him. His flash light had fallen a few feet away and still provided a descent amount of light…just enough light to illuminate the now very visible figure in what looked like a black powered armor suit. That technology was lost though…
The figure rushed him and punched him straight in the face, knocking him out cold.
Chapter 11 – Public Speaking 101
The entourage of secret service agents in dark sun glasses and black suits carefully led President McNeal, the so called Passive-Aggressive President, from his bullet proof vehicle to the awaiting government drop ship. The rectangular, wingless drop ship was painted white and blue in the traditional Air Force One Presidential colors, and idled just outside the still under construction New White house on the outskirts of New Denver.
Though as compared to last year, the new US Government has come a long way in terms of effectiveness and legitimacy. The rebuilding of the White House was more symbolic than anything, but it’s that sort of symbolism that people can rally behind and look toward the future. No more second guesses or stalling from traitorous politicians and generals; that is if President McNeal had anything to say about it.
Mr. McNeal promptly returned the salute rendered by the two Marines in dress blues as he walked up the steps into the drop ship’s cabin. He turned momentarily to wave and smile to the small cheering crowd that had gathered near the fence of the landing strip, then moved inside to find a seat. He was right on time for the first state of the union address since the fall of Earth, and that was no small feat.
Congress for the past two years had been deadlocked in uncompromising political ideology, and laziness. But since most of the politicians from the last cabinet were now in prison for bribery, corruption, and theft, courtesy of President McNeal’s ‘No More Lies’ policy, true Americans had stepped up to take their place. How far the American territories have come in rebuilding their nation from seemingly nothing. That was a true testament to the strength and unity of the people of the new United States! It really was though…
He took his seat with the rest of the guests in the lavishly furnished oak interior, which along with any form of wooden furniture, was nearly impossible to make because of the extreme decline in the availability of wood since the war. Mars sure as hell wasn’t Earth. The Vice President, and the Chiefs of Staff of the Army, Navy, Marine Corps, and Air Force; General Lester Omar, Admiral Michael Al Hakam, Lieutenant General Ronald Puller, and Lieutenant General Jennifer Barsha respectively; all insisted on riding along with the President for one reason or another. McNeal welcomed their opinions though, for good and for bad. Lastly, four of the secret service agents climbed aboard and took their seats in the back of the cabin. A petite and fragile looking stewardess shut the cabin door, while another walked over to Mr. McNeal with a tray of different bottled beverages and her bright, trained smile. “Can I offer you a drink, Mr. President?”
He smiled in response and kindly waved her off. “No, but thank you for the offer!”
The Vice President, a Mr. Robert Clarkson, was notorious for being a hot head about any agreements with the European Union or de-escalating the tensions that had never quiet settled down over the years. His campaign to drastically expand the draft, as well as relentlessly enlarge the borders and defense budget of the US, typically fell on deaf ears by the more rational heads in the government. Support of such ideas however had been growing in popularity at an alarming rate with extremist pro-American groups over the last few months, especially in the aftermath of the recent two-day skirmish on the fringe colonies against the EU Navy.
Seven US Navy Sailors and a hand full of civilians died after the Science Vessel USS Jason Alexander had been destroyed by an EU kinetic missile strike. Of course the EU claimed this was all mistake and that the US ship in question had been forcibly taken over by pirates and the crew had been executed long before the ship was destroyed. As always, the EU painted themselves as the Hero…though only the dead would know the real truth. McNeal wouldn’t base his opinions off of incomplete information.
The Vice President fidgeted in his chair uncomfortably, and spoke in his very direct and almost disrespectful kind of way. “Mr. President, have you made a decision about the European Union’s proposal for a joint military force? What about a plan of action and retaliation for their blatant act of aggression in our outer colonies? What about for-”
The President smiled and undid the buttons on his overly tight jacket to relax. “One thing at a time, Bob. I will voice my decision on that proposal and on many other topics that I am sure you are interested in, in front of Congress and the entire United States.”
McNeal dismissed him as lightly as he could. He didn’t want to argue with the man. Clarkson was the runner up in the election, and had been McNeal’s greatest rival. That was exactly why he chose him for Vice President, in the hopes that it would bring constructive dialogue. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been too much of that over the past two years. Clarkson fought with him tooth and nail and liked to remind McNeal that he had come from a very well off family of politicians, and somehow that made him a better leader. McNeal just always stayed professional though. No other choice.
The Vice President grunted, knowing his conversation had just been shut down. “We’ll, I hope you put the American Peoples interest first, over those European swindlers!”
“Be patient, Bob. The greatness and prosperity of the United States is my only priority.” McNeal replied politely.
The Vice President nodded and seemed to accept that for the time being. The drop ship lifted off the landing pad with that and turned toward downtown New Denver for the short 10 minute flight to Congressional Hall, a former school house th
at was being slowly transformed into a new Congress building in the image of the first.
A flight of four Air Force F/A 24’s took up position on either side of the wing, much to the pleasure of General Barsha. She was an aging but still lively aviator who had unfortunately made the mistake of trading her wings for a pay raise. Although it was either that or let someone with a hell of a lot less experience, and common sense, take position as Chief of Staff. No way would she have let that happen, she was the last real Air Force officer with any pre-Mars experience.
She cleared her throat and leaned forward in her chair across the conference table. “Mr. President, I’m going to be blunt and say I’m very concerned about this Air Force and Navy merge. No disrespect to Admiral Al Hakam, but the Air Force has a vastly different set of duties and responsibilities. It would be detrimental to the service, and to the country, to merge. Especially when so many of our air assets are still not space fairing and are still being utilized.”
Admiral Al Hakam of the Navy sighed loudly and wasn’t quite as respectful in his rebuttal. “I understand your concern, General, but just like the fact that we no longer have sea going ships, the planetary Air Force is outdated. The Coast Guard took over our surface duties a few years back if you recall, and now they too are soon to be disbanded. This is about progress, the strength of our military, and also what is logistically possible, remember?”
Barsha gave Al Hakam a crossed look, and her words became venomous. “I’m sure Admiral White would disagree with you, but since he’s not here to defend the Coast Guard, let me do so for him by reminding you that the Air Force…and the Coast Guard…have their own traditions and cultures that matter to the members of their service. We already lost so much from the war, you’ll be destroying the last of that heritage!” Barsha turned to General Puller for support on the issue. “General, how would you feel if all of your Marines were forced to wear naval jumpsuits, hold naval ranks, and adopt traditions and customs that are NOT their own?”
General Puller let loose a laugh and tone of obvious disapproval over the whole issue. He was a genuine Marine, loud and proud and not at all afraid to speak his mind. “Pardon my French, but over my God damn dead body. I agree with General Barsha on this, though the logistics of keeping up an aging fleet of ships and aircraft are a hell of a strain. I still think a merge is the wrong way to go about this.”
The President nodded, appreciating the point of view. “We’ll, if a merge is a bad idea, then what idea do you two suggest?”
Barsha sat back in her chair and remained quiet for a moment. “I suggest a redefining of duties to fit the new space age. There is no reason that we should lose two branches because the Navy doesn’t like sharing their new fleet of air and space craft.” She proclaimed with an obvious jab at Al Hakam.
Al Hakam laughed humoredly. “Is that envy I hear in your voice, General?” With his genuinely smug way of speaking.
Barsha growled, slammed her fist on the table and was about to start a loud verbal argument before being stopped by General Omar of the Army. “ADMIRAL AL HAKAM, GENERAL BARSHA! I understand both of your concerns, but I have a suggestion…if you would stop bickering like school children!”
Barsha and Al Hakam stared at each other in anger, before slowly collecting themselves. General Puller laughed, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms for what was certainly going to be an entertaining discussion. Omar turned to the McNeal. “Mr. President, it’s my belief that a merge of any kind is both unnecessary and detrimental, perhaps not in the same ways that both General Barsha and General Puller do, but enough to stand against it.”
Omar crossed his hands on top of the table, and also tried to hide his Tennessee accent, but it always managed to come through in certain words. “I think the duties are already clear. My Army’s ground based; our duties revolve around ground duties and limited planetary air assets. The Air Force is currently the same way. What I suggest is adopting this exact policy; the Army and Air Force are our planetary defenders. The Marine Corps and Navy are our space faring defenders. If we were to re-station Army and Air Force units on colonial bases currently occupied by the Navy and Marine Corps, we could free up those space faring assets to better secure our trading routes and supply lines. My boys are never going to see space…I acknowledge that because there is no need for them to, and with respect General Barsha, nether is there a need for the Air Force to.”
Al Hakam smiled deviously at Barsha as if he were somehow victorious, but she just completely ignored him. The President cut in. “General Omar that is an outstanding suggestion and I believe that will be one of the best solution to all of our problems. The cultures and traditions of the branches will remain intact, and the duties and roles will be clearly defined… We’ll have to work out the details of course but I like this so far. Admiral Al Hakam, you have great many of our new Space Fairing fighters, correct?”
The Admiral beamed with pride. “Yes Sir, we have more fighters than pilots at the moment. Last estimate was about 150 new Gemini SF/A – 36’s. The Navy is hard at work training our new pilots and aviators as we speak.”
The President nodded in approval. “Good to hear it. I want you to send half of them to the Air Force and create the required number of classroom slots to start training Air Force pilots in their use. Speaking on terms of logistics, it’s impossible for us to maintain the older models of aircraft. Especially since were using 3D printed parts to try and match original specs. The same is to be done with the Marine Corps and Army ground vehicles. One type of tank, one type of helicopter, and all that. We can’t afford the upkeep anymore on multiple platforms, agreed?”
Al Hakam looked at the President as if he had just watched his newly purchased sports car get totaled. Barsha smiled back at him deviously, then turned to the President with a tone of victory. “I will be happy to work with the Navy in order to do that, Mr. President. In fact I’d be happy to start scrapping some of our older fighters-”
The President laughed and held up his hand to stop her from continuing. “That doesn’t mean you can start moth balling your other fighters. I want every available asset kept up to speed and ready for combat at all times with every branch. This is still in the works and we can’t afford to give up anything just yet.”
The Chiefs of Staff all nodded quietly in agreement. The Vice President grunted, subtly patronizing. “Not that I disagree at all with your decision, but isn’t that a pretty tall order? We don’t have the resources to accomplish that, much less re-deploy thousands of soldiers and airmen to the colonies.”
The President shrugged dismissively. “Baby steps, Bob. We’ll handle that soon enough, when all of us are ready for it.”
Al Hakam snapped out of his stupor and spoke out with frustration. “Mr. President…no disrespect sir, but those are OUR aircraft. Sending half of them to the Air Force will just leave us shorthanded. Not to mention anything about this ‘Special Forces’ program the Army suddenly decided to build, and yet my sailors are still waiting for the SEAL program to be reinitiated!”
Omar glanced over to Al Hakam in disbelief. “Admiral, you are being serious right now, aren’t you? For the record, the Army did NOT restart the program, ALL of us did. Your signature is on the charter, along with General Puller’s, General Barsha’s, and mine; it clearly authorizes all of our personnel to participate in the program.”
Al Hakam crossed his arms on his chest. “I signed no such form!” He exclaimed as a matter of fact.
General Puller laughed and shook his head at the behavior of his counter parts. “My God, you’re all like little kids, arguing over your toys. It’s not like the Corps has ever had money to toss around. We’ve always had the leftovers. You don’t see us bitching up a storm… Learn to deal with it!”
The Vice President growled out. “Enough of this bullshit! We have more important things to worry about!”
The drop ship pilot came over the intercom in her very professional announcer voice. “We are 30 sec
onds out. Flight Crew, please begin landing procedures.”
The President re-buttoned his shirt and tried to change to atmosphere back to a happy one. “This is going to be a great day. I hope all of you would stop arguing enough to appreciate that.”
The Chiefs of Staff glanced at each other and sat back in their chairs silently. Al Hakam smiled and turned his chair away from the rest of the group.
The drop ship landed softly a few moments later in front of the staircase leading up to the building. Several other Marines in dress blues, rushed over, opened the door, and saluted the President and the rest of the staff as they exited. A team of secret service agents came over and escorted the group up the steps and all the way into the meeting hall, where the Congress was already assembled.
The building was like a museum, it had an enormous deep lobby with ornate wooden staircases on either side, and carpeted with crimson rugs, and decorated with a variety of very American portraits and historical paintings. It also had a pine scent to it…must have been the floor wax. The last four Presidents had spent an ungodly amount of money turning it into what it was, but McNeal didn’t see a point to continue and cut the funding. It already looked good, it didn’t have to be a palace.
General Puller and General Omar nodded to the President and walked from the lobby into the front door of the auditorium on the east wing. “Good luck on your speech, Sir. You have our support.” General Omar spoke genuine as they departed.
Barsha and Al Hakim, both of whom kept a healthy distance from each other, walked with the Vice President up toward the second floor balcony section. General Barsha gave the President a respectful nod in passing. The curator for the building, a Mr. Benjamin Wheeler, waved the President over to the stage entrance. “Good Morning, Mr. President! Ready for your speech today?”
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