Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) (54 page)

“In the
green?” asked the President, incredulous.  “What the hell are you talking about
Alicia?  We lost over a thousand soldiers and Marines!  That is unacceptable
bullshit in
my
book.  Marginal losses my ass!”

“Sir, I
understand and I grieve with the rest of us over the loss.  But this is a
war
we’re fighting—“

“And we
haven’t fired a shot yet!”

“Sir, I
realize that as well.  We just didn’t think the U.N….well, that they—“

“Had the
balls,” finished the President.  “Backstabbing bastards.  I never have trusted
Europeans and now I know why!”

“Sir, we
still haven’t regained contact with the
Roosevelt
,” stated Admiral
Bortsen’s face on the screen labeled NAVY.  He had dark circles under his eyes
but his uniform was perfectly pressed and ship-shape.  “We could be looking at
a total loss.  That’s over five thousand lives, sir.  Losing that carrier
battlegroup will be a significant loss to our overall strength projection in
the Med.  It'll make it that much harder to get our boys home from Europe
without a carrier to provide escort.”

The
President shook his head.  “No, I'm not going to believe we lost the
Roosevelt
. 
Not until it’s confirmed.  Keep trying to locate them.  I know it’s difficult
without our satellites but dammit, our grandfathers did just fine without
satellites in World War Two, we can do it again.” 

The only
problem,
the President told himself,
is that the Japanese didn’t have satellites
either, but
our
enemies do.  And their’s work just fine.  Bastards.

“We expect
the attacks to worsen over the next few weeks, the closer our troops get to
home.  Remember, we’re pretty much fighting the whole world now,” said the
NSA. 

“Speaking
of the world, General Nadine, what’s the report on the nuke that took out
Mecca?”

“Mr.
President,” said the Air Force Chief of Staff.  “We were able to pinpoint
exactly where it came from.  Just outside Tehran, Iran.  The Iranians did it.”

After the
shouts of surprise and disbelief quieted down, General Nadine continued.  “I
don’t know the why’s—ask CIA.  All I know is that we tracked it and the
Iranians did it.  But for some damned fool reason, the rest of the world is mad
at
us
.  Or Israel.  The Israelis wouldn’t waste a nuke on Mecca. 
They’re going to need them to save their own asses in the next few days, I
think.”

“I agree,
sir,” said SecDef’s image.  “From what we can gather, the Israelis are falling
back fast.  The whole eastern front has collapsed and Jerusalem is surrounded
now.  The Arabs are trying to push up from the south and cut off the south
western army by reaching the Med.  If that happens, Israel will be sliced
neatly in two.”

“Divide and
conquer,” said the President, exhaling.

“There’s
reports the Russians are sending in an entire division of tanks to reinforce
the Arabs,” said the head of the CIA.

“I thought
you said that was just false info put out by the Arabs to trick everybody?”
asked the President. 

“Well…we
did
. 
This morning, however, we got word from a mole in KGB headquarters that the
transfer is real enough.  Vladimir is gonna help Achmed.”

“Son of a
bitch
.”

“That
pretty much sums it up, sir, yes.”

Hank Suthby
watched the conversation unfold behind hooded eyelids.  He was getting the
feeling that he was glad he hadn’t gotten command of the armed forces as well
when the President signed the Executive Order. 
What a nightmare that’d be
trying to coordinate everything…the domestic side is going to be tricky
enough!  Things are moving faster than I thought.  I can't have too many
soldiers arrive home.  That needs to be priority number one.  They've been out
of the country too long and won't be willing to play ball.

“Alright,
it’s settled then,” the President said.  “We’re going to pull most of our Force
Protection into the Atlantic to protect the bulk of our people trying to get
out of the Middle East and Europe.  Everywhere else seems pretty quiet at the
moment.  No more warnings, people.  We’re going to treat this pull-out like a
hot LZ.  I want beachheads, roadblocks, the works.  You do what it takes to get
your people home safely, I don’t care who’s toes you step on!  If your people
see someone get within striking distance, shoot the bastards down and send
their ships to the bottom of the sea.”

The
Commandant of the Marines grinned.  “I know some friends of mine that will be
very happy to hear that, sir.”

TOM, A LITTLE
over
twenty-four hours ago, the United States launched a massive air strike against
Egypt, using high altitude heavy bombers.  Tonight, Cairo burns, with reports
that up to half of the ancient city lies in ruin.  The casualties are estimated
to be above a hundred thousand as no warning was given before the attack
—“

The crowded
mess hall on board the injured
U.S.S.
Theodore Roosevelt
erupted
in cheers.  Sailors and Marines roared in approval, watching the few T.V.s in
the room while eating their mid-shift meal.  Clapping and cheering died down as
the reporter, dour faced and duly concerned on the screen, with smoke and
rubble behind him, continued.

“
Our
sources in America tell us that a declaration of war, put out by Congress just
a few days ago encompasses any and all nations that are joining in the proposed
U.N. Peacekeeping Force now on its way towards America.  Egypt, as one of the
supporters of this newest U.N. mission, falls under the crosshairs of the
American military, it seems.  But this reporter wonders why the civilians in
Cairo, men, women and children with no say or desire to join this fight were
slaughtered in such a bloodbath that the world hasn’t seen since Dresden,
Hiroshima and Nagasaki
….”

More cheers
went up, fists raised high.  Chants of “U…S…A…” broke out.  Someone reached up
after much prodding and changed the channel to another news station, picked up
by the carrier’s damaged satellite antennas.  The feed was static-filled and
choppy, but the audio was clear.

“—
news
coming in to us just now that there has been several attacks—or counter
attacks, I should say—made on U.S. forces over the Atlantic and off the coast
of Liberia
…”

The mess
grew deathly quiet in a heartbeat.

“
It
seems that one, possibly two American Amphibious Assault Carriers were sunk off
the coast of Liberia this afternoon.  These ships, the U.S.S. Nassau and the
larger, more modern U.S.S. Bataan were attacked by a submarine or submarines. 
Only hours ago, the Russian government announced that its Navy had sunk the two
American ships, killing well over three thousand sailors and Marines
—“

More than
one man or woman in the mess hall knew someone on one of the two doomed ships
and stared in abject horror at the static-filled images of the wreckage and
bodies floating on the oil-slicked surface of the ocean off the coast of
Liberia.

“—
combined
with yesterday’s downing of a commercial airliner carrying a brigade of Army
soldiers, the U.S. is increasingly facing attacks from all corners on its
soldiers and sailors who are trying to return home. 

“The
airliner, a Boeing made 757, was shot down over the North Atlantic yesterday
afternoon by a German fighter squadron which attempted to divert the American
plane to an airport in Europe.  When the plane refused to comply, it was shot
down, killing all two-hundred and seventy-eight passengers. 

“Riots and
fighting have broken out in most major seaports and around the airports where
Americans are departing from in about a dozen countries in Europe and the
Middle East
.”

More shouts
and angry roars from the sailors and Marines drowned out the T.V. for a few
moments as the scene shifted to long distance camera picture of a battle raging
near a U.S. Army base in Germany.  German tanks and troops had encircled the
base out of the mountains and were pouring fire in on the besieged Americans.

“
As
these pictures show, American forces are also under attack in their own bases,
like this one in Friedberg, Germany.  The Germans have, since this morning,
succeeded in nearly surrounding the American Army units who are trapped inside
their own facility.  This next clip, filmed by our crew based in Berlin, shows
the U.S. Army is not willing to lie down and give up just yet, however
,”
said the reporter, nodding as a cue for his cameraman to roll the tape. 

The scene
shifted to about the same shot as before, only there were more German tanks and
infantry moving about in the foreground.  Tanks were spitting up plumes of
smoke and responding fire was coming from behind the tattered fences and
buildings of the American base.  Smoke and fire was just starting to destroy
one of the larger buildings. 

Suddenly,
over the mountain range behind the base, a flight of Apache attack helicopters
appeared, swooping down in unison and strafing the enemy positions as they flew
overhead.  Explosions and chaos erupted in the German ranks as men scattered
and tanks tried to flee. 

Cheers went
up from the sailors and Marines again as they saw their comrades in arms rise
up against the enemy before their eyes. 

The main
mission of the Apache attack helicopter was a tank killer and the film showed
just how deadly effective the Army’s air wing could be.  Within a minute or so,
more than half the enemy tanks lay smoking and destroyed.  The helicopters were
eventually chased off by shoulder mounted guided missiles.  One Apache was shot
down over the base. 

Fire from
the American lines stepped up a notch and explosions began to appear in the
German ranks as artillery and tank fire rained down on the besiegers.  As a few
white half-tracks suddenly appeared in the picture from the west, with blue
painted rectangles on their sides unreadable white letters, the film ended and
the screen shifted back to the reporter.

“
Obviously,
the Germans—once staunch allies of the Americans, have their work cut out for
them if they plan on taking this base
,” he said, jerking his thumb over his
shoulder to indicate the much cooled off battle miles behind him in the
distance.

Once more
the mess hall roared with approval.

In the
Admiral’s Cabin, the commander of the super-carrier rubbed his bruised chin and
thought.  He had been watching the same broadcast on his own private television
with his remaining fleet captains.  It was a council of war.  He pushed a
button on the remote and shut off the T.V.

“It ain’t
lookin’ good for the home team, Admiral,” said the carrier’s captain, bristling
with rage.  “Bunch a back stabbin’ Krauts…”

“Can’t
blame the Russians though.  I always knew it was just a matter of time,”
commented the man in command of the listing but functional destroyer off the
portside of the
Roosevelt.
  The carrier captain had called a meeting of
his ship commanders, bringing together the heads of his little battered fleet. 
He had a bandage over most of the right side of his face: injuries sustained
fighting the fires that broke out on the wounded destroyer.  Heads nodded
around the room as men agreed with the sentiment about the Russians.

“Never did
trust ‘em;
glasnost
be damned.”

The captain
cleared his throat.  “Way I see it, the Middle East is a shithole and they can
have it.  We’ve lost enough good men and women fighting in this flea infested
toilet bowl.”

“Sir, with
all due respect, our last orders were to assist the Israelis,” said Doug
Mitchem commander of Cruiser-Destroyer Group 8, in charge of all the ships
protecting the
Roosevelt
. His ship,
U.S.S. Anzio
(CG-68) survived
unharmed through the waves of air attacks by the Egyptians.  The last crushing
air strike by the Air Force B-52s, had convinced Egypt to stop sniping at the
Roosevelt
and her support ships once and for all. 

“Doug,
seriously…do you want to stay
here
and fight everyone, or do you want to
go
home
and fight everyone?” asked the captain.  A few moments of
silence made up the commanders minds for them.  Home was the one place everyone
went when their tours were up, where their families waited patiently with open
arms and love.  Home was relaxation after the stress of being thousands of
miles out, in mostly hostile waters, treading the line between peace and war. 
Without Home….

“Those
sumbitches in the U.N. are sending everything they got at us from all sides. 
There ain’t no one back home but the National Guard and a few home units.  I
say the
Big Stick
would be a welcome addition.”  Many of the assembled
officers agreed vocally with their admiral.

“We’ve been
threatened, our ships hit…and sunk,” he said, lowering his eyes in honor of the
dead.  “But now they’re going after our families.  Our wives and children.”  He
looked at each of his commanders. 

“Not on my
watch, gentlemen.  Not on
my
damn
watch.”

This time
the officers and usually more reserved commanders of the Battlegroup did the
cheering and shouting as the wounded
Roosevelt
fleet began the slow turn
to the west, heading for the Straits of Gibraltar at the other end of the
Mediterranean Sea.  The fleet powered up engines and turbines, spinning props
and throwing spray.  In their wake, they left two support ships and a destroyer
at the bottom of the sea, two thirds of their respective crews lost with them. 
Behind them, on Egyptian soil, they left a wake of destruction that would take
twenty years to rebuild. 

The
Roosevelt
Battlegroup was heading home.

INBOUND BOGEY SPOTTED, said
the calm
voice of one of the F-15 fighter pilots off the left wing of the British Airways
jetliner.  “
Moving to intercept, 727 Heavy, continue on your flight path. 
Don’t worry, we’ll handle this
.”  

The airline
pilot breathed a sigh of relief, watching the three American fighters peel out
in unison and streak off to the north.  He had heard about the other airliner
full of American soldiers that had been shot down the day before and had seen
all the posted threats on T.V. about cooperating with the Americans and flying
them home. 

The flight
group of four British Airways Jets was bunched up together like sheep being
herded across the Atlantic at 30,000 feet by American sheep dogs.  Each one of
the Sheep carried more than a Company of Army soldiers on their way home to
help defend against the imminent invasion of the United States.

“Give ‘em
hell, Yanks,” said the co-pilot, from Yorkshire.  He watched out the right side
cockpit windows as the two remaining F-15s in their covering flight edged
forward and took up positions in front of the passenger jet, leading them to
America.

“
Sheep
Lead, this is Dog Four, we’ll be your escorts until the others get back.  Just
follow us now, we’ll take you right in
,” crackled a Texan’s accent over the
English pilot’s headset.

“Roger, Dog
Four, we’ll follow you.  Thanks again.”

Eleven
tense minutes passed, without radio contact from the Americans in front of or
those who had streaked away from the English jet.  The Co-pilot was checking
his instruments for the ump-teenth time when the radio came to life again.

“
727
Heavy, this is Dog Four, Dog One will be taking over lead position
momentarily.  Maintain course and speed
.”

“Spot on,
Yanks, thanks very much.”  The Co-Pilot smiled and waved through the cockpit
window as the two lead fighters slowed down and resumed position on the
passenger jet’s right wing.  As the airliner over took the American fighters,
one of the pilots waved back through the bubble canopy on the sleek fighter. 

At the same
time on the other side of the massive airliner, two of the three intercepting
Eagles resumed their station on the left wingtip.  The flight leader gracefully
slid back into position just above and in front of the airliner, resuming his
role as ‘nose guard’.  The British pilot couldn’t help but notice the obvious
fact that the three returning American planes were missing a few missiles.

“Have any
trouble, Dog One?” asked the Co-Pilot.

“
Nothing
we couldn’t handle, sir.  Just a few Germans and a Frenchman that decided to go
looking for love in all the wrong places
,” came the scratchy reply.  The
two English pilots looked at each other.

“Scare them
off, then did you?  Good show,” grinned the pilot  The copilot smiled back
through a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“
No, sir
,”
replied the dead calm voice of the flight leader.  “
We’re not much in the
mood for scaring people off anymore
.”