Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 09

by Warrior Class (v1. 1)

  “Thank Hal and Chris—they're the ones who really deserve it.”

  “Keep those two away from us, sir,” Master Sergeant Wohl said in his typical gruff voice. “I can’t be in the same building with them anymore without one of them thanking me, touching me, admiring me, or offering to do something for me. It’s making me ill.” He endured another kiss from Annie to punctuate his complaint.

  “Spoken like a true American hero, Sarge,” Briggs quipped

  Annie scanned the crowd again. “Where’s David?” she asked in a low voice.

  “Getting ready for the operational debrief, I imagine,” Patrick said. “You'll see him inside.”

  “C’mon. pilot, let’s go,'' Duane Deverill said, clasping Annie by the waist and arm from behind as if leading her in a tango through the crowded hangar. “Let’s get the bleep-bleep debriefs over with so we can celebrate keeping our asses for a few days longer!” Annie could do nothing else but let Deverill carry her along through the throng of well-wishers.

  The debriefings went smoothly and quickly. Both Annie and Dev knew the real work was ahead of them, so they tried to relax, be as helpful as possible, and as clear and concise as their patience and level of weariness would possibly allow. Each aircraft continuously burst-transmitted encoded data via satellite back to Dreamland during every sortie, so there was no lack of hard information; but the aircrews’ testimony was necessary to match the raw numbers with the operator’s input and perspective. It would be even more valuable when it came time to begin designing new and better systems to avoid any deficiencies encountered during the mission. As long as humans flew war machines, they would always need as much, perhaps more, data from the humans as they did from the machines themselves.

  After many hours of wave after wave of engineers coming into the conference room to ask questions, Annie realized that it was over—and that David Luger had never shown up. She collected her notes and checklists and took a last sip of water, crestfallen.

  “What’s up. AC?” Dev asked. He was still as pumped up and animated as he had been when he got off the C-141—he had the strength and stamina of a cheetah. “You look down. Tired?”

  “A little,” she said evasively.

  “What can I do to cheer you up?” Dev asked. He began to gently massage her, starting from behind her ears and moving down her neck to her shoulders. “I must warn you, my hands are licensed.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “It’s true—I’m a licensed doctor of chiropractic and a licensed massage therapist,” Dev said. “You think there’s any money in being an Air National Guard B-l radar navigator? 1 work singles’ resorts six months out of the year, make ten times what I do in the Guard, and I get to put my hands on beautiful women all day long. It’s a great racket.”

  Annie felt her body tense up when Dev first touched her, but after only a few seconds, it was obvious that he did indeed have very skilled hands. He seemed to know precisely where to rub hard and where and when to do it softly. In moments, her body was relaxing in the grasp of Deverill’s warm, powerful hands. “That feels so good, Dev.”

  “Thank you,” he said softly. He continued to caress her, now expertly working the myriad of knots out of her spine and back muscles. The tension was rinsing away under his fingers like a torch to ice. “I know I’ve said it already, but I want to say it again: thank you for digging me out of the snow and rescuing me,”

  “You would’ve done the same for me—only better. I hope,” Annie said. “Thank you for supporting my decisions, as half-assed as they were. I know you didn’t agree with all of them, but you backed me up anyway. It meant a lot.”

  “You’re the aircraft commander—it’s my responsibility to back you up and offer my opinion, and your responsibility to make the decisions,” Dev said. “You did everything you were supposed to do, and more. You saved my life and the lives of many others. You should be proud of yourself I am very proud of you.” She felt his lips on the back of her neck, and the touch sent high-voltage electric currents throughout her body.

  “Did you know,” he said, suddenly breaking the mood change between them, “that the muscles of the body build up huge quantities of lactic acid during periods of stress and fatigue—a by-product of anaerobic respiration, where the muscles bum glucose in the absence of oxygen? Lactic acid causes fatigue and can even cause cramps and muscle deterioration. The acids will eventually work their way out over time, but a properly done massage helps the lactic acid move out quicker.”

  “Is that why it feels sooo damn good?” Annie cooed.

  “Exactly.”

  “Mmm. Well, it does,” she said. She let him continue his work. Normally she was extraordinarily ticklish, but he was even able to massage her sides and ribs without her reacting at all. His hands moved down to the base of her spine, almost to her buttocks, but there was no way she was going to let him stop. “So tell me, Dev—why did you feel the need to tell me the technical reasons for a massage? Do you think I’ll respond better if it’s done in a more scientific atmosphere? Once a test pilot, always a test pilot?”

  “It’s working, isn't it?” he responded. When he felt her body stiffen in protest, he added quickly, “No, no, that’s not why. Only kidding.”

  She gave him a humorous sneer, but relaxed and let him continue. “Maybe I told you the technical theory behind massages to distract you from the fact that I’m touching you—and loving every last second of it.”

  Annie turned away from him, ending the massage therapy, and gave him a weak smile. “Thanks, partner,” she said. “I appreciate the massage—and the thought.”

  “I hear a ‘but’ coming,” he said. He took her hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes. “Annie, wait a minute. I gotta get this out before I explode.”

  “Dev, now’s not the time—”

  “Yes, it is. I’m crazy about you. I have been for a long time, ever since you joined the unit. We’ve gone out a few times, but you’ve always treated it as either a casual meeting with a superior officer talking business, or palling around with your older brother. Beyond that, you’ve been too busy to notice me. You’re acting like our one-and-only night together was wrong, that I should be ashamed of what we did.

  “I’m putting you on notice, Annie, that I’m not going to do that anymore. One thing I learned from this ordeal that I didn’t tell the debriefers tonight is that life is too short. If you want something, you’d better go for it now, because tomorrow you might find yourself facedown in snow unconscious after ejecting from a supersonic bomber over hostile territory.”

  Annie laughed in spite of herself—if it hadn't actually happened to them, she would really think it was funny. “Dev—”

  “It’s Colonel Luger, isn't it?” Deverill asked.

  Annie looked into his eyes and nodded.

  “Pardon me. Annie, but that guy is a little weird, don't you think? I mean. I’ve known workaholics before in my time, but he’s got them all beat. It's like he’s possessed or something.” He could tell she was rejecting his observations—but he could also tell that she knew his obser vations were correct. “Where is he tonight, Annie? If he’s your man. why isn't he here with you? Everyone else turned out for our arrival—where was Luger?” She couldn't answer him, because she didn't know, and didn't understand.

  “I'm not going to bad-mouth the guy, and I’m not going to say anything else, except this: I want you, Annie,” Deverill said. “I think we have something together. I want to find out. I think you do. too. And if Colonel Luger wants you, he has a funny way of showing it. You deserve a lot more than that. I can give it to you. Can he?” He gave her a kiss on the forehead, a soft, lingering kiss, as warm as his hands. “I'm not going to make you decide now, Annie,” he added sincerely. “But I also have to remind you: I get what I want. I think you want something more, too.” He then departed, leaving her a smile and a light touch on her cheek. “I’ll call you.”

  Annie stood by herself for several long moments with
out moving, try ing but failing to sort out all of the conflicting emotions racing through her head and her heart. There was a decision to be made, questions to be answered. She apparently wasn't going to get any answers tonight, because the man she loved wasn't with her to offer them. Annie considered using the subcutaneous transceiver to call him, and then decided against it. She picked up her helmet bag and headed for the dormitories and some well-deserved and much-needed rest.

  A pair of sad. tortured eyes from across the hallway watched as they both departed.

  In an adjacent debriefing room. Major-General Roman Smoliy, the commander of the aviation forces of the Republic of Ukraine, had finished all of his debriefing notes and was leaving, when he noticed the lights on in the debriefing room across the hallway, across from the one where Dewey and Deverill had debriefed their sortie. He peeked inside and, to his surprise, saw Colonel David Luger sitting by himself His arms were straight down at their sides, his head was bowed, his feet were flat on the floor.

  Smoliy recognized that posture—it was the posture demanded of prisoners when allowed to sit and rest in their seats.

  “Colonel Luger?”

  David snapped his head upright, then placed his arms on the table, palms flat and facing down. Another prisoner posture, called seated attention. Luger quickly snapped out of it, turning to look to see who it was. When he recognized Smoliy, his eyes grew dark, and he got to his feet, his body language challenging and defensive at the same time. “What are you doing here, General?”

  “I was allowed to conduct a debriefing of Colonel Briggs, Master Sergeant Wohl, Major Weston, and the others involved in the mission who landed at Borispol.” Smoliy replied. “I will conduct an analysis of Russian air defenses and the effectiveness of your stealth technology on the different weapon and sensor systems.” He nodded quizzically at Luger. “May I ask what you are doing here?”

  “No, you may not.”

  “Why were you not at the reception, or why did you not participate in the operational debriefing?” Smoliy asked.

  “None of your business.”

  Smoliy nodded. “Very well. I am not your commanding officer—I cannot compel you to answer.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “It is your choice.” Smoliy looked carefully at Luger, then added, "Zdyes ooyeezhzhayoo seechyas. You may leave now.”

  Luger's eyes did an extraordinary transformation—instantly turning meek and passive, then moments later blazing with white-hot anger, then instantly passive again. It was as if Luger had momentarily gone back to the hellhole in which he had been imprisoned in Lithuania years before, responding robotlike to commands from his brutal, sadistic overseers; then wanting momentarily to fight back; and then almost at the same moment slipping into a passive, protective, detached fog; then angry, almost homicidal. All in the blink of an eye. “Idi k yobanay matin, ” he spat.

  Luger tried to walk past Smoliy on his way out, but the big Ukrainian general put his hand out to stop him. “You are no longer a prisoner, Colonel,” he said. “You are a free man. an American. You are a colonel and an engineer in the United States Air Force.” Luger’s eyes blazed into his. “And I am no longer your enemy. I am no longer your tormentor. I do not deserve for you to make remarks about my mother like that.”

  “You will always be the sick motherfucker that took advantage of a helpless, tortured human being at Fisikous,” Luger shot back. “I’d kill you if I could.”

  “I know what you are feeling. Colonel—”

  “Like hell you do!”

  “I know,” Smoliy said. “Seeing you again all these years after Fisikous reminded me of the heartless, cruel shit I was back then. I have thought of nothing else since the moment we met. Colonel, nothing! Thinking of the way I twisted your life in that place tortures my sleep every night.” He studied Luger for a moment, then added, “As it has done for you, too, I see. And because of it, you could not bear even to speak with Captain Dewey and Major Deverill, because the thought of you interrogating a fellow prisoner of the Russians was abhorrent to you. No matter that it would be in a different time, a different place, and a completely different manner—it would be an interrogation, and that you could never do.”

  “Wi v zhopu, Smoliy! Kiss my ass!” Luger cried in both Russian and English, and he pushed the big Ukrainian out of his way and stormed off.

  Headquarters, High-Technology Aerospace Weapons Center, Elliott AFB, Nevada The next morning

  “Come in, guys,” Lieutenant General Terrill Samson said, as Patrick McLanahan and David Luger appeared at his doorway.

  It was early the next morning. All three senior officers were in the office earlier than usual; Patrick and David had found the e-mail message to come see Samson as soon as they got in that morning. The mood was rather somber—Terrill Samson definitely had something on his mind.

  Then the two junior officers got the line they had been dreading: “Shut the door.” It was a closed-door meeting. Oh, shit.

  After Patrick did so. he and Luger were motioned to chairs, and Samson took his seat behind his desk. The seat of power, the position of authority, Patrick thought. Samson had other, more casual chairs in the office—he could have sat next to his officers, signaling a friendlier discussion on more equal levels. The signs were not looking good at all.

  Patrick did not have to wait long for the hammer to fall, either: “General McLanahan, Colonel Luger, I want your requests for retirement on my desk by close of business today,” Samson said simply.

  “What?” Luger exclaimed.

  “May I ask why, sir?” Patrick asked immediately.

  “Because otherwise I’ll be forced to bring you up on charges of insubordination, issuing an illegal order, unauthorized use of government property, unauthorized release of lethal weapons, unauthorized overflight of foreign airspace, and conduct unbecoming an officer. I’ll also charge Colonel Furness with the same charges, so you’ll take her down with you. Colonel Luger will be charged with disobeying a direct lawful order, insubordination, dereliction of duty, and conduct unbecoming an officer. All offenses, if found guilty, carry a maximum sentence of fifteen years’ confinement, forfeit of all pay and benefits, demotion, loss of retirement benefits, and dishonorable discharge. I’d like to avoid all that, so I’m asking for your resignations.”

  “Are you notifying us of this action, or are we permitted to discuss this with you first?” Luger asked.

  “You got something to say, Colonel, say it. But it won’t change my mind. I thought about this ever since that Russian sortie. This is the best option for you, this organization, and me. To spare HAWC from any more adverse attention, I want you two to take it. Billions of dollars and hundreds of important programs are in jeopardy. But go ahead. Speak freely.’'

  “I gave the orders to turn around and fly that cover sortie, sir,’’ Patrick said. “And David’s job was to keep me informed and feed me information on the tactical situation. Colonels Luger or Furness don’t deserve to be charged with any violations. You can’t convict them of anything if they obeyed a lawful order.”

  “I specifically ordered Colonel Luger to tell you to make sure you came back on your return routing unless ordered to go somewhere else,” Samson said. “Luger not only did not relay that order, but he assisted you in providing data for your illegal strike. I won’t tolerate that kind of insubordination.

  “As for Colonel Furness—it doesn’t matter if she obeyed your orders, and you know it,” Samson went on angrily. “She was the aircraft commander. The decision was hers to comply with your orders or not. She could have legally refused and faced her own court martial—and I predict she would have been found not guilty of any charges. But you gave an unauthorized order, she knew it w as unauthorized, and she followed it. She’ll face the same charges.”

  “But if I resign, she won’t face any charges?”

  “That’s my prerogative,” Samson said. “I can give her an administrative reprimand. It’ll stay in her personnel rec
ords for a year. If she keeps her nose clean, her record automatically gets expunged. She can also request retirement, and I’ll see she gets it. After all she’s done for you. General, she doesn’t deserve a dishonorable discharge.”

  “Sir, General McLanahan and Colonel Furness were on a fully authorized mission,” Luger pointed out.

  “That’s right—I was the backup plane on the mission, sir,” Patrick said. “I already had full authority to proceed.”

  “Negative,” Samson said. “The idea of a backup ship is to pick the best one aircraft to fly the mission, not to send two aircraft into hostile airspace.”

  “I’ll argue that it’s exactly what I did,” Patrick said. “Annie and Dev had been shot down. I’ll argue that it was my responsibility to continue the mission for which I was briefed—”

  “Your mission was to assist Madcap Magician in extracting Siren,” Samson said, his voice showing the irritation of having to argue with his normally respectful, introspective deputy. “That mission was accomplished by Vampire One, before they were shot down. You weren’t authorized to conduct any other operations over Russia.”

  “The ‘other operation over Russia’ was to help save Annie and Dev," Patrick said, his voice showing a slightly incredulous edge. “I was notified of the incident, and I immediately responded to render any assistance necessary.”

  “And what about the attack at Zhukovsky? Are you going to tell me that was part of the operation?”

  Patrick’s face went blank. “What attack on Zhukovsky?”

  “There was a huge explosion at Zhukovsky Flight Test Center right around the time you reentered Russian airspace,” Samson said. “One target was singled out—Metyor Aerospace’s research-and-development facility. The authorities said it was a natural gas explosion. CIA obtained some information from the Russians investigating the incident. The building was hit with a high-explosive incendiary device, at least a two- thousand-pounder—about what you'd use in an air-launched cruise missile. Even more—the roof was punched in with a shaped-charge penetrator explosion before the main explosion. Sounds like a cruise missile attack to me. Care to tell me about that?”