"Thud thud thud~"
The hallway was filled with urgent footsteps.
Inside the Situation Room at the White House.
Little Bush sat at the head of the long table, in front of him were four or five cigarette butts piled up in an ashtray, and he had another cigarette in his mouth.
This damn thing was invented to kill time and nerves.
Defense Minister Jonathan W. Green had just finished his briefing, the screen showed the Illinois Army's attack arrows and the Indiana National Guard's chaotic defensive posture.
"That bastard Bramo, took advantage of our 60% East Coast mobile forces being pinned down in Maine Bay, and 30% of our air force engaged with the Mexicans for air supremacy, and stabbed us in the back. And we didn't fucking realize for at least five hours that this wasn't border friction, but a full-scale invasion?!"
