Air Battle Force (10 page)

“I bring all this to your attention today to point out an alarming fact: that the United States does not now have the capability to perform that same fight for freedom,” Martindale went on. “The United States mobilized two hundred and fifty thousand soldiers, sailors, Marines, and airmen in six months to fight that last battle. Today it would take us
years
to mobilize and move the same number of troops and send them halfway across the world to fight. We have no ground forces stationed overseas—
none
. We have a total of fifty thousand Marines deployed aboard ships around the world with aircraft-carrier battle groups. Those are the only ground forces that can respond to an emergency. We also happen to have two fewer aircraft-carrier battle groups operational, which in essence leaves one-fifth of the world unpatrolled at any given time.

“In addition, the forty-first president managed to commit, organize, mobilize, and direct another two hundred and fifty thousand troops from fifty-seven nations in the war against Saddam Hussein, including those from six Arabic-speaking nations and another seventeen Islamic nations,” Martindale continued. “The current administration has managed to ignore, cancel, violate, and abrogate dozens of treaties; it has alienated most of our allies, created distrust among the nonaligned world, and angered our enemies.

“Thomas Thorn continues to cut the size of the United States military at a ridiculous rate, especially our Army,” Martindale said, his voice rising in anger. “The Army is now one-half the size it was just two years ago, and it continues to shrink. The size of the Reserves and National Guard has increased, but the overall force is still one-third smaller. We have abrogated numerous mutual-defense and cooperation treaties with dozens of nations, most important among them the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, which in my opinion has ensured the safety and security of the entire world for almost half a century. Thanks to Thomas Thorn's shortsightedness, the United States is a friendless, futureless desert island hopelessly lost and forgotten in the sea of global geopolitical affairs. We are not adrift—we are being purposely and maliciously steered around every tragedy, every responsibility, and every crisis, all in the name of splendid isolationism. It is time for that policy to end.

“Now for my announcement: I am hereby announcing the formation of an exploratory committee to become the Republican Party nominee for president of the United States.”

Even from this group of Washington reporters, who had been hearing rumors about such an announcement for weeks, there was a loud murmur of surprise. Martindale's aide stepped toward the former president, whispering in his ear that several networks wanted to go live with this press conference. Martindale turned from the podium for several moments as if adjusting his trench coat, but he didn't need to do so—everyone in attendance knew what was happening. Less than ten seconds later the networks gave the sign that they were ready.

“I realize that the phenomenon of a former president who was in office, was defeated, and then successfully ran for office again hasn't happened since Grover Cleveland did it in the 1880s,” Martindale went on after repeating his announcement. “Former U.S. presidents, especially in the postwar era, are expected to retire gracefully, refrain from active politics, go on the lecture circuit at a million dollars a pop, build their libraries and write their memoirs, and quietly accept the tributes and criticisms aimed at them, until they die.

“Well, that's not my style. Since I left Sixteen Hundred Pennsylvania Avenue, I have been speaking out in Republican forums around the country and in many venues around the world, blasting the unorthodox and, frankly, rather bizarre policies of Thomas Thorn. But I've begun to realize that retired presidents who criticize seated presidents, especially those defeated by the ones they're criticizing, are at best labeled sore losers. The public politely listens, then promptly ignores them. I realized that if I want my voice to be heard, I have to get out of retirement and get back in the game.

“My qualifications and background speak for themselves. As a former state attorney general and U.S. senator from the great state of Texas, I stood on a policy of engagement and open dialogue in all aspects of life and politics in America. As secretary of defense I advocated a strong national defense and engagement with all our enemies and potential adversaries, whether they be a few dozen terrorists or an international superpower. As vice president, I advocated the use of America's military might in support of many national and foreign-policy issues, from border security to drug control to nuclear proliferation to counterterrorism. As the former president, despite a shrinking defense budget, I fought to build the most high-tech, cutting-edge military force possible.

“I stand before you now committed to rebuild the American military into the greatest peacetime force in the world. Under my leadership America will not retreat from its obligations. America will not disengage. We will use our technological superiority, our diversity, our values, and our spirit to once again take our rightful place as the leader and defender of the free world. With the blessing of God and the support of the American people, if I am nominated and elected, I promise to fight to restore America's greatness.”

Martindale motioned toward the cemetery before him. The rains had stopped, and, as he concluded his remarks, the sun actually appeared through breaks in the clouds. His handlers could not have hoped for a better outcome to this press conference. “The shades of the heroes who lie in Arlington expect nothing less than strength, leadership, courage, and honor from the commander in chief,” he said. “I ask for your help to begin the campaign to bring leadership and honor back to the White House. Thank you, and God bless America.”

Unbidden and completely out of character, the reporters started to applaud. Martindale's silver locks were back—the former president was on the warpath once again.

That same time

“I seriously think you need to have your head examined, General,” Secretary of Defense Robert Goff said. He was busy packing a briefcase, stuffing it with papers with short, angry stabs. Short, white-haired, what some might call puckish, Robert Goff was one of the United States' leading military and international-affairs experts. If he had not already been a close friend, campaign manager, and adviser to President Thomas Thorn, his name would still have been at the top of Thorn's or any president's short list of candidates for secretary of defense. “Just a few months on the job, and now I've got to go to the White House and explain what in hell you were doing over Turkmenistan and why you found it necessary to crash a B-1 bomber on Diego Garcia after you were specifically ordered to ditch it.”

Standing at attention in the middle of Goff's office were Major General Patrick McLanahan and Brigadier General Rebecca Furness. Both were still in sweat-stained flight suits. There had not even been time to get fresh uniforms. They'd been on the ground less than thirty minutes in Diego Garcia before being whisked out of there on a military jet transport, and in less than eighteen hours they were back in Washington. Standing at parade rest off to Goff's right was the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Air Force General Richard Venti, with a passive and completely unreadable expression on his young fighter-pilot face.

“I went to bat for you over this, Patrick,” Goff continued disgustedly. “The president gives you the newest combat wing in the U.S. military, weeks after you almost start a nuclear war in Libya. . . .” He didn't press the events during that period of time—because Patrick had lost both his brother and his wife during those battles in North Africa. “With no forward bases in Central Asia, we trusted you to take your unmanned aircraft over Afghanistan—avoiding overflying any populated areas or doing anything that could draw attention—and hunt down the Taliban raiders that have been stirring up trouble. You assured me that none of your manned combat aircraft would violate sovereign airspace.

“Instead, not only do you violate Pakistani airspace, but you throw in Iran, Afghanistan, and Turkmenistan as well for good measure! Then, to make matters worse, you ignore a direct order from superior officers and
me
and crash-land your plane on an important active runway instead of ditching it. So tell me, McLanahan—what in hell do I say to the president?”

“Sir, tell him that our mission was accomplished, we brought all of our aircraft home or had them destroyed beyond traceability, and all crew members returned home with only minor damage and injuries,” McLanahan replied.

“Are you trying to be funny?” Goff retorted. “Are you trying to make me look like a fool? You really expect me to go in front of the National Security Council and tell that to the president of the United States? Do you think he'll find the humor in my statement after he reads the entire report that the director of Central Intelligence will undoubtedly give him and finds out what
really
happened?” Goff stared at McLanahan, who had his eyes caged straight ahead. “Well? I've got two minutes before I go. You'd better start talking—and
fast.
”

“Sir, the mission
was
a success,” McLanahan said. “Our mission was to locate, identify, track, and if necessary interdict that group of Taliban raiders that has been killing United Nations aid workers and Afghan government security forces. We were successful, and the systems we employed worked perfectly, until we were hit by ground fire, went out of control, and were in danger of crash-landing almost intact in Turkmenistan. The only way to retrieve the aircraft was to switch to line-of-sight radio control.” He didn't need to explain what that was—Robert Goff was an industrialist and engineer and knew almost as much as any aerospace scientist.

“It was supposed to recall itself if there was a problem,” Goff said. “It was supposed to come back if it sustained any damage or lost contact with you.”

“I have no excuse for that, sir—I haven't had time to analyze the data we were able to retrieve from the UCAV's flight-control computers,” Patrick responded. “We couldn't recall it or self-destruct it, and I knew we couldn't just let it crash-land in Turkmenistan—our most sophisticated unmanned combat aircraft would be in the hands of the Russians or sold on the black market. No special-ops forces were available to retrieve it. The only choice I had was to dash across Pakistan and Afghanistan, reach it before it ran out of fuel, and hope it responded to direct line-of-sight commands instead of satellite-relay commands. Flying over Iran was unavoidable as well. We were able to reach it and get it turned around, but at the same time we were attacked by Turkmen air defenses. The drone was shot down, and we sustained damage to our aerial-refueling system. I thought we had enough gas to safely reach the runway.” He paused, then added, “I was right.”

“Don't smart-mouth me, mister,” Goff said. “You were ordered
by me
to ditch that plane. Why did you ignore that order?”

“Sir, I felt an ejection and ditching under those circumstances would be hazardous to my crew, pose a danger to vessels and aircraft in the area, subject the United States to unnecessary security and negative publicity exposure, and result in unnecessary loss of a valuable military asset,” Patrick McLanahan replied. “I made a decision as senior officer on board the aircraft to attempt a landing. I felt the risk was minimal compared to an uncontrolled crash-landing at sea.”

“I don't care what you felt or what you decided—you violated a direct order from several superior officers,” Goff said. “You could have caused unmentionable damage to that airfield and the aircraft parked there. Both of you could have been killed.” Goff looked at Venti, who had remained silent during this entire meeting. “Well, General Venti? What do you think we ought to do to these two?”

“Sir, I recommend the Air Medal be awarded to both Generals McLanahan and Furness for successfully completing a dangerous mission over hostile airspace, for bringing their crippled aircraft home, and for preserving and protecting the secrecy of their mission, even at considerable risk to their own lives,” Venti responded, a broad smile spreading across his face.

“Make it the Airman's Medal. We can award that in peacetime, can't we, General?”

“We can indeed, sir,” Venti replied happily.

“Good,” Goff said. “I'd make it the Distinguished Flying Cross, but I know that
can't
be awarded in peacetime.” He enthusiastically shook hands with McLanahan and Furness. “Stand at ease. Damn fine job, you two. If either that drone or your B-1 went down anywhere in Central Asia, even Afghanistan, the president would've been embarrassed enough to make him consider resigning. Not that he ever would, of course, but he'd consider it for the good of the country. That means
I'd
be the one forced to resign. The situation is so screwed up over there, who knows what would have happened? Good job.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“General Venti says you want to send in a team to look at the wreckage of the drone, recover the critical components, and destroy the rest?”

“Yes, sir. The team is already in place aboard a salvage vessel in the Arabian Sea—”

“The ones that went in over Pakistan to divert attention away from you so you could escape?”

“Yes, sir. We've got the location of the wreckage pinpointed fairly accurately by satellite—about fifty-five miles southwest of Kerki, about twenty miles south of the Kara Kum Canal. It's uninhabited, but close enough for a patrol to go out searching for the wreckage. We need to get there first.”

“How soon can you have the team in?”

“The recovery team is standing by, sir. We're ready to go in immediately if our satellites spot any activity near the crash site,” Patrick replied. “The rest of the team will be in place within twenty-four hours.”