“My thoughts exactly,” Defense Secretary Goff said enthusiastically. He turned to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, “General Venti?”
“General Samson’s cover mission included a number of contingency operations, including an armed rescue mission,” Venti said, “If I know General Samson and his staff, he’s got his folks moving already.”
“We do, sir,” Samson said. “We’re hoping that the forces controlling Dewey and Deverill are not regular military or paramilitaries, but reserves or local police. There are few regular army forces stationed on the Ukrainian border If we launch a rescue mission before they are transferred to regular military control or taken out of the frontier region, we might be able to rescue them successfully.
“The Intelligence Support Agency cell that was successfully rescued by the Vampire bomber crew is safe on the ground in Ukraine at an airfield outside Kiev,” Samson went on. “They want permission to procure a helicopter and return to the shootdown area. They are the closest special-ops capable forces in the area—they can be on scene in about two hours, depending on what kind of transportation they procure. The next-nearest forces would be in Turkey, at least three hours away plus generation and briefing time.”
“We seem to have decided on an armed hostile infiltration action,” the President observed. No one replied. “I may sound incredibly naive here, gentlemen, but why don’t we just ask the Russians to give our people back to us?”
“I’m afraid we couldn't expect too much help from the Russians once they found out who they had in their possession, sir,” Robert Goff said, trying hard not to look too shocked at the President’s seemingly childish question. “I mean, in a very real sense, our crews are hostiles, enemy attackers, just as if we w'ere at war, They flew a strategic bomber inside Russia, shot down Russian aircraft, destroyed Russian military property. They don’t have any reason to be nice to us. I expect them to delay returning the crew until they have had ample time to interrogate them thoroughly. Then they’ll examine the wreckage and interrogate them some more about the technology they’ll undoubtedly find. They could be prisoners for a very, very long time.”
“The best opportunity to get them out is now, sir,” Venti stressed. “Although they appear to be taken by paramilitary forces, they’re still not in the hands of trained prison guards or professional soldiers. If we can gel to them right now, we have the best chance of rescuing them.”
“And then once the crew is out of the Russians’ hands, we can do our own stalling technique,” Goff went on. “The Russians will have what’s left of the bomber, but they won’t have the crew. That’s far more important. They’ll ask a ton of questions, accuse us of everything under the sun, and condemn us for our warlike actions. But they won’t have anything.”
The President nodded, seemingly unconvinced. He looked up and saw General Samson deep in a discussion with a new officer that had entered the videoconference picture. The discussion they were having out of mike range appeared to be getting rather heated. “Problem, General Samson?” he asked. Samson looked at the camera, then jabbed his finger at the newcomer beside him. “General?”
“Maybe a potential problem,” Terrill Samson said. “Stand by one.” The President and his staff allowed Samson to confer with his staff for a couple of minutes. Samson was obviously struggling to retain control of his anger. Finally, he faced the camera once again and explained, “Sir, it seems that a rescue mission is already under way—in fact, the Vampire crew has already been recovered, alive.”
“What?” almost everyone in the Situation Room exclaimed.
“We didn’t authorize any rescue mission,” Vice President Busick said. “General Samson, I’ve had to put up with shenanigans from you boys in Dreamland for years. Is it happening again, even with Brad Elliott gone? Was this one of your patented stealth sneak attacks?”
“God, I hope not,” Venti murmured in exasperation. “What’s going on. Earthmover?”
“Easy, folks, easy,” the President said, keeping his hands folded before him, seemingly unflustered by this news. “A few minutes ago, you were going to recommend such a mission— now you’re upset because you all didn’t get to push the ‘go’ button. Continue, General Samson.”
General Samson took a deep breath and ran it down for the National Security Council staff. “Exactly as we were planning, the Intelligence Support Agency members who’d been taken to a base outside Kiev obtained use of a Ukrainian helicopter, penetrated Russian airspace, and located Dewey and Deverill using their personal microtransceivers,” Samson said.
“My God. that’s incredible,” Robert Goff exclaimed. “Amazing. Who organized this, General? You?”
“No, sir—my staff officers and the commanders on-scene,” Samson replied. ‘There is a complication, however. The Russian Federation Air Force is bearing down on them. They ...” He paused, then said under his breath, “Genesis to Briggs ... conference in McLanahan ... conference in Luger.. . everyone, stand by.”
“General, am I to understand that you are actually talking to your men in the middle of some sort of combat rescue mission over Russia that is happening right now?” the President asked incredulously. “You are making some sort of global conference call and listening to what’s going on without a radio in your hand, a microphone to your lips, or a speaker?”
Samson had to pull himself away from eavesdropping on the firefight half a world away to respond to his commander- in-chief: “Yes . . . yes, sir. Part of my unit’s security infrastructure is a satellite tracking and communications system that is . . . is implanted into every member of my organization.”
“Implanted?”
“A subcutaneous satellite transceiver,” Samson explained. “We monitor all personnel constantly, year-round, worldwide. We can listen in on their conversations, talk to them, locate them, even record vital signs.”
“Extraordinary,” Secretary of Defense Goff breathed. “I’ve heard of such devices, but I never believed they would ever be used in my lifetime.”
“Never mind the gee-whiz stuff—what in hell’s happening out there?” Busick interjected hotly. “And I still want to know why the National Security Council wasn’t apprised of this operation? Who the hell has the balls to put a mission like this in motion without getting permission first?”
“Sir, firstly, I take full responsibility for whatever’s happening out there,” Samson said. “Those are my people and my aircraft. No one else is responsible.”
“I see plenty of heads rolling here—but the first one will be yours. General Samson. Count on it. Now what in hell is happening?”
Not since he had been a seventeen-year-old enlistee doing ditch-digging jobs in a Civil Engineering unit in Thailand during the Vietnam War—literally digging ditches, trenches, latrines, and garbage pits—had Terrill Samson ever felt so helpless and clueless. Back then, it had been because he was a know-nothing airman. This time, it was because of Patrick McLanahan and David Luger. McLanahan and Luger had gone behind his back and executed this goat-fuck mission without one word to their superior officer. It was betrayal of the worst kind. Samson felt humiliated, castrated by his own people.
McLanahan wasn’t a genius, a legend, a hero—he was a back-stabbing traitor.
“We ... we have another aircraft flying as air support for the Intelligence Support Agency operatives,” Samson said, putting as much strength and authority in his voice as he could, even though he realized it had all but completely drained away. “The support aircraft is one of mine, too. Colonel Furness of the One-Eleventh Bomb Squadron and General Patrick McLaanahan. my deputy, are flying the backup EB-1C Vampire bomber. They apparently heard about the shootdown, reversed course, returned to Russian airspace, and arc now engaging the Russian attackers ..
“My God!" someone gasped—Samson couldn’t tell who it was.
“Two Russian helicopter gunships have already been shot down .. . no, wait, now one Russian jet fighter has been shot down.” Samson reported, sti
ll listening to the action being played literally in his head through the subcutaneous satellite transceiver. "The Ukrainian helicopter with the other two Vampire crew members on board is airborne and almost back into Ukrainian airspace. Two more gunships are in the area, and one or more fighters. The Vampire is reengaging all of them.”
“A bomber ... hunting down fighters?” Secretary of State Kercheval exclaimed. “How can they do that?”
“I still want to know, who in hell gave the order for them to be shooting down Russians?” Busick thundered. It was a rhetorical statement—aimed not at General Samson, not at Secretary of Defense Goff, but right at the President of the United States.
But President Thom wasn't going to be drawn into a conflict with anyone, not even his friend and closest advisor—and perhaps also his biggest critic. He rested his head in his left hand, tapping on the comer of his mouth with his index finger, studying the videoteleconference screen with Terrill Samson’s anxious, animated face looking back at him. It was as if he was watching someone watch a video replay of a bad car accident, or a bullfight, something potentially violent—you felt like asking, “What’s going on?” every five seconds.
Finally, the President picked up the phone beside him and said to the White House communications officer: “Get me President Sen’kov of the Russian Federation on the line.” It took only a few moments until someone in the Russian president's office answered. “This is President Thom. I am in the White House with members of my national security staff.”
“This is President Sen'kov,” the voice of the Russian translator said. “I am in my residence surrounded by generals and defense ministers who believe we are under attack by the United States. You are calling about the illegal violation of Russian sovereign airspace near the Russia-Ukraine border, I assume? Is this some sort of prelude to war, Mr. President? What is the meaning of this?”
“I’d be happy to explain,” Thom said. “The United States was conducting an intelligence operation inside Russia, near Moscow.”
The men in the Situation Room looked stunned. Sen’kov must’ve been equally stunned at that revelation, because it took him several long moments to respond: “Please repeat, Mr. President.”
“I said, the United States was conducting an intelligence mission near Moscow,” Thom repeated, as calmly as if he were describing a rare painting or a Mozart opera. “We were trying to rescue an agent that was spying on one of your military installations. We inserted a special operations team inside your country, and we used a long-range stealth aircraft to cover the team in case it was discovered.”
“Mr. President!” Lester Busick retorted. “What are you doing? You can't reveal that information to the Russians?”
Thom hit the microphone kill-switch on the telephone. “Les, don't you think the Russians already know all this?” he asked. He released the switch: “As you know. President Sen’kov, the special ops team made it out, but your military forces shot down the stealth bomber. Some of our special operations forces and another stealth aircraft went in to try to rescue the crew of the first stealth aircraft before your forces could imprison them.”
“One moment, please, Mr. President," the translator said. The men in the Situation Room could only imagine what was going on in the minds of the Russian president and military advisors. The translator finally said, “President Sen’kov thanks you for your candor, Mr, President, but he still demands that the United States take full responsibility for what your forces have done.”
“I fully intend to,” Thom said. “Allow me to continue: At the present moment, our respective forces are engaging one another in an air battle. Three of your helicopters and one fighter have already been shot down. But I do not wish for the battle to go on. I am hereby ordering the crew of the stealth aircraft to disengage if you order your defensive forces to let them go.”
“With all due respect, Mr. President,” Sen’kov said through the translator, “the Russian people would not care to see its forces merely surrender with a hostile enemy force flying overhead. They are and always will be determined to fight to the last man to defend their homeland.”
“Mr. President, l will order my forces to disengage, but I will also tell them that they are free to defend themselves if they are attacked.” Thom said. “I feel quite certain my aircrews can survive and make it out of your country, but I don't wish for them to hurt any more Russians, I strongly urge you to accept my suggestion and order your forces to disengage.” Thom kept the line open and said to the videoteleconference screen, “General Samson, order the Vampire to disengage immediately. It may open fire only if fired upon first.”
A moment later: “Order received and acknowledged, sir,” Samson responded, “Vampire is proceeding direct to the Ukrainian border at maximum speed and at low altitude.”
“I’ve issued my orders, and they have been acknowledged, Mr. Sen’kov,” President Thorn said, “Let’s stop this right now, shall we?”
“This is an insult. This is unacceptable.” The translator’s voice was monotoned and even, although they could very clearly hear the Russian president shouting at the top of his lungs in the background, “You commit an act of war upon the Russian people, and you expect us to just turn our backs and walk away?”
“I am prepared to offer you one hundred million dollars in reparations for the damage and expense my forces have caused,” Thom went on. The mouths of every man in the Situation Room dropped open in surprise, “In addition. I offer five million dollars for every Russian killed by my forces during the operation, plus a public admission of guilt and a public apology, broadcast on international television.”
“Mr. President, what in the world... ?” Busick sputtered. “You can’t do that!”
“I’m going to do it,” Thom said. “I promise, upon my mother’s name, I’ll do it this afternoon, in Russian prime time.”
“A public apology? A public admission of guilt? No conditions?”
“No conditions,” Thom said. “I have authorized my forces to stop all hostile actions—they are authorized only to defend themselves now. In any case, I will make my apology and explanation this morning, ten a.m. Washington time, and I will announce the reparation payment. If the Russians will tell me how many of their men were killed by my forces. I’ll announce that payment as well. My only wish right now is that no more lives are put in jeopardy.”
“You . .. you will admit all. Mr. President?” Sen'kov asked.
“Everything.”
“Such as what kind of aircraft were involved in this intelligence operation?”
“Certainly,” Thom replied. “The rescue from near Moscow was accomplished by an MV-22 tilt-rotor special operations aircraft called a Pave Hammer It carries a crew of six, several machine guns and air-to-air missiles on a retractable launcher, and defensive transmitters and expendables. The crew belong to a unit of the Intelligence Support Agency, a directorate of the Central Intelligence Agency set up to perform missions such as this.
“The cover aircraft were EB-1C stealth bombers called Vampires, which are highly modified B-1 bombers designed to penetrate heavily defended airspace and attack a wide variety of—”
“You dared to send nuclear-capable B-l bombers over the Russian Federation? How dare you? This is tantamount to war!”
“They were simply the best aircraft available to protect our rescue aircraft,” Thom said matter-of-factly. “You are not foolish enough really to believe our aircraft would be carrying nuclear weapons, are you?”
“I do not know what to believe!” Sen'kov’s translator said over the obviously agitated voice of the Russian president. “You announce this as casually as if you had sent me a birthday present! Are you mad? Are you insane?”
“Think what you like, Mr. President,” Thom said. “Allow me to continue. The Vampires belong to the One-Eleventh Bomb Squadron, a unit of the Nevada Air National Guard, currently based at the Tonopah Test Range in Nevada. The Vampires were carrying a mixture of air-to-air, air-to-g
round, and antiradar weapons—I don't know the exact combination, but I’ll get that information for you if you wish. Their primary mission is the suppression of enemy air defenses and antiballistic missile defense. Their mission was to recover an agent who was spying on Russian military bases near Moscow. The personnel that were rescued by the MV-22 commandeered a Ukrainian helicopter at a base near Kiev, which is what they used to travel back into Russia to extract the downed aircrew-men.”
“Very interesting, Mr. President,” Sen’kov said. Robert Goff could easily envision Sen’kov’s advisors hurriedly writing all this information down. It was an intelligence bonanza, and it was being supplied direct from the horse’s mouth— the President of the United States! “And the purpose of this spying?”
“To determine the extent of Russian involvement in the recent attack in Kukes, Albania, where several hundred men, women, and children were ruthlessly murdered in an air raid,” Thom replied hotly.
“Russian involvement?” Sen'kov retorted. “That’s ridiculous, Mr. Thom! Investigators from NATO and the United Nations, including members of your own FBI, have no evidence of who might have caused that devastation. Rival drug lords, Macedonian mercenaries punishing Albanian gunrunners for cross-border raids, even rival Muslim sects have been blamed. But Russia had absolutely nothing to do with it.”
“The United States has information that a Russian stealth bomber launched from Zhukovsky Flight Test Center committed those attacks. I’ll be sure to tell the world that, Mr. President.”
There was silence at the other end for a very, very long time. Finally, the translator said, “You will be spreading lies to cover up your culpability in this entire affair.”
“I will tell the truth, President Sen’kov—the entire truth,” Thom said pointedly. “I’ll admit we were spying on you, and I’11 admit we flew aircraft into Russian airspace illegally. I will publicly offer the reparation payment, and I will also offer compensation to the families of any Russians that were killed during the operation, once you verify what that number is.” It was a clever tactic: in order to increase the award, the Russians would have to admit that many Russians had been killed— which wouldn’t look too good for Russia’s military. “I’ll then present the information recovered by the agent, which I am told not only proves that the attack originated in Russia, but was sanctioned by the Russian government.”
Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 09 Page 30