Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) (40 page)

“God bless
you, Erik…I know we don’t look like—“

“Hoss, shut
up and get your sorry asses inside where it’s dry.  We’ll talk then.  Come on,
you can park by the office here under the sunshades to keep the bikes dry.  No,
Ted, it’s okay!” said Erik, noticing Ted come out of the leasing office
building with his shotgun at port arms.

“Howdy,”
called out Hoss.

“That’s
Ted,” said Erik, “Our chief of security, so to speak.”

Ted
continued to watch all the bikers at once, waiting for an excuse to send one or
more to Hell.  As far as he was concerned they were all threats.

“Relax,
Ted.  Hoss is a friend of mine from a few years back.  Drinkin’ buddy.  Anyone
who rides with him rides with me,” said Erik using a phrase Hoss himself used
to welcome Erik, Sean and Gary into the biker party two years ago.  Hoss smiled
at the sentiment.  Ted dipped his head slightly, his face grave under the
dripping poncho hood.  His eyes never left Hoss.

“Don’t mind
him,” Erik said in a too-loud whisper.  “He’s a Marine.”

One of the
bikers behind them heard that comment and stood up, straddling his bike. 
“Semper Fi, Marine!” he barked as the bike coasted by.

Ted’s
attention snapped to the biker who spoke.  “You in the Corps?”

“Damn
straight, the 1
^st
MEU in Kuwait—Second Gulf War.  Big Green Machine
all the way,” the man said over his shoulder as the bike continued rolling
through the rain.

“Well I
will be dipped in shit,” Ted muttered with a smile.  He pointed the shotgun at
the ground and walked forward through the rain to greet the newest guests to
stay at Colonial Gardens.

MR. PRESIDENT, WE’VE
lost contact with the
Theodore Roosevelt
battlegroup,” reported Admiral
Bortsen sourly.  “Again.”

The
President rubbed his forehead.  What a way to start the day.  “Why?”

“Another
nuke?” asked the Secretary of State.

“No. 
Conventional attack from the Egyptian Air Force this time. 
They
got lucky,
that’s all…pardon my language, sir.”

The
President waved it off and accepted a cup of steaming coffee from an aide. 
“Casualties?”  He wished desperately for a window.  It was too damn gloomy
locked up under the mountain.

“No word
yet sir.  If the carrier took a hit hard enough to knock out all
communications, it could be bad.  If the carrier got hit at
all
, it
could be bad.”

“How many
did we get?”

The
Admiral’s image smiled.  “All of ‘em, sir.  We swatted every last one of them
sons of bitches out of the sky.  No quarter asked nor given.  Egypt can be
taken off the threat assessment board.”

“The
Egyptian government is screaming bloody murder, but right now the only thing
they can hit us with is sticks and stones,” said the face of the Secretary of
State on the large video screen.

“Good. 
First good news I’ve heard all week.”

“I have
something, sir,” said the National Security Advisor, recently arrived from an
abandoned Washington, D.C..  “CIA sent this over from Langley.  Hot off the
press,” she said, handing the President some 8 x 10 glossy photographs.  High
altitude photos.  Very high altitude.

“Satellite
photos?  What am I looking at, Alicia?”

“That’s the
southern coast of China, sir.”

“China?”
asked Admiral Bortsen’s image.  “What the hell are
they
doing?”

“Yes. 
China
,”
said the NSA.  “Looks like a lot of large ships—tankers, we think—just put to
sea.  We don’t know what’s going on, because there’s no obvious military
vessels in the fleet…”

“Let me see
that,” said the Admiral. 

“Thank
you,” the President said as an aide took the photos.  In seconds, the images
were scanned and sent via secure link to the other cabinet members.  The
admiral was able to see what the President saw within a minute.

“Christ,
those are tankers, all right.  But you got a classic fleet formation going on. 
See here?” he asked, pointing it out to the President.

“Why are
they moving a fleet of commercial ships in naval formation?” asked the
Commander in Chief.

“Any
threat?” asked the SecDef’s face on the large screen.

“Negative,
sir…” said the Admiral, studying the image.  “At least, not from these photos. 
Could be subs all mixed in there.”

An Air
Force Lieutenant snapped to attention in the corner of the conference room and
spoke, “Mr. President, I’ve just been informed the link with our forces in
Chicago has been established.  General Stapleton is ready for you now, sir.”

“Thank you,
son,” the President said.  He swiveled his chair to face another video screen
at the rear of the room and saw a bulldog of a man. General Stapleton’s image
glared back at him. 

“General.”

“Good
morning Mr. President.”

“What’s
your situation?”

“Sir, my
men are all set up in a perimeter around the occupied zone,” said General
Stapleton, internally grating at having to call any part of an American city
the ‘occupied zone’.  “We’re locked and loaded.  I’ve sent some scouts in to
recon and we’ve had some casualties.  Artillery is sighted in, my tanks are
hummin’.”

The
President looked at the large wall-sized picture of General Stapleton’s upper
body and the pall of smoke obscuring the view of Chicago in the background. 

“I hate to
Hell having to say this, but General, take the city.  Just try not to burn it
to the ground…”

“Sir, I
want to be absolutely clear on my orders—“

“General,”
the President said, sitting straighter and effecting a more official tone of
voice.  “You are hereby authorized to use any force necessary to liberate the
city of Chicago from occupying forces.”

The general
nodded then continued without missing a beat.  “Sir, my scouts tell me they’re
holed up in the old Sears Tower.  I’ve already lost two tanks, their crews, and
an entire scout squad.  Short of storming that tower with every man I have…”
the General looked over his shoulder at the massive black structure just
visible through the smoke in the background.  “I’m going to lose a lot of men. 
There’s too many choke points inside a high-rise like that.  It’ll be suicide. 
Easiest way is to bring that sucker down and end this rebellion once and for
all.”

“We may be
too late for that, General, but if you have to bring down that tower…” the
President thought for a moment.  Destroying one of the nation’s landmarks would
be devastating to his career and legacy.  Not destroying it could allow the
rebels to escape, which could be devastating for the country.  He could see the
face of the SecState go white on the other video screen.

“Do it,
General.  Take that thing down if you have to, but this ends
today
!”

“Yes,
sir
!”
The General snapped a salute and turned to say something off camera to the
artillery squad.  Just before the picture went dead, the howitzer bucked and
the picture was shattered.

The
President put both of his hands on the glossy polished surface of the large
desk deep under NORAD.  His head dropped a little as he said a silent prayer
asking for help and guidance. 
Stapleton doesn’t screw around.

“My
God…I’ve just ordered an attack on one of our own cities…”

“Sir, you
weren’t given much of a choice,” offered Hank Suthby..

The
President pounded the table and looked up suddenly.  “Dammit that doesn’t
matter, Hank!  I was chosen to lead and
protect
America, not attack it.”

“With all
due respect, sir, if you don’t attack Chicago, that little movement will turn
into the Rebellion the foreign press is harping about so much.  Then we’ll have
a real civil war again—one that’s going to be a hell of a lot worse than last
time, I assure you!  Sir, no matter how hard you try, we are falling apart—whether
you like it or not!  Everything we do that takes the pressure off one group of
people and puts it on two other groups…”

“You don’t
have to remind me!” barked the Command in Chief.

“Sir, God-
dammit
…
someone
has to!”  Hank Suthby held up his hand and ticked off points on his fingers. 
“We’re holding our own for the first time in this crisis.  It’s only been a
week and a half since we lost power and we’re already attacking one of our
largest cities.  We lost control in Chicago and Atlanta.  New York is going to
be next—L.A. is damn near a wasteland and Atlanta is a ghost town.  In another
week we’re going to have cholera and typhoid running rampant through the urban areas,
there’s going to be no food or water…how much control will you have then? 
America will be no better than a third-world country…”

“Hank,” the
President said in a quiet voice.  His face was a mask of exhaustion.  “Do you
realize what you’re asking me to do?”

“Sir…everything
my boys are telling me…Jesus, sir, it’s getting bad out there and it’s only
going to get worse.  Food shipments are non-existant.  We can’t—there’s just
too
many
people to take care of, sir.”

“With the
stroke of a pen you would have me ignore almost two-hundred and fifty years of
freedom,” sighed the President.

“I’m asking
you to sign this damn paper and save your country!” the SecDHS said, pulling
out the already prepared Executive Order authorizing Homeland Security to take
control of the nation.  “I’ve been carrying this around for a week now.  In my
opinion you should’ve signed a long time ago—“

“I’m not
going to be known as the President who threw the Constitution out the window,
Hank!”

“You’re not
throwing it out the window, just…ignoring the more time constraining and
frustrating parts until all this is fixed.  Then we put everything back.  It’s
all right here,” the Secretary of Homeland Security said, sliding the Executive
Order across the desk. 

For the
first time, the President picked up the Order and read it carefully.  Hank
Suthby sensed his moment.  “Sir, this is the right thing to do.  As soon as you
sign that, I’ll call my people still in Washington and the others in Denver—everything
is in place, we’re just waiting for your say-so.”  He paused, trying to read
the expression on the President’s face.

“My people
will have all state, local and federal authorities working together, we’ll get
the food distributed, we’ll get the water distributed, we’ll make coming to the
Safe Zones mandatory, the people will be protected and—“

Just when
it looked like the President was ready to sign, he shook his head as if he had
seen a ghost.  His eyes were bright when he looked up, the exhaustion and
weariness suddenly gone from his face.  “Hank, I will
not
sign this
Order.  We are handling everything at the moment.  I cannot sign this order and
give away the birthright of every American citizen.  We’ve eaten away at too
many rights already—“

“Sir!”
squealed Director Suthby, a look of pained frustration on his brow.

“Hank,
shut
up!
  I’m not signing your Devil’s Deal, and quite frankly the more you
pester me about it the more I’m inclined to tear the damn thing up.”

“Mr.
President, I have to say I agree with Hank,” began the Secretary of State. 
“But…well…”

“Tim, I
know…and I respect the fact that you’re nervous—we all are.  But dammit, we
can’t go
this
far!” the President said, clutching the unsigned Executive
Order in his fist.  The President smoothed out the wrinkles in the sheet and
stared at the door. 

“At least,
not yet…”

HIGH IN EARTH orbit
seven days after the initial attack on America, the Chinese satellite
Sino-star
glinted in the sunlight as it sailed through the blackness of space around the
globe.  Technically a communications satellite,
Sino-star
was carrying a
payload not listed on the official records.  Few Chinese, let alone Westerners
knew of the deadly package hidden deep in the bowls of the overly large—to
NASA’s standards—tele-comm sat.

The
monitoring stations in NORAD and the US Space Command noticed nothing when the
satellite shifted its position in orbit ever so slightly.  While the tracking
system employed by the United States was by far the best in the world, able to
track every single orbiting spacecraft and many millions of
pieces
of
spacecraft and space debris down to debris particles less than a few inches
across, when an object merely rotated to face another direction, it didn’t
register.

Sixteen
other Chinese satellites, telecommunications, weather, and military alike,
began rotating in orbit, facing new directions.  Anyone in space with them
would have noticed the cameras and antenna arrays no longer pointed towards the
earth far below.  The satellites were looking at something new.

With the
detailed information stolen by Chinese agents from the Los Alamos National
Laboratories under the Clinton Administration’s nose, the Chinese had uncovered
many of America’s space technology secrets.  Everything from nuclear weapons to
launch systems to satellite information was obtained through the high level
access the Chinese agents employed.  One bit of information led to another, and
before long the Chinese knew far more than the Americans feared.

Each of the
Chinese satellites in orbit had now been targeted on top secret U.S. military
communications satellites.  These birds were affectionately touted by the
American military as the deck of cards that were stacked in America’s favor. 
The satellites provided instant and reliable communications.  They were hack
proof, jam proof, untouchable.  No one would dare launch anti-satellite
missiles from the ground, because the US Space Command could pin-point who did
it and the military would clean up the mess.  But with the information garnered
by the Chinese, they didn’t need to launch from the ground.

Identical
panels on Chinese satellites slid open in the silence of space, exposing crude
but effective laser systems.  Three minutes after five o’clock in the evening,
Washington time, the lasers on the Chinese satellites lit up their American
targets. 

Seven
minutes after five o’clock in the evening, Washington time, the American
military began to go blind and deaf.  The Pentagon had scores of military
satellites in orbit, some for spying, some for communications, but over the
past decade, America had come to rely on a select group of seventeen global
positioning and encoded-communication satellites.  Those seventeen were now
worthless space junk. 

The back-up
satellites were decades-old and the components were failing on more than a
few.  That was part of the reason the U.S. had switched to the new birds.  The
Chinese satellites shifted orbit—something picked up immediately by NORAD—to
seemingly harmless orbits and began selecting new targets, again using
information obtained covertly. 

China had
moles in every American agency and institution.  The spy game was being played
by China the way the Russians had under the Soviets.  America was still playing
catch-up. 

The price
to be paid for being politically correct was about to be realized.