Chapter 13: Called to the Carpet

Monday, August 31, 2030 HRS, ET—The Pentagon

James stood at attention before the chairman’s desk, feeling the man’s intense scrutiny as he wiped his glasses before placing them back on his face. The admiral sat forward in his oversized chair, elbows on the lavish desk over his point paper. To his right stood Generals Millington and McManus, Major General Gallagher, Major Savage, and two aides. General Hawkins stood casually opposite them, to James’ right, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

FADM Fletcher glanced back at the paper and took up a few pages; his hastily scribbled margin notes apparent throughout.

At least he read it.

“Lt. Col. Keller, you’ve been out of uniform too long,” the CJC sighed. He dropped the pages back on his desk and gazed at the man across from him with an unreadable expression. “This—” he stabbed a finger over the pile. “—is beyond—” He breathed and puffed his cheeks as he exhaled. “Your assertions, while candid and sound, are predicated on iniquitous and inflammatory conjecture. You portray citizen Joe as equally qualified and morally compelled to ‘right wrongs’ over our military forces.”

Jim remained silent, locked and cocked. His crisp new uniform was pressed and outfitted with military precision—his maroon beret clenched in his left hand. The breast and sleeves of his dress coat were covered with decorations, patches, and sigils of his prior achievements and qualifications.

“Your treatise is raw, unfiltered, provocative, and offensive. I can’t understand your intention behind insulting and denigrating our actions and measures to stabilize this country. You’re critical of our strategies, calling them reactionary and superfluous, if not counterproductive. And after rubbing our noses in it, you assert that we aren’t doing enough!” His voice became angrier until he paused to quell his emotions. He sat back heavily. “Stand at ease, Keller. You were called to the carpet to defend your doctrine of renationalization.”

James shifted from attention to parade rest and focused on the Admiral’s serious, guarded, and unrepentant face.

His supreme commander snatched his glasses and tossed them onto the desk. “Despite what you imply in that—” he nodded at the paper, “—incendiary thesis. I am not a politician.” He waved his arm at the others. “None of us asked to be in this position. But here we are, and I will see that this crisis is fixed so we can get our nation back on its feet. I don’t need pointless and contrary opinions suggesting we leave the matter to the people, insinuating they can handle this disaster!” He had to stop, collect himself, and relax his taut facial muscles, looking across the desk expectantly.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

The Admiral scoffed, indicating the paper, “Why stop now?”

“Spoken like a true politician, Admiral.”

The Chairman’s expression darkened, and the room’s tension became palpable.

Gallagher felt his sphincter tighten as he stood aside. A part of him noted the irony of his regret over pulling his friend into this, knowing his nature. He reflected on how Jim felt every time they tried to discuss his recalcitrant protégé Riley Jenkins and the tension headaches he caused. You asked for this, Rob, he chided himself.

Major Savage struggled to keep her expression neutral, but her eyes betrayed her apprehension for her boss. She was starting to like him.

Admiral Fletcher sat forward slowly, like a predator stalking prey. His anger was evident, and he struggled to maintain his composure. The nerve of this ... upstart. The lack of respect and insubordination could not be ... His jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes briefly, berating himself for reacting like ... Like a goddamn politician? He let the pent-up emotions bleed off, and his eyes snapped open half a second later. He rose from his seat and looked around the room. “I’m going to ask you, ladies and gentlemen, to step out and give us the room for a moment.”

A palpable sigh of relief filled the room as the observers shuffled toward the door.

“Smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em,” the Commandant drawled as he followed. Passing Keller, he slapped him firmly on the shoulder as a token of support before filing out behind the others.

After the door shut, the Chairman stepped away from his desk and faced the floor-to-ceiling window behind his chair, overlooking ground zero—the nickname for the inner courtyard. “I deserved that,” he said contritely, clasping his hands behind his back. “But it would behoove you to restrain your convictions and resurrect some military bearing.”

“Duly noted, sir.”

“I don’t have all the answers. I never pretended otherwise.” The Admiral stood with his back to his subordinate, his voice reflecting the weight of his station. “You called me reactionist, and you are right. I had to react. To do otherwise would have brought severe consequences.” He looked over his shoulder. “That press briefing of yours tweaked a lot of tail feathers.”

“With all due respect, we must be transparent now more than ever, sir.”

“Not that transparent!” Fletcher barked, turning. “Dammit, Colonel! Airing tribunals? Hangings? Do you know what image you’ve portrayed? The world will paint us like Pol Pot or the KGB!”

“Again, spoken like a true politician.”

“Goddammit!” Fletcher barked, striding around the desk to face him, eye to ... chin. “Why are you trying to piss me off?” he demanded. “I am not a fucking politician!”

“Then stop acting like one, Sir!” James shot back. “You brought me here to formulate strategy and policy. You want insights into the enemy in our backyard and how to eliminate him. I can do that! But this battle won’t be fought from this building ... Not if you expect to win!”

“Bullshit! We’re facing militants with military assets! How else can we—”

“That didn’t work so well in Val Verde, did it?” James retorted, regretting that he had cut off the supreme military commander. “The Duprey clan had those insurgents served up on a silver platter, and we fucked it up! Yet they still managed to clean up our mess and solve the problem!”

“So, your answer is to arm the masses and tell them it’s open season on militants?” They stood glaring at each other. “What about that Minuteman III debacle in North Dakota? How would your Wild West posse have dealt with that?”

“That, Admiral, was an extraneous circumstance, not my salient point. That incident warranted a military operation against a military target. But it was a divergence and not germane to my position.”

“What’s the point of having military forces then?”

James took a deep breath through his nose to curb his frustration. “The armed forces were never meant to operate within our borders, sir. You know this. You embody this doctrine from that chair.” He pointed to the Kennedy desk, taking another deep breath to relax. “Admiral, I’m not saying the military has no dog in this fight. I am saying we’d be better served giving our citizens the tools to defend themselves and help us interdict and prosecute these insurgents. Admiral Yamamoto urged restraint in invading America and was quoted to say—”

“There is a rifle behind each blade of grass,” the Admiral finished.

“Take Helen Burnett, for example.”

The chairman matched James’ de-escalation of posture and blinked askance. “Who was Helen Burnett?” He was prepared to debate War College history, but the name was lost on him.

James smiled like a proud parent. “Helen was, or still is, the HR receptionist at the Kingston Fossil Plant in East Tennessee. She was walking from her car to the office when the ASM attacked the plant. One of the insurgents grabbed her as a human shield, not realizing she carried a Glock 43X with a 15-round double-stack magazine.” His grin was infectious as he continued. “That sweet 58-year-old woman accounted for seven dead terrorists, including the unfortunate fool that grabbed her.”

The Admiral grimaced and shook his head, trying to hide his levity. He sighed resignedly and returned to his seat. “I didn’t know that. I understand the assault was over before the authorities arrived.”

“Which drives my narrative, Admiral. We can’t protect our citizens from within once the fox is in the henhouse. But we can give them every opportunity to peck its eyes out.”

Chairman Fletcher reached for his glasses and put them on. He snorted and met James’ eyes. “Have you heard of a quote by Al Ries?”

Jim smiled, “Strategy should evolve from the mud of the marketplace, not in the antiseptic environment of an ivory tower.”

Five minutes later, the removed members returned to their places around the vast office, and James spent twenty minutes detailing his stance on ‘domestic augmentation and support.’

“The Minot AFB incident was isolated and likely unrelated to the Al Shamshir Moghodas’ mission. I believe it was a target of opportunity conceived and carried out by another group or agency. Similar events are likely. However, these operations are not part of the ASM ideology. The Divine Sword’s goal is not to engage our military forces but our citizens, who are viewed as soft targets. Their methods have evolved from car bombs and IEDs, as have their targets. Now they aim to cripple our infrastructure, hoping for widespread power outages, food shortages, and downed utilities. Their goal is to create civil unrest and pockets of anarchy. They have had some success, but the fear they hoped would paralyze the country has morphed into collective visceral anger.

“We cannot fight them as we did in Afghanistan and Iraq. There are no front lines or exclusionary zones. They won’t be drawn out to fight our professional forces. We cannot defeat them with a war of attrition or air superiority. They’ve been hiding among us for years, studied us, and are prepared to strike us where we are most vulnerable. We haven’t seen a fraction of their capabilities. They’ll attack our citizens, families, and friends. These are targets they understand. They have planned and are waiting. They’ll attack schools, hospitals, media outlets, airports, and transportation systems. They’ll try to infect water treatment plants and destroy sewage facilities. My office has compiled a list of the most vulnerable soft targets in every metro area, which are over 150,000. We’re disseminating this information by emphasizing awareness, recognition, preparation, and protection. We are helping each potential target develop a plan to prevent or mitigate damage and determine what to do in an attack.

“In summary. Gentlemen, we cannot stop them from attacking our citizens. They’ve already done so and will continue. But Americans aren’t the blind sheep they think we are. We have proven we can and will fight back. Instead of stretching our active duty and reserve forces too thin, I suggest we focus on keeping the peace, rebuilding infrastructure, and delivering essential food and emergency services. Meanwhile, we provide intensive training to select citizen groups and neighborhood militias, giving them the weapons and tools to oppose these animals.

“They will bring the battle to our streets and neighborhoods, where we will defeat them.” James stood at ease after his talk and thanked the Flag officers for the opportunity to speak with them.

After a pause, Admiral Fletcher spoke, “Thank you, Lt. Col. Keller. We will consider your proposition. If you could give us the room and wait outside,” he stood and nodded when Jim and Major Savage went to attention. “Dismissed. General Gallagher, please stay for a moment.”

In the anteroom beyond the secretary’s desk, James and his aide loitered near a cooler filled with miniature water bottles. They grabbed one each and moved to the waiting area next to the frosted glass door.

“You got a death wish, sir?” Evelyn asked under her breath.

He lifted his eyebrows as he sipped, “Rob knew what he was getting into when he dragged me into this. I plan to fulfill my obligations to the best of my ability, which doesn’t include gas-lighting.”

“It’s your ass.” She turned and went to attention as Coast Guard Admiral Jenkins entered.

He observed their awkward expressions in silence. He nodded to their hastily voiced, “Good afternoon, sirs,” before continuing past the secretary and knocking on the solid door.

Five minutes later, Gallagher beckoned for them both.

Returning to the office, James sensed a different atmosphere. He resumed his front-and-center position and remained attentive as the Chairman reviewed his point paper. There was an air of anticipation as if they were waiting for something.

“Assuming your position has merit,” Fletcher began absently. “What timeline are we looking at based on your identified resources?”

Keller blinked. “We can immediately distribute weapons and communication gear to civilians with prior military service, sir. Beginning next week, we can cycle full companies through a two-week training cycle with Ted Thrasher’s OVM team.”

“How long until we can terminate this campaign? We can’t maintain this readiness posture indefinitely.” The Admiral removed his glasses and twirled them. “It will take a year or more to reestablish the Government.”

“Sir, with all due respect, if this isn’t handled by Easter, we will have failed.”

His answer raised several eyebrows. “Six months? That’s a bit bold, don’t you think?”

“The Taliban can’t maintain their readiness indefinitely either, sir. They’ll act soon. I can almost guarantee they’ll cease or pause their offensive during Dhu’al-Hijjah.”

“What is the ... whatever you just said?” the chairman asked, causing some snickers around the office.

“Dhu’al-Hijjah is the final month of the Islamic calendar, sir. In early June, the sacred Hajj takes place. That is the ten-day pilgrimage to Mecca.”

“So, all these ragheads will just pull up stakes and head for the promised land?” this from the Commandant.

James heard a knock as he answered, “The devout will, General. Not even the Ayatollah can prevent them from making the pilgrimage.” The door opened and closed behind him.

“Very well, Lt. Col. Keller, you’ll have my answer after tomorrow’s strategy meeting.” The Admiral stood and looked at Robert. “Major General Gallagher, you and General McManus have the floor.”

Jim found himself rubbernecking, glancing curiously at his friend when a civilian photographer appeared. He stepped adroitly through the assembled officers and turned to face him as the General of the Army barked, “Attention to Orders!” He snapped his head straight and stood locked and cocked.

Holding a red vinyl certificate portfolio, the four-star General stepped before him with a sharp, facing maneuver. Opening it, he held it stiffly and began reading: “To all who shall see these presents, greeting: Know ye that reposing special trust and confidence in the patriotism, valor, fidelity, and abilities of James Merrifield Keller I do Appoint Him Colonel O6 in the United States Army. Rank as such on this thirty-first day of August 2026, this officer will, therefore, carefully and diligently discharge the duties of the office to which appointed by doing and performing all manner of things therein to belonging.

“And I do strictly charge and require those officers and other personnel of lesser rank to render such obedience as is due an officer of his grade and position. And this officer is to observe and follow such orders and directions from time to time as may be given by the President of the United States of America or other superior officers acting in accordance with the laws of the United States of America.

“This commission is to continue in force during the pleasure of the President of the United States of America under the provisions of those public laws relating to officers of the Armed Forces of the United States of America and the component thereof which this appointment is made.”

As he spoke, James felt Gallagher and Major Savage approaching him to stand at either side. They unfastened his shoulder straps and removed his silver oak leaf insignia embroidered onto the green bands. The camera flashed from the side. As the General of the Army completed his presentation, they replaced the old devices with new sleeves bearing a silver eagle.

“Done in the City of Washington, In the name of the President. Signed Richard W. McManus, by direction.” Closing the portfolio, the General stood at attention, and Colonel Keller saluted him. “At ease.” After returning the salute, the General offered the certificate with his left hand while they shook with their rights. The camera flashed, capturing the moment as they gazed at the photographer.

“Congratulations, Colonel,” the chairman stated after a brief applause.

“So that’s it?” Major Savage groused moments later as she walked out with her boss and his boss.

“What’s what, Major?” James asked, studying her dubious expression.

“All you gotta do to get promoted here is just pick the highest-ranking officer and kick him in the nuts?”

Tuesday, Sept 1, 2026, US Capitol Building, Washington DC

“Senator, as the Defacto Sergeant at Arms of the recessed 120th U.S. Congress, I must advise you that the matter before this panel precedes any status or privilege afforded you upon your appointment to the 4th Congressional District.” The somber man behind the lectern to the left of the Panel of Inquiry droned in a monotone voice. Camila Kobas stood stoically before the panel, gazing up at the three men and two women she once worked with. Her deadpan expression masked the turmoil she felt as the weight of the allegations threatened to crush her. “—rights as explained by the Federal Agents. Do you understand your rights?”