Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) (35 page)

MALCOLM WAITED FOR the
cheering to die down.  He stood on top of a captured Humvee, his hand rested on
the .50 caliber machine gun mounted in the turret.  The echoes of his men
danced around them in the cavernous underground parking garage.  All the
abandoned civilian cars had been removed to the street level to make room for
the captured military hardware.  A good two hundred Black Fighters surrounded
him, working on how best to make use of the new tools they took from the Man
the night before.

“So, Allah
has deemed our cause righteous, my Brothers.  The United Nations is sending an
army to help us liberate ourselves!”  The crowd exploded in cheers of triumph
and deliverance.  Hands and fists were raised in defiance of the America that
had repressed their race for centuries.

When it grew
quiet enough again, Malcolm pressed home his advantage.  “Even now we are
contacting our Brothers and Sisters in New York and other cities to let them
know the good news.  If we can hold out until soldiers from the United Nations
arrive, nothing will stop us!”

The
cheering gradually died down a third time.  Malcolm brought himself to his full
stature, then raised his right fist in the classic Black Panther style.  He
looked at all the smiling faces, the tired looks of hope from his Brothers. 
They had attacked the Man last night and won!

“ARE YOU
READY FOR A WAR?” Malcolm yelled.  The roar of his men was deafening.

THE MASSIVE ABRAHMS
tank came to a stop with the usual squeaking and rattling of treads, its mighty
engine rumbling.  Brigadier General Joseph Stapleton opened the hatch and stood
up, scanning the horizon with his field binoculars.  The skyline of Chicago
leapt into vision, smeared by the dirty plumes of smoke that stabbed at the
sky.  There was an orange glow about certain parts of the city, General
Stapleton could easily see.  No lights.  A handful of police and Guard
helicopters buzzing about.  They looked like nervous birds. 

His tanks
had just rolled off the transport trucks after a long, weary road trip from
Fort Knox.  They had cleared more cars than he thought he’d ever see in his
whole life off the congested roads leading into Chicago.  All those civilians
had panicked and flocked to the nearest highways causing the mother of all
traffic jams.  There was much evidence of violence and looting among the
abandoned cars as waves of refugees from the cities hoofed it into the
suburbs. 

It felt
damn fine to be back in a tank again, to feel the earth shake under its
treads.  It was almost a spiritual experience.

Through his
binoculars he could see the skyline of Chicago clearly.  His brigade was only a
mile outside the occupied part of the city.   They were tearing the hell out of
the paved highways and streets, but such was the price of getting to the center
of the action as fast as possible.  He didn’t give a hoot about the roads—he
was told to get to Chicago and retake the city, at all costs. 

His intel
briefing on the way up from Fort Knox was very detailed.  The downtown district
had been taken over by some sort of Black Muslim extremists, declaring open
warfare on the United States.  They had slaughtered innocent civilians and just
the night before had taken prisoner some number of Federalized National
Guardsmen along with an ass-load of materiel.

Stapleton
chewed on his stub of a cigar.  The 51 year old general grunted and swung an
arm towards Occupied Chicago.  “All right, Charlie, move ‘em out.”  The helmet
mounted microphone relayed his message to his XO, in the tank next to his own
at the head of the column.  He was a brash and bold field commander, Stapleton,
and he enjoyed leading his men, rather than following.

The digital
linkups between all the tanks and soldiers of the brigade ensured that everyone
got the right messages.  The long column of sleek tanks rumbled forward, followed
by engineers and soldier transports—armored personnel carriers.  Above, a Kiowa
scout helicopter raced forward to get a lay of the land, heading towards the
Sears Tower—apparently the base of the rioting.  Stapleton was quickly coming
to the conclusion that it was more of a rebellion than a riot anymore.  He rode
his tank like a horse cavalryman, preferring the open turret and unobstructed
view as they rumbled towards Chicago.

“Inform
General Collrade the cavalry has arrived,” he said into the microphone, pushing
the unlit cigar to the corner of his mouth.

DAMMIT, MAN, GET to the
point.  I want an answer.  Gimme the bottom line, Howard—will you back us up or
not?” asked the President over the phone.  He looked at the monitors on his
conference table that depicted the faces of the Secretary of Defense, the
Director of the CIA and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.  The phone was set to
‘speaker’ so the other men could hear through their own monitors at their
secret locations. 

After a
pause and some muffled whispers, the strong English voice of the Prime Minister
replied, “
I’m sorry, old boy.  We support you to the fullest extent that we
are capable…however, His Majesty’s military simply cannot become involved.  We
will do our part by not participating
.”  It was obvious the man was pained
to say so.

“Howard,
you realize we’re going to have no recourse except to declare war on them or
anyone, for that matter, if they actually try for an invasion.”

Another
pregnant pause.  “
Mr. President, that is precisely what we believe they want—further
proof that you and your government are out of control and pose a significant
threat to the rest of the world, all facts notwithstanding.  Of course, if you
do nothing…well, they shall very much appreciate that as well, old boy
.” 

“Congress
is damn near apoplectic about the U.N….yet we’ve got a handful that are
actually
welcoming
this bullshit, can you believe that?”

“
Honestly,
how they can do that is quite beyond me
,” came the lilting British accent.

“Howard…if
it comes to fighting, you’re telling me you can’t help, or you
won’t
?”
the President tried one last time.

“
My
apologies, old chap, but we simply cannot risk confrontation.  Our forces are
not quite so…large…as your own.  The recent wars in Iraq and Syria has quite
taxed us to our limit.  Our Navy is all that stands between England and an
outside threat.  We simply cannot afford to do anything right now.”

“I’m sorry
to hear that, Howard.”

“
I am
sorry to say it, I truly am.  I want you to rest assured, however, that I will
do everything possible to stall this move by the U.N.; we’ll block it every way
we can and do what we can…but I regretfully cannot offer
military
aid
.”

“Well, I’ll
keep you informed…”

“
Good
day, my friend—God bless
.”  The line went dead as the Prime Minister
hung up in Number 10 Downing Street.

The
President pushed the button on his phone to hang up as well.  He sat back in
his chair, sighing.  “Well, there you have it, gentleman.”

“Horseshit.”

“My
thoughts exactly, Al,” the President replied to the monitor with a tired
smile.  “So, is there
anyone
we can rely on?  Anyone out there gonna
back us up?  After all the shit we’ve gone through to help people around the
world in the last hundred years…” he asked SecState’s frowning image.

The
Secretary of State looked over his papers.  “Sir…just about all of our major
allies, Spain, Australia, Japan…they’ve all sworn
not
to help the U.N.
if and when they decide to make a move against us, but they’re not going to
send troops or money to help
us
, either.  The Canadians say they’ll help
however they can, but they don’t have shit.  And we just heard England’s
response.  Everyone thinks it’s just too risky.” 

“Too
risky?  What part of doing
nothing
do they think is too risky?  If the
U.N. wins, those bastards can say, ‘Well, we didn’t fight against you, so we can
still be friends, right?’” said the Secretary of Defense bitterly.

The
President rubbed his chin.  “Gentleman, I can’t really blame them, they’re just
being greedy and looking out for Number One.  The same damn thing they condemn
us for trying to do,” he remarked sarcastically.  “It’s a no win situation for
them.  If they back the U.N. and the U.N. makes a move and
we
win, then
our former allies look like enemies.  If they back us and the U.N. wins—“

“I’ll be
ice skating in hell before that happens, sir!” cried the image Chairman of the
Joint Chiefs.  The President waved him off politely.

“Regardless
of who they back, if the other side wins, they’re up shit creek.  If they back
no one and attempt to stay neutral they might get out of this without many consequences,”
finished the Secretary of Defense.

“Way I see
it though, we might not be in a mood to
thank
people for staying out of
the fight when it’s all said and done,” the Commander in Chief said darkly. 
The room went silent for a few agonizing moments.

“What time
frame are we working with here?” asked SecState quietly.

“Even if
the U.N. passes the vote to act tonight, it will take at least a month or so to
get things organized militarily, I’d bet,” said the Chairman of the Joint
Chiefs.  “They’ll have to coordinate command structure among the nations
willing to send troops—they always bicker and fight like a pack a dogs over a
bitch in heat when it comes to that—then they have to get ‘em over here…I’d say
on the outside, give ‘em six months to a year.  If they really get their act
together…” he thought, scratching his nose, “Maybe six months or a little
less.”

“That’s not
what Ambassador Allan is telling me.  He’s reporting from The Hague that he
thinks the E.U. and the antagonists in the U.N. have been preparing for this. 
He sees it akin to our invasion plans for Canada, drafted back in the ‘50s. 
It’s like a contingency plan that sits around and is in place just in case…Mr.
President, I think this is going to happen in less than a month.  I’m convinced
that they’ve had this ready to go for a long time.”

“Sir,
either way, that’s plenty of time to get our forces home and dig ‘em in,” said
SecDef’s image.

The
Chairman of the Joint Chiefs nodded in agreement from his location at a remote
Air Force Base in the west.  “We’ve got our special forces already boarding
planes.  They should be here in less than thirty-six hours.  The main line
troops will take longer, because they were spread all over Iraq and Syria, but
say three weeks to a month to get damn near
all
of ‘em home.  We can
have the bulk of our Marines home by the end of the week.  We can get most of
the armor and mechanized infantry out on C-17s, but the bigger stuff’ll have to
be shipped.  That’ll take a few weeks.”

“So, bottom
line, how long until we’re ready?” asked the President.

“We can be
fighting ready with 60-75% combat strength in a few weeks.  I give it a month,
month and a half for total strength.  You want to be ready for just about
anything
? 
I’d say two months on the outside.   Either way, we’ll be ready and waiting
before the Blue Bonnets get close.”

THE COMBINED SAUDI
-Jordanian
army marched it’s way west, heading towards Israel.  Hundreds of tanks and
armored vehicles lead the way.  The infantry was spread out over a few miles in
different waves.  The Saudi Air Force sent up American made F-16s from the
abandoned USAF base in Riyadh to initiate the first strike at dawn.

      On
the western border between Israel and Egypt, the Egyptians massed their forces
and pushed east.  The two armies had planned on meeting somewhere south of
Jerusalem, combining and crushing all before them.  If everything went as
planned, the Syrians, reinforced by Iranian commandos, would move down from the
north and the great Army of Islam would meet in the middle of the besieged
Jewish State.

      About
half an hour before dawn, the first elements from Saudi Arabia and Jordan
approached the base of the mountains on the eastern flank of Israel.  The
Israeli PM tried one last frantic call to the Saudis to call off the invasion
and was rebuffed and told to pray. 

MISSILE LAUNCH
DETECTED! called out the officer of the watch at NORAD’s command center.

“Confirm!”
rang out the voice of another Air Force officer, checking his own monitor.  “I
show seven…no, eight—wait, now it’s
nine
new contacts in the air and
heading west out of Iran.”

The officer
of watch yanked up the phone that linked him with the base CO’s office. 
Someone was always on duty, whether it was NORAD’s commanding officer or a
subordinate for just such a situation.  And when the President was ‘in
residence’ you pulled long shifts.

“
Munson
,”
came the sleepy voice on the other end.

“Sir, this
is Control.  We’re targeting multiple ballistic missile launches from Iran. 
The missiles are approaching sub-orbital velocity and heading west.  Target is
unknown at this time, but the vectors are showing the missiles will have
orbital velocity if they keep burning at this rate, sir.”

“
This
confirmed?
”

“Yes, sir,”
said the nervous Major.  Ballistic missiles launched from a rogue state that
was known to harbor terrorists and labeled one of the axis of evil—

The phone
in his hand cut off the Major’s thoughts, “
Very well, keep tracking them,
I’m on my way.  I want targets and probabilities by the time I get down there. 
I need to brief the President.
”

THE SECURED PHONE
on the President’s
desk in the War Room rang with an eerie buzz.  The leader of the free world
glanced at his combined virtual-cabinet and snatched up the receiver. 

“
The
Israeli Prime Minister holding for you, Mr. President
.”

“Very well,
patch him through,” said the President in a voice calmer than he felt.  The
President watched as the image of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff
suddenly turned and was handed a phone of his own.  Likewise the Commandant of
the Marines was handed a phone by someone off-screen.

“
Mr.
President, the invasion has begun!  The Arabs have crossed our borders—I am
ordering my forces to engage the enemy.  We are declaring a state of war and as
such I formally request your country’s military assistance per our treaties.”

The
Secretary of Defense’s image was handed a slip of paper from someone outside
the view of the camera.  He scanned it, eyebrows crawling up his forehead.  An
aide suddenly stepped up to the President and handed him a piece of paper. 

“Ben—hang
on,” he said to the phone, ignoring the screams of protest that now was
not
the time to put him on hold.  To the SecDef, with the receiver covered with his
other hand, the President asked, “Is this confirmed?”

“Yes sir. 
It just came in to me from NORAD.”

The President
looked at the full-bird Colonel who had just stepped into the room and nodded. 
“Yes sir, I just came from the situation room myself.  It’s for real, Mr.
President.”

“Well, that
settles it then.”  He took his hand off the receiver.  “Ben, I’ve just been
informed that Iran has launched nine ballistic missiles and they’re heading
west.  We think they may be targeting you.”

“
I
know!  I’m reading a report that says the same thing.  We are firing up our
anti-missile systems right now.  Mr. President, I am going to authorize the use
of nuclear force if these missiles are carrying what I fear they are
.”  The
Israeli PM abruptly hung up the phone.

“Shit!” the
President said.  He slammed the receiver down on his end.  He turned to the
monitor depicting the pallid face of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.

“The
Iranians just launched some missiles against the Israelis and the Arab armies
have crossed the border.  Get the word out to our carriers in the area to
assist the Israelis.”

“Sir,
assist
how
?”

The
President drummed his fingers on the highly polished conference table, the
dreaded moment having finally arrived.  It was do or die time.  The next words
out of his mouth would determine the fate of millions.  Without U.S. support,
the Israelis would fall to overwhelming numbers, unless they used nuclear
weapons.  If the U.S. helped, nukes might not be necessary.  Then again, if the
Iranians are sending nukes towards Israel, it would all be over in about five
minutes anyway.

“Tim?”

“I tried to
contact the Saudis just now—to tell them what you asked me to, but
they…ah…insulted my mother and my dog…and told me they would no longer abide by
our rules.”  The Secretary of State shrugged with an angry frown.  “Our
ambassador was expelled from Saudi Arabia.  The Ambassador to Egypt has
disappeared.  I’ve got people trying to contact her, but we’re not getting
anything.  I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“That’s
it.  I’ve
had
it with these assholes.”  The President looked back to the
waiting commanders of the Armed Forces of the United States. 

“Tell our
carriers to take the gloves off.  They are hereby authorized to seek out
Egyptian, Syrian, Jordanian or Saudi targets inside Israeli borders and
exterminate with extreme prejudice.  Any of these Arab assholes so much as fart
in our direction, I want you to blast the sonsabitches straight to Hell.  Have
‘em coordinate with Tel Aviv.  I want a full court press, gentlemen.”