The War After Armageddon

“Afula may still have a lot of civilians down in the cellars,” the G-2 said. “It looked like the Jihadis are forcing the locals to remain in place in the major population centers.”

“Got it. And I’m not looking for a bloodbath. That’s Sim Mont-fort’s line of work. But we can’t worry about collateral damage on this one. A quick win will save plenty of lives later. Afula’s the key to everything else — I’m not sending anybody through those high-radiation valleys to the north if there’s any way to avoid it. And if the Jihadis are going to fight from towns — well, that’s a course of action they’ve forced on us. Just give General Scott everything he wants. But, Mike,” Harris said to his operations officer, “before we get off this tub, make double-ass sure your people understand that the FRAGO goes out to the Big Red One by 1700, with the completed operations order to General Scott not later than 2100. Scottie’s going to need all the time we can give him to pull this together. To say nothing of the brigade and battalion staffs.”

Harris swept his forefinger across his nose, back and forth, once. “They’re still trying to get themselves unscrewed after getting ashore. I’d hate to be a battalion S-4 or BMO out there tonight. And Three? Chop Avi Dorn’s brigade to the Big Red One for this operation. Avi’s bitching about not getting into the fight. Tell General Scott to get Avi’s ass in it.” He thought for a moment. “But not as the main attack. Supporting attack or just a demonstration to the north. Avi’s not going to have a lot of time on the ground to get organized. And we’re not going to be accused of using the Israelis as cannon fodder.”

“Tempting, though,” the G-3 said.

“Mike… I don’t ever want to hear you say anything like that again.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harris shook his head. “I hate this. Every action we take… we have to weigh the politics of it. Why go to Afula before those battalions even know what continent they’re on? Because if we don’t, not only do the Jihadis dig in and make it tougher — our MOBIC friends get on the first open link back to Washington and start wailing, ‘We took Jerusalem, and the Army and Marines haven’t done a damned thing… Give us their equipment now, and we’ll do the rest.’ I mean, Christ. I was talking to the commander of Quarter Cav yesterday, before he went ashore. He’s got M-1 hulls that date back almost fifty years. Past a certain point, all the upgrades just don’t help anymore. And the MOBIC boys, having utterly miscalled it by grabbing the hot, new gear only to find out it isn’t worth a monkey’s nuts, are going to go into gimme mode. The whole business makes me sick.” He sat back.

The G-2 looked at him, then looked at each of the others. “Sir… You know it’s more than that. More than just the equipment, I mean.”

Harris waved a paw at the problem. “I know, Val. I know. Look, this is a shitty war. There’s nothing between here and the Himalayas that’s worth a single American soldier’s life to me.” It was his turn to inspect the other faces in turn. “But we’re not fighting for all this crap about taking back the Holy Land. We’re fighting to save the United States Army. And the Marine Corps, for that matter. We’re all that stands between God’s little fascists and control of our country.” He swiveled toward his aide. “John, what’s the exact wording of the oath they take?”

The aide, whose purpose it was to sit, listen, and have things ready before the general knew he wanted them, leaned toward the table. “The part about ‘allegiance to the Military Order of the Brothers in Christ in service to the United States of America,’ sir?”

Harris cocked his fingers like a pistol. “Bingo. You all got that, gentlemen? We pledge ourselves ‘to support and defend the Constitution of the United States.’ They pledge to the MOBIC ‘in service’ to the United States. The dumbest lawyer in Lubbock could drive a herd of longhorns through that one. Call me paranoid, but I believe that Sim Montfort and his crowd see us as every bit as much their enemies as the Jihadis are. They’re just taking on their enemies in order.”

“Yes, sir. That’s why we’re working STARK YANKEE.”

“And I wish the hell we didn’t have to. Disgusts me. Everybody spying on everybody. It just goddamned makes me sick. That we’ve all come to this.”

The G-3 said, “Well, the Jihadis—”

“Mike, that’s just an excuse. We’ve done this to ourselves. And I don’t know how we’re all going to get through it.”

“By supporting and defending the Constitution of the United States,” the G-3 said.

“Until they change the Constitution. Which they mean to do. Or maybe they’ll just manage to change our oath. Listen up, all of you. The Army and Marines have to come out of this looking pure, efficient, effective, and indispensible. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but my gut instincts tell me that Sim Montfort’s going to make a big mistake at some point. And we’re going to save the day when he does. Go Army, and Semper Fi.”