by Doug Beason
Book Description
Five thousand miles from the U.S., the president of the United States is facing death. In one hour, an American force will strike back—with the most daring rescue mission ever!
The RDF—Marine Corps Rapid Deployment Force—can strike anywhere in the world in under an hour. Their secret weapon: the Trans-Atmospheric Vehicle flown at 15,000 miles per hour by the Air Force’s most elite pilots, carrying a deadly cargo of highly trained marines. The technology is unproven. But its time has come.…
Doug Beason
Kindle Edition – 2014
WordFire Press
www.wordfire.com
ISBN: 978-1-61475-105-2
Copyright © 2014 WordFire, Inc.
Originally published by First Pocket Books, 1989
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Art Director Kevin J. Anderson
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Kevin J. Anderson & Rebecca Moesta, Publishers
Published by
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Contents
Book Description
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Dramatis Personae
Abbreviations
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
About the Author
Other WordFire Titles
Dedication
To my wife and daughters—
Cindy, Amanda, and Tamara—
who put up with me.
Acknowledgments
To Dr. Tom Tascione, for giving me the idea for this novel, and Dr. Don Erbschloe, for reviewing and commenting on the draft manuscript. Boston’s “A Man I’ll Never Be” provided me with much inspiration during the writing. And to John F. Carr at J. E. Pournelle and Associates for first accepting the novelette on which this novel is based; to Patrick L. Price at AMAZING STORIES® who first published the novelette; to Paul McCarthy, senior editor at Pocket Books, who had patience with the slush pile and had faith in me; and to my long-time collaborator, Kevin J. Anderson, who pushed me to revise, rewrite and republish digitally.
Dramatis Personae
Edwards AFB
Major Robert Gould, USAF—Trans-Atmospheric Vehicle pilot, Edwards AFB, California
Major Delores Beckman, USAF—TAV pilot
Colonel Mathin, USAF—Commander, USAF Test Pilot School, Edwards AFB
Lt. Col. William J. Krandel, USMC—Commander, 37th Marine Battalion: Rapid Deployment Force (RDF), Camp Pendleton, California
Maureen Krandel—his wife
Brigadier General Allen W. Vandervoos, USMC—First Marine, Air Wing Commander
Captain Harvey Weston, USMC—Headquarters 1st Platoon Commander, RDF
Captain “Charley” Daniels, USMC—Headquarters 2nd Platoon Commander, RDF
Gunnery Sergeant David Balcalski, USMC—Battalion First Sergeant, RDF
Private Arrosh Havisad, USMC—Communications expert, Alpha Squad, RDF
Lance Corporal Francis Morales, USMC—Alpha Squad Leader, RDF
Lance Corporal Kenneth Henderson, USMC—Bravo Squad Leader, RDF
Washington, D.C.
President Sandoval Montoya—President of the United States
Manuel Baca—White House Chief of Staff
G. Percival Woodstone—Vice President of the United States
Amador Trujillo—White House National Security Advisor
CPO Yoli Aquinaldo, USN—Steward aboard Air Force One
CPO Ramos Sicat, USN—another steward
Colonel Joseph McGerney, USAF—Aircraft Commander, Air Force One
Major Laynam, USAF—Copilot, Air Force One
Sergeant Donald Clements, USMC—Marine guard assigned to Air Force One
General “Batman” Peters, USA—Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff
Colonel Welch, USAF—Presidential Military Aide, assigned to the National Emergency Command Center
Do’brai
Hujr ibn-Adi—terrorist
Du’Ali al-Aswad—another terrorist, Hujr’s assistant
Ghazzali abu-Hamid—Head of the Arab Liberated Hegemony (ALH)
General Fariq Kamil—Chief of Staff for President Ash’ath
Abd al-Rahman ibn-Muhammed ibn al-Ash’ath—President-for-Life and Commanding General, Do’brainese Militia Forces
Other Locations
Lieutenant Colonel George Frier, USAF—Commanding Officer, U.S.S.S. Bifrost
Major Stephen Wordel, US AF—Bifrost crew member
Honorable Pieter Akulov—Russian President
Captain Jimmy McCluney, USAF—F-15 Wild Weasel Flight Commander
First Lieutenant Chiu, USAF—Missile Launch Officer, Vandenberg AFB, CA
Colonel Rathson, USAF—Commander, 2nd Aircraft Delivery Group, Langley AFB, VA
Abbreviations
AC—Aircraft Commander
ACC—Air Combat Command
AMC—Air Mobility Command
AEHF—Advanced Extremely High Frequency satellite
AFSATCOM—Air Force SATellite COMmunications
ASL—Above Sea Level
ATC—Air Training Command
AWACS—Airborne Warning And Control System
Base Ops—Base Operations
BIGEYE—U.S.S.S. Bifrost
BMDO—Ballistic Missile Defense Office
Check—short for Checkride, a graded flight examination
CINCSTRAT—Commander IN Chief STRATegic Command
CP—Command Post
CRT—Cathode Ray Tube
CSOC—Consolidated Space Operations Center, Colorado Springs, CO
CYA—Cover Your Ass
DIA—Defense Intelligence Agency
EM—Electromagnetic
EMP—Electromagnetic Pulse
FE—Flight Examiner
FOB—Fractional Orbit Bomb
FTC—Flight Test Center
GPS—Global Positioning Satellite
ICBM—InterContinental Ballistic Missile
IFF—Identification Friend or Foe
IP—Instructor Pilot
INS—Inertial Navigation System
IR—InfraRed
JATO—Jet Assisted Take-Off
JP-4—high-grade jet fuel
JP-12—super-octane TAV fuel
MRBM—Medium-Range Ballistic Missile
NECC—National Emergency Command Center
NSA—National Security Agency
0-7—Brigadier general
Pax—Passengers
PCS—Permanent Change of Station
PLF—Parachute Landing Fall
STRATCOM—STRATegic COMmand
SCRAM—Supersonic Combustion RAM jets
&n
bsp; SIE—Self-Initiated Elimination
SLBM—Sea-Launched Ballistic Missile
SMART—Super Maintenance And Readiness Truck
TAV—Trans-Atmospheric Vehicle
TDY—Temporary Duty
TLF—Transient Living Facilities
UPT—Undergraduate Pilot Training
U.S.S.S.—United States Space Ship
VUHF—Very Ultra High Frequency
Zulu—Greenwich Mean Time, measured from Greenwich, Great Britain
Return to Honor
Prologue
1200 ZULU: WEDNESDAY, 29 MAY
The “born leader” is a fiction by “born followers.” Leadership is not a gift at birth: it is an award for growing up to full moral stature. It is the only award a man must win every day. The prize is the respect of others, earned by the disciplines that generate self-respect.
Major General Louis Metzger, Commanding General Third Marine Division
264,000+ Feet ASL
Mach 25—over fifteen thousand miles per hour—and no sensation of movement. The ride seemed smooth enough; the buffeting that accompanied the TAV’s launch was nothing compared to the eerie silence that now permeated the craft. They were stuffed in the Trans-Atmospheric Vehicle tighter than sardines in a can: twenty-four marines, all clutching their rifles, all depending on their hotshot air force pilot to bring them safely back to ground.
Where they could all be killed the instant they scrambled from the TAV.
Gunnery sergeant Balcalski shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable. Now that his weight had returned, the webbed seating straps dug into his back. And the heat didn’t help. You’d think that once they were above the atmosphere—over fifty miles above the ground—things would cool down. But the cramped compartment held the heat in, sapping their strength.
Minutes passes. Balcalski inched forward, and he jumped when the klaxon, set in the TAV’s bulkhead, gave an earsplitting blast.
The air force pilot came over the intercom: “Two minutes to landing.…prepare your Stations, marines.”
All around Balcalski, the marines straightened in their seats. Balcalski pushed his feet firmly against the vibrating deck and prepared for landing. They were approaching the desert at an unthinkable speed, screaming through the air, ready to disembark and spill out of the TAV to take their objective.
Balcalski glanced over at Captain Weston, the new platoon commander. As young as Weston seemed, Balcalski had confidence in him. From what Balcalski knew of Weston’s background, he was a capable leader. Balcalski could count on being able to run the platoon through its motions without Weston butting in.
Balcalski knew Weston was there to observe, and he would step in only as needed. He was the type of officer Balcalski respected—one he didn’t have to train; one that respected the presence of a good noncom. It was essential to have that mutual respect when going into battle.
The TAV bounced down, jarring the marines as it landed. Before Balcalski could react, Captain Weston was out of his seat and standing in the TAV hatch, yelling, “This is it—get ready to jump!”
Balcalski followed the rest of the marines as they stood and shuffled to the door in their combat equipment, careful not to trip on the bouncing deck. Balcalski felt adrenaline rush into his system as the excitement of the moment swept him up. He was first at the door, then stepped back as Weston shouted in his ear, “I’ll take the first jump—make sure the rest of them get out as soon as they can after me.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Balcalski shouldered his rifle.
Weston clutched the sides of the hatch; a red light flickered above the door as the hatch swung open, spilling in warm desert air. Scrub brush and cactus whizzed by. The TAV bounced on the desert floor as the craft continued to slow. The intercom crackled as the air force pilot came on, excitement evident in his voice.
“Twenty-five knots … twenty knots … and fifteen. Marines, disembark!”
Balcalski slapped the captain on the rear. “Jump, sir!” Weston leapt out the hatch; he disappeared as the next marine took his place. Balcalski swatted the marine. “Jump!”
Twenty-one more marines followed until Balcalski was alone in the TAV. Balcalski assumed the position at the hatch, spotted the rushing ground, and jumped, hitting the desert in a parachute-landing fall. He was instantly on his feet, running toward a small building to his right. The remainder of the Rapid Deployment Force was already converging on the objective. Behind him, Balcalski could make out the whine of the TAV’s engines winding down as the craft slowed to a halt.
Out of breath, Balcalski was the last to reach the building. Grasping his rifle, he stormed through the door—and froze at what he saw.
A burly, dark-haired man clicked off a stopwatch as Balcalski entered the building. The man took a cigar from his mouth and eyed the clock. “Fifty seconds. Gentlemen, you are all dead.”
Brigadier General Vandervoos took a long draw off his cigar and studied the marines in front of him. They stood panting from the exertion, standing at attention. Balcalski felt his face grow red, more from embarrassing Captain Weston in front of the general than anything else. Vandervoos blew smoke away and spoke quietly so the marines had to strain to hear him: “Gentlemen, let me lay it on the line for you.
“The only reason the RDF exists is for rapid response. American taxpayers are paying out good money for your training; they’re spending thousands of dollars so the air force can keep their TAVs on alert, twenty-four hours a day, here at Edwards. Those pilots have to pull alert, just like all of you, so that if the balloon ever goes up, they can fly you to any spot in the world to knock out enemy command posts—or to do whatever the hell the President wants you to do.
“Now, unless you gentlemen get serious about these exercises and get every man out of that TAV in less than forty-five seconds, we might as well hang it up. We can send in the damned army cheaper than what it’s costing to keep this outfit going.” He allowed his words to sink in for some moments before speaking again. “Captain Weston, do you have anything to add?”
“No, sir.”
“Very well, I’ll see you outside. Carry on, men.” Vandervoos stomped out the building, leaving the marines at attention. A trail of cigar smoke rose behind him.
Weston eyed Balcalski. “Run the men through the simulator until they get that time down, Gunny. Next time we go up in a TAV, I want the general’s socks blown off.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Weston didn’t have to elaborate to let Balcalski know that he meant business; it was the first time Balcalski had seen a general officer dress down a platoon.
Weston hurried out of the building to catch up with the general. As the officer left, Balcalski turned to the men. He relaxed minutely before growling, “All right. Let’s hit the bus for Pendleton. We’re swinging by the simulator on the way back—and unless that time gets down, you can forget about any weekend passes.”
The grumbling was less than what he expected, but then again, it wasn’t every day they got their asses chewed by a brigadier general. It made Balcalski realize how important their job really was.
Chapter 1
2300 ZULU: FRIDAY, 1 JUNE
To be prepared for war is one of the most effectual means of preserving peace.
George Washington
Camp Pendleton, California
Lieutenant Colonel Bill Krandel pulled into the lot across the street from the officers’ club. General Vandervoos’ parking slot near the main door was empty, so Krandel was still early for the appointment.
Getting out of the car, he squared himself away, making sure his shirt was taut in front. The shirt was starched, but he still smoothed away the wrinkles. Years of habit kept him looking sharp. It was more instinct now than anything else. Krandel himself couldn’t tell that the shirt had been in a suitcase only hours before. As he entered the club a voice called, “Wild Bill, ten years and you haven’t changed at all.”
Surprised, Krandel turned. “Harvey Weston. What the hell are yo
u doing here?”
“I should ask you that. I’m the platoon commander for the RDF they’ve geared up. And how about those silver leaves? You must have gotten every below-the-zone promotion that came your way and then some. You haven’t had your ‘command lobotomy’ yet, have you, uh, sir?”
Krandel laughed. “Easy, Harv. The last time my old cadet roomie called me sir was when you reported at my table, late for dinner. Besides, I’ve only had these leaves a few weeks.”
Weston leaned forward and fingered Krandel’s rank, grinning. “Still, what about this promotion?”
Krandel shrugged. “Just got lucky, that’s all. Got hooked up with a sugar-daddy general at the Pentagon who liked what I did. Guess I was in the right place at the right time. But how about you? When do you pin on major, and what have you been doing since graduation?”
“Well, I don’t pin on the gold ones till next year. I was selected with our—I mean my—year group, so I’ve got a while to go yet. But anyway, I’ve been out gruntin’ the past few years, instead of sitting on my fat fanny at the Pentagon like you.
“I’ve been everywhere from Okinawa to Reykjavik working with the troops.” He paused, then said almost wistfully, “I guess I’ve got to pull a Pentagon tour one of these days if I want to get promoted.” He brightened. “So what’s a paper pusher like you doing at an operational base?”
“I’m taking over the 37th Battalion next week from Colonel Hathaway. In fact, I’m meeting General Vandervoos tonight to discuss it.”
Captain Weston cracked a grin. “Well, I guess I’d really better get used to calling you sir, then. I knew a Colonel Krandel was supposed to take over the 37th, but I didn’t know it was ‘Wild Bill.’ The platoon I’m in is part of your Smilin’ 37th.”
“No kidding. We’ll just have to work together like old times then, Harv.”
“Sure.” Weston glanced at his watch. He looked around and, spotting the general’s staff car driving to the front, spoke up. “There’s Vandervoos now. Hey, I’ve got a dinner date and I’m late. Got to be running off. By the way, you married that girl you dated at Annapolis—uh, Maureen—didn’t you?”