The War After Armageddon

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?”