Red Hammer 1994

“These are the latest casualty numbers,” the chief of staff remarked. His voice trembled. Thomas grimaced as he scanned the summary. The figures were lower than early initial estimates, but still abhorrent, and climbing daily. A number over fifteen million was shocking, unbelievable. The military dead paled in comparison. But he had yet to witness the devastation firsthand. None of them had. They circumvented the duty based on security concerns, but deep down they were terrified it would cripple their objectivity and decision making. Sooner or later, they would have to face the devil in person.

The president spoke softly to the group, in a matter-of-fact voice. “I’m told that if we don’t act decisively in the next week, these numbers could double within two months. Food shortages are epidemic, and fuel is almost nonexistent. Civil order is collapsing.”

The president looked straight at Hargesty. His face tightened. “I need all our troops for reconstruction and soon. That means a total pullback from overseas.”

Hargesty took a deep breath and tugged at the stubble on his head. He had been prepared for this. Juggling conflicting requirements from the president and the theater Commanders-in-Chiefs was proving impossible. Time and the numbers were against them.

“It’s not that easy, Mr. President. A total pullback would leave a vacuum that would lead to anarchy. Foreign governments are biding their time, waiting to see what happens to us. Skirmishes have already started on more than one border. There are old scores to settle, and most have correctly concluded that they won’t have to worry about the United States sticking its nose in their business. Then there are overseas resources. We’ve got to be able to play that game.”

The president began to doodle intently on the yellow legal pad resting before him. He drew a box and inscribed the word “survival,” then underlined it repeatedly. He seemed totally absorbed but suddenly looked up.

“The country’s recovery is paramount. Nothing else matters. Continuing to fight overseas is pointless. If the world goes to hell, so be it.”

Hargesty leaned forward to answer. He’d give it one more shot. “I have to disagree, Mr. President. Once we retreat, it will be impossible to reverse course. Forward deployment has been the cornerstone of our military strategy since World War II. We should hang on as best we can. We need the clout to secure resources. We need to rebuild coalitions.”

Hargesty’s argument was lost on the president. He continued to scribble, disinterested. “I’m well aware of that. But we have to establish economic viability at home. Otherwise we’re doomed. People are terrified. The country is at a standstill. We need to reestablish order. And the troops can do that.”

“We’ll never get economic viability without access to overseas resources,” replied Hargesty forcefully.

The president looked up sternly, cutting off the debate. “My mind’s made up. I want to see a redeployment plan. General?” the president inquired, arching his brow.

“I will ensure your orders are carried out, sir.”

The president stood, leaning on the back of his chair. His eyes were glued to a large map of the United States hanging from the far bulkhead. State boundaries were superimposed on a two-dimensional colored-relief format. “The country’s falling apart. The States are screaming, and there’s nothing I can do. Anarchy’s spreading from coast to coast. FEMA has been overwhelmed. I fear a total breakdown of authority then mass starvation and epidemics. God knows how we’re going to make it through the winter.”

The president closed his puffy eyes and slowly rubbed his brow. One of his now-frequent headaches was returning. “Have you read about Europe during the Black Death?” he addressed no one in particular. “One-third of the population of Europe perished, maybe more. Corpses were stacked like cordwood, waiting to be burned. Starving peasants ate grass, and in some cases, each other. Whole towns ceased to exist. Terror gripped their lives for years; recovery took decades.” An uncomfortable silence ensued, broken only by an occasional cough.

“We need every American soldier we can get our hands on. Governors and military commanders are grumbling. A few have openly defied orders, questioning the legitimacy of the government. That’s why we need to seize control of all surviving industrial production to ensure equitable distribution. I never dreamed I’d be an ardent supporter of martial law, but it’s the only path leading out of this wilderness.”

Finished, he gazed at his audience. His voice had a pathetic touch of sadness. “I want a plan to get those troops home, General Hargesty.”

Thomas didn’t say a word. He had been uncharacteristically quiet during the discussion. He sensed the president had something else in mind for him.

“That’s all,” the president said abruptly. They all rose in unison and formed a loose file. “General Thomas, please stay. I have a matter I’d like to discuss.”