by Dale Brown
But it wasn’t easy. You just have to get through it, Pavlo. Just as if you were in a plane during an emergency situation. Stay calm, stay under control. Do your job. He returned his attention to Panchenko, who was still talking.…
“I never finished telling you, Pavlo,” Panchenko said solemnly. “We knew this disaster would happen. We, the general staff and the government, knew that the Russians were going to retake Ukrayina. We planned for it. For the past two months we have been shipping weapons and equipment overseas, to Turkey.”
“You have?” Tychina asked, stunned by this revelation. “But why Turkey? And how did you know?”
“We didn’t know, of course, and we hoped we were wrong,” Panchenko explained. “But a war with Russia was inevitable. Conflict over the Dniester was only the spark. Access to the Black Sea ports, removal of nuclear weapons, land and property disputes, free trade, oil, agriculture—the Russians were losing everything of value. Ukrayina wanted to join the West, become a member of the European Community and NATO. Russia couldn’t allow that.
“So the government struck a deal with NATO several months ago to rathole one-third of the weapon stockpiles in Turkey. We’ve been shipping missiles, bombs, spare parts, vehicles, even tech orders and charts to bases in Turkey, right under the noses of the damned Russian naval patrols in the Black Sea. Thousands of tons of equipment and weapons, at least a trainload every week. To pay for the ‘storage,’ the government has been paying cash and signing basing agreements with NATO for access to Ukrayinan waters and ports after the conflict is over. Now we need someone to start setting up our operating base in Turkey. I want you to do it.”
Panchenko kept him in the room until they heard his staff car start up and drive away. What he saw in the young pilot’s eyes encouraged him. When he first entered the room and saw Tychina with the body of his fiancée, his eyes looked like a lost child’s eyes, full of fear and helplessness. When they took the body, he saw utter despair. Now he was relieved to see fire—and the thirst for revenge—in those eyes. It would take a strong hand to turn that drive for revenge into a more positive direction, to turn the blood lust into a calculating, meticulous planner and leader, but he was certain it could be done. The Phoenix would fly again, and this time he would lead a nation’s entire tiny air armada into battle.
Pavlo let Panchenko’s words sink in. So much was happening so fast… but that was the way it always happened in war. Decisions had to be quick and good. Otherwise you were dead. Pavlo swallowed hard, trying not to think about Mikki but about the matter at hand. He had to be a soldier first. His mouth felt unusually dry and his stomach queasy. And yet he was alive, and he was whole.
And he was going after the Russian bastards.
It was they who killed Mikki. It was they who had robbed him of the one love in his life. It was they who devastated his homeland. It was they who killed God knows how many of his countrymen.
He swallowed hard, and with determination he looked into his superior’s eyes: “I will do it. And I will get them.”
“I know you will. I’m counting on it.”
TWENTY-SIX
The White House Cabinet Room, Washington, D.C. That Same Time
“I got it straight from the horse’s mouth,” the President said in his deep southern accent as he sat down with his National Security Council staff in the White House Cabinet Room. “President Velichko told me—no, promised me, man to man, that the nuclear attack on the Ukraine was a mistake that will not be repeated, and that he intends to back off. So somebody explain to me why everyone in Europe’s getting all hot under the damned collar?”
The question was not aimed at anyone in particular—a tactic common to the President, designed to make everyone around him uncomfortable and on the defensive—so the men sitting around the table with the President shifted uncomfortably, silently deferring to Dr. Donald Scheer, the forty-two-year-old former professor of economics from MIT who had been chosen as the President’s Secretary of Defense. As unlikely as the choice of Scheer was for Secretary of Defense, this young, highly intelligent Bean-Counter Emeritus, as the press had dubbed him, was the perfect counterpoint to the President’s big, southern, ham-handed approach to dealing with the bureaucracy. The President was the ax, Scheer the scalpel, when it came to dealing with waste, with the budget, with the Washington establishment. “Perhaps you should tell us more about your conversation with the Russian president, Mr. President,” Scheer said.
“I told you the long and short of it,” the President said irritably. “Velichko told me that they were observing the Ukrainian Air Force preparing for a tactical air strike, following the attack on their reconnaissance planes.” The President paused as he noticed one of his advisers shaking his head. “Problem, General?”
“Excuse me, sir, but none of that is correct,” Army general Philip Freeman, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, replied. “Our analysis revealed that the bombers the Russians flew over the Ukraine that first night were strikers, not reconnaissance planes. The Russians have a squadron of MiG-25R Foxbat reconnaissance planes within range, but they weren’t used. The Ukrainians did have offensive weapons on board some of their fighters following the Russian assault, but what would you expect after just turning back a Russian cruise missile attack?”
“As far as I’m concerned, I’m getting nothing but noise from everyone involved—the Russians, the Ukrainians, the Romanians, the Germans, the Turks—the list goes on and on,” the President said wearily, chomping one of the famous cigars that he liked but didn’t inhale—even if he wanted to he wouldn’t dare. The First Lady all but shot those who tried to smoke, and she would smell it on him. “All I care about is what I’m seeing in the press and in the intelligence reports. Now, from what you’ve been telling me,” he said to National Security Advisor Michael Lifter, “the Russians aren’t moving into the Ukraine and Moldova in massive numbers. Isn’t that right?”
“That’s right, sir,” Lifter acknowledged. “The Russians said that their attack was simply a response to Ukrainian aggression, that they plan no other moves into the region unless other factions threaten ethnic Russians in Moldova or the Ukraine.”
“They don’t need to move into Moldova in force, sir,” General Freeman said, “because they already had ten thousand troops stationed in the Dniester region before the attack occurred. The air attacks simply weakened all air defense units in the Ukraine, which gives the Russians free air access over the Ukraine, and they bombarded all the Romanian and Moldovan army positions that could threaten those Russian troops in Dniester.”
“Those weren’t Russian troops in the Dniester region, General,” Secretary of State Harlan Grimm said. “Those troops were former Soviet Red Army personnel who stayed in Moldova after independence and who eventually formed a partisan Russian militia during the uprisings.”
“Mr. Grimm, I don’t believe that for a minute,” General Freeman said. “The Russians living in the Moldavian SSR didn’t want to leave the Soviet Union after Moldova declared its independence, so the Red Army simply disbanded one of its military units in-place and had them form the nucleus of a resistance movement.”
“I’m not surprised you see it that way, General,” Grimm said derisively.
“Sir, the point is, the Russians can pull this trick in every vital former Republic,” General Freeman said. “They can do it in the Baltic states, they can do it in Belarus, they can do it in Armenia and Azerbaijan.”
“I’m not interested in what the Russians might do, General.” The President sighed, wishing like hell he could go jogging around the White House track, escape all this shit. “I’m more concerned with the here and now. In fact, the Russians haven’t appeared to have any desire to move in force against the Ukraine or Moldova.”
“It’s a fait accompli, sir—of course the Russians are going to promise to back off. They’ve killed several thousand people already.” General Freeman spread his hands to emphasize his point. “Sir, the question is, what are w
e going to do about the Russian aggression? We can do nothing and continue to voice our displeasure or we can take some action to show how displeased we are.”
“I don’t see anything we need to do, and nothing we can do, General,” the President said as if the very idea of aggression was distasteful. “If the Russians don’t make any more moves into the Ukraine or Moldova, the matter is over.”
“The government of Turkey doesn’t think so, sir,” Freeman interjected, thinking, What did I expect from a draft-evader, anyway? “President Dalon appears to be very concerned about Russian reconnaissance flights over the Black Sea. The Russians have repeatedly crossed the twelve-mile territorial boundary in the Black Sea, trying to photograph naval bases near Istanbul and catalog Turkish ships in the Black Sea and in the Bosporus. They’ve been paying a lot of attention on the military-industrial complex near Kocaeli, about fifty miles east of Istanbul on the Marmara Sea, as well as general military and supply traffic in the Bosporus Strait and Dardanelles.”
“Let’s try to stick with one problem at a time here, General.”
“It’s all one big problem, sir,” Freeman argued patiently, feeling he was tutoring some ROTC freshmen. “The nuclear strikes in the Ukraine and Romania occurred less than five hundred miles from Turkey, sir, and now Russian bombers and attack aircraft are swarming over the entire Black Sea region. Turkey is getting upset, and they want a pledge by NATO and assistance in defending its borders.”
“We’ve been sucking up to the Turks for almost twenty years,” Scheer sniffed to the President. “Reagan and Bush gave them everything, and they turned around and kicked us out of their country, made war on Greece, and started ethnic genocide against the Kurds in the southeast. Every time we extend assistance to them, they use it to lash out at an opposition group or neighboring country. They want weapons from NATO, but never offensive forces; then, when they do want modern Western fighters, ships, and missiles, they badger us into agreeing to a license-build contract, and our companies lose thousands of jobs. They wanted protection against Iraq and Iran, but when they got ground troops they promptly used their own army to go after Kurdish and Armenian bases.”
Lifter turned to Scheer and asked, “I suppose now they want military protection against Russia, a powerful showing, perhaps a naval and air presence—but not an offensive presence, anything that might be provocative or make the Turkish people think any foreigners are waging war at their expense.”
“They made their request through NATO channels, not through my office,” Scheer replied as if enough said. “General?”
Freeman nodded. “It’s a similar request as was made during the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait and the Iraqi-Kurdish conflicts in 1993 and 1994,” Freeman said. “Air and naval defense augmentation, fill-ins for the weapon systems they don’t own. They’re requesting more Patriot missile batteries, air defense artillery, strategic and tactical reconnaissance, and suppression of enemy air defense weapon systems. Defensive systems only.”
The President rubbed his eyes wearily, then scratched his head through all that bush of prematurely gray hair, a sign that he didn’t like any of the options or suggestions being placed in front of him at the moment. “I think this Turkish thing will have to wait,” he said. “We start sending any aircraft to Turkey, and the Russians will think we’re trying to surround ’em and make them negotiate from the business end of a Sidewinder missile. As long as Russia doesn’t threaten the United States and our allies, I see no need to commit any forces up front.”
“Sir, Turkey feels threatened, and they feel isolated,” Freeman interjected. “Right now they’re getting more assistance from the Ukraine than from NATO.”
“You mean because Turkey offered asylum to the Ukrainian government, and the Ukraine is flying planes into Turkey, they’re going to just ignore NATO?”
“Sir, the Ukraine is moving an estimated two hundred combat aircraft into Turkey right now,” Freeman said, “and they’ve already got an undetermined amount of Ukrainian weapons and equipment. Actions not words, sir: the Ukrainians might even assist Turkey if the Russians try anything.”
“Now that’s bull,” the President murmured. “And it’s that ‘undetermined’ shit that’s got me hot under the collar, too. Who approved a shipment like that? NATO? It wasn’t us, that’s for sure. Now Turkey won’t tell us how much Ukrainian gear is in their country or where it’s stashed. Whose side are they on, anyway?”
“Mr. President, we have to decide what our next course of action should be,” Freeman insisted, thinking how much he loathed closet pacifists. “I think sending Secretary of State Grimm to Brussels, Moscow, and Ankara is a good idea; you may consider sending him to Belgrade to confer with the Romanian government, and to Istanbul, where the Ukrainian government-in-exile is located.”
“That would make the Russians real happy,” Secretary of Defense Scheer chimed in.
“The Russians started this thing, and they’ve offered nothing but flimsy excuses for initiating hostile actions,” General Freeman said. “The care and feeding of an alliance is just as important as negotiating with the antagonists, sir. We can’t assume our allies will follow our lead or do what we want them to do, especially when the major ally in question is a Muslim nation that shares a border with the major antagonist.”
“Whatever Turkey wants, Turkey gets, eh, General?” Dr. Scheer said. “Just like ol’ Reagan and his lapdog Bush.”
“We’re doing it because Turkey is important to the West and important to NATO, and because they’re truly being threatened by Russia,” the General said. “I think relations with them is worth a few squadrons and a few ships.”
The President hesitated for a moment longer, then held up his hands as if in surrender and said, “Well, Don, I think we’re going to bust the bank on this one, but I tend to agree with the General, at least on the short term. Okay, General, what do you recommend?”
Freeman couldn’t believe it. The draft-dodger was coming around. “In accordance with your standing rules regarding limitations on overseas deployments and the use of take-along equipment versus using or creating repositioned stores,” Freeman said, “I recommend deploying the 394th Air Battle Wing from New York, flying RF-111G Vampire reconnaissance fighters, KC-135 tankers, and a few F-16 fighters; also three Perry-class frigates from the Sixth Fleet, the Curts, McClusky, and Davis. These frigates are mostly antisubmarine-warfare vessels, but they have a powerful antiship and even an antiaircraft weapons fit.”
“What about these F-111s? Aren’t they offensive aircraft?”
“They have an offensive capability,” Freeman admitted, “but their primary role is reconnaissance and SEAD—that’s Suppression of Enemy Air Defenses, what they call ‘Wild Weasel’ or ‘Iron Hand.’ They go after missile sites, radar sites, that sort of thing. The Turks like the F-111, and we’ve based F-111s in Turkey for almost ten years. The 394th Air Battle Wing has eighteen RF-111Gs, twelve KC-135 tankers, and twenty F-16 fighters. NATO will send one of their E-3C radar planes, and we can send a Special Task Force from the Army’s Seventh Air Defense Artillery Battalion with six Patriot missile batteries—that’s twenty-four launchers, four missiles per launcher, no reloads. They’d be operated by U.S. Army personnel only, because the Congressional ban on exporting Patriot missile technology to Turkey is still in effect.”
“As well it should be, after we discovered Turkey trying to steal Patriot technology last year,” Secretary of Defense Grimm added indignantly.
The President looked surprised. He rolled the cigar between his left index finger and thumb. “That’s all the Turks want? From what you said, it sounded like they wanted a couple aircraft carriers, maybe a B-52 wing.”
“They’d like an entire surface-action group and all our F-117 stealth fighters, sir,” Freeman admitted. “We can’t, and shouldn’t, give them everything they want. The Turks like haggling over levels of assistance—they’ll think they’re being set up if we send too much. This deal won’t totally please th
em—especially when they find out about the Seventh Air Defense Battalion detachment and the 394th Wing.”
“What about them?” the President asked.
“Both units are about one-quarter women,” Freemen replied. “Almost half the aerial refueling tanker crewmembers are women; most of the Patriot missile system instructors are women; even some of the RF-111G pilots are women. The Turks don’t approve of women as soldiers.”
“Screw ’em,” the President said. “They ask for help, they’re getting help. It’s about time we show the world that women can fight just as well as men.”
“There may be cultural problems in sending these forces to Turkey, sir,” Secretary of Defense Scheer offered. “Putting women in uniform and sending them to Turkey might be considered an insult to Turkey, as if we don’t respect them enough, or the Turks might think the women are criminals or head cases. As absurd as it sounds, that’s how they think. They may refuse to work with or even acknowledge our women officers. The women we send to Incirlik Air Base in central Turkey have a lot of difficulties when they go off-base or have to deal with Turkish men.”
“We’ll deal with that problem when it happens,” the President said dismissively. “It’s about time we start showing the world what American female soldiers can do. Maybe we’ll help Turkey join the twentieth century. Don, who’s gonna be in charge of this Turkey operation, and what’re we gonna call it?”
“Admiral John Carruth will be the theater commander, sir,” Sec-Def Scheer replied. “I’ll get together with him and prepare a briefing for you as soon as possible.”
“Good. John’s a good man. Annapolis wild boy, but a few tours in Washington softened him up for me,” the President said. Freeman would have gone a bit further: Carruth, one of General Norman Schwarzkopf’s fleet commanders during the Persian Gulf War, had a reputation as a Washington animal with definite political aspirations, spending more time in Washington—not just at the Pentagon, but on Capitol Hill and the White House—than at his headquarters in Florida or at any of his installations. With the increasing importance of the Navy in U.S. Central Command operations, it was logical that a Navy admiral take command of the previously Army and Marine heavy-command, but with Carruth it was a political stepping-stone given to him by his buddy, the southern President. This operation might take on a distinct naval flavor before too long.