by Dale Brown
Tychina took two tightly controlled steps toward Eyers, his fists clenched. “I am not this ‘chief,’ and I am not ‘son,’ sir,” he seethed. “I am Colonel of Aviation of the Air Force of the Ukrayinan Republic—”
“And you’re way out of line, Colonel,” Eyers said, pointing a finger at him as if he were pointing a gun. “We saved your butt from a royal shellacking. You’re on our side of the fence now, son. You stay grounded until we clear up this awful mess.”
Pavlo was incredulous. He didn’t understand all the words, but his tone of voice and his hand gestures said everything—the American general didn’t want his Ukrayinan bombers to leave Turkey. “No! My orders are to prepare my aircraft for combat operations,” Tychina snapped. “We do not stay on ground. We fight.”
“You’ll do as you’re ordered or you’ll be placed under arrest!” yelled Eyers, eyes on fire.
“I was not sent here to wait. I came here to fight,” Tychina explained to both of them, trying to remain calm. “If I am not given permission to prepare to fight, I will recommend to my commander that our forces be withdrawn.”
“Withdrawn?” Eyers’ eyes turned the size of saucers. “You listen to me, you third-world shithead …”
“Enough!” Sivarek ordered, raising both hands in front of the two officers.
“You stay out of this, General,” Eyers said dismissively, waving a hand as if to swat a bothersome insect. “I’m gonna set this pup straight.”
“Hayir. You will not,” Sivarek interrupted. Eyers looked angry enough to commit murder at being shown up by the Turk, but Sivarek went on. “You are my superior officer, General Eyers, but this is still my base and my country, and you are both guests here. Is that understood, sir?”
Eyers said nothing, but only glared at Tychina.
“I understand, sir,” Tychina said. “I am grateful for any help you give.”
“Tamam. We shall leave it at that,” Sivarek said. Eyers stalked away, finding a pitcher of strong, thick Turkish coffee on a credenza nearby and pouring himself a cup. “Colonel, the decision as to what role your fighters and bombers will play in the conflict which is to come must be coordinated with your country and with any other nations that choose to stand against the Russian aggression,” the Turkish officer continued. “So far, none have stepped forward, although NATO—and indeed the entire world—is mobilizing its military forces for intercontinental war, fearful that the Russians may try an invasion of Turkey or the Eastern Bloc republics. We simply have to wait and see.
“We do indeed have a quantity of Ukrainian weapons stored here,” Sivarek went on. “My orders are to guard them, nothing more. They do indeed belong to you, and they will be returned to you at the proper time. For the moment, we need help in inventorying and inspecting the weapons stockpile. Can your crews assist in this?”
“They can, sir,” Tychina said quietly. “I would like to organize training, intelligence, maintenance, target selection, and communications details as well. I am hoping that General Panchenko can send technicians from Ukrayina, but for now I intend on organizing my aircrews to—”
“What you’re going to do, Colonel, is sit tight and don’t do anything unless I tell you to do it,” Eyers declared. “We got you out of your country with your skins, so you owe us. That’s all you need to know. You are dismissed. Report here at seven A.M. tomorrow morning and you’ll be given your duties.”
Tychina saluted Eyers and Sivarek, but the Turkish general held up a hand and asked, “How were you injured, effendi?”
“I was leader of interceptor flight that stopped first raid of Tupolev-95 bombers into Ukrayina,” Tychina explained. “My aircraft was shot out. But I kill many heavy Bear bombers and make others turn away.”
“Yeah, right.” General Eyers chuckled, pouring himself more coffee. “You get yourself blown away but still managed to save the day, huh? I heard that one before.”
“No, I have heard of this man,” Sivarek said, impressed. “The young captain who shot down five Russian bombers and averted the first Russian attack single-handedly. You are a hero, young sir. I congratulate you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Tychina said. He noticed Eyers’ skeptical expression and added, “You think I not tell the truth, General Eyers?”
“If you say it’s true, it’s fine by me,” Eyers said easily. “I’ll bet that yarn impresses the hell out of your girlfriends, that’s for damned sure.”
“My girlfriend is dead, General,” Tychina hissed. “She was killed in Russian attack while waiting for me to marry her.” He held out his arms, his hands and wrists tense, as if he were carrying his dead fiancée. “She died of the radiation sickness. In my arms.”
“That’s too bad,” Eyers said in a low voice, feigning his condolences. “But maybe your revenge is making you not think so clear, chief. You just can’t go charging back into the Ukraine or Russia just like that—they’ll blow your toy planes out there away. Think with your head and not your balls, son.” Tychina’s open hands, still extended as if he were carrying his dead Mikki, curled into tight fists, then dejectedly dropped to his side.
“You ever think about the fact that if you hadn’t stopped those Bears from doing their thing, Russia would’ve never nuked you?” asked Eyers, raising his eyebrows. “Maybe those Bears were just going to hit military targets in Moldova and Romania, not the Ukraine, or maybe they really were just reconnaissance planes like the Russian foreign ministry suggests. If that’s true, what you did was an act of war—against your own people, your own allies.”
Tychina turned to Eyers, pure hatred in his eyes magnified by his face mask. “You Americans, no one invade your home, you do not know how to suffer,” he said. “You talk big about patience and waiting when Russians drop nuclear bombs on Ukrayina. It will be very different if Russians attack America.”
“It’ll never happen, son,” Eyers said confidently. “Ol’ Velichko knows better than to even try it. And don’t try to tell me I don’t know the score, my friend. I was in uniform defending my country long before you had your first wet dream. Back when ol’ Khrushchev was still alive and kicking. Maybe you ought to try listening to how the professional soldiers in the West fight for a change, instead of swinging your dick around looking for a fight. Someone’s liable to shoot it off.”
The young Ukrainian officer decided he was too disgusted by this guy to hang around for another second. “I will go and inspect my crews now, sir,” Tychina said to Sivarek, snapping to attention and saluting. Sivarek returned the salute. “Again, sir, I thank you for helping my country. My countrymen will never forget it. And I apologize for the conduct of my officers; they meant no disrespect to you or your country.” Tychina turned and rendered a salute to Eyers, who simply nodded in return, then departed.
“He is a very brave and determined young man, no?” Sivarek asked Eyers after the Ukrainian had left.
“I think he’s a peasant in a flight suit,” Eyers concluded. He opened the door, then chuckled to himself. “Russia invading the United States—that’s a laugh,” he said. “I don’t know what you see in that kid, General.” Sivarek joined in Eyers’ laughter as he saw the American to the door and closed it behind him—then ceased his laughing and gave Eyers an obscene “fig” finger—clenching his fist, then poking his thumb out between the index and middle fingers—behind his back.
“I see a fighting spirit that you lost long ago, you pompous American ass,” Sivarek said half-aloud. When Sivarek’s clerk returned after seeing the American off, the General told him in Turkish, “I want a meeting of the wing staff at oh-six-hundred hours, and I want Captain Yilmez to give me a complete report of the status of those Ukrainian weapons. Do it immediately.”
TWENTY-NINE
The White House, Washington, D.C.
“This is a rather serious turn of events, Mr. President,” Vitaly Velichko, President of Russia and the Commonwealth of Independent States, said. His English was very good—he was educated both in England and th
e United States—and it felt a bit strange for the American president to hear a British-sounding accent on the other end of the line and then remind himself that he was talking to a Russian.
“Now, you’re not getting upset about a few F-111 reconnaissance planes goin’ to Turkey, are you, Mr. President?” the Chief Executive drawled, his feet propped up on the desk John F. Kennedy had once used and that he’d brought out of storage after his inauguration. He popped some M&Ms into his mouth from a big crystal jar on his desk. He glanced around the Oval Office, listening to the Russian president, but visually taking in his surroundings, ignoring those advisers present for this phone call. Even now, in the midst of an international crisis, he never ceased to be amazed that he’d made it here in the first place. A governor from what so many laughingly called a hillbilly, inbred state, with more than a few skeletons in his personal closet, the pundits had called him a dark horse from the start. Laughed off. Well, they sure as hell weren’t laughing anymore. His eyes focused on a sculpture on a Federal table by the polycarbonate, bullet-resistant-windowed French doors leading to the Rose Garden. The sculpture was a replica of Rodin’s “The Thinker.”
Just what the President reminded himself he needed to be doing now. “We deploy these planes all the time to Turkey and you never seem to mind—heck, we landed them in Riga that one time last year, and a hundred thousand people came out to see them. And after all, Vitaly, they’re just Reservists.” He crunched a bit more on the M&Ms.
“We have great respect for both your Reserve forces and for your weapon systems, Mr. President,” Velichko said firmly. “Our general staff has modeled our new air force after your excellent Enhanced Reserve Program, and, as everyone knows, the F-111 is one of the world’s premier medium bombers.”
“They’re not bombers, Mr. President, they’re reconnaissance planes.”
“Ah. Forgive me, sir. Perhaps my information is faulty. I assumed there was only one model of the RF-111G Vampire bomber based at Plattsburgh, New York, and that the six planes you have on nuclear alert there are the same as the twelve planes that you call reconnaissance planes that are being deployed to Turkey. I must instruct my staff at once to double-check their information for accuracy.”
“They’re not the same plane, Mr. President. We’re sending reconnaissance planes only to Turkey, that’s all,” he said, sinking back in his seat in frustration. He released the “dead man” button on his telephone and said to the others in the Oval Office, “Christ, I didn’t even know how many damned F-111s we had at Plattsburgh—how in hell does he know all this stuff?”
“We released all that information to the press, as part of your openness policy and as a provision of the new START treaty, sir,” Secretary of Defense Donald Scheer said. “I think it’s smart for the American people and the Russians to know exactly how many weapons we have on alert.”
“Yeah, but someone forgot to tell me,” the President snapped, all but spitting out the remains of an M&M.
“Mr. President, be that as it may, the Congress of the People here still have very grave reservations about this deployment,” Velichko continued. “I’m sure you understand our concerns. I have tried to express my total assurance to you that the bombing raids on the military installations in the Ukraine, Moldova, and Romania were an unfortunate and deeply regrettable incident, purely isolated attacks, and will not be repeated. All of our nuclear forces were at full peacetime readiness, which is to say that no strategic forces were operational except for the six hundred launchers and three thousand warheads authorized under the START treaty, and that neither the United States nor NATO was ever in danger.
“That of course has changed since your country and those nuclear powers in NATO have mobilized additional strategic weapons. We fully understand this reaction, we accept it, we have notified you and NATO of our response, and we will not respond in kind but at a greatly lower level than NATO. However, we are very disturbed by this latest move. The deployment of strategic nuclear forces to Turkey is a clear violation of the START treaty and a serious escalation of tensions.”
“Mr. President, let me assure you, we are not trying to threaten or intimidate anyone,” the American president said. “The F-111s are conducting a routine deployment in support of NATO operations. We—”
“Excuse me, Mr. President, but you said they were F-111 aircraft?”
“Yes, that’s what I said, they’re F-111s.” But he paused when he saw one of Scheer’s aides shaking his head. The President released the cutoff button. “What? They’re not F-111s … ?”
“Sir, they’re RF-111G aircraft,” the aide said. “There is a distinction. The RF-111G is a reconnaissance and defense-suppression aircraft with a strike capability—the F-111 is a strike aircraft.”
“Well, hell, that’s just a difference in wording.”
“Sir, it’s as different as the Tupolev-22M maritime-interdiction aircraft the Russians sent to Cuba, and the Tupolev-26 supersonic bomber,” Army general Philip Freeman said. “Technically they’re the same plane, but the Tu-22M is considered a maritime reconnaissance and interdiction aircraft only, not a land bomber. Both sides are allowed to send reconnaissance aircraft to forward operating locations, but not strategic offensive aircraft. Calling the RF-111G Vampire aircraft an F-111 bomber is technically an admission that we’re violating the treaty.”
The President rolled his eyes again in irritation, dipping his hand back into the crystal jar. “What bullshit.” He keyed the button on the phone and said, “Excuse me, Mr. President, I meant they’re RF-111G aircraft. They’re reconnaissance planes only.”
“Yes, of course, Mr. President,” Velichko said. “You meant to say RF-111G Vampire aircraft.”
“No, sir, they are RF-111G aircraft,” he insisted, his voice rising a bit. A few members of the President’s Cabinet shuffled uneasily in their seats—it was not good to hear the President interrupting the Russian president during their conversation. The Chief Executive had a trigger temper, and it was just like him to get wound up during this conversation.
“When may I tell my government that we can expect this deployment to come to an end and these RF-111G aircraft return to the United States, Mr. President?” Velichko asked.
“I suppose that’s all up to you, Vitaly,” the President said evenly, a bit of sarcasm in his voice. Secretary of State Harlan Grimm’s heart skipped a beat. The President was baiting the Russian. He was about to speak, but instead held out two hands, urging the President to take it easy and be calm. But the President had crossed the line, and nothing was going to hold him back now. “The Turks think you’re trying to scope out their military bases and that you’re puttin’ the squeeze on ’em to stop supporting the Ukrainian government in exile. You’re makin’ a lot of people nervous, Mr. President, and we had no choice but to respond. You got nothing to worry about from me if you just tell your fly-boys to back off and let things over there cool down. As for the -111s, we’ll keep ’em over there for as long as it’s necessary.”
“I understand, Mr. President,” Vitaly Velichko echoed coldly. “You will keep the F-111s in Turkey for as long as you think is necessary.”
Again, Harlan Grimm, now on his feet while listening in on a dead extension, shook his head, warning the President not to let the Russian put words in his mouth; but the President responded, “That’s right. Mr. President, I don’t want to send those planes to Turkey. They’re just Reservists, and we got young women in that unit that have never been overseas and don’t know what it’s like to be in action. Frankly, I’d rather not send them to a place like Turkey. But your actions in the region are making lots of people very nervous. We can defuse this whole thing by just backing off. It should be put to an end as soon as possible. How about it?”
“I thank you very much for your words, Mr. President,” Velichko replied dismissively. “Thank you very much for speaking with me. Good-bye.” The American chief executive barely had time to respond before the connection was broken.
“Jeez, what an arrogant bastard,” he said as he hung up the phone, popping some more candy in his mouth. “So. Comments?” No one spoke up. “I hate to deal with world leaders over the phone, but talking with Vitaly’s pretty easy. I wish the French prime minister spoke English as well as Velichko. Any other comments?”
No one was about to tell the President that he very well might have insulted the Turks, the women in the Air Force, all military Reservists, and in effect told the Russians that the United States would back off and, essentially, to go ahead with their plans to take over the Ukraine. When there was no response, he said, “Okay, that’s over with. The First Lady is flying up to Plattsburgh to see those bombers off, and you’re going with her, right, Phil?”
“Yes, sir,” General Freeman replied halfheartedly, not at all happy about being on a trip with the Steel Magnolia.
“Good. I know the press coverage makes this whole thing look like a circus, Phil, but I think it’s important to show the American people what we’re doing to respond to the crisis, that we’re not going overboard but that we are responding. My wife wants to get involved in military affairs, and I think it’s good—few First Ladies have shown much interest in the military in the past. Good luck with that.”
Circus was just about the right word for it, Freeman thought. He said, “Thank you, sir,” and departed like a bat out of hell.
THIRTY
Plattsburgh Air Force Base, New York The Next Morning
With the morning sun glistening off the blue and white polished exterior of Air Force One as a backdrop, the two lines of aircrews snapped to attention as dark-blue security vehicles, Secret Service Suburbans, rolled to a stop, followed by two blue VIP limos and another Secret Service sedan. The crowd of about a thousand people, mostly hastily invited guests and local political friends of the President of the United States, gathered against the security ropes about fifty feet away grew louder and more restless. A podium had been set up so the First Lady could make some remarks, and the red security rope was lined with reporters and photographers. This was a rare opportunity to be allowed access to a military base during an actual combat deployment, and they were taking advantage of every moment.