Iron Gate

by Richard Herman

‘I’ve called for help on the SatCom,’ Conklin added. ‘Bull’s on his way with two. Rendezvous in thirty minutes.’

  Good thinking, Leonard thought, clicking his mike button twice in acknowledgment. ‘They’re like leeches,’ he said.

  ‘And they’re good,’ Waldo acknowledged. Both pilots had the measure of their adversaries. The Aeros were faster and more agile, but what the Warthog gave away in speed and maneuverability, it gained in greater firepower and heavier armament. And the two Americans were more aggressive, willing to engage a superior number of bandits.

  ‘Who the hell are they?’ Leonard said.

  ‘They’re white guys,’ Conklin answered. ‘I got a look on one pass, he was that close.’

  ‘Two o’clock, high,’ Waldo called. ‘Very high.’ Four bandits were dropping out of the sky for another attack.

  Leonard squinted as he brought his nose on to the bandits. This attack felt different and a shiver shot down his spine. ‘It’s one pass, haul ass,’ he radioed.

  ‘I hope so,’ Waldo answered. He pulled his Warthog into the vertical and rolled, a ballet dancer pirouetting in the sky as Waldo brought his jet’s nose on to the first bandit. Reddish-brown smoke belched from the Warthog’s cannon.

  Sweat poured down Leonard’s face, stinging his eyes, as he turned into the second bandit. He grunted hard, fighting the Gs. Automatically, he let off the turn, worried about his damaged left rudder. He rolled for a belly check. Two more bandits were coming at him from below and behind. His mouth was dry and he ached with fatigue.

  ‘Waldo!’ he shouted, his voice machine-gun quick. ‘Two on me! Six o’clock low.’ He turned his Hog hard, bleeding off airspeed as he brought the big jet around. There was no chance of a shot, but he mashed the trigger anyway. ‘Honor the threat!’ he shouted. It worked and his two attackers broke off, afraid of the Avenger cannon. Leonard turned back toward the C-130, looking for the first bandit he had engaged.

  ‘On us!’ Conklin shouted. ‘Twelve o’clock!’ Leonard looked for the C-130 and saw a bandit on a head-on collision course with the C-130. It wasn’t a suicide pass but a shoot ’em in the face tactic. Conklin headed straight for the Aero, jinking hard.

  Then Leonard saw another bandit swooping into Conklin’s six o’clock. It was a well-coordinated attack with one objective — kill the C-130. Leonard didn’t hesitate and cut behind the Hercules, rolling so he could see the attacker, trying to position for a gunshot. A missile leaped off the Aero. The speed of the air-to-air missile defied the imagination as it accelerated to over 1500 miles an hour. But Leonard had time to mash the flare button on his right throttle. Three flares popped out behind his Hog and captured the infrared seeker head of the missile.

  But the missile’s flare reject mode functioned as designed and the seeker head ignored the flares and used them as stepping stones leading to Leonard. The missile hit the exhaust of the right engine and exploded.

  Suddenly, the sky was empty of Aeros and Waldo joined on the C-130, looking for Leonard. ‘Tango, say position,’ Waldo radioed.

  ‘He won’t answer,’ Conklin answered. ‘He cut behind us in the last engagement to draw off a bandit at our six. I saw a fireball ... it was a Hog ... no chute.’

  ‘Where did they come from?’ Waldo asked. There was no answer.

  *

  Monday, March 16

  The White House, Washington, D.C.

  *

  Mazie Hazelton paced back and forth as she talked, at ease in the cluttered mess of her office. Pontowski sat quietly, his eyes moving from the petite woman to Cyrus Piccard and back again to Mazie. ‘Your arrival yesterday at Andrews generated a lot of favorable coverage by the press,’ Mazie told him. ‘De Royer is a showman.’

  Piccard listened while Mazie prepped Pontowski for his appearance before the Joint Select Committee on Intelligence. The hearing was scheduled for later that day and they believed a few members would be more sympathetic — thanks to de Royer. ‘Expect the hard questions from Nevers,’ Mazie told Pontowski. ‘Take your time answering and it’s much better to say too little than too much. Cyrus will be with us and don’t be afraid to confer before answering.’

  ‘We’re seeing a new side of Nevers lately,’ Piccard said. ‘Much more rational but still hard driving.’

  ‘She has a new handler,’ Mazie said. ‘Jeff Bissell.’

  ‘Senator Lucknow’s advisor?’ Piccard said, not really asking a question. ‘He’s one of the shrewdest intelligence experts on the Hill.’

  ‘He’s also an image consultant,’ Mazie added. ‘I think Nevers is going for something much bigger ... maybe a vice presidential nomination.’ She turned to Pontowski. ‘The best strategy when testifying is to answer their questions, make it simple and keep it brief.’

  He stared at his hands. ‘Does the committee understand low-intensity conflict in the third world?’

  ‘Don’t sell them short, Matt,’ Mazie said. ‘They may be politicians, but they’re not dumb. They won’t be playing politics since this is a closed committee hearing.’

  ‘That’s encouraging,’ Pontowski replied.

  Mazie’s computer beeped at her and she keyed her message board. She shot a worried look at Pontowski and then looked back to the screen. ‘Matt, you need to see this.’

  He pulled himself to his feet, still weary from jet lag, and read over her shoulder. Suddenly, he was old; aged by responsibility and burdened by caring. The images came flooding back, demanding to be remembered: The first time he had met John Leonard ... when he had given Leonard his call sign, Tango ... when Tango and Sara Waters had fallen in love ... the time in China ... Tango and Sara’s wedding ... Sara bidding him goodbye at Whiteman.

  ‘Goddamn it to hell,’ he growled. The itch.’ Now he knew what his subconscious had been trying to tell him. That lone bomb no one could account for was the clue. There was a new threat out there — someone had fighters and was willing to use them. He had been warned and had disregarded it. He hadn’t thought it out, taken the time to analyze the threat, and he had thrown his Warthogs into an unknown situation they couldn’t handle. He had been too wrapped up in the problems of command and overlooked the threat.

  Perhaps if Maggot had been there. Maggot ... the best weapons and tactics officer in the Air Force ... the man he had fired. Still, he couldn’t pass the buck. He hadn’t done his job.

  ‘I’ll have to tell Sara,’ he said, walking to the door. ‘And Sergeant Perko’s family.’

  ‘The committee meeting,’ Mazie protested.

  ‘This is more important,’ Pontowski replied.

  ‘They’ll hold you in contempt of Congress,’ Piccard told him. But he was talking to an empty doorway.

  *

  Monday, March 16

  Knob Noster, Missouri

  *

  It was late-afternoon when Sara Leonard saw the dark blue staff car drive up and park in her driveway. She froze when Matt Pontowski got out and she knew. It had happened before. ‘Melissa,’ she called, ‘please come here.’ The teenager responded to the sound of her voice and hurried to her mother’s side. ‘The next few moments are going to be terrible,’ Sara said. ‘We must do this together because I can’t do it alone.’

  ‘Mom, what’s wrong?’

  Sara did not reply and walked to the door, opening it before Pontowski could ring the bell. For a moment, neither said a word and only looked at each other. ‘It’s John,’ she said, a simple statement of fact.

  Pontowski nodded dumbly, searching for the right words.

  Melissa clenched at Sara’s hand. ‘Oh, Mother,’ she whispered.

  ‘Please come in,’ Sara said, leading the way into the family room. She was seven months pregnant and starting to move clumsily. ‘I was working on a layette,’ she told him as she shifted the baby clothes piled on the couch to one side and sat down.

  ‘Sara, I’m sorry. It happened last night ... I couldn’t let anyone else tell you.’

  ‘What happened?’

 
‘We don’t have all the details yet, but he was escorting a C-130.’

  ‘Was the C-130 okay?’ she asked.

  He nodded, not knowing what to say. If they had been carrying Sidewinders, he thought. If we had been training for air-to-air. If ... so many ifs.

  Melissa watched her mother gather her emotions, taming them despite the tears flowing down her cheeks. ‘Mom,’ Melissa whispered, ‘I love you.’ It was a moment that marked her life and she would never forget the lesson being played out in front of her.

  Sara stood and walked into the kitchen. ‘Tango knew the risks. He did it willingly.’ She paused. ‘Does Little Matt know you’re here?’ A shake of his head. ‘Melissa, please go find him. He needs to see his father.’ Melissa hurried from the room while Sara methodically made coffee.

  She stopped and stared at the ceiling, fresh tears flowing. ‘What am I? A black widow who conceives life and condemns her mate to death? Damn it, Muddy, I don’t deserve this ...’ She stopped in mid-sentence, aware that she had called Pontowski by her first husband’s name. The truth was on her face.

  ‘Damn you to hell. All of you. You’re all alike, there isn’t one bit of difference between you. You are willing to risk your lives for people who don’t even deserve to polish your boots. Why? Because you love humanity? You do it because of some crazy idea you carry around about duty ... obligation ... you can’t even talk about it. But it’s there, driving you. And damn you, you leave us behind to pick up the pieces.’

  Little Matt ran through the door, shouting with delight. He threw himself into his father’s arms and held on. Then he realized something was wrong and in his seven-year-old mind, it had to be something he did. ‘Daddy ...’

  Matt held him tight. ‘It’s okay, good buddy.’

  ‘Come here and give me a hug too,’ Sara said. ‘I’ve got something very sad to tell you and you must be brave. Can you do that? It’s okay to cry if you want. Brave people aren’t afraid to cry.’

  Melissa watched from the door as her mother gathered Little Matt into her arms and told him about death. She looked over at Pontowski, surprised by his tears. When Sara was finished explaining to Little Matt why John Leonard would never return, she sent him back to his father. ‘Matthew Zachary,’ she said, recalling another time in China when she had told him about Shoshana’s death, ‘we have to quit doing this to each other.’

  A dark sadness edged Pontowski’s voice. ‘Sara, I would give anything not to be here.’

  Sara Leonard shook her head. He didn’t understand. ‘I don’t mean just you and me ... I mean all of us. We’ve got to quit doing this to each other.’

  *

  Wednesday, March 18

  The Capitol, Washington, D.C.

  *

  I was wrong, Cyrus Piccard thought. It’s just not in Matt. He doesn’t have that controlled, highly focused need to drive events, to lead, to impose his will on others. It was in his grandfather, carefully concealed and hidden from view. Perhaps, he is still in shock from yesterday. It totally escapes me why the Senate would do that.

  The old man looked up at the Joint Senate-House Select Committee on Intelligence that had been grilling Pontowski and Mazie for over an hour on South Africa and resigned himself to the inevitability of it all. The worst was yet to come when Nevers started her questioning.

  Nevers took a sip of water. ‘Colonel Pontowski, I hope you are fully cognizant of why the Senate refused to confirm your promotion to brigadier general yesterday. Perhaps next time, after you have had time to mature in your present rank. But until then, we must all abide by the will of Congress.’ She referred to her notes, certain she had at last destroyed the man. It had been a simple matter to exercise the ‘old boy’ network and use ‘congressional privilege’ to have the Senate disapprove his promotion to brigadier general.

  ‘I understand,’ Pontowski replied, wanting to get it over with.

  ‘I, for one,’ Nevers continued, ‘am not satisfied with your excuse for not promptly answering this committee’s summons.’

  Pontowski went rigid, lost for a reply. What is the matter with you? he thought, cursing himself. So the bastards took your star away. So what? Nevers peered at him over her reading glasses, a satisfied look on her face. Her look opened a floodgate and all his doubts and reservations washed away. He studied the committee for a moment, seeing them for what they were: a mixture of good and bad tainted with more than their fair share of ego and venality. Without exception, they were power freaks, more than willing to tell him how to do his job, even though only the crusty old chairman had ever seen combat. And he was neutral.

  ‘Colonel Pontowski,’ Nevers said, ‘did you understand my question?’

  ‘Are you okay?’ Mazie asked him. ‘Can you go on?’

  ‘Please excuse me, Mrs Nevers. I had a bad moment.’ He reached under the table and squeezed Mazie’s hand.

  ‘Apparently, you’ve been having many bad moments lately,’ the congresswoman retorted.

  ‘I wasn’t aware you asked a question, Mrs Nevers.’

  Piccard heard the tone in his voice and stiffened. It was a voice of out of the past. He sounds like his grandfather, Piccard thought. So much like Zack ...

  ‘The summons read,’ Pontowski continued, ‘to appear at the earliest possible time. This is that time.’

  ‘You were in Washington two days ago,’ Nevers replied, looking at him over her glasses.

  ‘I was notified that two of my people had been killed in combat. One was my second in command and the other a heroic loadmaster. Both had served their country honorably and it was my responsibility to ...’

  Nevers cut him off. ‘Normal channels, Colonel. Ever hear of them?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, I have. But these were my people and I had to tell Colonel Leonard’s wife. I had to tell Sergeant Perko’s parents that their daughter had been killed in the line of duty.’

  ‘That hardly answers why you failed to appear before this committee,’ Nevers interrupted.

  Pontowski wouldn’t cave in. ‘These were my friends, the men and women I have been entrusted to lead. I don’t abandon my people.’ His last words carried a force that stunned the committee into silence.

  Nevers was an astute politician and knew the committee chairman would gladly leak any display of insensitivity or arrogance on her part to the press. She tried a new approach. ‘Colonel, you spoke earlier of responsibility.’

  Where is she headed now? Piccard thought.

  ‘It appears,’ Nevers continued, ‘that the South Africans act more responsibly than you.’

  Pontowski’s tone was calm and measured as he answered. ‘What is responsible, or for that matter moral, about ethnic cleansing ... the senseless murder of innocent men, women, and children because they are of a different tribe ... stealing food and medical supplies to sell on the black market ... the wanton destruction of a country in the name of greed and stupidity?’

  Well, Piccard told himself, I was wrong about Matt. He does have the will to power, and like his grandfather, he keeps it hidden. He settled back into his chair and enjoyed the next hour.

  *

  Piccard led the way into Bill Carroll’s office for the wrap-up on the committee hearing. He almost twirled his cane like a baton as he marched through the door. ‘Well?’ Carroll asked from his chair.

  ‘It was magnificent,’ Piccard said.

  ‘At least it ended well,’ Mazie told him. She quickly recapped the hearing for Carroll.

  ‘The committee found the concept of duty and responsibility very disconcerting,’ Piccard mused. ‘Because of our young friend’s performance, and in spite of the sound and fury emanating from Ms Nevers, I don’t see any precipitate change in our South Africa policy.’

  ‘Matt, I talked to the Secretary of Defense,’ Carroll said. ‘He’ll get your star back ... right after you get out of Africa and clear of the UN. Any assignment you want, you can have.’

  ‘I’ll stay right where I am,’ Pontowski replied. ‘I wan
t to know who nailed Tango. Where did those Aeros come from?’

  Piccard stared at him. There was no doubt that he was Zack’s grandson ... the same quiet determination, the unshakable resolve, the hard look in his eyes ... it was all there.

  Mazie finally answered his question. ‘It was probably the Iron Guard.’

  Pontowski gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re not certain?’

  ‘Not absolutely,’ Carroll said. ‘There is enough doubt to preclude a retaliatory strike. The South African Minister of Defense ...’

  ‘Pendulo is a little shit,’ Matt said, interrupting him.

  Carroll disregarded the remark and pressed ahead. ‘... claims the attack on the C-130 and the A-10s took place in South African airspace and therefore is an internal matter. Obviously, the political situation is confused and we haven’t got all the players sorted out.’

  ‘Give me the rest of my wing and I’ll sort them out.’

  ‘We can’t do that,’ Carroll replied. ‘At least for now, our policy locks us into supporting the UN, the safe zones, and humanitarian relief efforts.’

  ‘Then tell me what the Iron Guard has to throw at us. I’m tired of operating in the dark. Also, we’ve walked into one too many ambushes. We got a leak the size of Niagara Falls over there and we got to plug it.’

  ‘Do you have any idea where it might be?’ Mazie asked.

  ‘I haven’t got a clue.’

  ‘Mazie,’ Carroll said, ‘show Matt the latest we have on the Iron Guard’s order of battle.’ She nodded and escorted Pontowski out of the office, leaving Piccard and Carroll alone.

  ‘Well?’ Piccard asked. Carroll didn’t answer and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. ‘You left Matt hanging,’ Piccard said. Still no answer from Carroll. ‘I refuse to believe that you are going to let the Iron Guard get away with shooting down one of our aircraft.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Carroll replied. ‘But our first priority is still Prime.’

  ‘Ah, the great enigma,’ Piccard said.

  Carroll smiled. ‘Fortunately, science is in the brain and not in a laboratory or a book. The key is the scientist, Itzig Slavin.’