Free Joint Task Force #1: Liberia by David E. Meadows Page A

European Command took control of most of the Atlantic away from Joint Forces Command in Norfolk.
    Holman had asked Mary to provide some background on this small African country that was integrally linked to the United States. A country that in the last five years had become America’s African version of Israel.
    “Thanks, Mary,” Dick said, interrupting conversation that had started to break out around the table. “Guess I was wrong to ask for a short review of the history of Liberia. I think everyone here knows the background. Liberia has been around almost as long as America. Originally a republic; more or less abandoned by its mother country in the nineteenth century. Left to stumble along on its own merits through the twentieth century, only to rise like a phoenix to become a model of African democracy. Let’s skip to the current events.” Dick glanced at Walden. “That suit you, Churchill?” He looked across the table at the PhibGroup Two Surgeon. “Doc, think he’ll survive?”
    “Only, if we’re unlucky,” Captain Paul Montage replied mockingly.
    Everyone laughed at the elderly fleet surgeon who had retired as a doctor and two years ago accepted a permanent appointment as a captain in the Medical Corps of the Navy.
    “That’s not what you said at our last meeting of AARP,” Churchill replied.
    “That’s only because your snores drowned out the proposals of the others.”
    “What others?”
    “Doc, Commander Walden,” Mary interrupted. “There are only you two in the ship’s American Association of Retired People’s chapter, so if you would reconvene later, I’ll try to finish up this briefing.”
    “Mary, go ahead,” Dick added good-naturedly. “Churchill, stay awake and keep the comments down.”
    “Of course, Admiral,” Commander Churchill Walton replied, nodding respectfully.
    The intelligence officer moved the presentation forward several slides. The photograph of the middle-aged African wearing his familiar dark Western suit appeared. “I think we all recognize this gentleman,” Mary said. “President Harold Jefferson of Liberia.” She paused. “Or he was President Harold Jefferson.” She reached down, picked a Navy message off the table, and held it up. “Approximately twelve hours ago, African rebels, led by Islamic extremists, attacked and overran the Presidential Palace in Monrovia, killing President Jefferson. Since the terrorist action, additional rebels have been arriving, spreading through the capital arresting members of the Liberian Congress. They overran the American Embassy about four hours ago, but not before the Chief of Station released a situation report telling the State Department that Americans rounded up were being executed.”
    The humor of several seconds ago vanished as the severity of the crisis unfolded. They listed silently as Mary Davidson reported some of the atrocities that were occurring. This did not sound like the other crises that Amphibious Group Two had been called on to respond to. Nothing could ever equal the horror of September 11, 2001, but as the War on Terrorism continued, more and more barbaric acts surfaced as radical Islamic elements sought to destroy the modern Western world.
    She laid the Navy message on the table, pointed the controls at the projector, and advanced the presentation to the next slide. A series of bullets appeared. Captain Mary Davidson glanced at the text and faced the group of officers seated at the table.
    For the next ten minutes, she reviewed the flow of information that had arrived off the global information grid to the intelligence spaces of USS Boxer , LHD-4. The number of Americans killed could only be estimated. Most of the information being received came from the few ham operators that were still up and transmitting on their radios. Even those were going out one at a time, and none had been heard for the past four hours.
    “Admiral,” Mary said, holding another message in her hand. “This arrived just