by James Rosone
General McKenzie nodded. He didn’t seem that surprised or disheartened by the answer. “What about the militia forces?” he asked. “How quickly can we raise them and how reliable will they be?”
“The governor of New York just announced the formation of his state’s militia unit. A former National Guard commander is going to take command of it. The man’s done a couple of combat tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, so he’s competent. From what I gather, close to thirty percent of the state National Guard is rallying on him. Once a general call for support is issued, I suspect they’ll probably raise maybe ten or twenty thousand volunteers. These will be green recruits—some of them might have prior military service, so that’ll help, but they will need training and equipping.”
General McKenzie grunted. “I think we can handle the training at least,” he asserted. “We’ll get them carted off to the existing Canadian military training bases and begin to run them through a rough, shortened version of our basic infantry school. That way they’ll be ready for combat much sooner than if we ran them through a standard training program.”
“Excellent idea,” Hill responded. “I’ll make sure we get this coordinated with the governor. I think you may want to get things ready at those bases, though. Once the call goes out, I suspect the other governors are going to want to do the same. We could suddenly find ourselves inundated with fresh recruits from across the country as people make their way north to join up.”
Marshall Tate tried to let the military experts handle this conversation, saying very little over the next few hours. The situation wasn’t nearly as bleak when they left the room as when he had entered it, but the next month and a half, all the way up to January 20th, was going to make for some interesting times, to be sure.
*******
December 6, 2020
Quebec, Canada
Canadian Forces Base Bagotville
Just one day later, as General Guy McKenzie sat in the small room with a few of his key air squadron commanders, he felt like General Norman Schwarzkopf, trying to figure out how to attack the fifth-largest army in the world without getting his forces slaughtered. Preparing to fight the American military was no small feat, but if they were given the go order, then, by God, he was going to do his best to land some crippling blows and hopefully achieve their political and military goals before the Americans could get organized and pound his forces into the dirt.
After completing his review of the paper briefs that had been provided to him, General McKenzie kicked off the meeting in earnest. “Lieutenant Colonel Jean Pégoud, I was led to believe that your squadron is the best deep penetration squadron in the French Air Force. During a training exercise against the Americans in Europe, your squadron succeeded in penetrating their air space and carried out a mock attack against Ramstein Air Force Base, no?”
The lieutenant colonel didn’t even reveal a hint of a smile. “That was a training exercise, General,” he responded flatly. “This is a real mission you’re asking me to plan. Do you know how hard it will be to penetrate American air space if they know we’re coming? They will have fighters on top of us before we even know what happens.”
“That’s why I need you to begin running your squadron through practice scenarios straightaway,” McKenzie countered. “You need to get them ready for a deep penetration strike through a heavily defended airspace. This mission shouldn’t be any different than any of the previous deep strike missions you guys rehearsed with NATO against the Russians.”
“With all due respect, General, those missions were also done in coordination with the Americans, not against them. You’re a soldier, General. I’m a pilot, and a good one at that. I’m telling you bluntly, a mission like this will get most of my pilots killed, if not our entire squadron.”
General McKenzie paused for a moment. He saw the man’s point, but he also knew that if his other plans were to have any chance of success, Jean’s squadron had to succeed.
“Colonel, if you’re given the order to carry out this mission, then I assure you, there will be a massive air attack all across the American border. Our plan is to sufficiently distract them so that your group should be able to penetrate close enough to launch your missiles. What I need to know is if this type of strike is possible, and if it is, what type of support you’ll need to make sure it works.”
Jean nodded and then looked more closely at the map. His fingers traced a line to the target, then an idea seemed to take hold. He grabbed a protractor and pencil and wrote out some distances on the map. A slight smile formed as he looked up at the general.
“I think I have a way we can make it work,” Lieutenant Colonel Pégoud announced.
McKenzie’s lips curled up at the corners, almost mischievously. The two of them discussed the plan for the better part of an hour before they parted ways.
Once the general had finished talking with his French aviators, he walked down the hall to the tiny room being occupied by his Chinese People’s Liberation Army Air Force liaison officer, General Xi, who’d been assigned to his staff now for three months. Xi possessed a very unique set of qualifications; his French and English were both excellent, and he was also a pilot, so he understood the aviation challenge McKenzie was facing.
They had a lot to discuss. While the Chinese were largely going to focus their efforts on a southern front through Mexico, the Chinese Air Force was still going to maintain several squadrons’ worth of fighters and anti-air artillery squadrons with the European contingent in Canada.
McKenzie knocked briefly on the door to get the Chinese general’s attention, and then he walked just inside the threshold.
“General Xi, do you have a moment for us to talk?” he asked.
Xi smiled and waved him over to sit down. “Of course, General. I always have time for the UN commander,” he replied cheerfully. “How may China be of service to you?” he asked.
“Thank you, General,” McKenzie replied. “What I want to talk to you about is rather sensitive. Can we please speak privately, just the two of us?” He surveyed the room carefully.
This elicited a curious look from Xi, who nodded. He grabbed a notepad and proceeded to follow McKenzie back toward his office. They both knew the Chinese Ministry of State Security probably had a bug in his office, if for no other reason than to keep tabs on him and his staff assigned to Canada. The Chinese and Canadians might be partners in this endeavor, but it didn’t mean the two parties fully trusted each other either.
The two of them made small talk as they walked through the headquarters building to McKenzie’s office. Once there, McKenzie guided them to a set of chairs next to a small table he had in his office.
As soon as Xi was seated, McKenzie began, “General, I’m going to ask some questions, assuming China has a certain type of capability. You don’t need to confirm what I’m saying to you—I just need to know if China could handle a very specific mission if it was handed to you.”
Xi’s smile and soft demeanor changed and hardened a bit as he leaned forward. “General, you know my nation is committed to doing what we can in these troubled times. What is it you believe we are uniquely able to handle?”
McKenzie sported a crooked smile. “I need to know if your stealth bomber—you know, the one that doesn’t exist—would be able to deliver a bunker-buster bomb.”
Xi lifted his chin up and paused, as if considering his words. Finally, he responded. “We have an aircraft that could accomplish this mission, if it were given some initial support and it had the element of surprise on its side. But as to the bomb, our current bomb is heavy, so our ‘bomber,’” he said, making air quotes with his hands, “can only carry two of them.”
McKenzie thought about Xi’s response. He knew they’d need at least four of these bombs for the mission he’d had in mind. Suddenly, he remembered something. “The Russians have a unique thermobaric bomb, and I believe it weighs 7,100 kilograms. Could your hypothetical bomber carry four of them?”
Xi rubbed his
chin as he did some calculations in his head. A minute later he explained, “It could, but I’d need to see the specifications for the bomb. Do you have a specific target in mind? If you’re thinking of going after NORAD, I can assure you, neither the Russian nor Chinese bombs will penetrate it.”
General McKenzie chuckled. “No, we aren’t looking at NORAD.” He pulled out a map, and Xi’s left eyebrow rose in surprise.
The two talked for about an hour about how the bomber would approach this target and what kind of support it would need to breach that far into American airspace. Xi wasn’t sure he could get permission to use their “new” bomber for this mission, but he vowed to make every attempt to secure the go-ahead.
“General, this would certainly go down in military history as one of the craziest bombing missions ever devised,” he asserted.
“I know,” McKenzie acknowledged with a smile.
*******
December 9, 2020
Ottawa, Canada
Johann Behr had flown out to meet with General McKenzie in person. There were some things that just shouldn’t be discussed over any form of electronic communication.
When McKenzie had finished his brief, Johann felt his face contorting with the skepticism he felt. “How do you know it’ll work?” he asked. “I mean, it looks like this would be a suicide mission.”
“Going to war against America is typically a suicide mission, Mr. Secretary,” McKenzie answered. “But if we are going to do it, then this plan gives us the best chance of chopping the head of the snake off and potentially ending this war before it really has a chance to get going.” His demeanor betrayed a certain sense of annoyance.
“General, if this war really does have to happen, do you believe this plan will end it swiftly, or will it prolong it?” asked Behr. He was starting to second-guess his plans.
“That depends on whether we’re successful or not,” McKenzie answered. “If we succeed, then I think it ends it before it spirals out of control. If we fail, though, you will have essentially kicked up a hornet’s nest, Mr. Secretary. You can bet the Americans will be after blood. They will attack our forces in Canada mercilessly, and my country will bear the brunt of this retaliation.” He took a deep breath and let it out with a huff. “We’ll be ready to execute the military option when you tell us to, but I do hope you’re able to negotiate a peaceful solution to this problem.”
Now it was Johann’s turn to sigh. He looked at his general. “I’m not confident that a peaceful solution to this problem can be reached. My biggest concern right now is figuring out how we could neutralize the Americans fast enough so they don’t destroy our forces or retaliate against Europe, Russia, or China for their involvement in this effort.”
Leaning forward, McKenzie fixed Johann with an icy look. “Sir, we’re about to declare war on the most powerful nation in the world. You have to accept that they’re going to strike back hard against the nations that are attacking them. What matters now is that we capture a lot of land rapidly. We need to get the people on our side and get them involved in this fight. We have to tear America apart from the inside out. If they somehow unify and rally around Sachs, then we’re going to be in for a very tough fight.”
“All right, General. You’ve made your point. Then please proceed as if we are going to war with America. Plan for their counterattacks and do your best to mitigate them. As to this plan of yours…consider it a go. Oh, and General, if you shoot at the king, you’d better kill him…”
*******
West Des Moines, Iowa
The more Pat looked at his Facebook feed, the more livid he became. He’d just finished watching a video showing his representative, Congresswoman Jessica Lane, giving a spirited speech calling the President a dictator who’d refused to accept the results of the election and leave. She openly supported the UN mission to remove Sachs, who she called the “tyrant in the White House.”
Pat reached for his bottle of Jack and took a couple of long gulps, letting the liquid burn its way down to his stomach.
We have to do something about this, he thought angrily.
He heard a quiet ding, looked back at his computer screen and clicked on the messenger app. A smile crept across his face.
Finally. A meeting.
*******
It was 8:46 p.m. when Pat pulled into the parking lot of VFW Post 9127. He put his truck in park and got out. He glanced up at the sky—just a sea of stars without a single cloud in sight. He walked toward the rear door of the lodge, his usual limp seeming more pronounced this evening for some reason.
As Pat pulled open the door and headed to the bar in the rear of the building, he quickly realized that there were only five guys at this meeting of the III percenters, including himself.
“Glad you could make it, Pat. Take a seat,” said his friend Joel. “We were just about to talk about our little problem.”
Pat smiled and pulled up the only chair left at the table.
“Congresswoman Lane crossed a line the other day,” one of the guys remarked.
“She didn’t just cross a line, she openly invited a foreign army into our country,” Joel responded angrily. “She broke her oath to protect and defend the Constitution.”
Pat already felt his anger welling up. He stood back up and walked toward the bar. “I need a drink. Anyone else want one?” he asked.
“Grab the bottle and some glasses,” Joel said.
Pat selected a bottle of Tennessee Fire, then pulled a twenty out of his wallet and placed it in the register.
That ought to cover the cost, he thought.
He placed the glasses down and filled each of them about halfway up before sitting down.
After downing about half the glass he’d just poured, Pat demanded, “Are we just going to talk about this or are we going to do something?”
Some of the guys at the table seemed a bit hesitant, but Joel quickly answered, “We’re going to do something.”
“Exactly what do you propose?” asked Doug, one of the squeamish guys.
“We shoot up her office,” Joel responded.
“What? When would you propose we do that?” Doug inquired, his face a bit pale.
“We do it at night,” Joel explained. “That way, no one will get hurt, but it’ll send a message.”
“Coward,” Pat retorted, venom in his voice.
“What are you talking about?” Joel asked, a bit pained. He seemed surprised that Pat didn’t agree with him.
“Shooting up an office in the middle of the dark sends the wrong message. We need to take her out. She has a town hall in two days—I say we shoot her. That’ll get it through the thick skulls of those politicians in Washington that if they want to invite a foreign army into our country, we’re ready to take them on and defend our communities.”
There was a long pause while the others at the table were silent for a moment. Pat wondered if all their tough talk in the past was just that—talk—or if they had the guts to actually do anything about it.
“Who would do it?” one of the other guys, Bob, finally asked. He gulped down the rest of his Tennessee whiskey.
“Certainly not you, Bob,” Joel retorted. You look like you’re about to pee your pants.” He laughed and the others joined in. The tension in the room seemed to break a bit after that.
“I’ll do it.”
“Pat, come on. Be serious,” said Joel. “If you kill a congresswoman, the feds will be all over you and the rest of us.”
Pat shook his head. “I thought this was a group of action. I didn’t realize everyone here lacked a spine. You all like to dress up and play army, go shoot some guns and talk crap about the government, but when the rubber meets the road, you guys shy away from getting your hands dirty. Don’t you guys remember your oath of enlistment? ‘Against all enemies, foreign and domestic.’ Lane’s clearly crossed the line. A foreign army is building on both our northern and southern borders, and you guys are concerned about the FBI?”
; Joel held up a hand to calm his friend down. “Let’s just take this one step at a time. We don’t have to shoot her office up. If you want, we can firebomb it instead. The flames and damage will play well in the media. It’ll send the message you’re looking for. We can also show up at her town hall and pepper her with difficult questions. I can have my son record it so we can use it on YouTube.”
Pat looked at the others, disappointed. He realized they didn’t have the stomach to do what needed doing.
Fine, I’ll go along, he thought, but he made his own plans for after the town hall.
“OK. Then let’s firebomb her office tonight, before any of you chickens get cold feet.”
Joel surveyed the cautious faces around him, then replied, “OK. Let’s do it.”
*******
Three hours later, Joel and Pat pulled up just short of the back alley of the storefronts where Representative Lane’s congressional office was located. Pat looked at his friend and pulled an electronic device out of the center console, turned it on and placed it on the dash of the truck.
“What the hell is that?” Joel asked.
“It’s an electronic jammer,” Pat answered, a bit condescendingly. “It’ll interfere with the CCTV cameras and prevent them from recording us when we break in.”
Joel nodded, clearly wishing he’d thought of the idea himself. “All right, then. Time to suit up,” he replied.
The two of them donned rubber masks in the likeness of President Obama, then pulled on two layers of surgical gloves. Pat put his truck back in gear and began to drive down the alleyway. They drove past an H&R Block store, a law firm and an Allstate insurance office before coming to the back of the office for Congresswoman Lane.