He continued in his blunt style, “Mr. President, gentlemen, and lady.”
He inclined his head to the only woman at the long table, former Brig. Gen. Emily Powell-Hill, the president’s National Security Adviser.
“Think of our military as if it were an alcoholic. Like any alcoholic, if it — and our nation— is to survive, it must make a clean break from the past.”
The irritation on the other side of the table was visible in the grimly set jaws and audible in the low rumbles of the military commanders.
Alcoholic? Alcoholic! How dare he! Even President Castilla raised an eyebrow.
Emily Powell-Hill jumped in to soothe the offended egos. “The secretary is, of course, asking for input from all of you, as well as from many experts in the field and our allies.”
“The secretary,” Secretary Stanton snapped, “is asking nothing. He’s telling you the way it is. It’s a brand- new day and a brand-new world.
As the man said, we’ve got to stop preparing for last year’s war!”
“The secretary’s pronouncements and analogies might make him a great man in the headlines he appears to crave,” Admiral Stevens Brose, chairman of the joint chiefs, growled from his seat directly facing the president and Stanton, “but his armchair views won’t matter a plugged nickel on a battlefield.” His gray buzz cut seemed to bristle with disgust. He sat awkwardly, his ankles crossed, his big chin jutting forward.
Secretary Stanton instantly retorted, “I resent the implication, Admiral, and?”
“That was no implication, Mr. Secretary,” Brose said flatly. “That was a fact.”
The two matched glares.
Stanton, the new man, gazed down at his notes. Few people had ever out-stared the implacable chairman of the joint chiefs, and Stanton was not going to be one of them today.
Still, Stanton did not give an inch. He looked up. “Very well. If you wish to make this adversarial … ”
The admiral smiled.
Stanton reddened. As a former empire-building CEO of General Electric, Stanton was a long way from doubting his convictions. “Let’s just say I got your attention, Admiral. That’s what counts.”
“You’re too late. The world situation already did that,” Brose rumbled.
“Like an anchor between the eyeballs.”
The president raised a hand. “All right, gentlemen. Let’s call a truce.
Harry, enlighten us poor laymen. Tell us specifically what you’re suggesting.”
Stanton, accustomed to cowing corporate boards that rubber-stamped his every whim, paused for effect. His analytical gaze perused the assembled generals and secretaries. “For more than a half century, America’s been arming to fight a short, highly intense war in Europe or the old Soviet Union from large, permanent bases that were relatively convenient distances away. Targets were within striking range of carrier-based fighters and bombers, plus there were the giant bombers that could fly out of America. To prevent war, we relied on containment and massive deterrence. All that must change radically. It must change now.”
Admiral Brose nodded. “I’m in full agreement, if you’re suggesting a leaner military. It has to be quick to respond, fast to deploy anywhere at any time, and equipped with lighter, smaller, stealthier, more expendable weapons. The navy’s already implemented its ‘ fighter’ concept of small carriers, missile ships, and submarines to fight in the narrow coastal waters we expect we’ll be operating in more and more.”
Air Force General Bruce Kelly was next to Brose. He sat erect, his patrician face florid, his uniform immaculate, and his eyes clear and calculating. His enemies complained he was an emotionless machine, while his supporters bragged he had one of the shrewdest intellects the military had ever produced. “I assume the secretary isn’t suggesting we abandon our deterrent capability,” he said in a mild voice. “Our nuclear weapons — long-range or short-range — are critical.”
“True.” Stanton offered his charming smile, since he and Kelly were in fundamental agreement. “But we should consider reducing stockpiles and trimming research for bigger and ” bombs and the giant missiles capable of carrying them. It’s also probably unwise to build more carriers and subs beyond what we need to replace what we have.”
Emily Powell-Hill said, “Cut to the bottom line, Henry. This is a meeting about appropriations. Exactly what are you suggesting we build and don’t build?” “As I said, Emily, I’m not suggesting anything. I’m telling you what we must do to keep our military superiority. We must shift funding from giant carriers, huge tanks, and fighter jets with overwhelming power to light, small, almost invisible weapons.”
The army chief of staff, It. General Tomas Guerrero, was seated to the far right of Admiral Brose. His big, square-fingered hands knotted on the table. “No one’s going to tell me we won’t need tanks, heavy artillery, and large forces trained to fight big wars. Russia and China are still out there, Secretary Stanton. You’re forgetting them. They’ve got massive armies, enormous territories, and nuclear weapons. Then there’s India, Pakistan, and a united Europe, too. Europe’s already our economic adversary.”
Stanton was not about to back down. “That’s exactly what I am telling you, General.”
NSA Powell-Hill chimed in, “I doubt anyone believes — or wants — our current military power scrapped, Mr. Stanton. As I understand it, your opinion is that we need to intensify our direction in developing smaller weapons and capabilities.”
“I?” Stanton began.
Before the defense secretary could continue, Admiral Brose used his commanding presence and voice to bull his way in. “No one in this room disagrees with the concept of a leaner, meaner military. Hell, that’s what we’ve been working on since the Gulf War. We just haven’t made the complete commitment you’re asking for.”
From the far end of the table, It. General Oda, the marine commandant, boomed, “I sure don’t disagree. Light and fast, that’s what the marines want.”
Nods of consensus filled the room. Only President Castilla, who was usually a full participant in any serious discussion of the military, remained silent. He appeared to be brooding, waiting for something else to be said.
Secretary Stanton glanced at him, sensing uncertainty. He moved ahead boldly. “As far as it goes, I’m glad you agree with my analysis. But I get the impression you’re talking about beginning tomorrow. That’s not good enough. We have to start today. Now. At this moment, we have weapons in various stages of development — the air force’s F-22 short-range fighter jet, the navy’s next generation DD-21 battleship and aircraft carriers, and the army’s Protector long-range armored artillery system. They’re too big. Every one of them. They’re elephants when we need jaguars. They’re going to be completely useless in the kinds of future engagements we’re most likely to face.”
Before the chorus of outrage could gain steam, Admiral Brose abruptly raised a hand. As the voices subsided to aggrieved rumbling, he said, “All right. Let’s deal with them one at a time. Bruce, lay out the case for the F- 22.”
“That won’t take long,” General Kelly said. “The F-16 is getting old.
The F-22 will establish absolute control of the skies over any battlefield. The new generation provides first- look, first-shot, and first-kill. They’re faster, more maneuverable, and more powerful, and their stealth is increased to where the jets are essentially undetectable.” “Succinctly put, General,” Stanton said approvingly. “I’ll try to match. No country’s building air capability equal to our air force. What they are building are relatively cheap, powerful, and accurate missile systems. The problem is, many of the missile systems will end up in the hands of terrorists. At the same time, despite its supercruise capability, the F-22 remains a short-range fighter. That means it’s got to have bases close to battle. But what happens when the enemy takes out those bases with missiles? Our new and expensive fighters will be useless.” “I’ll speak for the navy,” Brose said. “We’re already rethinking our carriers and other surface vessels. In confined waters or waters close to a coast, they’ll be sitting ducks for missiles. If it’s a war deep inside a continent, no ships or short-range aircraft will be able to get to the battlefield anyway.”
“That leaves the army and the Protector artillery system,” secretary of the army, Jasper Kott, announced. He was an elegant man with fastidious manners. Smooth-cheeked, with a quiet face and expressive eyes, he was also unflappable under the most trying circumstances. “I’ll anticipate Secretary Stanton by agreeing we need the quickly committed army he envisions. If a ground war had erupted in Kosovo, our tanks would’ve needed months to arrive, and when they did, the massive weight of the seventy-ton Abrams would’ve crushed ten of the twelve bridges between the port and the battlefield. That’s why we’re training ” brigades now. They’ll ultimately have a new armored vehicle far smaller than the Abrams, and we can ship it by air.”
