War Plan Yellowstone

The silence of the cold, moonless Breslau night was broken by the whir of an engine and the rattle of gravel tossed around by wheels. A matte black, low-built two-seater: a sports freihaus, at least in design. The freihaus that chugged along slowly to its destination was long ago gutted and refitted with carbon fiber armor, bulletproof windows, ten different communication systems, energy shield generators and ammunition cases filled with twelve-gauge fragmentation grenade rounds. Its engine has been replaced by one far less powerful but far more reliable. Its doors did not bear a number and the markings of a racing association, but something less gaudy and far more sinister. A stylized stencil of a bald eagle, clutching a cog inset with a star. On the star, written in black and in a highly angled script, were the letters ‘DSS.’

The freihaus pulled into the driveway of 21 Abeln Drive, a large mansion built when Imperial Germany first colonized Breslau. Easily three centuries old, it was home to governors, senators and other men of affluence. Now it is the home of General William Keating, Commander and Chief of Coalition forces in the German Western Republic. Keating, having heard of the freihaus' approach, waited on his front porch, wearing pajamas and slippers. He shook his head when he saw the letters ‘DSS’ on the freihaus door.

“State Security,” he muttered. “They’re nothing but bad news.”

Nearly six feet tall and heavily built, Keating was an imposing man even in his late sixties. He had commanded troops in battles his grandchildren now study in school. Still able to take on young men in a fight, Keating feared nobody, especially not lanky DSS spooks. The passenger side’s gull-wing door swung open and a thin, cadaverous old man in the black paramilitary uniform of the DSS stepped out. Not paying attention to Keating, he adjusted his peaked cap and coughed for a good half minute. Looking up, he smiled at the general and offered a handshake.

“Colonel Dieter Schulte, Director of State Security,” the old man wheezed in a thick German accent. “But I am sure a wise man such as yourself would have already figured that out. May we please continue our discussion in your home? I’m afraid my body is not used to the cold on this planet.”

Keating led the DSS officer to the door. While he had briefly considered forcing the old man to have a discussion outdoors so he would have an advantage, he reasoned that doing so might have serious repercussions. The DSS have done worse things for lesser offenses. As Schulte struggled to sit on one of the kitchen chairs, Keating asked if he wanted any supercaf.

“Oh no no, I dislike synthetic drinks,” Schulte responded. “Just regular coffee for me. No cream, no sugar.”

Black like your soul, Keating thought when ordering one of his servants to prepare the drinks. He didn’t like DSS agents, nobody in the Coalition did. They always interfered in military operations: challenging or outright overriding officer’s orders in the middle of combat, taking over entire platoons for ‘official purposes’ and randomly arresting personnel of any rank for ‘suspicion of communist sympathies.’ The DSS hired men who operated alone, operated ruthlessly and without any sense of empathy. A good DSS agent was comfortable operating with complete disregard of the rights of others, which the DSS officially claims nobody really has. It was an organization filled with sociopaths, and its members are rewarded daily for it. Keating had enough encounters with them throughout his career to be automatically suspicious of any agent, even if they were both working for the same government.

Keating sat across from Schulte and decided to be direct and honest with the man. He knew they were trained to detect lies and acting, so pretending that Colonel Schulte was just another visitor would only cast suspicion on Keating. Not that he had anything to hide; Keating was at a loss as to why the DSS decided to pay him a visit.

“So what brings you out here to Breslau, Colonel? Does Governor Werner want me to walk his dogs?”

Schulte chuckled. “No, I am running an errand for someone with far more authority than our good governor, and my business here is far more important than canine exercise. The reason I am here concerns us all, from the most affluent CEO to the lowliest shoe shiner.”

A lump grew in Keating’s throat. He didn’t do anything wrong, at least he didn’t think so. His war record should have shot down any rumors. Was Columbia going through a power struggle and the DSS is making its play? Is he in the sights of some aspiring politician behind a shakedown? A million possibilities filled his mind. For the first time in a long time, Keating was concerned that he would not be alive in five minutes. Schulte smiled and took a sip of his coffee.

“Do not worry, General Keating. You are not being accused of anything. As far as the DSS is concerned you are still one of the finest military leaders the Coalition is lucky to possess. Columbia still loves you. No, I am here because of three words. Mittelland. Union. State.”

It finally hit Keating. On Neu Stuttgart, hundreds of light-years away, the two great regional powers of Milleaux and Euskadi were uniting to form the Mittelland Union State. The Coalition has been trying to increase its influence in the region and found an ally in Milleaux, but a union with the pro-Conseil Euskadi could endanger Coalition interests.

“You see, General,” Schulte continued. “The governments of Milleaux and Euskadi have declared that they would seek neutrality in galactic affairs once unification is completed. As far as they are concerned this move makes perfect sense, as a union state would not stay united if its two members are being pulled apart by galactic politics. So if we allow these two to go about their plans, we will lose a strong ally in the region.”

“That’s pretty bad news,” Keating responded. “But why bother me about it? Asturia will still be in our good graces and we still have Alvenzi Island. We’d keep both even if Milleaux went Conseil.”

Schulte shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, General. This proposed Union State is not passively neutral. Once created, it will settle for nothing less than complete planetary hegemony. Any offworld influence will be kicked off, peacefully or violently. And, given the Euskadi majority in a union state, this makes the world open to Conseil influence. Conseil space stations a few hundred light-years from Breslau. I am sure you, of all people, would be concerned about that possibility.”

Keating was taken aback by the news. There was no way the other powers on Neu Stuttgart would accept this. He already knew the Coalition wouldn’t, and he had a feeling his Conseil counterpart is getting the same speech from the People’s Gendarmerie. No matter how the situation would play out, war would start on the border of two of the galaxy’s superpowers.

“This is some pretty deep shit. I figure you DSS spooks have something cooked up to stop this?”

“Not us, General. This plan was the brainchild of your superiors in the Directorate of Defense, although we were of course involved.”

Schulte reached in his coat and produced a yellow manila folder containing easily five hundred pages. That the thrifty Coalition had bothered to send a courier with the intelligence rather than simply emailing it to Keating via official lines meant it was especially secret. The courier method makes interception without detection a physical impossibility.

“War Plan Yellowstone,” Schulte said, handing the paper to Keating. “This was originally drafted during the Milton directorship, before isolationism put an end to any further development. When our agents tipped Columbia off to instability in Neu Stuttgart, they recovered it from the archives and the Directorate of Defense made the proper changes. My superiors tell me the forces in the German Western Republic are a key component of its execution, which brings me to you.”

Keating carefully opened the folder. From the look of the paper, it had never been flipped through, meaning nobody had read it, not even Schulte. The general skimmed Yellowstone. The document was filled with force allocations, proposed troop movements, assumptions about the enemy positions and maps of every type. The plan was the most thorough and most complex Keating had ever seen. Every now and then he chuckled, seeing something he had never thought of before.

“This is insane,” Keating said, shaking his head. “I’m not sure if we can pull this off. It’s just one insane gambit after another. One wrong step and we’re done for.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about the plan’s execution,” Schulte responded. “That is why you are the general and I am the messenger. But know that soon you will be expected to carry these plans out.” He stood and shook Keating’s hand.

“Thank you for your coffee and your hospitality, General. My mission here is complete. Goodbye.”

The old man shuffled his way back into his car, which drove off into the night. Keating looked back at the manila folder on his kitchen table. Soon, the plans detailed within would have to be executed, and executed perfectly. The general shook his head.

“Crazy.”