Patrick McLanahan Collection #1 (206 page)

“Central Command will coordinate that, McLanahan, not
you
. You are ordered to
stand down
. Take no further actions whatsoever. You will do or say
nothing
to
anyone
. You are relieved of your command and will be placed under arrest as soon as you can be brought off that station.”

For the second time that day, Patrick hung up on a civilian military leader. His next call was directly to General Kenneth Lepers, the four-star Army general in charge of U.S. Central Command, the major combat command overseeing all military operations in the Middle East and central Asia, to try to convince him to allow the bombers to take off.

“General McLanahan, your ass is in a really big sling right now,” Lepers' deputy said. “The general has been directed not to speak with you, and this call will be reported to SECDEF. I advise you to straighten this thing out with SECDEF before the whole world cuts you off.” And he hung up.

Patrick's next call was back to Rebecca Furness at Battle Mountain Air Reserve Base. “I was just going to call you, sir,” Rebecca said. “I'm sorry about the Black Stallion. I wish we could've done more.”

“Thanks, Rebecca. I'm sorry about your Vampires.”

“Not your fault, sir.” It was, she reminded herself: if he hadn't ordered to launch on this unauthorized mission, she'd still have her bombers. But the Vampires were unmanned, and the Black Stallion wasn't, so she didn't feel the need to rub salt on a wound. “We should have been scanning for bandits—I made the call to go in completely silent. I don't know how the Russians knew we were coming or when, but they are going to get it back in spades, I guarantee
that
.”

“Are you still being stopped by the sky cops?”

“Affirmative. We've shut down as ordered and are holding our position inside the hangar.”

Patrick thought for a moment; then: “Rebecca, I tried calling General Lepers at CENTCOM to get his permission to launch the Vampires, and he's not talking to me. I would guess if I tried to call STRATCOM I'd get the same response.”

“Cannon's an okay guy,” Rebecca commented. “The others think you're gunning for their jobs.” Or nuts, she silently added.

“If we don't launch some air cover, our guys and maybe the CSAR troops will get chewed apart by the Pasdaran,” Patrick said.
“I'm going to clear those Security Forces away from the hangar. I want you ready to launch as soon as they're away.”

“But you said Lepers won't talk to you, and you haven't spoken to CENTAF yet, so who's going to—?” Furness paused for a moment, then said simply, “That's crazy. Sir.”

“The question is, Rebecca: Will you launch?”

The pause was very, very long; just when Patrick was going to repeat himself, or was wondering if Furness was dialing SECDEF's number on another line, she said, “Get 'em out of my ships' way, General, and I'll launch.”

“Thank you, General.” Patrick hung up the phone, then spoke, “Odin to Genesis.”

“Go ahead, Muck,” Dave Luger responded via their subcutaneous global transceiver.

“Move those security guys away from the bombers.”

 

“They're moved, Muck. Out.” Luger turned to his command radio: “Saber, this is Genesis.”

 

B
ATMAN
A
IR
B
ASE
, R
EPUBLIC OF
T
URKEY

T
HAT SAME TIME

“Saber copies, go ahead, Genesis,” Air Force First Lieutenant James “JD” Daniels, commander of the Battle Force ground operations team code-named “Saber,” responded. Daniels had been sent to Batman Air Base to provide security for the EB-1C Vampire bombers, but also because the base was an isolated, well-equipped place to train with new CID pilots in real-world scenarios. As a technical sergeant the thirty-year-old tall, brown-eyed, brown-haired rancher's son from Arkansas was one of the first of the Battle Force commandos to check out as a Cybernetic Infantry Device pilot. After being injured from radiation sickness after fighting in Yakutsk Air Base in Russia following the American Holocaust, Daniels used his recovery time to get a bachelor's degree, then attended Officer Training School and earned his commission. Now he was the senior training officer and, except for Charlie Turlock herself, the resident expert in the CID weapon system.

“I have a task for you, Saber, but you might not like it,” Dave Luger said. “Odin wants to launch the Vampire bombers.”

“Yes, sir. We were ready to go a moment ago, but the Security Forces guys showed up at the hangar, and the planes shut themselves down. The base commander ordered us to assist and protect the Security Forces from any remote-controlled actions by you regarding the aircraft. We verified the orders. Sorry, sir. What is it I won't like?”

“One of our spaceplanes has been shot down in eastern Iran, and there are survivors. We need air cover for a rescue operation. The NCA still says no. We want to launch the Vampires anyway.”

“Why won't the NCA approve the mission, sir?”

“I don't know why, Saber, but we believe the NCA is worried that our actions over Iran are inciting fear and intimidating everyone in the region.”

“Sir, I received authenticated orders to stand down—us as well as the Vampires. The base commander ordered us to help secure you. You're asking me to violate those orders.”

“I know, Saber. I can't order you to violate valid orders. But I'm telling you that the survivors of the spaceplane will be caught and captured or killed if we don't do something.”

“Who shot down the spaceplane, sir?”

“We believe the Russians did, Saber.”

“Yes, sir,” Daniels said. That was enough for him. Daniels had spent a year in the hospital recovering from radiation poisoning which occurred when the Russian air force used tactical nuclear weapons to destroy their own air base, Yakutsk, that was being used by McLanahan and the Air Battle Force to hunt down and destroy Russian mobile intercontinental ballistic missiles that were being readied to launch a second nuclear attack on the United States. He endured severe dehydration, nausea for days on end, incredible pain, and eventually a liver transplant—but he survived, won the right to go back on active duty, requalified for field operations, rejoined the Battle Force, and took command of a CID team.

He had won, then lost, then won back all the things he ever wanted to do in his life, except one: get some payback for what the Russians did to him, his comrades, and to their own people in Yakutsk.

“You still there, Saber?”

“I'm sorry, sir, but I have my orders,” Daniels said in a deep monotone voice, quite different from his normally energetic, upbeat tone. “If those planes were to move, I and my team would do everything in our power to protect the Security Forces from harm. Good night, sir.”

 

“Genesis to Headbanger.”

“Go ahead, Dave,” Rebecca Furness replied.

“Get ready.”

“Can't. My grounds crews say the sky cops are still blocking the hangar and taxiways.”

“Get ready anyway.”

“Did you order your guys to
take out the sky cops
?”

“No, ma'am, I did not. The base commander ordered the Battle Force team to assist and protect the Security Forces from unauthorized aircraft movement, and that's what they will do.”

This is crazy, Rebecca told herself for the umpteenth time, utterly
crazy
. She turned to her operations officer, Brigadier General Daren Mace: “Daren, start 'em up and launch the Vampires immediately.” She closed her eyes and saw herself standing in front of a court-martial, being sentenced to prison for the rest of the best years of her life; then, thinking about her fellow airmen on the ground in Iran being chased by Pasdaran and Muslim insurgents, opened her eyes and said, “Stop for nothing.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Mace said. He adjusted the mike on his headset and spoke: “Headbanger, start 'em up and launch without delay. Stop for nothing. Repeat, stop for nothing.”

 

“Affirmative, Panther, the APUs are still on, both planes,” the Air Force Security Forces detail team leader reported to NATO base headquarters. It was creepy enough that the APU started and stopped by itself, but ten times more so when the engines did the same. The crew chiefs and assistants for each plane were outside the hangars, per the base commander's orders.

“This is Panther. Put the fucking senior crew chief on,” the base commander, a Turkish army colonel, ordered in very good English.

“Stand by, Panther.” The SF officer handed his radio to the head crew chief, an Air Force technical sergeant. “It's the base commander, and he's steamed.”

“Tech Sergeant Booker here, sir.”

“I ordered those planes shut down, and I mean
completely
shut down—APUs also.”

“Yes, sir, I know, but you ordered us not to hook the ground power units up either, and without power the command center at Battle Mountain can't talk to the planes, so I think that's why the APUs are—”

“Sergeant, I am giving you a direct order: I want those planes
completely
shut down,
immediately,
or I will have you arrested!” the base commander screamed. “I do not care if no one can talk to the planes—I do not
want
anyone to talk to the planes! Now turn off those APUs, and do it
now
!”

“Yes, sir,” Booker said, and he handed the radio back to the SF officer.

“Detail One here, Panther.”

“I just ordered that tech sergeant to completely shut down those planes, including the APUs—the power units in the tail,” the base commander said. If they do not comply right away, place them all under arrest.” Mallory swallowed hard, then made a gesture to his team members, a sign that said “Get ready for action.” “Do you understand me, Detail One?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“What is that tech sergeant doing right now?”

“He's going over to the other crew chiefs…he's gesturing to the planes…they're putting on gloves, like they're getting ready to go to work.”

They were sure taking their sweet time, the Security Forces officer thought—the colonel's going to have a shit fit if they don't get their rears in gear. Sure enough, moments later the base commander called: “What are they doing, dammit? Are those planes shut down yet?”

“Negative, sir. They're just standing there talking right now, sir,” Mallory replied. “One of them has a radio, and another one has a checklist. Maybe they're discussing shutting down the APUs from here.”

“Well, go find out what is taking them so damned long.”

“Roger, Panther. Stand by.” He holstered his radio and started walking toward the crew chiefs. The three men and one woman crew chiefs saw him coming…and then, without a backward glance, they started walking toward their end unit hangar which served as the Air Battle Force's headquarters. “Hey, you jerkoffs, get back here and shut those power units off, colonel's orders.” Just
as he was about to yell at them again, to his complete surprise, they started
running
toward the hangar!
“Where the hell are you going?”
he shouted. He pulled his radio out of its holster. “Panther, the crew chiefs are
running away toward their headquarters building
!”

“They are
what
?” the base commander shouted. “Arrest those sons of bitches!”

“Roger that, sir. Break. Detail One to Control, signal Alert Red, Alpha Seven ramp area, repeat, Alert Red, Alpha—” Then Mallory heard a sound, much louder than the APUs, and realized moments later what it was. His hand shaking, he raised his radio again: “Control, Detail One, be advised, the articles in the Alpha Seven hangars are starting engines, repeat,
starting engines
! Requesting a Code Niner-Niner alert, full response, repeat, full—”

And then he saw them, emerging from the hangar the crew chiefs had just run toward, sprinting like linebackers from hell…and he nearly fell over backward in shock, surprise, and a mad scramble to get the hell out of there. He had seen them before, of course, but usually just walking around or being folded or unfolded near a truck or helicopter—never
running right at him
!

“Saber Four and Five responding!” one of the Cybernetic Infantry Device manned robots said in a loud computer-synthesized voice. “Say status!” Mallory was still on his hands and knees cowering in terror as the first robot ran right up to him. Both had him surrounded within moments. They were wearing huge backpacks, with what appeared to be grenade launchers deployed over their shoulders aimed right at him. “Team leader, I say again: say status!”

“I…uh…the bombers…they've started engines!” Mallory stammered. The muzzle of the grenade launcher was just a few feet from his nose. “Get that weapon out of my face!”

The robot ignored the order. “Have they taxied yet?” the robot blared at him. Mallory couldn't respond. “Five, report to Alpha-Seven-Two, I'll take Alpha-Seven-One. Protect the Security Force units.” The second robot nodded and ran off, just like a football player breaking from a huddle except it was gone literally in the blink of an eye. “Are you hurt, Team Leader?”

“I…no,” Mallory said. He scrambled to his feet. “Get in those hangars and find some way to disable those—”

At that instant they heard an impossibly loud roar of aircraft engines and a tremendous blast of jet exhaust from the open rear of both occupied shelters. “The bombers are taxiing!” the robot said. “Five, bombers are moving! Protect the Security Force units!”

“No! Stop the bombers! Find some way to—!” But the robot had sped off toward the hangar entrance. Well, he thought, the bombers weren't going anywhere, and if for some reason the Humvees didn't stop them, the robots certainly could. “Detail One units, the CID units are headed inside the hangars. Assist them if possible, but monitor and report if—”