Drone Command

“We had overwhelming air, land, and sea superiority in our war in Vietnam. We even had nuclear weapons. How’d that work out for us?” Troy asked. “And don’t forget about the Soviets in Afghanistan. The Taliban broke them.”

“Thanks to poor tactics on the part of the Russians and the deployment of advanced American weaponry like Stinger missiles by the Taliban. You know as well as I do that Afghanistan was a proxy war between us and the Soviets. We prevailed, once again proving my point.”

“In order to frustrate the Soviets, we funded and armed the Taliban and al-Qaeda. They’re the real enemy. The Soviet Union was on its last legs, crumbling under the weight of its failing economic system and corrupt political regime. They would’ve lost that war with or without our help. But now we’ve trained and equipped our real enemies, who are playing a very long game.”

“We’re not the Soviet Union. If we ever decided to go to war against the Taliban and al-Qaeda, we’d squash them like bugs. Worst-case scenario? We sit back and fire cruise missiles at their command centers and hideouts. War is about power, and it takes two parties to fight a war. Nonstate actors don’t have the power to wage war with us; therefore, the next war can’t be with them. End of story. To think we’d ever be in a protracted war with a low-rent organization like al-Qaeda is specious at best.”

“In the West, states fight wars against states. We win when we occupy enemy territory and force their governments to sign our peace treaties. But ‘terrorism’ doesn’t have a capital, and jihadism is completely decentralized — who would have the authority to sign a peace treaty that would end it?”

“You win the war on terrorists by killing terrorists faster than they can make them. It’s as simple as that.”

“No. You can only win the war on terrorism by killing all the terrorists — a genocidal war against the nonwhite, non-Western world, something we’d never do, nor should we. We’d lose that kind of war on moral grounds alone. But even if we did want to wage that kind of war, the only way to kill every terrorist is to occupy the entire globe, because terrorism is everywhere. It won’t be just a long war, it will be a forever war. And we’ll lose it because we don’t have the will to do what it takes, and they always win by not losing. Time will be on their side, not ours. Trying to fight a 4GW war with 2GW weapons and tactics is the strategic equivalent of a nineteenth-century cavalry charge against a twentieth-century machine-gun nest.”

Fagan rolled his eyes. “How do you think a bunch of third world peasants armed with AK-47s are going to stand up to our fleet of B-2 stealth bombers?”

“Women wearing suicide vests beneath their burqas are pretty stealthy, too. So are Toyotas loaded with C-4 on a crowded city street. In a war by civilians against civilians, the burqas trump the bombers.”

Fagan stood. “I’ve got a committee meeting in ten minutes across campus.”

Troy stood and held out his hand. Fagan reluctantly took it. Troy resisted the temptation to crush his moist grip. The other faculty stood as well, chairs scraping against the linoleum.

“Thanks for taking the time to hear me out,” Troy said.

A smile stole across Fagan’s face. “Interesting presentation. Good luck.”

That’s a no vote, Troy knew. Fagan was too much of a coward to say it to his face. “Thanks.”

Fagan left the room. The other faculty members shook his hand and clapped him on the back.

Garth said, “Best thesis defense I’ve heard in twenty years. Don’t worry about him. He’s just mad he didn’t think of your idea first. You’ve got my vote.”

Troy relaxed. Even smiled. “Thank you.”

Pembroke added, “Great job. You can easily turn that third section into a journal article. I know a couple of editors who would eat this up. I’m happy to write a cover letter for you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Garth stroked his graying beard, barely hiding an impish smile. “Just one thing kept bugging me while you were talking today.”

“Shoot.”

“How’d you get that black eye?”

FIFTY-SIX

WILL’S HOUSE

PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA

MAY 1999

Will grilled thick steaks on the backyard barbecue and broke out the best whiskey in the house. Troy and his friends danced on the polished hardwood floors and toasted his success. Three of the young women in attendance made plans to sleep with Troy that night. Troy made plans to sleep with just two of them, preferably at the same time.

After feasting on succulent T-bones and corn on the cob slathered in butter, Will finally got Troy off to the side for a quiet moment. He pulled out two Cuban Cohibas, and they lit them up over snifters of Hennessy cognac.

“So, Mr. Chips, what’s next? Staying at Stanford? Or is Yale still a possibility?”

Troy puffed thoughtfully for a few moments. “Neither.”

“What other school do you have in mind?”

“I’m done with academics.”