Drone Threat

51

Pearce sat in his office at the EEOB, channel-surfing the television and scanning the news feeds, a dull depression gnawing in the back of his mind. What he saw on the screen didn’t surprise him.

The usual flock of neocons, chicken hawks, and posturing politicians all favored Lane’s “Kill the Snake” doctrine.

On the other side, the talking heads for the American Islamic Association, pacifist groups, and isolationist and libertarian think tanks all came out swinging against it. Street protests broke out for and against Lane’s call to arms in Washington, D.C., and in state capitals around the country. Code Pink, Black Lives Matter, Occupy Wall Street, and pro-Sharia groups made the most noise, but the pro-war protestors fielded the largest numbers. Law enforcement kept them as far apart as possible.

The Russian government filed an official protest with the United Nations, claiming President Lane’s unilateral action violated the UN Charter, especially Article 33. They also pressured the rump government of Syria, or what was left of it in and around Damascus, along with Cuba, Venezuela, and North Korea to join them. Anti-American, antiwar, and anarchist protests erupted in the capitals of Western Europe, the largest in London. Only Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic formally endorsed Lane’s announcement and offered their support.

Al-Mahdi issued a slick new video message on Al Jazeera and on social media sites, urging the apostate Saudis, pagan Russians, degenerate Americans, and all other “Romans” to “hurry to their doom.” He pointed gleefully at a map of Syria, showing them the location of the city of Dabiq in the northwest. “Here is your final destination, in case you don’t know where it is,” he said, laughing. “Here is where you will die, and where the Apocalypse begins.” The video garnered more than seven million views worldwide in less than an hour.

There were also news reports that web traffic on militia group websites was spiking, especially those recruiting new members. Law enforcement officials issued warnings against vigilantism. Local news agencies showed footage of civilian national guardsmen in their uniforms leaving home for active duty, hugging proud spouses and weeping children as they departed. The governor of Massachusetts, a staunch opponent of President Lane during his primary run, announced she would ignore the federalization of her national guard units. Constitutional scholars debated the standoff on C-SPAN.

No doubt the protests on the streets and the shouting matches on the TV shows would only escalate in the days to come — democracy’s version of a relief valve. But Pearce knew none of them mattered. Cataclysmic decisions like war didn’t take place in front of television cameras or radio microphones. They happened in well-appointed government and corporate offices with period furniture and air-conditioning, by people with manicured fingernails and hair plugs and bleached teeth.

Pearce checked his latest e-mail from Dr. Ashley. Over 60 percent of the country was now under Gorgon Sky surveillance. It would be nearly 100 percent before the week was out, Alaska and Hawaii included. He wasn’t sure how she had pulled that miracle off. Lane should give her a presidential citation for her herculean efforts. Pearce wasn’t sure how he felt about living in a surveillance state, but he felt even less comfortable living in a war zone without it. The chickens had, indeed, come home to roost.

Pearce shut off the television. The news was only feeding the animal growing inside of him. He turned to his computer. He had a mountain to climb now and few ropes to work with. Lane instructed him to draw up Drone Command plans to conduct long-term operations in the Middle East. Despite Pearce’s strenuous objections, these included supplying the Saudis with all of the MQ-9 Reaper drones they could afford to purchase. In a perfect world he’d coordinate with the DoD and the armed services, but there was no way in hell he could overcome the bureaucratic resistance he’d meet as they each pursued their own drone acquisition and operational plans, especially now that they were on a war footing. That battle would have to wait until after his confirmation. For now, all he could hope to accomplish was to draw up the Drone Command operational plan and lay out his vision for the future of drones without regard to the rest of the federal government.

His fingers tapped haltingly on the keyboard as he tried to formulate the first sentence of the first paragraph of his executive summary, but his monkey mind was in full swing, a thousand ideas crashing around in his brain all at once. He pushed away the keyboard. What was the point? Besides, something was wrong with this whole setup, but what? He couldn’t put his finger on it. Too many moving parts, too many players, too many deals getting cut behind closed doors far beyond his reach.

Lane knew the score. He even said it in his speech. Al-Mahdi would never let the civilian population of Raqqa evacuate. Air Force Global Strike Command would unleash holy hell on the city and kill more than two hundred thousand residents in hopes of killing the half hundred lunatics trying to start Armageddon. Of course, al-Mahdi and his closest advisors wouldn’t wait around. Hell, they were probably already long gone and hunkered down in the basement of some other third world shithole.

Morality aside, the destruction of Raqqa would be a public relations disaster of the highest order for the United States. Maybe that was the ISIS plan all along. No matter that they were the ones pulling the temple down on their own heads. They’ll still blame us for it, Pearce knew. They’ll never forget it. They’ll use it to recruit more terrorists who will cause more destruction in the West, and the West will retaliate again, and again and again.

How do you fight the fanatical Muslim mind-set? Pearce had been asking that question for years while trading potshots with them. And the answer was always the same: bullet to bone.

Unfortunately, the murderous cowards liked to take their shots while hiding behind the skirts of women and children.

If they don’t care about their own, why should we? He’d asked that question a thousand times, too.

And the answer was always the same: Because we’re not them.

And that’s why he feared they may win in the end.

Total war was the only answer, he was sure of it. Lane chose half a war, which meant a forever war. Just as many would die in the long run, but there would be no victory for the United States, and the drone attacks at home might continue anyway.

Pearce failed to convince Lane to steer away from starting the war if he wasn’t going to finish it. The whole point of getting back into the political arena was to try to change things from the inside. Isn’t that what Margaret had said?

Well, he was as inside as he could get. Thousands would die soon and all of that blood would be on his hands, too. “Sins of omission.” Where had he heard that before? All because he couldn’t stop the drone attacks.

Guilt like snow fell on him, heavy and cold.

He’d failed his country. He’d failed Margaret.

He was useless. More than useless.

Pearce shut his computer down. He needed to get out of this place. Head home.

And get seriously fucking hammered.