Mike Maden - Drone Threat

“But how do we ‘wall off’ Islam from the West?” Peguero asked.

Pia shrugged. “That’s another topic for another day. I’m just suggesting that war isn’t the only alternative here.”

Eaton nodded. “Technically, Mr. Pia is right. Containment worked against the Soviets. In theory, it may work again. But we don’t have ten years or even ten days to see if it will. The ISIS threat is at our throats right now. We need an immediate solution.”

“So you favor General Onstot’s position?”

“I do,” Eaton said. “Even though I also agree that winning this battle against the ISIS Caliphate won’t win us the war.”

“There’s an even simpler solution,” Garza said.

“What’s that?” Lane asked.

“Fly the stupid flag.”

Garza’s words sucked the air out of the room.

Pearce watched Lane’s jaw clenching in the awkward silence.

“For the record, I was joking,” Garza said.

“That flag will never be flown under any circumstances,” Lane said. “Am I absolutely clear about this?”

The room nodded in agreement.

“Don’t raise the issue again, Jim. Not even as a joke.”

Garza nodded, chastised. “Won’t happen again.”

“Good.” Lane lightened up. “I wouldn’t quit your day job, either.”

Nervous chuckles filtered through the room, breaking the tension.

Garza smiled. “No, sir.”

Lane continued. “To summarize, the three alternatives are a limited engagement, a long engagement, or containment, which is no engagement. The problem is, we’re out of time. I agree with Gordon and Melinda. We need a swift and powerful strike to decapitate the ISIS leadership and destroy its forces on the ground in Syria and Iraq right now. That’s our best shot at stopping these terror attacks on American soil. So that’s our goal. Now it’s time we talk about the means of achieving it. Suggestions?”

So far, so good , Grafton thought. Lane is one step closer to war.

Chandler leaned forward on the table. “Given our ‘no new boots on the ground’ policy, the only viable option for ground forces would be to accept the Russians’ offer and use their troops with our air support. They’re already in the region and ready to go.”

Pia shook his head. “The Russians have been driving toward the Persian Gulf since Peter the Great. Now’s not the time to hand them the keys to the kingdom.”

“I agree with the director,” Onstot said. “In the long run, the Russians are our strategic competitor. Handing them the world’s primary oil reserves on top of their own energy resources gives them economic leverage we don’t want them to have.”

“It also conveys weakness,” Grafton said.

Chandler shot her another withering look. She ignored him. She knew Lane would never agree to Russian boots. The only chance for war was for Lane to commit American forces. Time to kill the Russian option once and for all.

“How so, Vicki?” Lane asked.

“A Russian alliance communicates to our allies and enemies that we’re either too weak or too afraid to take on ISIS by ourselves and that we are no longer the world’s preeminent superpower.”

“So you think we should go it alone?” the president asked.

“Yes, sir. I do.” Grafton felt the power in the room shift away from Chandler and toward her. For once she wasn’t sitting in the vice president’s shadow.

It felt good.

“It’s a limited operation with clearly defined objectives. I’m sure our military can handle it.”

Lane turned toward the JCS chairman. “Can we?”

Onstot nodded. “No question. “Twenty thousand troops should do the job, not counting air and naval support. First or Second Marines, 82nd Airborne, 10th Mountain. Any combination of those would work. We can have the lead elements on the ground in twenty-four hours. Just give the word.”

General Onstot’s confidence in American arms defeating ISIS swiftly and decisively sealed the deal. Grafton was thrilled.

Lane was obviously about to commit when a storm of counterarguments broke out. Options for arming the Iraqis, the Kurds, or moderate Sunnis (if any could be found) were put forward. All of them were shot down.

Garza offered the most original proposal. “Why not let the Turks play the hegemon? They want to revive the Ottoman Empire and the ‘true caliphate.’ There hasn’t been peace in the region since the sultans and they’re not afraid to break a few eggs.”

Chandler countered. “The Russians won’t stand for it and the Crimea is already a powder keg.”

What about ISMAT, the big antiterror, Saudi-led Muslim coalition, or NATO? Both options were weak, and both dismissed.

Chandler was concerned. The Russian option was slipping away. He knew Lane was old-fashioned, a man of honor. Time for Chandler to play his trump card.

“Mr. President, if you don’t want to violate your promise to the American people about putting our boots on the ground in the Middle East, the Russian alliance is the only way forward.”

The tactic worked. Lane’s face tensed, visibly affected by Chandler’s appeal.

But Grafton understood Lane better than Chandler. Lane would never accept a Russian alliance. By appealing to Lane’s honor, the president was more likely to not go to war at all.

Grafton glanced furtively at Chandler. He was already pissed off. If she spoke up more against his beloved Russian alliance, he’d fire her before the meeting was over. But she had to get Lane back on track.

“We all agree we’re out of time. A coalition with the Russians or anybody simply isn’t feasible. Coalitions are notoriously difficult to organize, manage, and lead. By doing this on our own we can act swiftly and in our own best interests. If we want to stop these terror attacks at home, we’ve got to take the war to them over there, right now, just as General Onstot outlined.”

Pia and Onstot nodded. So did Eaton, the former army general, and finally Garza. The logic was unassailable. “Agreed.”

Grafton turned to Lane. “Mr. President, I guarantee you that the American people want you to defend their lives with decisive action rather than worry about a campaign slogan that no longer applies.”

She turned to Chandler. Time to mend a fence or two. “If necessary, we can always expand the war later. Draw in the Russians or other coalition partners if we need to.”

Chandler’s angry mask began to soften. He saw the logic of Grafton’s argument. “True.”

Grafton continued. “We can hunt the other global jihadists down and dispatch them anytime we want in the future. But right now we need to destroy the ISIS Caliphate and stop these attacks on our homeland.”

“Attacking Raqqa will only fan the flames,” Peguero said. “They’ll use it to recruit more fighters.”

The press secretary shook her head. “We can put the destruction of Raqqa on social media — show how utterly terrible and complete the destruction of ISIS is and futility of resisting our overwhelming force — we might start de-recruiting fighters from ISIS.”

“So we’re all agreed, at least, that we need to act militarily,” Chandler offered.

“And immediately,” Grafton added.

Chandler glanced at Pearce. “Everyone except Troy, that is.”

All eyes turned to Pearce.

“Troy?” the president asked.

“I’m against anything short of full mobilization, a declaration of war, a draft, and the pledge to hunt each and every one of those bastards down and kill them, no matter what names they use, no matter where we find them — including on our own soil. Anything less than that is a guarantee of failure.”

“That’s the call you’d make if you were sitting in my chair? Even if you knew Congress wouldn’t go that far?”