Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 09 Read online

  “That was awesome, General!” Annie shouted, after she double-checked that the landing gear was down and locked. “Totally awesome!”

  “Thank you, young lady,” Smoliy said. “I do enjoy watching young excited women.” He nodded to her, then said, “The aircraft is yours, Captain.’' Surprised but excited, she put her hands on the controls, and Smoliy patted her on the shoulder to tell her she had the aircraft. “Make us proud.”

  She did. Annie Dewey made a perfect touchdown on Nel- lis’s main runway and taxied to their parking spot, the applause of the huge crowd audible even over the roar of the idling engines. When both aircraft swept their wings partially back and shut down their engines simultaneously, the applause replaced and then easily surpassed the noise of the engines. After the crew stepped out of their aircraft. General Smoliy drove the cheers and applause to even greater heights when he stepped out to the end of the red carpet laid out for him on the tarmac and kissed the ground. The greetings, hugs, handshakes, and shoulder-slapping went on for a long time. General Smoliy greeted the Air Warfare Center commander, Major-General Lance “Laser” Peterson, and most of the others in the reception party like long-lost brothers.

  The Ukrainian bomber crew members also met other foreign aviators, including the commander of the Turkish Air Force, Major-General Erdal Sivarek, who had arrived with several of his aircraft and two jet transports carrying equipment and spare parts earlier in the day. The big Backfire bombers were parked directly across from the Turkish F-16s, and the size difference was astounding. The size difference carried over to the two commanders—the Ukrainian general was almost a foot and a half taller than the Turk. The meeting between the two commanders was cordial but icy; General Smoliy did not reserve the same jovial friendliness for the Turkish officer as he did his American hosts.

  “General Sivarek, merhaba,” a voice behind Sivarek said after the encounter ended. “Gunaydin. Nasilsiniz?” It was Rebecca Furness, recently promoted to full colonel, the commander of the One-Eleventh Bombardment Squadron of the Nevada Air National Guard, based at Tonopah Test Range northwest of Las Vegas. “Do you remember me, General?”

  It took only a moment for the Turkish officer to recognize her, and his face, which had been dark with moodiness, brightened considerably. “Major ... no, Colonel Rebecca!” Sivarek exclaimed. “Siz nasilsiniz? I am glad you are well.”

  “It’s been a long time.” Rebecca said. “It’s nice to see you, but it's a time I’d sooner forget.”

  Rebecca was the commander of the 111th Bombardment Squadron of the Nevada Air National Guard, the only unit in the United States flying the EB-1C aerial battleship. Until their new base was built in Battle Mountain, Nevada, her little unit of six EB-1C bombers was temporarily located at Tonopah Test Range, or TTR. in western Nevada inside the Nellis range complex.

  She had first met Sivarek just a few years earlier, during the Russian-Ukrainian conflict, when a power-mad Russian president had tried to reunite parts of the old Soviet Union by force. The Russians had used the pretext of Russian citizens being abused by governments in former republics to send the Russian Army in to reoccupy the republic. When Ukraine had put up a fiercer than expected resistance. Russia had retaliated with tactical nuclear weapons. The United States, fearful of allowing the conflict to escalate to an all-out nuclear war, had sent in only a few tactical air units to Turkey, including an Air Force Reserve unit from Plattsburgh, New York—Rebecca Furness’s old unit, flying the RF 111G Vampire bomber, the first iteration of Rebecca's EB-1C Megafortress flying battleship.

  Although Rebecca’s unit had acquitted itself well in several skirmishes against the Russians, the general feeling was that NATO and the United States had let their Turkish allies down. Several bases in Turkey and several warships had been destroyed by Russian attacks, yet the United States had refused to commit sizable forces against Russia. Only the heroism of Rebecca’s tiny unit, and the desperate bravery of what was left of the Ukrainian Air Force, had prevented an all-out war—and saved Turkey.

  “It is indeed a small world. I am glad you kept up with your Turkish. Agzina siglik! Health to your mouth.”

  “Tesekkur ederinu efendim, ” Rebecca replied, giving him a slight bow. “Biraz konusuyorum. And that’s about all I remember.”

  Sivarek clapped his hands in approval. “So, what unit are you with?”

  “I’m with the Nevada Air National Guard,” Rebecca replied. Sivarek noted with considerable interest that Rebecca did not go into any details. “We're participating in some of the exercises with your squadron and the Ukrainians.”

  “Very good. I noticed your air force does not fly the RF-llls anymore. 1 would have welcomed the chance to try our hands at them.” He nodded toward the Tupolev-22M Backfire bomber. ‘Those whales will be no trouble for us.”

  “They might have some surprises for you.”

  “We have encountered them before, over the Black Sea on training flights and patrols,” Sivarek said. “The Ukrainians seem unsure about pushing them to their full capability. It is understandable, I suppose. But I hope NATO is not counting on them for much.”

  “Maybe we can help them improve their tactics.”

  Sivarek nodded, his face darkening again, his lips thinning in frustration. “Your new friends in eastern Europe, I suppose,” he said. “Turkey has been coming here to Red Flag and other exercises for over twenty years, but it seems as if we get little respect from the United States regarding affairs in our region. But when Ukraine wants to play NATO warriors, the world comes running.”

  “I think that’s not quite accurate.” Rebecca said. But she knew he was at least partially correct. During the Russia-Ukraine conflict, Turkey had suffered tremendous loss of life and property, but afterward relations between Turkey and the West had mostly gone back to the way they were, as if the conflict had never happened at all. Instead of rushing in to help Turkey modernize its military, NATO’s easternmost ally had been left to rebuild and rearm by itself, with no more than ordinary levels of support and cooperation from the United States or NATO.

  “You are a loyal American officer,” Sivarek said with a smile. “I would have liked very much for you to have stayed in my country with your incredible RF-111 fighter-bombers after the conflict.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  ‘The RF-111, the Vampire I believe you called it, would have been ideal for Turkey’s defense,” Sivarek explained. “A single aircraft with reconnaissance, counterair, close air support, heavy bombing, antiship, and electronic-warfare capabilities? We would have liked very much to have two squadrons. Unfortunately, you sold them all to Australia. That was a dark day for Turkey.”

  “Some would have said it was a bright day for the Kurds and the Greeks.”

  “We are not at war with Greece, nor will we ever be,” Sivarek said. “All parties realize we must find a peaceful settlement to the Cyprus question. But the Kurds—they are a different song. They are butchers, terrorists, anarchists, and spawns of Satan.”

  “The sight of F-111 s bombing Kurdish villages would have sickened most Americans,” Rebecca pointed out. “I understand the media paints a different picture than you'd like—they are portrayed as oppressed persons, persecuted by fundamentalist Muslim governments, denied a homeland by both Iraq and Turkey. The government will always be seen as the oppressor, and the Kurds as heroic refugees, like the Jews. Their hardships will be seen as the faithful struggling against tyranny.”

  “A67 patlicani kiragi calmaz—the worthless don’t suffer hardships,” Sivarek said. “So Turkey, a NATO ally, is scorned by the West. Ukraine once aimed nuclear weapons at your country. Iran once tried to sink an American aircraft carrier and has engineered countless terrorist attacks against American interests, but you court their favor now so you can import their oil and counterbalance a resurging Russian hegemony. Turkey has cooperated with America for thirty years, standing on the front line of defense against Russia, yet we are virtually ignored. What is Tu
rkey supposed to say about this American foreign policy?”

  “The old saying goes, if you don’t like American foreign policy, wait a few days—it’ll change,” Rebecca said.

  “Ah yes—your new American president, the Jeffersonian hippie president,” Sivarek said, with an amused, slightly mocking smile. “I think he will break up NATO. This will leave Turkey all alone to face the Russians. Very unfortunate. What will you do then? Will you come back then and help defend my country, Colonel Rebecca? Or will you come to the aid of your new Ukrainian friends instead?”

  “I don’t think the President will ever actually leave or break up NATO,” Rebecca said. “It would not be in our best interests. But I would very much like to speak with you about your country and your defense needs.”

  “Oh?” Sivarek smiled that swarthy, cocky smile. “You never did mention what unit you are with. Colonel Rebecca.”

  “No, I didn't,” Furness said with a sly smile. She extended her hand, and he shook it warmly. “Gidelim,, General.”

  At that same time, when Annie Dewey emerged from the lead bomber’s crew compartment, she was met by Colonel David Luger, and she ran happily into his arms. “Oh, God, David,” she breathed, “it’s so good to see you.”

  Luger murmured a “Welcome back” to her, but she could tell immediately that his attention was elsewhere. When she looked at him after their embrace, she saw him staring with an almost blank expression at the Tupoiev-22M Backfire bomber. “Hey, David,” she said, studying his face with growing concern. “Everything okay?”

  “Sure ... sure ...” But everything was not all right. She thought she began to feel his hands grow cold, and she swore that his face was looking paler.

  “You’ve seen one of these things before, haven’t you?” she asked. “I thought you knew all there was to know about every warplane in the known galaxy.”

  “Yes ... yes, I know all about ‘Speka.’ ”

  “Speka? What’s that?”

  “Hey! My copilot! Annie!” they heard behind them. It was General Roman Smoliy. “Hey you, I did not know you had eyes for any other man but me! Who is this usurper daring to compete with me for your affections?”

  David Luger turned—and looked into the face of Hell. “General, this is my good friend, Colonel..But Annie’s introduction was cut short when Luger suddenly turned and strode quickly away. “David!” she called after him. But he was quickly lost in the crowd that had come to see the big Ukrainian bombers up close.

  Annie turned back to Smoliy. “I am so sorry, General. I don’t know what...” But when she looked at the big Ukrainian pilot, he was staring at the spot where Luger had been standing, with an odd expression on his face. “General Smoliy? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, Hamiy.” he replied absently, using his pet name for her, “Beautiful.” “It is nothing. I thought I saw ... but it is impossible.” He shook off the image, took Annie’s hand, and kissed it. “He is special to you, no?”

  “He is special to me, yes.”

  “Good for you,” Smoliy said. “Very good. Take care of him.” Annie tried but couldn’t read anything else in the big general’s eyes to give her a clue about what was going on.

  A few hours later, after the welcoming celebrations and brief meetings with the commander of the Air Warfare Center and the wing commander, the Ukrainian and Turkish commanders were escorted to their quarters, and General Peterson walked over to his secure battle staff room inside the base command post. Two officers were there waiting for them. “Well, well, so they do let you out of the sandbox once in a while, eh, Earth- mover?” he said to one of the men waiting for him.

  “Only on special occasions. Laser,” Lieutenant-General Terrill Samson, commander of the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center, responded with a smile. The big three-star black general extended a huge hand to Peterson. “You remember my deputy, Patrick McLanahan?”

  “Sure do,” Peterson said, shaking hands with McLanahan. “That job at the Fifty-seventh Wing is still yours for the asking, Muck. Even though you’re a bomber puke, you’re still the best man for the job. Put your name in the bucket, and you’re in the pipeline. I’ll pick up that phone and set aside an Air War College slot for you right now. Just say the word.”

  ’“Thanks, General,” Patrick said, “but I’m very good right now.” In his mid-forties, solidly built and unassuming, his blond hair slowly but surely turning gray, McLanahan looked more at home as a policeman or a high school wrestling coach, but in fact he had spent most of his professional life designing and testing exotic high-tech warplanes for the U.S. Air Force. He had never really aspired to be a wing commander. What he’d really wanted was what he’d just received—recognition of his talents from his superiors. More than anything else, that made his career complete.

  “I’ll bet you are,” Peterson said, smiling and giving Samson a wink. He invited the two to sit down, then offered them cigars. “Heck, we don’t use the battle staff room for anything these days except when you jokers from Dreamland come wandering back to the real world,” he said, “so I turned it back into a smoking-okay room. I know it doesn’t jibe with the smoke- free Air Force, but what the hell.” At that, both Samson and McLanahan lit up. “So you want to take a look at the Backfire, huh? You guys going to start flying them up there in Dreamland now?”

  “Maybe,” Samson replied. 'They might be the only long- range intercontinental bombers in NATO pretty soon.”

  “What are you talking about. Earth—?” Peterson stopped, his jaw dropping open and a curl of smoke escaping. “Holy shit. The rumors are true? The United States will leave NATO? Leave Europe?” Samson nodded. “Do you have details?”

  “Not many I can share with you right now,” Samson replied “American units will leave European bases by attrition, which means that units will slowly draw down over time until they become non-mission effective, at which time they’ll close down. A few units, especially those involved in treaty obligation duties, will be replaced with Reserve and National Guard units until the treaties can be renegotiated.”

  “This is incredible!” General Peterson shouted. “The United States will simply leave Europe? Ignore sixty years of partnership in maintaining the peace and simply go home?”

  “Afraid so,” Samson said. “There are already bills before Congress authorizing our withdrawal from NATO, but the President has said he will cut off nonessential funding for overseas units. When they run out of money and can’t fulfill their missions, they’ll go back to the States. Funding for NATO itself will draw down over five years.”

  “Wow” was all Peterson could say. He shook his head. “What about the other rumors? The Army ... ?”

  “Slash and burn,” Samson said.

  “No troops stationed overseas?”

  “How about no active duty Army combat troops ... anywhere," Samson said. “None. The only active duty Army will be administrative, support, research, training, and special operations. The rest will be Army Reserve and National Guard only, with no overseas bases on non-U.S.-owned territory. If the country needs an army, the President will have to go before Congress and ask for it, and Congress will have to come up with the money. The only forward-deployed infantry troops will be Marine Corps expeditionary forces serving afloat, and Guard and Reserve forces on training days.”

  “My God. What is Thom smoking? Is he crazy? The American people will revolt against him. Europe will be ripe for the picking.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Samson said. “Anyway, we start gearing up for more long-range missions. We’re going to start seeing a lot more foreign air forces here at Nellis training with our guys, because now they have to be responsible for defending their own territories as not only the frontline force, but the sustaining force until the U.S. gears up and deploys the Reserves. HAWC is interested in the tactical and strategic bombers, and right now, that’s the Backfires and any other forces that can carry standoff weapons. We want to see how the Ukraine stacks up against the Tur
kish Air Force.”

  “Judging by Smoliy’s and Sivarek’s personal relationship, I’d say we’re going to have a wild time in the ranges in the next few weeks,” Peterson said. He studied Samson for a moment over his cigar, then turned to Patrick and asked, “You going to be playing along with them? Get some of your supersecret toys up there? Mix it up a little with them?”

  “What supersecret toys arc you referring to, sir?” Patrick asked, then masked his smile with a cloud of aromatic cigar smoke.

  “Ah, don’t give me that brainwashed bullshit, Muck,” Peterson said, with a laugh. “All I ask is that if you want to play on my ranges, brief the crews as much as possible on the performance parameters of whatever you’ll put up against them. You don’t have to give away any secrets—just a heads-up so no one gets hurt. This is still a training environment. I don’t want these guys thinking we’re chasing them across the sky with UFOs or something.”

  “Deal,” Patrick said.

  Peterson shook his head again, then took a deep drag from his cigar. “No Army. The cockroaches are going to be taking over the kitchen now for sure”

  Later that evening, several Nellis Security Force officers escorted two U.S. Air Force officers into the isolated revetment area on the east side of Nellis Air Force Base, away from the main parking ramp, where the two Ukrainian Tu-22M Backfire bombers were parked. Already there beside one of the bombers was General Roman Smoliy. He was puffing away on a cigar impatiently as the two officers approached.

  “Hey, Hamiy! Pretty lady captain!” Smoliy greeted Annie Dewey. “I did not expect you tonight—I expect you to be dancing all night with my men. I told them all about you and those gentle, talented hands of yours.”

  Annie Dewey approached Smoliy, and she and the officer with her saluted. Smoliy returned the salute with the butt end of his cigar. “It is too late, and I am too relaxed, for protocols,” he said. He turned his attention to the other officer and said, “If you don’t mind. Colonel, I want to be with my men tonight. It has been a long day.”