Chapter 33: Chapter 27 “You Could’ve Stopped It”

CHAPTER 27

Ȳ̴̟̈o̶͖̙̰̯͘u̶͎̐̅͝ ̶͎́C̵͇̫͉̑̇͊ô̷̢̩͕ư̴̦͕̎l̶͈̠̜͛̉̚d̸̨̤̈́̾'̴̱͊͐̆̈́v̷̮̥̐ẽ̸̢͚ ̷̧͙̪̯̈S̷͖̳̒̇̔t̷̛̤o̸̞͓͛̈́͝p̴̘̃͑̈́p̸̻͐̾̈́ę̵͈̤̥̍̑d̵̼͉͉͕̉̇ ̵̗̈́Ȋ̴̝t̶̟̆̌̚

     

1:00 AM, August 20th, 2040: The White House, United States of America

 

Paragraph after paragraph, page after page. President Dresden had finally read through the proposal for economic reform and reshuffling. Suffice to say he wasn't too impressed with what had been offered. The United States didn’t have five years left, let alone the twenty years the proposal called for. And while it did cut back on spending, either by burning foreign debt obligations or filing pennies on the dollar in each sector, it also called for economic mobilization, effectively throwing the “Free Market” out the window with America going to a full-time war economy. 

 

Attaching a single sticky note with “conference required” written across it, he set aside the bulky file. Looking to his right he saw that the stack of other files on the floor had finally reached the height of his desk.

 

“Another sleepless night. I really need to get a coffee machine installed here.” Grabbing the top file, President Dresden immediately noticed that it was from The Department of Defence. Raising an eyebrow as to why it wasn’t in the urgent pile, he opened to the first page, causing his heart to sink to the floor. Another casualty report… 

 

Coupled with the still stranded Americans, the unexpected war and other unknown factors at play the number had ballooned to over three thousand confirmed, with yet another estimate of two-to-five times that. Flipping to the next page, President Dresden was met with a section of notes.

 

• NOTICE: Suspected increased casualty rate from self-inflicted GSWs (gunshot wound), hanging, ingested toxic materials and other forms of self-inflicted harm. Requesting immediate approval of the deployment of psychotherapists to all bases.   
• Majority of casualties reported have been caused by magical weaponry. However, other forms such as crossbows have become an increased source of concern. At medium to long range, level IV (4) ballistic plates are enough to protect against a standard bolt. At short to point-blank range, field reports have indicated level IV (4) ballistic plates being penetrated. Field reports in The Plusieurs Kingdom suggest an increased usage and appearance of bolt heads intended to cause more penetration than bodily damage. An ongoing investigation is still compiling data.   
• Insubordination in remote bases and F.O.Bs has increased. The most common denominator is servicemen refusing to leave without certain equipment or guarantees; such as air support, anti-tank weaponry or accurate maps for said location.

 

Feeling his right leg begin to shake, President Dresden snapped the file closed before burying his face in his hands. Closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath, he tried to regain his composure. 

“You know, I always admired how you Americans looked after one another. Even if it made very little tactical sense.” A deep, distorted male voice said. Nearly jumping out of his skin, President Dresden stood up from his chair to see a figure dressed in green digital camo standing across the oval office. A military officer, clear as day--and one that he knew far too well.

“Isimov. What the hell do you want?” Dresden sneered.

“Oh, me? Nothing at all. I just thought I would stop by to see how my favorite American was doing.” Isimov’s distorted voice echoed back. “But by the looks of it, I would guess that things aren’t going so well for you.”

“Don’t you dare patronize me! I would have beaten your ass back to the Urals if I had the equipment!” Dresden spat back, though Isomiv only returned a head shake of disapproval. 

“You Americans. Always wanting to fight with what you wish for, not with what you have.” With an eerie smile creeping across Isimov’s face, he took a step forward. “Why do you still fight the inevitable? America’s influence on Earth was already waning, and now you have nothing.” Upon reaching the desk, Isimov’s eyes glowed from a hazel green, to snow white. “Just give up already. You lost this fight the moment you arrived. America has no place here, and you know it.” 

 

Turning away from Isimov, President Dresden looked out at the dimly lit south lawn. A feeling of anguish washed over him as his mind processed what was said.

“I was told to fix the mess in Africa that my predecessors left, and I did just that. All the while I had the P.R.C. breathing down my neck and your conscripts throwing themselves at us, day and night! Tell me, Ruski, who is the military genius here? The one who lost 20,000…or over 100,000?” In response, Isimov’s eyes flashed brightly, filling the room with a blinding light. Once opening his eyes, President Dresden found himself in a burnt farm field. Around him laid craters and hundreds of bodies. The majority of them are medieval peasants or levy soldiers. 

“You think you’re benevolent? For months you Americans have been rampaging across this world! Terrifying everyone into compliance and killing those who resist. You think you’re fighting for freedom, yet you have oppressed more people than ever before. The kingdoms and even the hybrids look to the empires of old for help against you! For god's sake look at the writing on the wall John! It’s time for the American experiment to end.” Glancing at Isimov, then into a distant cloud of smoke and dust, Dresden watched as a fury of explosions and gunfire rang out inside the cloud. 

“I would rather die than allow the United States to fall to these technological backwaters! Hell, I will gladly lead my brothers and sisters into the fray again! I will not allow the lives of three-hundred million Americans to be put at stake over who or whatever caused this.” Dresden looked back as Isimov heaved a sigh before pulling out a handgun, pointing it directly at him.

“The last thing this world needs is a hard-liner who isn’t willing to adapt, John. I would like to think your time in Africa taught you that…but it appears that I was wrong. You couldn't save everyone in Africa, and you can’t do it here. Goodbye, comrade.” Pulling the trigger, John heard the shot and felt it enter his chest. 

 

“Fuckin’ hell!” Throwing himself up from his bed, President Dresden was drenched in sweat and breathing like he just ran a marathon. From outside his room, the sound of running footsteps echoed before the door to his room was thrown open.

“Sir! Are you alright?” One secret service agent shouted, handgun drawn; and within seconds, the room was filled with a dozen agents.

“Yeah, just a damn nightmare. What time is it?” Rubbing his face, Dresden uncovered himself and sat on the edge of the bed.

“5:38 am, sir.” 

“Great, only five hours. Well, I guess it’s time to get to work anyways. You can all leave now.” Waving off his secret service President Dresden readied himself for another long day, showering and then dressing himself in a suit, the whole time his mind replaying the nightmare over, and over again. Isimov’s words echo each time. 

“You couldn't save everyone in Africa, and you can’t do it here.” Latched on like a leech, Isimov’s voice repeated.

“Get out of my head…” Grinding his teeth together, President Dresden marched his way through the packed hallways to the Situation Room.

“Ah, John!” Looking behind him, Harold gave a wave with his free right hand over the crowd, then pointed to the file he was holding. “Heard what happened, you’re not overexerting yourself, are you? I know your sleeping schedule is non-existent, but you need to rest properly.”

“We don’t have the luxury of a decent rest with the looming threat of total economic collapse. I have scheduled a meeting with the lawyer team to see what my options are to get the ball rolling faster.”

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“That’s a slippery slope, John. Even with the NEA (National Emergencies Act) or more so the IEEPA (International Emergency Economic Powers Act), this is going to have some blowback.”

“You really think I give a damn about the midterms now, of all times?” Feeling his blood pressure rise just at the mere mention of midterms, President Dresden sneered. 

“Hey, I’m just trying to make sure congress stays on our side here.” Raising his hands, Harold turned towards the Situation Room. “We should probably head in. Things have started to… well, derail a tad.” With only a huff of frustration from the President, the duo walked through the door and were immediately greeted by the sight of a full table, stacks of papers and files, and a wide range of advisors from public relations to military liaison.

 

Taking his seat at the head of the table, the President glanced around the table before speaking. “So, who has the worse news?” Immediately a public relations advisor raised his hand.

“Construction on multiple steel mills in Indiana has stopped. Union reps are saying the contractor hasn’t paid them yet and many of the workers are risking bankruptcy. The Gary Works steel mill is trying to pick up, but is already running at near max productivity.” 

“Well either find out why they haven't been paid, or find a new contractor. Hell, I'll nationalize the construction companies if that helps. We need this steel now more than ever. On the topic of resources, where are we at with oil production?” Just next to the public relations advisor, an older woman opened her file.

“Mister President. Production has increased to eighteen million barrels of oil per day, and we are consuming roughly nineteen million. However, with the unforeseen war, our reserves are down to ten billion barrels. Gas prices have stabilized at about twelve dollars a gallon.”

“Well, at least that’s one crisis dealt with. Where are we at with the rest of the economy?”

“Mister President. With the most pessimistic numbers, we are looking at a complete recovery time of twenty years. At the opposite side of the spectrum… at least seven, maybe nine years.” A younger man chimed. But before President Dresden could respond, a general across the table voiced his concerns first. 

“Sir, with all due respect. While economic stability is of the utmost importance, there has been significant military activity that requires your attention now.” 

“Very well, let’s hear it.”

“General Ronan Wolf at Yokota has sent an urgent message regarding servicemen refusing to comply with orders that contain to leaving the wire. Namely, servicemen that have been in direct conflict involving the presence of magical weaponry make up the majority.”

 

Immediately President Dresden’s mind flashed back to his nightmare and the casualty report. Feeling his right leg begin to shake again, he moved his right hand down to hold it in place.

“And what have the servicemen said exactly?” He asked.

“A small fraction are outright refusing to leave, while most are demanding they be given anti-tank weaponry or the guarantee of rapid air support. What exactly do you want us to do, sir?” A long silence followed as President Dresden was lost in thought. Both thinking of an answer, and his nightmare. “Sir?” The General repeated. 

“Our priority right now is bringing all non-essential servicemen home. We will not launch or join any conflict until we have a firm understanding of magic, and how these nations use it. We’re not going to throw equipment at a wall and see what goes through. Have we gathered anything new that I should know?” This time, a different general responded.

“Yes sir, a major development in the former continent of South America. A squad of marines that were stranded there, came across an abandoned manor that seemed to be used as an academy. I cannot say more than that as Director Stevens has classified the rest. I suggest you have a meeting with him sooner, rather than later, as he’s become… somewhat obsessed over it.” 

“On the topic of magic, Mister President.” Looking across the room and against the wall, a young woman raised a file. “The prospecting endeavors into the former territory of Mexico and Canada have turned up multiple deposits of magic gemstones--namely in cave systems; but we’ve hit a roadblock. When our personnel got close, their geiger counters started to go haywire. With the geologists coming back with about 10,000 millisieverts of unknown radiation on most of their equipment.”

“Unknown? So you’re saying it’s not alpha or beta particles? Not even gamma rays?” One general questioned, with all of the military personnel going ghostly white at the thought of these gemstones being used in WMDs (Weapons of Mass Destruction), given the massive amount of decaying energy.

“Seems like that. Mister President, for the safety of my coworkers, I ask that we hold off on extraction of these gemstones until we have a better understanding of them.” 

“I’m inclined to agree. Though I suspect we will need to enlist the help of the local inhabitants to understand the fundamentals. Do we have any headway on that?” 

“Unfortunately not, Mister President. Our embassies in Ruppriecht and Plusieurs have expressed that both the general populace and the aristocrats distrust us; and in the case of Plusieurs, the general populace fears us.”

“Two steps forward, one step back.” President Dresden mumbled. Rubbing his eyes, his mind rapidly and violently shifted back to the bloody field of corpses. “Speaking of the general populace. How is the famine relief effort?” In response to his question, a new female face stepped forward.

“Slow, Mister President. None of our ocean-crossable cargo ships can dock at any harbor on the west coast of New Europe. So we can only rely on aircraft.” hearing this, President Dresden's mind jumped back to the time he was a part of a hurricane relief team that was sent to Cuba; sparking an idea. 

“Though expensive and temporary, couldn't we build a pop-up port? Yes, I understand it would still take a few months for the needed space to be created. But I’d rather this than having either nothing, or waiting five or more years for a run-of-the-mill harbor.”

“We can certainly do that, Mister President. I will run the idea by my office.” 

 

With the conference seeming to drag on and on, President Dresden, who by this point was feeling a headache forming, was saved when the door to the Situation Room swung open revealing an aid.

“My apologies for interrupting Mister President, but there has been a massive development! Emperor Alfonso has personally requested you, along with King Hienrich and Queen Christina, to a banquet that will be held in Alfonso City. I made the call to tell you this personally, and immediately.” With only the sound of the aid trying to catch his breath, a wide-eyed President Dresden shared a look with his equally shocked Vice President.

“John. You know damn well you can’t accept that. Wherever you go, half of the army follows now. None of the joint chiefs will approve of this.” 

“Yet this might be our only avenue to avoiding war with a major power on this continent. I say that’s a risk worth taking. When will the banquet be held?” Turning back to the aid, President Dresden leaned back in his chair.

“A specific date wasn’t given. I suspect Emperor Alfonso wanted to hear our response first.”

“Gives the secret service all the time they need to make plans, and for Director Stevens to do his magic." He then turned to his Vice President. "The ball is in our court, Harold. Now would be a rather embarrassing time to trip and fall.”

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