Fatal Terrain

by Dale Brown

  CHINA.

  210 DALE BROWN

  The @ideoconference screen was blank as Dr. Chi-yang de-

  parted; when security was restored in Washington, Joint Chiefs

  of Staff chairman Admiral George Balboa was on the hookup

  from the Pentagon, along with Admiral Frederick Cowen, the

  chief of naval operations. "Very, very touching," Balboa be-

  gan acidly. "You did it again, Brad, you old son of a bitch.

  You screw up in the worst possible way, ignore orders, start

  firing missiles all over the damn sky, and you precipitate a

  damned nuclear attack, and somehow you have world leaders

  kissing your boots and comparing you to the Flying Tigers.

  Incredible."

  "Kinda makes you want to slit your own wrists right now,

  doesn't it, George?" Elliott said with,his irritating little grin

  "You will shut your mouth right, now, Elliott," Balboa

  shouted angrily, pointing at the videoconference camera.

  "What the ROC government thinks of you fight now doesn't

  carry one ounce of water with me! You deliberately violated

  direct orders from me, the National Command Authority, and

  CINCPAC to hold fire and withdraw. You are more than just

  a menace, Elliott, you are a disgrace to any American who

  has ever worn a uniform."

  "General Elliott had nothing to do with what we did over

  there, Admiral Balboa," McLanahan said. "I was the mission

  commander on that flight, I gave the orders to launch, and I'm

  responsible for the death of Emil Vikrarn."

  "Don't forget the deaths of five hundred Taiwanese sailors,

  an estimated three hundred Taiwanese civilians on Quemoy,

  and dozens of deaths and injuries aboard the Chinese war-

  ships," Balboa interjected. "You're responsible for all of

  them!" McLanahan's shoulders sank, as if he had just been

  reminded of a painful event in his life. "You're going to have

  to live with all that, Mr. McLanahan. Even though I can ab-

  solve myself by reminding myself that I never sanctioned this

  mission and never thought you should be involved, I too will

  have to live with the horror of all those lives lost."

  "Why don't you just be a total asshole and completely wash

  your hands of the whole thing, George?" Elliott retorted. "No-

  body's stopping you."

  "What I would like even better is to shut you down, have

  those planes cut up into little pieces, and throw you in prison,"

  Balboa said. "There is a question of how the Taiwanese found

  out so much about this operation, and I have a feeling you

  FATAL TER RAI N 211

  were responsible for that. As for this operation, it looks as if

  the President wants to continue this foolhardy plan. If the loss

  of one of your airframes and Lieutenant Vikram poses a prob-

  lem, Mr. McLanahan, I expect you to report promptly to Ad-

  miral Allen so we can make alternate arran ements."

  9

  "A replacement crew and plane is being ferried from

  Blytheville as we speak," McLanahan said. "It'll arrive in

  about twenty hours. But we can maintain a normal schedule

  right now."

  "Then do it," Balboa said. "But you are not authorized to

  speak with anyone else, especially foreign nationals, at any

  time. The only persons you are authorized to communicate

  with are units or command posts briefed to you prior to take-

  off. Failure to comply with this order will subject you and

  your co-workers to the most severe penalties allowable. Is that

  clear?"

  "Yes, sir," McLanahan said. Elliott shook his head and

  rolled his eyes at his partner acceding to Balboa's lame threat

  so passively, but McLanahan ignored him. "Sir, I need per-

  mission to contact Lieutenant Vikram's family."

  "Denied," Balboa said. "My staff will decide how to han-

  dle notification. You worry about your patrol missions and

  keeping out of trouble. Dismissed." The videoconference link

  was abruptly terminated.

  "What a butthead," Elliott fumed. He got up and found

  himself a cup of coffee. "I'll bet he wanted so badly to shit-

  can us that he probably considered ignoring the President's

  orders. That asshole, blaming you for all those deaths. Ignore

  all that, Muck. The PLAN's at fault for attacking the ROC

  and for killing Emitter, not you."

  McLanahan got up. His muscles were aching, a by-product

  of long hours in the Megafortress's cockpit, nearly an hour of

  sheer terror while under attack by the People's Republic of

  China's People's Liberation Army Navy, a dead crew member,

  two hours of nursing a crippled bomber back home to an emer-

  gency landing in marginal weather-and then, after all that, a

  tongue-lashing by the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. All in all,

  a pretty shitty twelve hours. He wasn't ready to hear Round

  Two from Brad Elliott. "Let's give it a rest now, Brad, all

  right?" McLanahan asked. "We've got a lot to do-get re-

  pairs going on our damaged bird, get the patrols back in the

  212 DALE BROWN

  air." He wanted to call Emil's family, whom he had met sev-

  eral times, but decided against it.

  "The first thing I'm going to do is make a few phone calls

  back to Washington," Elliott said resolutely. "I've got plenty

  of markers to call in. Balboa doesn't have the authority to

  cancel our contract. If we put a little pressure on him, he'll be

  forced to back off. We should--

  "Do nothing," McLanahan said angrily. "Nothing. No

  phone calls, no markers. Just back off, okay?"

  "What in hell's the matter with you?" Elliott asked. "You

  can't let jerks like Balboa run our lives. He's the chairman of

  the Joint Chiefs, not commander in chief or the damned ern-

  peror."

  "Brad, he's running this operation."

  "Balboa and Allen are pissed because we launched a couple

  Rainbows and Wolverines and protected that frigate," Elliott

  went on. "They would've done the same if they were flying

  that mission, but because we did it, they're mad. I'll tell you

  the truth, son-if it wa s their plane, or if they had a ship of

  their own in position, theyd've blasted that carrier and de-

  stroyer and as many of the other ships back there to hell in

  the blink of an eye! You know it, and I know it."

  "I hear you, Brad, and I agree one hundred percent,"

  McLanahan said. "But they are calling the shots, not us. That's

  the difference. We weren't given the go-ahead to make our

  own attack decisions. It may be hurt pride, or embarrassment,

  or professional jealously, whatever-it doesn't matter. They

  say 'jurnp,' we ask 'how highT "

  "What about Sung? What about those Taiwanese sailors?

  They died right before our eyes, waiting for our help."

  "Brad, if that had been an American ship down there, I'd

  have stayed until all our weapons were exhausted, and then I

  would've helped the other Megafortresses roll in on target, and

  then I'd go back and reload and come back out again,"

  McLanahan said. "But it wasn't one of ours."

  "So you don't care what happens to them?"
Elliott asked

  incredulously. "Man, this doesn't sound like you at all."

  "What I care about is how this weapon system integrates

  with our other military forces," McLanahan said, "not how

  we can kick ass and sink ships all over the Pacific. We're not

  mercenaries, and we're not avenging angels."

  "What is this? I don't believe what I'm hearing," Elliott

  FATAL T ER RAI N 213

  shouted, shaking his head. "Did you think you had a chance

  of 'integrating' the Megafortresses with any Project coming

  out of the Pentagon? Did you really think Balboa was going

  to embrace you and the Megafortresses, whether or not you

  did as you were ordered to do?"

  McLanahan was silent-he knew Brad Elliott was right. The

  Megafortresses got to fly over the Formosa Strait only because

  he and Terrill Samson had earned the Presdent's attention and

  respect as a result of the secret Iran bombing missions. Patrick

  had deluded himself into believing that he could reintegrate

  the modified B-52s into the Arherican aerial strike force-but

  that was not going to happen. The current Pentagon-brain trust

  did not care for large land-based bombers. They weren't going

  to pay any money to keep any around, no matter how high-

  tech they were. The Quemoy mission was dead right from the

  start.

  Emil Vikram may indeed have died for nothing.

  "Screw it, Brad, just screw it,,, McLanahan said irritably.

  "I'm tired of your military services bigotry, I'm tired of the

  Political games, and I'm tired of risking my neck for nothing.

  Just shut up and--

  "Whoa, whoa, listen to yourself, Muck," Elliott said. "You

  sound like a quitter, like a spoiled brat'who just wants to take

  back his bat and ball and go home. What is with you? This

  doesn't have anything to do with Wendy being pregnant, does

  it? You're not trying to keep us -out of harm's way because

  you got one in the oven, are you?"

  "Wendy's Pregnant?" Cheshire exclaimed. "is it true?

  You didn't tell us this, Muck!"

  "Tell 'ern, Muck," Elliott said, that cocksure grin on his

  face again. He guessed, McLanahan knew, and he was smug

  and happy that he guessed right.

  "Yes, it's true," McLanahan said. "We didn't say anything

  because we're only going on our third month." McLanahan

  jammed a finger in Elliott's face. "General, it has nothing to

  do with Wendy-it has to do with you, " he shot back angrily.

  "What about me? I'm doing my job, the job I was hired to

  do! "

  . "Hired by whom? Jon Masters, the U. government-or

  the Taiwanese government?" McLanahan asked.

  "What in hell are you talking about?" Elliott retorted, per-

  haps a little too vehemently.

  214 DALE BROWN

  I, m wondering how that Captain Sung synchronized onto

  our comm channel during our surveillance," McLanahan said

  hotly. "The chances of him finding our initial frequency, chan-

  nel-hopping along with us, then calling in the blind and reach-

  ing us at the exact moment we were in the area-I'd say that

  was a thousand-to-one shot."

  "A kid with a Radio Shack scanner and some brains can

  do it," Elliott said. "You know that."

  "So how did he know we were flying a bomber?"

  "He must've guessed," Elliott said. "That Taiwanese am-

  bassador saw us in the White House; he knows we're bomber

  guys, and he passed the info along to his navy. Hell, stealth

  bombers have been in the news for months now."

  "So I suppose you guessed the captain's name, then?"

  "VOiat?"

  "You mentioned the captain's name, Sung, even before he

  called us on the secure channel," McLanahan said. "You also

  admonished Sung for launching the attack when he did. You

  didn't bother getting an authentication-even though you got

  one from Samson, talking to him over an even more secure

  satellite freq-because you knew Sung couldn't authenticate.

  And you were quick to blame the Navy for lousy communi-

  cations security, when it was you all along."

  "You're nuts, Muck."

  "Nuts, huh? Why don't I call back to Blytheville and get

  Wendy to pull the phone records from the day before our

  launch?" McLanahan asked angrily. "We can get the caller's

  name and number for any call in or out of headquarters, and

  Security might even be able to get a transcript. You must've

  been in contact with someone right before launch-we can

  find out who it was."

  Elliott was about to protest again, but he looked at Mc-

  Lanahan's stone-angry face and cracked a smile. "Jesus, I

  can't believe I guessed fight: you are going to have a baby,"

  the old ex-three-star general said. "I think of you as a son,

  Patrick. I feel like I'm going to be a granddad."

  "Stick to the point here, 'grandpa.' "

  "All right all right-yes, I was in contact with the Tai-

  wanese-with Kuo, the new ambassador to the U. that we

  ran into in the West Wing," Elliott said resignedly. "He called

  me, and that's the goddamn truth. He knew, or guessed, every-

  thing we were about to do. He told me about Taiwan's plans

  FATAL T ER RAI N 215

  to block the Chinese fleet. He told me about the intelligence

  they received about China putting nuclear warheads on its land

  attack and anti-ship missiles. And then he asked for my help.

  What in hell was I supposed to do?"

  "You were supposed to hang up and report the foreign con-

  tact to the security department at Sk Masters, Inc.," Mc-

  Lanahan said, "and sure as hell, you weren't supposed to

  confirm any information or reveal any information to him, like

  the synchronizer codes! Jesus, Brad, if Balboa ever finds out-

  no, I should say, when Balboa finds oud-he's going to throw

  all of us in prison for twenty years! It's a clear violation."

  "Balboa's too stupid to find out, and besides, I think the

  ROICs will cover their trail and explain away the rest," Elliott

  said confidently. "Don't worry about it."

  It was no use arguing with Elliott over this, McLanahan

  decided-as usual, he felt he was invincible, not just above

  the law but somehow blessed by God and given full authority

  to stretch the law and the truth with impunity. He continued

  to study his friend and mentor, watching him sip coffee; then:

  "You okay, Brad?"

  Elliott seemed startled, then annoyed, that anyone was

  watching him. He scowled over the rim of his coffee mug.

  "I'm fine, Muck. Why?"

  "How's the chest pains?"

  "Chest pains? What chest pains?"

  "You complained of chest pains on the plane."

  "I just got blasted half out of my seat by an imploding one-

  hundred-pound sheet of Lexan," Elliott responded. "You'd be

  in pain too."

  "Nothing else? Shortness of breath, numbness in the arms,

  blurred vision, feelings like indigestion, headaches?"

  "Hey, Dr. Pat, I did not, nor am I now, having a heart attack

  or stroke," Elliott retorted. "Sure, I got Tattled when that

  windscreen blew out
in my face. Yeah, I could use about

  twenty-four hours of sleep-in fact, that's where I'm headed

  right now. You want to waste time hooking me up to monitors

  and making me walk a treadmill, go ahead-I challenge you

  to keep up with me! In the meantime, Balboa will be chopping

  up your planes right there in the hangar and trying like hell to

  toss our company into the crapper. You make the decision,

  mission commander. I'm going to hit the rack."

  On his way out, Elliott bumped into none other than Wendy

  216 DALE BROWN

  McLanahan. Without one bit of surprise at her being on Guam,

  he gave her a kiss on the forehead. "Congratulations, gor-

  geous," he said simply, then walked away toward the exit.

  ."Brad? Hey, General, how about ... ?" But he was off,

  leaving Wendy confused.

  "Wendy!" Patrick exclaimed, taking his wife into his arms.

  They kissed tenderly, enjoying a long, warm embrace. "What

  on earth are you d . oing here?" he asked, still in her embrace.

  "Jon needed help, and I volunteered," she said. "I was en

  route when I found out about the mission, about Emil. I'm so

  sorry, Patrick."

  "Thanks, sweetie, but I'm worried about you, about the

  baby." nd the phone, nothing

  "I'm working on the computer a

  -class commercial on United

  else," Wendy said. "I flew first

  and Cathay Pacific, not on the NIRTSat booster launch plane

  or the tankers. I'll be fine." Wendy accepted a hug and another

  round of congratulations, first from Nancy Cheshire, then from

  a few of the other crew members and specialists in the hangar.

  "It looks like the cat's out of the bag."

  "Brad guessed," Patrick said. "Of course- he threw it in

  my face."

  "He did what?"

  "I'll explain everything, sweetie," McLanahan said, "but

  it's not a fun story."

  -CINCPAC, are you still up?" Admiral Balboa called.

  "CINCPAC's up, along with General Samson," Admiral

  William Allen responded. The videoconference between Ha-

  waii and the Pentagon was still active.

  "I've got orders for you too, General," Balboa said. "Ap-

  parently the President still thinks highly of your judgment. You