by Dale Brown
“I want a statement drafted up immediately, ordering the Russians to pull out of the Ukraine and cease all hostile activities. And I want that Russian target list made up as soon as possible. If I don’t get an answer back from Velichko immediately, I’m ordering the air strike for tomorrow night.”
THIRTY-NINE
Batman Air Base, Eastern Turkey, That Morning
Ever since he got the assignment to Plattsburgh and the RF-111G Vampire, Daren Mace knew he’d be back at Batman Air Base in Turkey. He didn’t know why he knew. Obviously the trouble in Eastern Europe, the capabilities of the Vampire bomber, and the Turks’ love of the beast had a lot to do with it.
He stood alone on Batman’s large parking ramp area, in front of the base operations building. Batman was one of the most modern military bases in the world, with large concrete hangars and extensive underground aircraft-maintenance facilities. It was the headquarters of the Turkish government’s defense against Kurdish and Shi’ite Muslim rebels and extremists in the east, as well as being in the center of a powerful industrial and petroleum-production region, and was therefore very well defended and purposely isolated. Located near the headwaters of the Euphrates River of eastern Turkey, with tall mountains to the south and east, the base was also very beautiful. During Desert Storm, Batman was the little-known headquarters of the U.S. Special Operations Command, operating secret combat search and rescue and “unconventional warfare” missions throughout Iraq and the entire Middle East region …
… and it was also the headquarters of Operation Desert Fire, the mission to destroy an Iraqi military bunker with a thermonuclear weapon if Saddam Hussein used chemical or biological weapons during the war. Back then, Daren Mace had come within seconds of launching the nuke. Now it seemed the whole world was insane enough to use nuclear weapons.
Mace heard a helicopter approach a few moments later. It was a Turkish Jandarma (Turkey’s interior militia) S-70 utility helicopter, a license-built copy of the UH-60 Black Hawk. The helicopter had a load slung underneath, and Mace motioned four of his maintenance techs to move a large roller cradle over to get ready to load. It was the escape capsule of an RF-111G Vampire bomber—Rebecca’s bomber. The capsule was carefully loaded onto the cradle, and then the S-70 landed and dropped off a single passenger.
Before she had taken three steps away from the jetcopter, Mace had rushed over to Rebecca Furness’ side, taken her in his arms, and kissed her deeply. Rebecca returned his kiss, then buried her face in his shoulder.
He finally led her away from the roar of the rotors. “Jeez, Rebecca, I thought I lost you,” Mace told her.
“You didn’t lose me,” Furness replied. “You won’t lose me unless you’re stupid enough to let me go.”
He smiled, then held her face in his hands. “No chance of that,” he told her, punctuating his promise with another kiss.
They went over to inspect the capsule. “The missiles blew out the right flotation bag,” Furness said, “but we stayed afloat pretty well even though we were low in the water. Everything worked—radios, survival kit, flares.” She held up a helmet bag and added, “Two bottles of Chivas Regal—that’s all I could scrounge off the Turkish Navy. For your survival specialists and airframe maintenance crews.”
“I’ve got them too busy to drink it right now,” Mace said, “but they’ll appreciate the thought. Never hurts to suck up to the survival-gear gods. Where’s Mark? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” Furness replied. “He aggravated his back injury in the ejection, and the medics found blood in his stool, so he’s being taken to Incirlik for tests. He did real good out there—he’s turned into a real crewdog after all.”
“That’s good,” Mace said. He held her tightly, then said, “I’m damned sorry about Norton and Aldridge.”
“They didn’t find them?”
Mace shook his head. “The Russians recovered them and what’s left of the plane. They said they’ll release the bodies after the fighting stops. Sorry, Rebecca. Norton was a real fighter. She could have wimped out like Ted Little, but she didn’t.” He hesitated again, then said, “You and Mark did good, Rebecca. The whole squadron did good. Two destroyers, a frigate, and a guided missile cruiser—you and Fogelman got two out of the four. The Ukrainians got the Russian AWACS and the Novorossiysk aircraft carrier.”
“I remember the excited looks of the crews when they got back from a successful mission over Iraq during the war,” Rebecca said. “Funny—I don’t feel like that at all. I mean, I’m glad we flew the mission, and that we hit back, but I don’t feel like anything was accomplished.”
“You heard about Golcuk and Istanbul International?” he asked, referring to the low-yield nuclear attack by the Russians.
“Yes,” Rebecca replied. “It’s incredible. Were there very many casualties?”
“About two thousand so far,” Mace said. “The radiation hasn’t run its course yet—they may get several thousand more.”
“My God. What are we going to do here?”
“I think we’re going to find out,” Mace said. “Colonel Lafferty wants to see us immediately. Mass briefing in about fifteen minutes.”
The squadron meeting was being held in a briefing room in one of the underground hangar complexes. As Mace and Furness headed for the briefing, Mace suddenly stopped, went down another corridor, stopped at a door marked INFIRMARY, and said, “We’d better stop in here first.”
“Who got hurt? I thought everyone made it back okay?” In a room by herself, they found First Lieutenant Lynn Ogden, wearing a paper gown, lying on a bed on top of the sheets, curled up into a fetal position and sobbing uncontrollably. “Lynn?”
When Ogden saw Furness, she gave a loud cry, then reached for her with trembling hands. Furness held her tightly. “What’s the matter, Lynn? Are you hurt? Where’s Clark? Are you guys okay?” Lynn did not reply, only cried harder. After holding each other for a moment, Lynn suddenly seemed to just melt away from Rebecca, and Daren had to help guide her limp body back onto the table. “Lynn, what’s the matter with you? What happened? I thought you made it back okay. Lynn, stop it, you’re scaring me.”
“She’s can’t hear you, Rebecca,” Mace said. “She’s been like that ever since the raid. She and Vest hit a frigate with two HARMS and sent the sucker right down to the bottom—no survivors. She was morose after hitting the ship, but when she found out she sunk it, she went schizo. They’ll take her to Incirlik for evaluation—probably airevac her out to Germany if it’s safe to fly. Her family is flying out to Germany.”
“She’s not sick? No injuries? Did they take skull X-rays or anything?”
“I’ve seen this before, Rebecca,” Mace said as a nurse guided them out of the room—they could still hear her sobbing even after leaving the room. “Call it shell shock, or posttraumatic-shock syndrome, or battle fatigue—she’s so traumatized by the mission that she can’t control her emotions. She’s aware of everything and everyone around her, but they can’t make her stop.”
“Shouldn’t they sedate her or something?”
“They did. That’s her after the sedative wore off.”
As they exited the infirmary, they ran directly into Colonel Pavlo Tychina, the wing commander of the Ukrainian Air Force contingent. “Ah … Major Rebecca Furness. I am very glad to see you.” He shook both their hands and gave her a hug, pressing his gauze-covered cheek to hers instead of kissing. He still wore the white sterile-gauze mask everywhere—he refused to be seen without it. “I have heard of your fellow crewmember, Lieutenant Ogden. I am most sorry. I hope she will be fine.”
“Dyakoyo. Thank you,” Rebecca said, using one of the few bits of Ukrainian she had learned after the short time spent with the Ukrainian aircrews. Despite his horrible visage, she had found Tychina to be a very likable man, animated yet very by-the-book with his men, formal with the Turks, and polite, almost effusive, with the Americans. He was always working and always the commander, although he seemed at least ten y
ears too young for the job. Of course, with the mask on, it was hard to tell if Tychina was thirty or sixty. His nickname “Voskresensky,” “Phoenix” in English, was well known throughout the joint air forces, and his heroic story was also well known, as was his sad story about his fiancée’s death from neutron radiation. “I think she’ll be all right.”
“Of course,” Tychina said solemnly. “Your crew very brave. You are brave … and pretty.” They walked together until reaching the main briefing room.
As was their custom, the Turkish aircrews were standing in the back of the room and along the walls. They all looked on with undisguised disgust as Furness entered the briefing room. A Turkish F-16 pilot curled his arms up along his chest, put his fist up to his mouth as if he were sucking his thumb, and whimpered like a dog. The Ukrainians reacted just the opposite—they got to their feet, applauding and cheering, and they slapped her on the back and the butt as if she were a man as she made her way to the front of the conference room and greeted Lafferty, Hembree, and the other American crewmembers. “Welcome back, Rebecca,” Lafferty said, putting his arm around her. “Sorry you lost your plane, but you did a terrific job.”
“Thank you, sir. Lieutenant Fogelman sends his regards.”
“He called from Incirlik,” Hembree says. “He’s ready to come back already. The docs don’t know yet.”
“He did really well out there last night, sir,” Furness told Lafferty. “I’ll fly with him anytime. I’m sorry about Paula and Curt, sir. Lynn too.”
“Me too. Their loss is hard on everyone here. Losses always hit small units the hardest. We just need to pull together.”
“So what’s going on?” Mace asked.
“We’re getting a briefing by some NATO and Central Command brass,” Lafferty said. “They should be here any minute. You know about the Russian attacks in Turkey, right, Rebecca?” She nodded. “I think the White House is finally going to get into gear. I don’t know what role we can play, but something’s happening.”
As if on cue, the room was called to attention, and three officers entered, followed by several Turkish staff members. The American officers snapped to attention …
… and as they reached the stage and stepped up to the podium, Daren Mace could not believe who he saw: along with General Suleyman Isiklar, the base commander of Batman, and General Petr Iosifovich Panchenko, the Ukrainian Air Force chief of staff who had arrived that morning, was Major General Bruce Eyers, U.S. Army, and Major General Tyler Layton, U.S. Air Force—the very same officers in charge of Desert Fire, the abortive nuclear attack against Iraq four years earlier. He suddenly felt a sinking in his stomach.
“Seats,” Isiklar’s aide ordered. Everyone took seats—everyone except Daren Mace. Eyers and Layton noticed the one man still standing, but refused to acknowledge him other than giving him a stern look and an unspoken order to sit down.
Isiklar made a short bow to the portrait of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, the founder of the modern Republic of Turkey—the portraits and little shrines to Ataturk were everywhere in Turkey, and they were treated as politely as if the man were in attendance—then said to the audience without preamble, “Death to the enemies of the Turkish Republic and to evil aggressors everywhere. We begin our campaign to drive away the Russians tonight, with the help of God, the blessings of Kemal Ataturk, and spearheaded by the brave Ukrainians and the Americans. May I please introduce Major General Bruce Eyers, the deputy commander of NATO Forces Southeast.” Amidst the growls, cheers, and cries from the Ukrainian crewmembers, Isiklar turned the stage over to Bruce Eyers.
Eyers gave Ataturk’s portrait a perfunctory nod, stepped up to the podium, and said, “I am here to inform you that, as of oh-one-hundred hours Eastern European time, in accordance with Article 12 of the North Atlantic Treaty and by unanimous vote of all member nations, the Republic of Ukrayina and the Republic of Lithuania have been formally accepted for full membership in the North Atlantic Alliance. Therefore, in accordance with Article 5 of the North Atlantic Treaty and with Article 51 of the United Nations Charter, all member nations of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization alliance have been put on full military alert, including the forces of the United States of America. Although the Congress of the United States has not made a declaration of war, the President of the United States has ordered two hundred thousand troops deployed immediately in support of NATO operations. The government of Turkey has authorized the deployment of one hundred thousand troops on its soil. An attack upon one member nation shall be considered an attack upon us all.”
The Ukrainians went crazy with joy at the news, yelling and cheering like madmen. Colonel Tychina let it go for a few moments, then raised a hand for silence.
“I would like to announce that effective immediately General Petr Panchenko, Chief of Staff of the Air Force of the Republic of Ukrayina, is hereby designated commander of joint NATO air forces, eastern region, and will be the overall air forces commander of NATO units in Turkey, the Ukraine, and Lithuania. He will report directly to myself as NATO task force commander for this emergency. General Panchenko, the command is yours.” Again, the room erupted with sheer bedlam as the crazily happy Ukrainian officers welcomed their leader to the podium.
Panchenko was not proficient in English, so he had Pavlo Tychina translate for him: “The General says that his message is simple and direct. Fellow warriors, today we begin the liberation of Ukrayina.” He waited until the cheering and applause died down, then: “However, we have no illusions of grandeur here. Our force is small, and we are committed to the defense of our host country and fellow NATO member, Turkey, as well as the defense of our homeland. We cannot hope to win this war ourselves. Rather, we must hold out until our NATO brothers can arrive in force. But we will not be idle. As we discovered last night, although we cannot kill the Russian bear, we can sting the hell out of him.
“The suppression of enemy air defenses will be our primary mission,” Tychina continued, translating for Panchenko. “The more effectively and the deeper inside Ukrayina we can destroy Russian air defense weapons and radar sites, on land, sea, and in the air, the more effective NATO air strikes will be. Our mission is to control the skies over the Black Sea and render all Russian-held air and naval bases along the Black Sea combat-ineffective, which should allow NATO forces free access to the Black Sea to open a second front of attack.
“I will conduct a briefing for all flight commanders immediately following this briefing, in which I will outline my objectives and my outline for the first month. The first launch will be at nineteen hundred hours tonight. Our objective will be the Russian naval base at Novorossiysk and the air bases at Rostov-na-Donu and Krasnodar. If we can destroy these two air bases and the naval base, we can relieve Ukrainian Army units in the Don region from Russian air attacks and cut off Russian naval and air units in the Crimea from routine resupply. This concludes my briefing. May God bless and keep us all.”
No sooner had the briefing concluded than Eyers motioned for the senior American officers to follow him into an adjacent room. The door was closed and locked—and Eyers greeted Daren Mace with a large grin. “Why, hello, traitor—I see you remember me.”
“Who are you calling a traitor, Eyers?” Mace hissed. “Who let this psycho in here?”
“I hoped you were dead, Mace,” Eyers said evenly.
“I hoped you were alive so I could kill you myself, you wacko.”
“All right, both of you, shut up,” General Layton interrupted. “General Eyers, can we get on with this briefing?”
“What in the hell is going on here, sir?” Colonel Lafferty asked. “Daren, you know General Eyers?”
“Only by voice—and by smell.”
“You shut your mouth, yellow-belly. Who in hell made you a colonel, anyway? Certainly nobody in my country’s air force.”
“It appears that everyone in this room has had a promotion in the past four years except you, Eyers.”
“I said button it, Colonel,” Layton i
nterjected. “General, like it or not, we’re all going to be working very closely together in the next few hours, so—”
“We ain’t gonna be working together—I’ll be giving the orders, and this time you better be carrying them out, sonny boy,” Eyers interrupted loudly. He stepped closer to Mace, got right in his face, daring him to shrink from him. Mace did not—which only angered Eyers even more. “If I had my way, chicken-shit, I’d put you in leg irons in Leavenworth or at a nice remote radar site in Thule, Greenland.”
“He’s not leaving, General,” Layton said, “and you know it.”
“I know, I know,” Eyers snapped. “It’s a major fuck-up for the Chairman to choose the bastard that chickened out, refused to obey orders, nearly got himself shot down, and nearly killed his pilot during Desert Storm.”
All eyes turned in stunned disbelief at Daren Mace. He said, “They don’t know it, Eyers, because it’s not true. Maybe they don’t know that you were the one who ordered me to launch a nuclear missile on Baghdad during the Persian Gulf War.”
“I should bust you for mentioning that, Mace,” Eyers said. “That’s classified information.” All eyes swung back in even more stunned disbelief at Eyers—but this time, instead of a horribly angry face, they found a pleased, satisfied smile. Eyers said, “Yeah, Colonel, I did order you to launch an attack. It was a lawful order from the President of the United States. I was right to issue that order and you were wrong to refuse.”
“I refused because it was rescinded.”
“It wasn’t rescinded. You guessed it had been, like some goddamned psychic or something. Well, guess what, hotshot? The President has just ordered you to do it again. You’re going to lead another nuclear missile attack against the Russian western air forces military district headquarters at Domodedovo.”
Everyone in the room was thunderstruck. “What did you say, General?” Lafferty asked.