Conquistadors!, page 33
He turned, addressing the room. “There is no point in trying to offer further resistance,” he said. His men were police, not soldiers. There were a handful of units that might meet military standards – New York’s SWAT team was the best in the nation – but the majority were just beat cops. “I intend to maintain order, as best as possible, until the military counterattacks and liberates the city. This will mean cooperating with the invaders and, in doing so, stand between them and the civilians we swore to protect.”
The room was silent. He wondered, morbidly, how many of his men were armed, how many were thinking of shooting him ... it would be hard to blame them. But ...
“If any of you feel that you cannot act in such a manner, you are free to leave now,” he added. “If not, please remain. I will issue a statement noting that you do so under my direct orders. Choose now.”
He shivered, inwardly. Following orders was not an excuse, when the orders were illegal. That lesson had been learnt time and time again, by a police force that had had no choice but to come to terms with the power-mad and corrupt within its ranks. There was a very real risk that, after the war, he wouldn’t be the only one put on trial for collaboration. The rest of the NYPD – the ones who stayed, at least – might be joining him, no matter what orders he put in writing. But what choice did he have? If he stayed, he might be able to protect the population ...
Might.
***
“Impressive,” Joyce said.
Martín couldn’t disagree, even as he kept his eyes open for enemy threats. New York was immense, easily bigger than any city back home; the skyline alone, he had to admit, was more impressive than anything the Protectorate could boast, save perhaps for the orbital towers. They were lucky, he told himself, that the enemy had been caught so completely by surprise. A few hours of warning – even just a single hour – would have let them make life much, much harder for the assault force.
He shook his head in disbelief as they picked their way through the rows upon rows of cars, some burning brightly. New York was a busy city. There was a war on ... but, from what he’d heard, the locals hadn’t let it bother them. The towering skyscrapers were still heaving with life ... no, had been heaving with life. Whatever they’d been doing, they’d been doing it until the invasion force had landed ...
An alert flashed up in front of him. He scowled, inwardly. New York’s poorer citizens seemed prone to rioting at the drop of a hat, according to the locals. Martín suspected some of the collaborators were grinding their own axes – a couple of reports had indicated New York was steeped in sin, which appeared to be their word for degeneracy – but it was clear the local authorities had lost control of the city. The missile bombardment probably hadn’t helped. They’d run right down the list of military targets, hitting each and every one of them. The police force wasn’t in much better shape.
The locals should have cracked down on this sort of crap years ago, he thought, coldly. He’d grown up in a client state – he knew how desperate the poor and hopeless could become – but there were limits. It wouldn’t be that hard to crush a bunch of rioters, execute the ringleaders and send the rest to work camps for a few years. Or even done what they could to help the poor and dispossessed.
“It really is impressive,” Joyce said. “Hard to believe it was built by degenerates.”
Martín ignored the barb. Joyce was just trying to get on his nerves. The hell of it was that New York clearly hadn’t been built by degenerates. The city really was impressive and that meant ... these people weren’t degenerates. Not completely. And that meant ...
He sighed. He didn’t want to think about it.
***
“This city is impressive,” Ruddigore said, as he joined James in the command vehicle. “It’s also very large. We don’t have the manpower to keep it under control.”
“The locals have agreed to cooperate, for the moment,” James said. It was proof, as if he’d needed it, that the locals would start to submit once they realised the Protectorate was here to stay. “We’ll let them do the hard work.”
“Or try to keep us lulled while they plot against us,” Ruddigore said. “New York is big. Lots of people fled, sir, before we could get the city surrounded, but there are still upwards of eight million people in the occupied zone. Our control is tenuous, to say the least, and we could lose what little we have very quickly.”
“Then it is all the more important we make full use of local resources,” James said. “They’re starting to break. Can you feel it?”
“They’re making a temporary accommodation,” Ruddigore countered. “This isn’t a complete surrender.”
James kept his face from showing his true feelings. Ruddigore was an infantry captain. Dash was supposed to be his watchword, not caution. The enemy was finally beginning to break and all it would take was one more push. And that meant there was no room for doubt amongst his subordinates. If Ruddigore pushed for a council of war ...
“Not yet,” he said. “But we can and we will push them into submission.”
Ruddigore met his eyes. “One more victory like this and we are ruined.”
James snorted to hide his irritation. “We can go where we like – and they know it, now,” he said. “It’s time to finish the job.”
Chapter Thirty-Four: Washington DC, North America, Timeline F (OTL)
“The situation is still fluid,” the briefing officer said. The young dark-skinned woman looked as if she would rather be somewhere, anywhere, else. “However, the enemy assault appears to have been successful. We have lost contact with military bases and centres within and near the city, as well as most federal, state and city administrative installations. The last reports before contact was lost completely indicate heavy missile strikes landing without warning.”
Felix sucked in his breath. He’d thought he’d have more time ... he wondered, suddenly, just how much bad news he could take before he collapsed. He’d expected an enemy thrust north, perhaps to secure the rest of Texas or push into one of the neighbouring states, but a landing north of Washington ... it hadn’t ever been considered. He’d certainly never thought it might happen.
He glowered at the young officer, then forced himself to look at Grey. The general looked grim, worrying in a man who was normally stoic. “I thought we were getting better at tracking their aircraft!”
“We think they flew out to sea, then approached New York from the east, under cover of darkness,” Grey said, quietly. “There was certainly no warning of their approach until the first missiles started landing.”
We could have done more, Felix thought, coldly. Congress was going to go apeshit. New York was easily the most famous city in America, an economic powerhouse ... losing New York, even for a few days, could easily undermine the government’s position once and for all. How many nations were watching and waiting, hoping for proof the United States was doomed before they started jumping on the carcass? Losing New York could easily be taken as proof. If we’d stationed more troops in the city ...
He shook his head. There was no time for recriminations. They had to make sure it couldn’t happen again ... if the enemy could hit New York, they could hit Washington. Or any other city within the US. Or the world. How keen would NATO be on assisting the US, now that the Protectorate had proved it could land an army deep behind enemy lines? Would Britain or France side with the US if the invaders could take London or Paris just as easily?
“General,” he said. “Can they land in Washington?”
“We have far more troops in the city,” Grey said, “and many of our units have been carefully camouflaged. We’ve undertaken deception measures to conceal our real deployments and give them dummy targets to shoot at, hopefully expending their missiles uselessly. We also have procedures in place to evacuate the government, as well as contingency plans to retake or shell local airports if they force a landing. Our projections suggest their transports are capable of landing in open spaces, not just airports, but ... so far, they seem to prefer them.”
“So far,” Felix mused.
The President cleared his throat. “General, what are our chances of recovering New York within a week?”
Grey’s expression barely flickered, but he was clearly worried. “Not good, Mr. President,” he said. “Many of our heavy units were moved south to help contain the invasion force. The remainder of the state’s National Guard is regrouping, and we expect that many out-of-contact military and police personnel will join them, but they’re short on heavy weapons and ammunition. We’re reactivating armour as quickly as possible, and mating reservists to their equipment, yet ... realistically, we’ll be looking at a month at best.”
“We are looking at other options too,” Admiral Leone added. “Drones. Communications jammers. Hacking attacks ...”
The President looked at Grey. “And the odds of success?”
“Impossible to calculate,” Grey said. “We simply don’t have enough hard data.”
There was a pause. “And our chances of overall victory?”
Grey said nothing for a long cold moment. “The enemy is technologically advanced and powerful,” he said, as if it was the first time he’d said it. “They are not invincible, however, and there have to be hard limits on their deployable forces. We are finding gaps in their defences and taking advantage of them, pressing them as hard as we can ...”
“General,” the President interrupted, “what are our chances of overall victory?”
“Good, if we pay the price,” Grey said. “And there will be a steep butcher’s bill.”
President Hamlin said nothing. Felix felt cold. The President looked like someone who had made a hard, but necessary decision. It was so unlike Hamlin that, for a moment, he wondered if the rumours of alien body-snatchers were true after all. And yet ...
“The country has already been devastated,” President Hamlin said. “I’ve been hearing from Congressmen and Senators deeply concerned about the cost of the war, in human as well as material terms, and ... there comes a point when we must cut our losses and discuss a truce.”
Felix blinked, barely able to comprehend what he’d heard. “Mr. President ... are you suggesting we surrender?”
“No,” President Hamlin said. “A truce.”
“A truce,” Felix repeated. “Do you think they won’t take us for everything they can get?”
President Hamlin stared back at him. “The blunt truth is that the country is breaking,” he said, flatly. “Our military has been defeated time and time again, unable to keep the invaders from going where they please. Our economy is barely keeping itself together, and only because we’ve been doing everything in our power to stem the collapse. Large swathes of our country are out of control, either occupied by the invaders or in the grip of rioters; our allies are edging away, while our enemies are emboldened to strike while we’re down. The country is on the verge of complete collapse!”
“And if we make a truce with the invaders,” Felix said, “the country really will collapse.”
President Hamlin looked at Grey. “General, if the Russians or Chinese join the war, what are our odds?”
Grey’s lips twisted, as if he’d bitten into a lemon. “It’s hard to say. The Russians and Chinese both have large armies, and they could fill in the gaps in the Protectorate’s order of battle, but getting them to the US will be tricky. If they are sent by freighter, our submarines will make hash of them; even if they somehow evade our subs, they’ll still need several weeks to get organised and dispatch their ships in our direction. Right now, New York is the only major port the invaders control and we’ll have no trouble blockading it.
“If they are sent by air, the amount of heavy equipment they’ll be able to bring will be much reduced. Again, they’ll be running one hell of a gauntlet. We have carriers and antiaircraft ships in the Atlantic and Pacific, plus whatever our allies can provide.”
The Secretary of State scowled. “The Russians are already moving troops to the edge of the Ukraine DMZ,” he said. “The Euros aren’t going to be sending anything west if they have to worry about a Russian invasion coming their way.”
Felix couldn’t disagree. NATO had reduced its forces sharply – and foolishly – before the Russo-Ukraine War and even now, Germany and France were reluctant to risk rebuilding their militaries to effective levels. The EU – and Britain – might be able to deter Russia, if they acted as a body, but it was doubtful they had the stomach for a long-drawn out war that could easily turn nuclear. There weren’t many people in America who knew the nuclear taboo had been broken, yet ... he’d be astonished if the Russians didn’t. They had always had good sources within Official Washington.
The President leaned forward. “We will open communications and discuss a truce,” he said, firmly. “If their terms are unacceptable, we will fight on.”
If, Felix thought. His mind raced. Which politicians were pressing for peace – and why? It wasn’t hard to imagine politicians from states bordering Texas demanding a truce, at least long enough to call up every last vet and start training and arming new volunteers, but they had to know they’d be next on the chopping block. Can they offer us something that will convince us to stand down?
He frowned, inwardly. No politician could possibly surrender American territory and hope to remain in office. Even if they thought they were going to lose the territory anyway ... were they hoping to blame President Hamlin for everything, to pretend they’d had no choice but to go along with it? Or ...
“If we try,” he said, “they may interpret it as a sign of weakness.”
It was hard for him not to groan in open frustration. He could put forward a dozen arguments against making any sort of contact with the invaders, even something as minor as a limited truce to allow the wounded to be medevacked out, but the President wouldn’t listen. Hamlin was, at base, a very small man ... and if challenged openly, now that he’d made up his mind, he’d push back hard. Felix kept his mouth shut, telling himself he’d have to get in touch with his allies in the Cabinet and act fast. If they could get bipartisan support for a rapid impeachment ...
Of course, it will mean taking up the poisoned chalice myself, he thought. He’d been serious, when he’d told his allies he had no intention of staying in office past the end of Hamlin’s term. And if I fail, all is lost.
The thought nagged him as the meeting ended, the President consulting with his diplomatic staff and the rest of the cabinet and military personnel returning to their duties. Felix shaped a dozen insane plans as he walked back to his office, then dismissed them before they could be verbalised. There was no way to assassinate the President and ... he gritted his teeth, fighting a pang of remorse. Hamlin wasn’t a bad man – compared to some historical Presidents, he came off very well indeed – but he was utterly unsuited to this catastrophe. He didn’t deserve to die, yet ...
And if assassinating him is the only thing you can do, his conscience prodded, should you?
He shook his head. It was foolhardy to even consider the possibility. The President had been the best-protected person in the world, at least until recently. The Secret Service were extremely good at their jobs. It would be difficult, if not impossible, for a hired gun to get into position ... Jokes aside, most politicians didn’t have an assassin on the payroll.
General Grey joined him, an hour later.
“It isn’t good news,” he said, bluntly. “The diplomats spoke to the enemy commander.”
“I bet they did,” Felix said. “What do they want?”
“A face-to-face meeting with the President, in Washington, DC,” Grey said. “Apparently, they’ll discuss issues in person.”
“Apparently,” Felix said. It was odd. Normally, a defeated party would be expected to go to the victor’s capital as a sign of submission. “That’s what they want?”
“Not quite,” Grey said, grimly. “They insist on being allowed to take over an airbase near the city – Andrews, apparently – and moving in enough troops to ensure their safety ... there are a handful of other demands, but that’s the main one.”
“Impossible,” Felix said. A civilian airport was one thing, but Andrews ... one of the most important joint military bases in the world? Surrendering Andrews was unthinkable. “What did the President say?”
“He agreed,” Grey said. “Ordered me to ensure the base was stripped of everything classified and evacuated, leaving the field clear for the new owners. The orders were very clear.”
And they left you no wiggle room, Felix thought. Grey would never have come to Felix, not like this, unless he felt he had no other choice. Crap.
He looked at Grey, wondering if he dared take the officer into his confidence. It would be one hell of a risk, dealing with a straight-shooter like Grey. The general had no patience for political manoeuvring – Felix rather envied that trait – and wouldn’t get involved in anything that might feel like a military coup, regardless of the legalities. It would be disastrous for the US if he did – Felix had visited quite a few countries where the military held the power, formally or no – and yet ...
“I see,” he said, finally. “Were there any other orders?”
“No, sir,” Grey said.
Felix nodded, slowly. “Carry out the President’s orders,” he said, as if there were any doubt Grey would. “And then prepare the troops in Washington to engage the enemy.”
Grey gave him a considering look. “You expect conflict?”
“I expect the enemy commander will push the President into a position where he will have to either submit or fight,” Felix said. It was basic common sense, when negotiating, to make sure the other side had a chance to save face, even if they’d surrendered on all the important points. The invaders didn’t seem to realise it. “If that happens, we need to hit them with everything we can muster.”
“Yes, sir,” Grey said. “Can we deploy the experimental weapons?”
“Everything, save the weapons that require presidential authorisation,” Felix said. He wasn’t the President, not yet, and there were limits to what orders he could give. “If the shit hits the fan, General, we want to be ready to bury them.”
