Fortunate Sons

"Identification confirmed," the security robot said as it stepped aside to open the door. "Proceed inside, Mister Townsend."

Wesley carefully observed the robot as he stepped through the doors and entered the war room. Much to his dismay, everything he had warned the president about when it came to turning Uncle SAM into a military defense intelligence had come to pass.

Now, he was being summoned to an emergency meeting in the Panopticon, the central headquarters for the New United States Department of Defense and the successor to the original Pentagon after it was destroyed during the collapse. Much like the Gray House, the entire facility was buried deep under the lunar surface, nestled within the core of Mons Malapert.

Despite his earlier warnings to Lambert last week, they had gone unheeded and already he could feel that similar frustration building up as he approached the meeting table where the rest of the joint chiefs of staff were gathered. As per usual, Lambert was running late, which at this point should have been expected.

As Wesley unbuttoned his suit and took his seat, none of the chiefs of staff spared him a glance as they discussed the matter at hand quietly among themselves. He gave the same courtesy in return and simply leaned back in his chair, trying not to lose his patience. To pass the time, he looked around at his surroundings.

The war room was a large chamber that held a circular table in its center. Directly across the table was a large screen that showed a map of the former United States, the colony of Port Armstrong as well as its smaller holdings across the moon, and the planet Mars with its own territories. Above Arcadia, a massive fleet of warships was gathering in response to the most recent events that had occurred.

I warned him about this, Wesley thought. I warned him and he didn't listen.

Just then, Lambert entered the room, flanked by the secretary of defense and the secretary of state. As soon as they did, the joint chiefs of staff made to rise from their seats, but they were quickly stopped.

"Ah, no need for that. As you were, gentlemen," Lambert smiled that fake politician's smile. "Let's skip the pleasantries and get down to business," he unbuttoned his suit and assumed his seat. "Now, someone tell me just what the hell happened."

"It's Uncle SAM," a chief of staff said as he pointed to the large screen and highlighted Port Armstrong's orbital defense grid. "Exactly three minutes and twenty-two seconds after he was reactivated, he targeted a Soviet transport ship that had crossed into our space and shot it down. All lives aboard were lost."

"Not only that, but it seems he's also gained a level of self-awareness," another chief of staff said. "He has complete control of our defense grid, our fleets, our battle stations. Even our nuclear warheads. Every attempt we make to regain control, he locks us out."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Lambert sucked in air through his teeth. "Have we tried resetting him? Turning him off and on again?"

Wesley shut his eyes and scowled, shaking his head from that naïveté of that suggestion.

"Yes, sir, and when we did, he made it clear in no uncertain terms that if we attempt to interfere with his mission parameters again, he'll do what's necessary to achieve them, with or without us."

"His mission parameters?" Lambert frowned. "His mission parameters are to defend American interests."

"He informed our engineers as much, then said nothing else on the matter," a chief of staff replied. "Now, he's sealed himself within his bunker complex. No organics allowed."

"We're at DEFCON three now, gentlemen. No joking matter," Lambert tapped his knuckles on the table, leaning back in his chair as he studied the map screens. "What's he hoping to gain?"

The most noticeable feature of the war room was the colored sign that indicated the New United States' current DEFCON level. It signified current defensive readiness and the levels were changed accordingly to match the severity of a security situation. Ever since the end of the collapse, it had been permanently set to level four, or above-normal readiness. In total, there were five levels. DEFCON five was the lowest state of alarm and DEFCON one signaled the imminent outbreak of nuclear war.

A few muttered suggestions went around the table, each one of them equally vague and unhelpful.

"Secure control over our shipping sectors? Satellite scans show no further intrusion by Soviet or Chinese transport corps."

"Maybe it's a statement that he won't tolerate the spread of communism. Shooting down a Soviet ship in our sovereign space sends a powerful message."

"We have no way to confirm it now that the ship has been turned to dust, but we have reason to suspect it may have been carrying illegal android refugees."

"Whatever his intentions are, so far, we can be assured that he means us no harm. He's just simply following his new programming."

Lambert turned in his chair and looked over to Wesley. "You've been uncharacteristically non-hyper verbal," he chuckled. "Don't feel like saying I told you so?"

"What would be the point?" Wesley replied.

Lambert took that in stride as he chuckled and stood up in his chair, getting ready to pontificate in that same irritating way he always did. "Gentlemen, you don't know this, because Wes never likes to talk about it, but we served in 'Nam together with the third marine division. I was a rifleman, he was a corpsman," he started walking around the table. "We were posted at this little firebase a few klicks from the Vietnamese DMZ and the Laotian border. Khe Sanh... now that was a meatgrinder. Do you remember how that shitshow started, Wes?"

Wesley remained silent.

"Height of monsoon season, we were sitting in this muddy foxhole. It had been raining down in drops the size of your fist, thundering like the second coming of Christ," Lambert paused for dramatic effect as he looked into the distance. "One day the skies cleared and the thunder stopped, then another type of thunder started. We were shelled hard. Non-stop over weeks and weeks with artillery, rockets, and bombs," he raised his left hand to show that it was trembling ever so slightly. "Look at that. All this time and I can still feel the ground shaking."

The other joint chiefs of staff and the secretaries continued to listen, though, in their age, they had also seen their fair share of war in their lifetimes.

"So, what did we do? We dug in, buttoned-up, hunkered down," Lambert resumed pacing. "One day, Victor Charlie just came screaming out of the jungles, leaping down from the trees, coming out of the mud. We were forced to displace, which was when a mortar round landed right next to me and took off my leg," he raised his pants enough to show that his right leg was cybernetic.

Wesley looked down, regretting his decision that day.

"I was busted up and bleeding out. Shrapnel in my chest. Completely combat ineffective," Lambert continued. "Then Wesley dragged my sorry, mincemeat ass all the way back to the triage center and patched me up. Few days later, after napalming half the damn jungle, we beat Charlie back into the bush. Then, we were ordered to give up the base and retreat."

"Is there a point you're trying to make?" Wesley asked.

"Yes," Lambert paused and smiled. "When we got back stateside, I ran for office. Wes here got a cushy job with the Adamantius corp, then went off and started his own company. He built his fortune off of treating wounded veterans who had lost their arms and legs. Advanced medical research and the development of cybernetics. The point is that a lot of good men died at Khe Sanh for no reason. Command knew the odds we were against, the suits in Washington knew it was hopeless, and we were ordered to hold the base at all costs, just to give it up later. Don't you see?"

Everyone was silent.

"We survived the crucible. We lucky few and what we did we do with our lives after good soldiers like us were no longer needed?" Lambert asked. "We're relics of a bygone age when pulling up your bootstraps and making your own fortune still meant something. We survived the odds, and now they're stacking up against us again."

"We're not soldiers anymore, Lambert," Wesley said. "The war is over. We lost."

Lambert pointed to the map screen. "Exactly. America lost. We used to be in first place, but now, we're not second, we're not third, hell, we're not even fourth. We played the hand we were dealt and we lost. But with Uncle SAM?" he gestured around himself. "He's done the calculations, he's run the simulations, he knows the odds. If he's starting a fight with those commie bastards again, then he knows he can win it. He knows that we can put America back on top where we belong."

There was a few cleared throats, some quiet coughs, but if anyone in the room thought to question the president, they did not make their voices heard.

"You want another war," Wesley said. "The destruction of our country wasn't enough for you and now you want vengeance? Is that it?"

"Not vengeance, no," Lambert scoffed and made a dismissive gesture with his hands. "Justice. We didn't do enough to stop the spread of communism before the collapse and we paid for it. Now, we have a chance to reassert our nation as the rightful, God-given torchbearers of liberty and freedom," he reached his initial spot and leaned over with his palms flat against the table. "Uncle SAM has one hand on the wheel, and so do we. Together we can establish a republic to last a thousand years. Just picture it. We wouldn't have to hide underground beneath the moon's surface anymore. We could build and expand out into the solar system. Give our people the home they deserve, beneath the light of the sun and the stars like our forebears imagined."

Wesley shook his head in disbelief as he looked around the table. The chiefs of staff as well as the secretaries of state and defense weren't voicing their approval of Lambert's crazy ideals, but their support was clear enough in their eyes and faces. After all, the only reason he was able to remain president for over a century was that he surrounded himself with yes-men and insulated himself from any criticisms. Of course, Wesley was the exception to that rule.

"You've done it," Wesley stood up. "You've finally gone insane. America was nearly destroyed once already under your care and you're going to let it happen again!"

"We still have the android problem to wrap up," Lambert sat down, ignoring Wesley's protest. "Let's start by opening a dialogue with Uncle SAM and let him know that we're on his side. We can start coordinating a proper strategy now that he's raring to go. How are things looking on Mars?"

"The Iron Curtain has been completely sealed," the secretary of state replied. "Only Soviet and Chinese ships in or out. If you turn your attention to the screens, their president and chairwoman have just issued their public statement."

Everyone looked over to the large screens, which were transmitting a live feed from the colony of Arcadia. President Sokoloff and Chairwoman Xiuying were standing behind a podium, atop a staircase, in front of a statue of Yuri Gagarin, the first man in space. Although they were speaking in their respective languages, the Americans were still able to understand them via their interpreter implants.

"To the people of our glorious Soviet Union and our esteemed Chinese Coalition," Sokoloff started. "Today is a dark day. The blood of our citizens, our countryfolk, has been shed needlessly, senselessly, and cruelly by our enemies, the Americans. They have violated the terms of the armistice that we set out. Terms of peace that we offered and that they accepted so that they may retain some sense of dignity. I see now that was a mistake, and the Americans have shown their true nature yet again. Treacherous, heartless, and without honor."

Wesley glanced over at Lambert and couldn't believe that he was actually grinning as he listened intently.

"Grief and shock and horror have swept across our nations at the tremendous loss of innocent life, caused by our enemy," Sokoloff continued. "We see this as a direct attack against our sovereignty, against our security, and against our supremacy."

Xiuying nodded along, then leaned forward. "Be warned, Americans, that victory has not cost us our strength. The unity of our people, the courage in our hearts, and the will in our minds have not waned. We are stronger than we have ever been. If this fight is what you want, then this fight is what we will give. If you have any reason at all and wish to avoid the complete destruction of your nation, then President Lambert Ambrose must be made to answer for his actions. Let justice be done upon him."

"Jesus, the mouth on her," Lambert chuckled.

"We will stay our hands just this once to give you an opportunity to rethink your actions and pay for your crimes. Otherwise, we will show no mercy against those who would attempt to destroy our way of life," Xiuying said. "The clock is ticking, but not for us."

With that, the live feed ended and a series of news stations took over as they discussed what had just transpired.

"Commies are out for blood," Lambert rhythmically tapped his knuckles on the desk as he turned around. "But so are we. I need to prepare a public statement, something snappy that'll let them know that America never backs down from a challenge. Let's get congress on the horn..."

As Lambert continued to lay out his crazy plan, Wesley decided that he had finally heard enough madness. So, he calmly and quietly walked out of the meeting for a second time.

We've had incompetent presidents and we've had idiot presidents, Wesley thought. I'm not sure we've ever had an incompetent idiot for a president.