Battleground

22

President Wilson Anderson rolled back in his big leather chair, and scanned the four men and one woman facing him around his desk. These were the advisors he had learned he could rely upon. They had individual specialties, but could see the broad picture better than anyone else in D.C. He watched each one intently.

Phillips served as National Security Advisor. Phillips was rock-solid in international affairs. He stood only five feet six inches tall. However, he had a surgical mind that bored into the heart of a problem and dissected it with unerring skill.

Lambert J. Waldpole was his CIA director. Steady, a man who'd moved up through the ranks. He was a former field agent who had done his share of hand-to-hand killing in Europe during the Cold War. He was a top administrator who could evaluate the hell out of a situation even if he hated it. He stood six four, and carried 210 pounds like a small tight end.

Mabel Thorndyke, the only woman in his cabinet, was the first woman Secretary of State. She was a brilliant foreign affairs strategist, a longtime diplomat who could negotiate with the best, and win. She had an unerring antenna for the downstream results of actions taken today. She was an inch shorter than Phillips, and a calming influence when things heated up.

Greg Zweibel was his Chief of Staff, and carried more weight than some of the others at the table. Some called him the First Vice President, and the unelected Vice President. He was neat, a fashion-plate dresser, single, at the peak of his career after twenty years in rough-and-tumble national politics. He had a keen eye for the immediate effects of decisions.

Hart Kilburn was the Secretary of Defense. A career soldier, he had come up fast, and held pivotal roles in the Gulf War. From there he had retired and turned down a bid for the presidency, preferring to work out of the spotlight until his appointment to Defense. He was a tactician who understood war, force, showing the flag, and how much pressure a task force of Navy ships and planes can bring to bear on a situation.

President Anderson turned to Kilburn. "Hart, just what's the situation now in Kenya?"

"Getting better. The Navy SEALs rescued our diplomats and staff there after the embassy was overrun by the rebels. Then they broke the one hundred sixty men out of that prison, and got them on hovercraft and then to the ships offshore. Now I hear they have liberated the frigate that had been captured.

"My Naval commander in the area tells me that President Djonjo is gradually regaining control. He now has over fifty percent of the Army and Navy back under his control. He's cleaning out a pocket of resistance in Mombasa. Then he will control that vital port on the southern coast.

"He hasn't said anything about wanting help in eliminating General Maleceia."

"Mr. President," Waldpole said. "My CIA man with the fleet down there reported about an hour ago that President Djonjo was vitally interested in getting help to knock out Maleceia once and for all so they could bury him. Maleceia's holed up now in his headquarters north of Nairobi."

George Zweibel turned to Waldpole. "Yes, but didn't he say that he was not too happy with the bombing and strafing runs by U.S. fighters?"

"Yes, George, he said that," Waldpole replied. "However, he also said it was vital to knock out Maleceia so he would never upset peaceful democracy in Kenya again."

"He wants us to kill Maleceia?" President Anderson asked.

"That's the general idea, without having to use the word," Mrs. Thorndyke said. "He put it about as strongly as a politician can. Yes, he wants us to blast this colonel-general right into Hell."

The President looked at Jared Phillips, who had been drawing a large black man on his pad. "Jared, what do you think?"

"I'd guess that the President down there would love to get somebody, namely us, to blast General Maleceia into the nether regions so he would never have to worry about him again. From the point of view of worldwide opinion, it might not be the best move for us." He held up his hand as several others started to speak.

"Just a minute, let me finish. Yes, we are regarded as world's enforcers. We went into Kenya for legitimate diplomatic and hostage-rescue reasons. For this the world is with us. Once we go a step further and try to wipe out the man responsible for the U.S. embarrassment, then most of the nations will say we're stepping over the line and getting involved in the internal affairs of Kenya."

The men in the room looked at Mabel Thorndyke. She nodded and studied her notepad, and then her head came up, her eyes hard, her jaw slightly set.

"Gentlemen, this one is tricky as all hell. If we do what we want to do, go in with a dozen planes and bomb that headquarters of Maleceia into kindling, we accomplish a good for Kenya, and maybe ourselves down the line. We also get a black eye in world public opinion. However a good steak soon reduces a black eye to a distorted memory. I'm not sure yet which way to go."

"Do I have to remind you about Saddam Hussein?" Kilburn asked. "We had him by the cojones as Mrs. Thorndyke might say, and we let him get away. No, we invited him to keep on living. He's caused us trouble ever since. There's a good chance that he'll go on messing with us for as long as he stays in power. Now this self-made general in Kenya is not as big a threat. By that I mean he controls no oil. However, he will continue to irritate us, and to cause all sorts of hell in Kenya, if we don't go in and take him out right now with a good bombing program on his HQ, and then send troops or the SEALs in to make sure that he's blasted straight into Hell."

President Anderson held up both hands. "Okay, time out. I want all of you to go to your benches and think this through a little more. We've had input from everyone. Let's see what we can work out as a practical approach that will benefit us currently and that will be best for us downstream in Kenya and in the world." He grinned. "Hey, if this job was easy, I wouldn't need you folks."

The five filed out, and went to the nearby conference room, where they found fresh coffee, rolls, and bottles of cold water.

"Now we get down to work," Zweibel, the Chief of Staff, said.

In his office, the President looked over his calender, canceled three appointments, and paced the room. By the time his advisors returned two hours later, he had a rough idea of what he wanted to do. He'd see if the suggestions of his cabinet people coincided.

Zweibel led the people in, and kept standing when the others sat down.

"Mr. President, we have worked out what we think is the best move for the United States. First we route our response to the President of Kenya through State. This will give it a more rounded and subtle approach.

"Second, we think Mrs. Thorndyke herself should send the message and then phone President Djonjo.

"Here's our suggestion. We should indicate to President Djonjo that it is his best interests to wipe out General Maleceia so he will not be a troublemaker in years to come. We suggest this be done with smart bombs or ship-launched missiles targeting the complex where the general has his offices.

"Mrs. Thorndyke received a message relayed from an operative in Nairobi who has penetrated the military complex and who reports that the general's main offices are on the top floor of the only three-story building in the complex. It has a window wall on one side, and is on the outside of the building. He also has an apartment on the second floor.

"Secretary Kilburn suggests that the Navy be assigned to do the bombing of the HQ, and that the SEALs already on-site off Mombasa be used to go in and make sure that Maleceia is dead in the ruins. If for any reason he escapes, it would be up to the SEALs to track him down and dispatch him."

The President leaned back in his chair, and peaked his fingers as his Chief of Staff sat down. He looked at each of them.

"Say you all?"

The heads nodded.

"That's about the scenario I'd come up with. I don't think we can rely on the ship-to-shore missiles to do the job here. We need pinpoint precision bombing. This can be done with computerized targeting, as I understand." He looked at the Secretary of Defense.

"That's right, Mr. President. The complex has already been mapped in fly-overs, and is all in the shipboard plotting computers."

"I hadn't thought about the SEALs moving in," the President said. "They are as efficient on land as they are in the water?"

Kilburn nodded. "The acronym stands for Sea, Air, and Land, Mr. President. I followed them one day from the ocean into the beach and inland for five miles. They are awesome with their tactics, their discipline, and their firepower. They are undoubtedly the best and the deadliest special forces organization in the world."

"All right. Mabel, it's your move. Make that call to President Djonjo, and let's get this moving. Eight hours. The time in Kenya right now should be about 8 P.m. Maybe a dawn attack could be worked by the Navy. Secretary Kilburn, see how they want to play that part of it.

"Mabel, and gentlemen, I think we have a solution that will be effective now and work for us in the future."