The War After Armageddon

Harris grunted. “More work than it was in Joshua’s day.” He felt the silent gasps. But Harris was sick of pretending. He was furious and disgusted by the behavior of his fellow Americans and their “God wills it” rampage. To the extent that he had flashes of fantasy about turning his corps against the MOBIC corps, to put a stop to the bloodbath.

What had his country come to?

Harris turned back to his operations officer. “Mike, how’s the MOBIC corps responding to al-Mahdi splitting his force?”

“Sir, the Military Order of the Brothers in Christ units are pursuing the Jihadis northward along the Jordan as their primary mission. General of the Order Montfort’s positioning one division torn up in the Jerusalem fight and a fresh follow-on division to secure the Jordan crossing sites vicinity Jericho and protect the MOBIC lines of communication.”

Harris nodded. “Anybody needs the latest enemy order-of-battle info, get with the Deuce’s number two after this meeting. Now… Let me just think out loud, gentlemen. The worst-kept secret in the world is that our campaign objective is Damascus. And the best approach to Damascus from Jerusalem just now is via Amman. The obvious choice for al-Mahdi would’ve been to pull his entire Second Corps back to the east bank of the Jordan. But he didn’t. Anybody care to guess why? Go ahead, Monk. Speak up. Your eyes are popping.”

The Marine general didn’t leave his chair. “The Jihadi withdrawal up the west bank of the Jordan is bait. To draw off the MOBIC forces. Keep them from pushing straight for Amman.”

“Okay, Monk. That’s the bait. What’s the trap? How do they spring it?”

“That one… I can’t figure out yet.”

“Anybody? No? Well, I can’t crack the code yet, either. Deuce, watch that one. If ever I smelled a setup, al-Mahdi’s putting one together. They’re playing chess, while we’re playing checkers.” He looked around the room. “Three? Anything critical you haven’t briefed earlier?”

Mike Andretti rose again. “Sir, the 1st Cavalry Division has one brigade ashore, with its lead elements conducting a forward passage of lines with Avi Dorn’s brigade. The IEF is still just sitting there west of Nazareth. Another 1st Cav brigade’s about 50 percent ashore, as of 1800. General Stramara believes he’ll be in position to execute a divisional attack by 1200 tomorrow. General Morris’s Marines—”

“We’ll go through that later. Drone problems?”

“Sir, they’re still coming hot and heavy. Killer number one of our armored vehicles. And they’re still a bitch on the beachhead.”

“Jamming.”

“Like a sky full of mud. The J’s don’t want anybody talking. They’re blanketing the spectrum so heavily they can’t talk, either. And 1st ID reports that a broadcast e-cancer has penetrated their logistics network.”

“Four? You got your firewalls up?”

Colonel McCoy nodded. “Corps is clean so far, sir.”

“Anything else for the assembled multitude?”

The G-4 looked tired but didn’t sound it. “The Haifa pipeline should be partially operational by tomorrow. Full flow in forty-eight hours. God bless the SeaBees. Other than that, sir, everybody needs to understand that the bottled water’s for drinking. No washing in it. Or dehydration’s going to be a bigger problem than those drones.”

“Thanks, Real-Deal. All right, you all heard him. Make sure you’ve got good water discipline. And good discipline in every other respect. All right, gentlemen. Boots and saddles. Monk, you hang on here. Deuce, Three. You, too.” He looked at the plans officer. “And you, Marty.”

The other officers cleared the room. Usually, after a briefing, one or two would approach Harris with a problem they didn’t want aired too widely. But each man sensed that this was not a day when the corps commander was feeling charitable.

When the last straphanger was gone, Harris turned to his aide and said, “Close the door, John.”

Then he turned to the remaining officers, making no further attempt to hide his anger.

“Now, what the fuck is going on?” he demanded.

* * *

“Three,” the corps commander snapped. “Have your people laid hands on that goddamned zoomie yet?”

Colonel Andretti looked down at the tabletop. It was never good news when the G-3 did that.

“Sir, he flew up to Cyprus this afternoon. To Holy Land Command. He told my deputy—”

“I hope he took his beach towel and flip-flops. Where’s his deputy?”

“He went with him to HOLCOM.”

Harris shook his head. Then he looked at Monk Morris. “Okay, run the scenario by me one more time.”

The Marine said, “Dawg Daniels was locked and cocked to run the full series of missions today. Then the Air Force shut down the field.”

“I thought it was a Marine airfield.”

“The HOLCOM commander backed the Air Force.”

“Same rationale from the zoomies?”

“Yes, sir. ‘Too dangerous to fly. High threat environment. Can’t risk irreplaceable aircraft.’ ”

“But the MOBIC air arm can fly down south. And carpet-bomb villages.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Next thing, they’ll ground our rotary-wing assets. This stinks like a baboon’s ass.”

“Yes, sir.”