[b]Mexico City[/b]

“This is what happens when people don’t fucking listen to advice,” Secretary of State Lillian Mather growled into the speakerphone.  On the other end of the line was the White House. Gathered around the phone were President Norman, Vice President Reed, Secretary of Defense Dalton, and White House chief of staff Rob Brewer. Lillian and her staff were on day three of a weeklong trip in Mexico, easing tensions with the Mexican socialist government and soothing their displeasure at the US’s pivot back towards a conservative government. 

Now she paced around her hotel suite and smoked while she reread the diplomatic cable Sotelo wired to the White House. The fact that Sotelo bypassed the usual diplomatic channels was reason enough for Lillian to be irked, but the fact that this mess was avoidable was ten times worse. 

“Madam Secretary,” said the president. “First off, that language is unbecoming. Second, my remarks on Ethiopia were reviewed by you and you gave the go ahead.”

“You left in the one part I said to remove. The colonialist aggression comment, Mr. President, was way too harsh. Rhetoric like that may work in the military, but in diplomacy you need a much softer touch.”

“Duly noted,” Norman said in a dry tone. 

“Regardless of what we say here, the American people were in favor of it,” Brewer said emphatically. “Recent polling data shows that they loved the speech. They still remember how Spain ran over us in the last war, they want to see us stand tough against them.”

Lillian stubbed her cigarette out in an ashtray and fumed. Brewer was the numbers nerd and fed the president’s constant need for data. Diplomacy was not a science, it wasn't something that could be put in a little box in a spreadsheet and put into a fucking histogram. 

“Words are one thing,” said Dalton. “But they don’t mean anything without something to back up. That’s what Roosevelt meant by the big stick. If you will pardon my paraphrasing that saying but: military talks, bullshit walks.”

“Where are we overall with the military, Mr. Secretary?” Reed asked.

“We are a lot stronger than we were in the last war, but we’re still in the upper echelon of the also-rans of the world. If Spain tried something they’d see that we’re sure as hell not the same country they fought, but we aren’t China by any means.”

“That was why we need China in our corner,” Lillian said after lighting up another cigarette. “Bismarckian Diplomacy 101: Be prepared to back your shit talking up. If this is a world where there are three world powers, at most, you need at least your side if you’re going to pull something like this, and Ethiopia has been cool to us at best.”

“Are you done?” Norman asked. “I’m not hearing a solution in all this. From the way I’m hearing complaints I thought for a minute you two were part of the GOP, crucifying me up on the Hill.”

“You picked all of us for a reason, Mr. President,” said Reed. “We know what we’re talking about.”

“If you wanted ass kissers, you should have stayed in the army,” Lillian grunted before changing gears. “The simplest answer is there is no clear solution to this. Backing down makes us look weak, something I know you do not want us to been seen as. Ignoring Spain could risk conflict. You’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t.” 

“On the flip side,” said Dalton. “I don’t think Spain can commit a major military force to fight us and continue with their full-on assault into Ethiopia at the same time. They can still send a sizable naval force to give us an asskicking, but I don't foresee any major ground troops if it gets to that. They've got control of the Suez now, and operations in Africa are moving inland. They need every boot they can get on the ground.”

“Don't forget about the spin,” said Reed. “Spain attacks the US for providing food to starving Africans. They can classify it as war supplies all they like; we still come out looking good. I’ll level with you here, Mr. President; the American people do not give a damn about the people from Africa, but the enemy of my enemy and all that shit.”

“We’ll move forward,” the president said after a long pause. “We will respectfully decline Spain’s proposal for a joint relief mission. We can argue that allowing Spain to monitor our relief effort can set up a problem similar to what they’re accusing us  with repurposed humanitarian supplies going towards Spanish troops instead of the people who need it. I can step back and apologize for the harsh words, but I will not stand down for trying to help people in need. An expanded American global presence is what I campaigned on, and it’s something I honestly believe will lead to less foreign threats. I had to fight two wars on American soil as a soldier. I don’t want to see a third war while I’m commander in chief.”

Then why the fuck are you dragging us into one? That was what Lillian wanted to say. Instead she exhaled a long cloud of smoke and placed her hand on the phone.
 
“I’ll start working on an official response with my team. I say we work on a draft while you all work on one and we’ll piece the statement together from the two.”

“Very good,” said Norman. “After this, Secretary Dalton and I will talk to the Joint Chiefs. I want the Navy to scrap that training exercise they had planned and go on high alert all down the Eastern Seaboard just in case. Madam Secretary, I will make sure this time to follow your advice.”

“That’s all that I ask,” she sighed. “Goodbye, expect a cable in the next few hours.”

She hung up the conference call and reclined backwards in her chair. Just a few months in office and this country was already on the verge of fucking war. That’s what happens when you elect a soldier boy as president. She should have ran for president, but that would have required the voters in America to get over their fear of a woman with power. Oh, well. There was always '88. Lillian finished off the last of her cigarette, stubbed it out, and hurried out the room to find her entourage. They had work to do.


[b]Atlantic Ocean
Ninety Miles Southeast of Baltimore[/b]

Captain Andrew Lopez stood on the bridge of the [i] USS Ranger [/i]and looked out across the water. [i]Ranger[/i] was the latest aircraft carrier launched by the Navy as part of its effort to beef up US military strength. She was named after the eighteen gun sloop John Paul Jones terrorized the Royal Navy with during the Revolutionary War. Top of the line, [i]Ranger[/i] served as Admiral Boyce’s flagship in the ten ship large Third Carrier Taskforce. Lopez was technically commander of the ship, but since Boyce hoisted his three star flag here he called the shots.

In the sixth months since entering service [i]Ranger[/i] had stayed in the Northeast as a show of force to the Canadians. At the moment she was headed south towards Key West for training maneuvers with the rest of the Atlantic Fleet. After the choppy winter waters of the North Atlantic, the sailors aboard were anxious to kick off the summer in a warmer climate. Lopez was looking forward to some time in Florida as well. He was a fourth-generation Cuban American born in Florida and raised there before he joined the Navy. The last time he saw his home state was back during the war when he was part of a flotilla of destroyers that shelled a fort outside St. Petersburg into rubble.
 
Lopez’s musings on Florida were quickly cut short when the bridge phone rang. 

“Lopez,” Admiral Boyce grumbled. 

“Admiral,” said Lopez. 

“Hate to do this to you boys, but we’ve got a change in plans. Atlantic Fleet Command just wired us new orders. We are to rendezvous with Sixth Taskforce north of New York with forthcoming orders once we’re there.”

“What’s going on?” Lopez asked. The Sixth was part of the scheduled naval maneuvers as well. 

“No idea, Captain. Fleet Command giveth, Fleet Command taketh away. I’m sending Commander Brinkley up to the bridge with the coordinates for the rendezvous. I want the entire taskforce turned around and on the way within the hour.”

Lopez acknowledged the admiral’s orders and hung up the phone. He sighed and looked over at the radioman on the bridge.

“Sorry, Porter, but it looks like we won’t be hitting up South Beach. Open up the ship wide line so I can give the ship the bad news.”

----

Alfonso Grijalba Sotelo, Prime Minister of the Second Spanish Republic

Mr. Prime Minister, 

Let me start off by giving thanks to you for your warm words of congratulations. I have received many letters of thanks since my election as president, but none so powerful as yours. It is my sincere hope to turn our country back into the once noble republic it was. Secondly, I apologize for the heated rhetoric I used in my address to Congress. The remarks delivered about Spain were improvised and said in the heat of the moment. I see Spain as a valuable figure in the continued rebirth of democratic ideals in this world.

Finally, I regret to inform you that I must turn down your offer for joint humanitarian aid to Africa. Your concerns of civilian relief being co-opted by Ethiopian soldiers represents a major concern for this administration, but we see a potential scenario of Spanish forces commandeering our supplies for their own use. I instead offer assurances, assurances backed by readily available shipping manifests for those who wish to see it, that only food, medicine, and blankets will be sent to the civilian populace who will be in dire need of it as this war further escalates. It is my sincerest hope that this not escalate into hostilities between our two nations, that both our nations can act as beacons of hope and rationality in a world where both commodities are in short supply.  

Yours, 
[i]Michael Norman, President of the United States of America[/i]