Furnishing the War

WEST POINT, NY
MARCH 21ST, 2009

There was grumbling, shuffling and murmuring amongst the assembled Army cadets. They were being pulled out of their Saturday routines to watch a speech by one of America's latest and greatest heroes. The new Caesar, some were calling him. The next Oliver North, said others. A real bonehead, others opined. But they all knew who he was.

"TEN-HUT!" an officer's voice called out. The cadets immediately snapped to as a man entered.

He was medium height, about 5'10", bespectacled, close-cropped blonde hair, not a very imposing figure in spite of his crisp blue uniform and regulation sabre. His chest was not festooned with medals and his epaulettes only read Major, but he was one of the greatest military heroes of the age. To some of these men, anyway, for the way he had not only defeated hostile Apache Indians in the Southwest but upheld the Monroe Doctrine and booted a French Army out.

Now he stood before them, about to give a speech in which. He spoke in a voice which started with a stammer, but grew in confidence and energy - and passion - as it went along. To modern, civilized ears, it might sound like the horrific call of a fascist demagogue, but to the ears of the fighting men, it was a statement they whole-heartedly endorsed:

“The time has come for America to re-establish herself as a true superpower. We have not fought a major power since the Korean War, and in that time we have grown weak, unable and unwilling to stand up to our rivals, overconfident in the securities of our economic hegemony and our nuclear arsenal, sluggishly trusting in the status quo of stability and the familiar, and when we do shed blood, we are trapped in asymmetrical wars against small, unforgiving enemies for causes that not even those who wage the wars can explain or articulate and in which victory is all but impossible. We have been guided during this time by fear – fear that a large war against a powerful nation is a fearful thing, no matter how successful or fast, while a splendid little war against a weak and defenseless nation, no matter how much of a failure, no matter the cost in blood and treasure and prestige, is an acceptable policy alternative. If America is to be a fighting nation again, if America is to be a truly powerful country, allow us to stand up and be counted. Have us confront our enemies, no matter the size of their nation or how formidable their weaponry. For America to remain a superpower, we must fight wars that assert our power, not sap it. Let the question be, not whether we should go to war, but whether it is worth it. Whether the war is worth the effort, the blood, the treasure, the time, the effort, the prestige, the difficulty and most of all, the victory! This should be our guiding principle - that wars, if they must be entered into, must not be entered into lightly, and must be fought only to the point of victory and satisfaction.”

This was met with thunderous applause from the assembled cadets, some of whom cheered. The speaker, unable to contain his happiness, grinned broadly before exiting the stage. For the first time since returning from Mexico, Groggy Dundee felt vindicated.

* * *

For the assembled West Point cadets, Major Groggy Dundee may have been a hero, but to the United States government, he was a headache. He had nearly triggered an all-out war with France over his little expedition, and gotten hundreds of men and women killed as a result of his little escapade. There was not the slightest tint of legality in any of what he'd done, but why spoil the beauty of the thing with legality?

Groggy was court-martialled, eagerly prosecuted with the testimony of Captain Waller, his former subordinate at Ft. Benlin. He was nearly cashiered from the Army, and was convicted for violating the Neutrality Act. Fortunately, before he could serve any jail time, President George W. Bush, as one of his last acts in office, pardoned the Major, and he was Honorably Discharged from the US Army the following day. As a boy who had spent his childhood blowing up frogs with firecrackers, Dubya could appreciate Groggy's eagerness to waste a bunch of Frenchmen.

For the year and a half since, his life had been a morass of darkness. He stayed in only sporadic contact with his old comrades-in-arms, barring Lieutenant Joe Starbuck - who rose through the ranks to become a Captain - and his brother Alex, who opted not to remain in the military. Marie Wynter went back to school, Michelle was eaten by a giant clam while scuba-diving off New Jersey, and the rest of his command largely disseminated into the world at large.

Despite his reputation, Groggy found himself in little demand. He gave an occasional lecture and wrote the occasional column, but otherwise had little use. Fame only got him so far, and it was so interchangable with infamy as to be worthless. He was shunned by the military officer corps and by the Obama Administration, to whom he was a non-entity. His one solace was Edith, a pretty girl with a good mind he had met shortly after his pardon; he hoped that they would marry and have really smart children.

Groggy lived in a small apartment in Pittsburgh with his girlfriend, doing little whilst waiting orders that he felt would never come. He wrote, he read, he surfed the 'Net, he watched films, and ate truckloads of sunflower seeds, but did little of import until rumors of war with Russia surfaced. It was the ongoing struggle over the Russian West Indies, the faint cry of an re-emerging empire, and a violation of the Monroe Doctrine, that excited him. Here was his chance to prove himself, to prove he wasn't a wastrel and a drunkard and a criminal. And so he picked up a pen - or rather, switched on the laptop - and began his career in earnest.

* * *

WASHINGTON, DC
MARCH 22ND, 2009

Secretary of State Hillary Clinton slipped a glass of Chardonnay as she read the headline of that day's New York Spin. Sitting next to her was Rahm Emanuel, sloppily eating a piece of rotisserie chicken. Several aides looked on in alert silence, taking everything in and forbidden by protocol to speak.

The Spin certainly brought the sensational to a new level with its level of yellow journalism. It was so yellow, in fact, it was amber.

AMERICANS KILLED IN MAJOR ATTACK!
23 American soldiers die in attack by Russian soldiers
Illegal missiles believed used to slay US citizens

And, below it:

PUBLIC CLAMOR FOR WAR
DO SOMETHING, OBAMA! - Rush Limbaugh

"Hugh," the Secretary said, not bothering to hide the amused tone in her voice, "I'd say you were wholly unscrupulous and without principle."

The tycoon registered an expression of mock surprise. "What, did Kid go too far?"

The tycoon's right-hand man, reporter James "Kid" Kidderman, smiled conspiratorially as he leaned forward, a piece of chicken caught in his teeth. "You don't really think Russia wants to fight a war with us, now do you?"

The Secretary smiled. She knew very well what she was doing, and why she was there. 2008 had been her year, and all those assembled here knew it. But then along came that Obama punk, with his change and hope and all that bullshit, and swept away her long-incubated ego-dreams. Hilary had been entitled to the Presidency, and now she was serving under this upstart prick from Illinois? The nerve!

Now she was Secretary of State. And as such, she was in a position to dictate US foreign policy. With Russia flexing her muscles in Eastern Europe, and expanding, it was easy enough to depict them as a growing threat - indeed, as John McCain had during the previous administration. President Obama stressed the need for diplomacy, the need to end the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. But with enough atrocities and killings and expansion so close to America herself, even Barack would sit up and pay attention - if the threat were credible enough. And if she were the one to lead the call to war, against stopping the Russian bear - well, who knows what might happen in four years?

And although Hugh Lewelyn wouldn't ordinarily have spit in Hillary's general direction - HILDEBEAST WINS PA PRIMARY was his headline that past April - they now shared a common enemy. Who better to make a marginal threat credible than America's most powerful media tycoon?

"Sanctions are in the offing, gentlemen," the Secretary ntoed.

"Sanctions are hardly a war," Kidderman said nastily.

"What about a Security Council resolution?" Clinton asked.

Hugh and Kid just snickered.

"Furnish the pictures, Kid, and I'll furnish the war," Lewelyn said insistently. "If it's a war we want, it's a war they'll get."

Clinton smiled. The Machiavellian nature of this whole scheme appealed to her a great deal. It was the sort of thing, after all, that her whole life and career had been built around.

"Well said, Hugh," she replied, raising her glass in a toast.

"To hell with Russia, here we come to crush ya!" Lewelyn said, taking a drink. He didn't notice as those around him winced at the idiocy of his statement. But the sentiment was shared by all. Emanuel let out a long belch as they all raised their glasses for a toast - a toast that set in motion the Russo-American War of 2009.