The War After Armageddon (31 page)

HOLY LAND COMMAND, AKROTIRI, CYPRUS

“It’s too dangerous to fly,” the Air Force three-star told Harris. The blue-suiter’s deputy nodded in agreement, sliding a paper down the conference table to his boss. General Schwach, the HOLCOM commander, an Army four-star Harris had known for fifteen years, said nothing.

Harris wanted to reach across the table and smash his Air Force counterpart in the face. But he controlled himself. A complete waste of time, the face-to-face meeting had already cycled through all of the arguments, only to arrive back at a repetition of Lieutenant General Micah’s original position.

“The MOBIC air’s flying,” Harris said. “Dawg Daniels and his Marines flew.”

“The air defense environment is different in the MOBIC area of operations. And the Marine sorties were a fluke. They had the element of surprise.”

“How
is the environment different? The MOBIC ground forces are approaching a linkup with my corps. The sectors are merging.
The air defense envelopes already overlap. And we need air support
now
.”

“Our intelligence shows a different threat environment in the Third Corps area of responsiblity.”

Harris wiped a finger under his nose. “Come on. MOBIC’s flying. The Marines want to fly. And I have it on good authority that even your own Air Force pilots want to fly.”

“They don’t have the big picture. We can’t afford to lose irreplaceable, very expensive aircraft in support of purely tactical missions.”

“Why do you think the taxpayers paid for your ground-attack fighters?”

“We have to preserve our air power.”

“For what?”

“For threats to our national security.”

Harris leaned in over the table and lowered his voice, attempting to lock eyes with the Air Force general—who studiously looked down at the paper his deputy had passed to him.

“General Micah, do you understand that we’re at war? Right now? That soldiers and Marines are dying? While the United States Air Force is jerking off?”

“The Air Force is prepared to do its part. As soon as conditions permit.”

“But why shouldn’t the Marines fly, for God’s sake? If they’re willing to accept the risk?”

“The Marines don’t have the big picture. And I object to your taking the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Exactly what
is
the big picture? What do you have to ‘preserve the force’ for? Fucking air shows in Orlando?”

“Our decisions are based on sound intelligence and cost-benefit analysis. Unlike the Army and Marines, the Air Force is a strategic service. We have to think far into the future.”

Harris leaned back in his chair. Disgusted. And tired. They just wore you down.

“That much, I believe,” Harris said. “About the cost-benefit
analysis. What benefits have the MOBIC bunch promised you? Do you or any of your brethren really believe that the Air Force isn’t next? Do you really think that, if the U.S. Army goes away, and then the Marines disappear, you’re going to get a special dispensation from the Military Order of the Brothers in Christ?”

General Schwach stiffened as Harris spoke. A decent enough officer, if no lion, the four-star looked as if he’d stacked arms on the matter. And perhaps on other matters, too. He clearly didn’t want to get into a pissing contest over the MOBIC.

“That’s enough, Gary,” his commander told Harris.

“Of course, we
want
to fly,” the Air Force general added. “That’s what we do for a living. We’re just waiting for the threat environment to clarify.”

“You’re full of shit. You don’t want to fly at all.”

“Are you calling me a coward, General Harris?”

“No. You’re not a coward. Cowardice at least has a certain logic. You’re a fool.”

“That’s
enough
, Gary,” the HOLCOM commander said. But his voice barely sounded firm. Just drained.

The Air Force general stood up. His deputy aped his action.

“This meeting has been counterproductive,” General Micah declared. His uniform was tailored as neatly as a corporate executive’s. “If you’ll excuse me, General Schwach, I have Air Force business to attend to.”

But Harris couldn’t let go. Even though he recognized the childishness, the sheer spite, in his final remark: “Mark my words: You’re destroying the U.S. Air Force. Without firing a shot.”

The HOLCOM commander made a steeple of his fingertips and rested his brow against it until the Air Force officers had left the room.

“Jesus, Gary. That didn’t help anything,” General Schwach said at last. “You’re smarter than that. You’re
better
than that.”

Harris leaned toward his boss. Schwach looked at least a decade older, although the age difference between them was only three years. “Sir . . . This is madness. You know it is. Can’t you order
them to let the Marines fly? At least that? My Deuce has a foot-long list of high-value targets even tactical missiles can’t range. That’s what air power’s for, for God’s sake.”

Schwach waved his face back and forth like a flag of surrender. “It’s not General Micah. He’s just a place-holder. Gary, this order comes directly from Washington: No fixed-wing sorties.”

“But the MOBIC aircraft can fly.”

“We both know what’s going on.”

“Sir, we have to do something.”

“What?”

“Fight.”

The four-star glanced toward the door of his office. Making sure it was closed. “Gary . . . I don’t even know how much I should tell you anymore. This is all uncharted territory . . . ethically, professionally, practically.” He fortified himself with a deep breath, then continued. “Right now, I’m fighting to keep your rotary-wing assets flying. And I’m not sure it’s a fight I can win. You may even lose your helicopters. And when it comes down to it, we’re lucky the Army’s still able to fly its drones—we’ve got the Navy to thank for that, God bless ’em. They dug in their heels on the drone issue. They want you in the sky between their ships and the Jihadis.” The elder general summoned a last shred of strength and looked directly into his subordinate’s face. “Gary, I’m also fighting to prevent you from being relieved.”

That knocked the breath out of Harris’s lungs for a long moment.

“Why? What’s their excuse?”

“They don’t have one. Yet. But putting a couple of tap shots into the forehead of that Air Force flunky didn’t help your cause any.”

“But
why
?”

The four-star smirked. “Don’t be obtuse. You’ve been doing too well. Sim Montfort’s got a bloodbath on his hands—Gary, he’s lost nine thousand Americans killed in a matter of days. Maybe three times that number wounded. Montfort may have taken Jerusalem, but he’s lost half of the combat power in his corps.”

“It’s a big corps. The biggest that ever fought under an American flag.”

“Not big enough, though. And there you are, fighting smart, pulling off a landing that was just short of another Inchon—”

“That was Monk Morris and his Marines.”

Schwach waved off the demurral. “And you’ve committed the unforgivable sin of not bleeding enough. What’s your latest KIA figure?”

“Just over six hundred, sir.”

“I rest my case. No matter how the MOBIC publicists try to spin it back home, questions do come up. The press isn’t totally house -broken yet. And President Bingham doesn’t have the nerves of steel the vice president does. Vice President Gui and his Arkansas Inquisition have to do something fast to make Sim Montfort look like the only competent military commander in this war. The script says Montfort’s the hero, Gary.”

“Sim is competent. He’s just a butcher.”

General Schwach sighed. “Well, I want you to listen to me: Don’t get in his way. Not any more than you absolutely have to. Don’t give him any excuses to cry that he’s been betrayed by Judas Harris and the U.S. Army.”

“I won’t tolerate the massacre of civilians in my sector, if that’s what it comes down to.”

“I’d relieve you myself, if you did. But we both may have to look the other way at what goes on in the MOBIC AO.”

“It disgraces everything our nation stands for.”

Schwach nodded. “Gary, we both know what’s at stake here.”

“Yes, sir. The survival of the U.S. Army. And the United States Marine Corps.”

“And the country, Gary. Our country as we know it. As we’ve served it. The Constitution.”

“Sir, I know. Got it.”

“And I’d be dishonest if I didn’t tell you that I’m not sure we’ll win.”

“We’ll win,” Harris said. Reflexively.

Schwach slumped back in his chair. “God willing. Gary, these people make me ashamed to call myself a Christian.”

“They’re not Christians.”

“Yes, they are. They’re just a different kind of Christian. The kind that burst out of the locked chest the Jihadis banged on until the lid came off.” The HOLCOM commander rested his graying temple on one hand. “I wonder if any of our enemies ever regret un-leashing
our
demons. With all those whacky demands for a global caliphate. And the terror . . . Los Angeles, Vegas, the Eu ro pe an cities. You think they ever regret starting this?”

“No, sir. Not the ones we’re fighting. They want a showdown as badly as the MOBIC bunch do.”

“Even if they lose?”

“They don’t think they
can
lose. Even if they lose on Earth, they win in Paradise.

“With the hot babes of Heaven. Something to be said for their version of things, I suppose. If I were younger.”

“It’s not about that, sir. It’s about death. The greatest seductress of all. Death. We’re not fighting a civilization. Middle Eastern civilization’s gone. Finished.
Basta
. We’re at war with a culture of death.”

“You’re going a little too deep for me now. I’d prefer to stick with the lithe houris of Paradise. I can understand my enemy on that level.” The older general glanced down at the grain of the wood on his conference table. “How do you think this will end, Gary? Between us?”

“It won’t.”

“Won’t what?”

“End. It won’t end. Al-Mahdi’s Jihadis and Sim Montfort’s Crusaders may think this is the Battle of Armageddon, but there’ve been a lot of battles of Armageddon. The big-dog religions just take turns winning. We massacre you for Jesus. Next time, you massacre us for Allah. But there’s always another round.” It struck Harris—hard—that it was time to get back to his own headquarters, that there was nothing left for him here. It also struck him that his boss didn’t want him to leave, that his old acquaintance was desperate for someone trustworthy to talk to. “Sir, if we get down to just one of them and one of us left, the last two will go at each other with rocks. Each yelling that God’s on his side.”

“And if one of them knocks the other down and kills him? Doesn’t that undo your theory? Isn’t he the winner, the last man standing? Or if they kill each other, what then?”

“In the latter case, the monkeys win. Until they evolve. And start creating new theologies to explain that they were never monkeys at all. That God X created them from sandalwood and spices.”

“That’s pretty cynical. Coming from you, Gary. I thought you were a devout Christian yourself.”

“I’m a Sermon on the Mount Christian. Sim Montfort’s a Book of Revelation Christian.”

“It’s hard to square the Sermon on the Mount with being a soldier.”

Harris smiled. “That’s where faith comes in. ‘I know that my Re-deemer liveth.’ But I can’t claim to know it intellectually. I believe in the mercy of Jesus Christ with all my heart and soul. My head just has to catch up. But I
don’t
happen to think He wants human skulls piled up at his feet. Sir, I’d better pull pitch. I’ve got a war to fight.” He rose from his chair. Surprised by the stiffness in his back and legs. Too much sitting. The long helicopter flight. The b.s. session that solved nothing. Age. And another flight to come.

“Gary?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I need you to have faith in me. I need you to do something for me.”

“Sir?”

“You’re going to have to chop a brigade to Montfort as soon as his bunch effect the linkup. He was demanding a full division. I held him to one brigade. For now.”

Harris opened his mouth to protest. But the beaten face of his superior stopped him. That, and an idea that made him smile.

“All right, sir. I’ll give old Sim some shit about it on principle. But he’ll get his brigade. Thanks for the top cover.”

The older man looked unmistakably relieved that Harris hadn’t put up a fight.

“
Vaya con Dios
, Gary.”

Harris paused for a farewell salute. Snapped from the end of his right eyebrow.

“He’s busy, sir.”

Harris crunched a stale chocolate-chip cookie and regretted not bringing his aide along. Major Willing had remained behind at corps to put the day’s paperwork in order for Harris’s return. He’d made the flight with a single bodyguard. But Willing was responsible for his care and feeding. His aide would’ve seen to some chow—Harris had realized belatedly that he was as hungry as a bear at his first springtime wake-up call. So the general had just grabbed a couple of care-package cookies from a box by a coffee urn as he left the HOLCOM headquarters for the flight line.