“Mission details?”
Hardesty thanked the gods it was Seal Team 2 he’d turned to. Its commander was more to his liking—Commander Wilford hadn’t hesitated.
“Details in route. Assume sub-arctic terrain for this time of year.”
“I suppose you know we only just returned from a field exercise three hours ago,” said Wilford, “and are in debriefing and cleanup mode prior to the men getting a day off.”
“Understood, Wilford. Knowing Seals, I assume that means by now all gear is up to deployment status. This is not a drill.”
Hardesty’s last words were recognizable code for potential hot action.
“The men will have a chance for a few hours’ sleep during a flight of about four hours. It’ll be a parachute deployment against an aggressor force of uncertain size or support but likely less than a hundred. No other details at this moment. More will be given to you as we get it. More ground reinforcements will follow you, and assume air support by the time you’re on the ground.”
“Rules of engagement?” asked Wilford.
“Final rules given en route, but initially assume the gloves will be off on this one. Get every man you can to the airfield there, but no delays—leave anyone who can’t climb on the plane right now.”
“Understood. A few of the men are being checked out for minor medical issues, but I believe we can meet the C-17’s troop capacity of 102 men for the drop, plus equipment bundles. Let me get things going here, and I’ll call you back as soon as I have a timetable. If the C-17 is ready to go, I expect we can be off within two hours.”
The team was airborne in eighty-three minutes with 101 men.
Fort Benning, Georgia
Colonel Mikul Prodosky, commander of the 75th Ranger Regiment, was not quite as terse as the Seal commander but was equally efficient once the fire was lit. He was back on the phone five seconds after Hardesty hung up. As serendipity would have it, of the three Ranger battalions, the one on current standby as a Ready Force was the only one stationed at Fort Benning.
“Yes, sir,” answered the 3rd Ranger Battalion’s commander.
“Hang onto your hat, George. I just got a call from Justin Hardesty, USSOCOM commander. Your battalion is activated as the Ready Force for deployment ASAP. I don’t have any details, other than you are possible reinforcements to an entire Seal Team who’ll be on site a few hours before you arrive at the deployment location. And no . . . don’t ask me where that is, because I don’t know. Be ready to load aircraft—the whole battalion. It’s not certain if you’ll go at all or it could be one or two companies. Hardesty says deployment orders from the president will come momentarily, and he’s giving us a heads-up to get started. Also, more information will come en route. That’s all I have, so get your people moving.”
The Ready Battalion supposedly was able to deploy anywhere in the world within eighteen hours, which meant being ready to load planes within three hours. They cut that in half.
Eielson Air Force Base, Fairbanks, Alaska
The phone in Lieutenant General Arnold Patterson’s office sang out with a long piercing tone—alerting him to a priority call coming in. He picked up the phone and heard the voice of his adjutant, Major William Hawkins. “Sir, we’ve just had a priority alert notification from USSOCOM in Florida! General Hardesty is coming on the line.”
“Thank you, Major, patch me in,” said Patterson with a voice calmer than he felt. The base commander was about to leave for the evening. His wife was making paella for dinner—one of his favorites, though not hers. He had been looking forward to it all day; it had been about six months since the last time she’d made it. Now, all thoughts of paella disappeared. He had been the commander of the 11th Air Force and the senior officer at Eielson for almost two years without a significant event happening. And now this. What was it about?
He picked up the receiver, which was silent—then a series of clicks as the connection and security filters kicked in.
“Arnie? This is Hardesty. We have a high security scramble for you. We need you to get assets moving faster than humanly possible.”
Patterson hesitated. Hardesty was commanding the United States’ Special Operations Command, but technically he was not in Patterson’s chain of command. Usually, such missions came through U.S. Air Force channels—in this case, through the U.S. Air Force command center in the Pentagon. Collegial courtesy was one thing, but Patterson had not risen to his rank by bypassing normal chains of command.
“General, why am I not getting this through my command chain? You know I can’t commit assets without authorization.”
Hardesty understood Patterson’s position—normally. But this was not one of those times.
“You will be getting authorization shortly from the commander in chief. You will be interacting directly with me at USSOCOM on this one. You will not answer to any other authority, including your immediate higher command. Any complaints can be directed to the president.”
“That’s all well and good, but I will need those directives from the president before acting.”
Hardesty’s voice mimicked a hot knife through soft butter. “Here’s the way it’s going to come down, Patterson. You’re going to get assets moving right now. In the next ten to twenty minutes, you will be hearing from the president to confirm or cancel my orders. It will probably take you that long to get things moving on your end anyway. Any delay and you’ll be seeing early retirement and be lucky to keep your current rank,” Hardesty said in a grating tone.
Patterson’s hackles raised, but he kept control of himself. He knew Hardesty’s reputation. For whatever reason, Hardesty had kept the favor of several successive presidents for sensitive command positions, including USSOCOM, when he would normally have rotated to other commands and likely retired by now. He also was known for a “take-no-prisoners” attitude if crossed.
“Very well, Hardesty,” said Patterson, noticeably leaving out Hardesty’s rank, thereby conveying both his dislike of Hardesty’s tone and letting him know he wasn’t all that intimidated. “I’ll get things moving, but nothing proceeds beyond a certain point without authorization both for the mission and cutting out my chain of command, understood?”
“Understood,” replied Hardesty, in a tone that lacked any sense of caring what Patterson thought.
“So, what’s the mission?”
“Hold onto your seat. We need fighter support on Ellesmere Island, Arctic Canada, as fast as possible, highest priority.”
“Ellesmere!” Patterson exploded. “What in God’s name is going on there? Does anyone actually live there?”
“Everything about this comes under absolute need to know. This includes other Air Force commands. You will not be briefed on the exact mission. The pilots will receive mission tasking directly from USSOCOM, and they will be debriefed by USSOCOM after the mission. As far as any of you will know, this mission never happened.”
Patterson was stunned. What the hell is going on? This was so out of the normal borders as to be unreal. He sat silent for several moments, then focused on the job at hand.
“All right. As I said, I will need presidential authority for what you’re asking, but I will set things up here. Give me some guidelines on the assets needed and the likely use of those assets.”
“Thank you, Arnie, I knew I could count on you, and sorry for dumping this on you.” Hardesty was trying to mollify Patterson—with some minor success. At least, it would help get him moving!
“There may be more information coming, but for now, assume you will be supporting a U.S. facility under attack by an unknown origin infantry force of at least fifty to a hundred and possibly more. Likely small and medium arms involved but we can’t at this time rule out heavier weapons. Naval units may be involved, probably submarines, but that also is unknown at this time.”
“Jesus, Justin, what is going on in Ellesmere? No . . . forget I asked. Need to know. But still . . . Christ.” Patterson thought for a moment. “Okay, we can
scramble four F-16s immediately with interceptor payloads. They won’t have much for ground support, but with cannon they can provide the fastest assets on scene. They have air-to-air missiles in case aggressor air assets become involved. The range is a bitch. We’ll have to refuel them twice en route if you want them over the target ASAP. One of our KC-135s happens to be in the air, so I can reroute it toward Ellesmere and refuel the F-16s about a third of the way there. They’ll need another refill. McGuire in New Jersey should have a plane or two in the air where they could be redirected. Should I check with them or will you?”
Hardesty hesitated. He had enough to do.
“You give it a shot. Ask them to temporarily transfer the plane to your command. Tell them it’s coming directly from the president. If they seem to want to drag their feet, patch me in and make your call a conference, and I’ll straighten them out.”
“Okay,” said Patterson. “The four F-16s will only have their 20mm cannon for ground support, but they can provide what they have before going on to Thule to refuel and rearm. When they return, they’ll be able to linger until another flight of four F-16s arrives. We’ll have to rearm those here for ground support. I suggest CBUs (cluster bomb units) and M261 rocket pods. It may take up to an hour to rearm and get them off because those munitions are still in their bunkers. They will also be refueled en route. Once they’re on station, they can provide some form of continuous support for as long as needed by shuttling back and forth between Ellesmere and Thule. That’s the best I can do.”
“Great, Arnie. Sorry I can’t tell you anything else, but trust me this is highest priority.”
“What about the Canadians? I know we’re allies and all that, but they are prickly about protocol. How are they handling this?”
“The president will be talking with the prime minister to work this out. I expect if there’s a problem, he’s going to tell him to get out of the way or else.”
Patterson sighed heavily. “Christ on a crutch. Justin. Don’t think I’m not wondering what the fuck is going on!”
White House
After hanging up from Hardesty, Chesterton stared at the phone for several long moments—almost as if waiting for Hardesty to call back and say it had all been a false alarm. If Site 23 wasn’t already a migraine for his presidency . . . now this. Finally, he swiveled in his chair and gazed without seeing through the Oval Office window into the overcast sky. A bird flew past the window, maybe some kind of oriole. Shouldn’t they be heading south to winter breeding grounds? he thought. Maybe it’s too early for that. Right now, I wish I could fly south. Perhaps another five minutes passed while he gathered his thoughts for what he had to do next. He then called in his chief of staff.
“Bob, I need a secure line to Steve Harper—right now.”
Bob Neller’s expression went from his standard “ready to respond and help” to one more like “What the hell is going on?”
“The Canadian prime minister? What’s happening?”
“No time right now, and you’re not cleared for this anyway . . . just get him on the line ASAP.”
If Neller was affronted by the curt order, he didn’t show it. He spun and all but ran out of the Oval Office. Chesterton waited with his own thoughts for six or seven minutes until his phone buzzed. It was Neller.
“Harper should be on the line any moment. They had to pull him out of a cabinet meeting. His staff wasn’t happy about it, and I had to twist some egos and arms to shut them up and grab him. Be aware of some bruises on their end.”
“Good job, Bob, and thanks,” Chesterton said softly, “and sorry for barking before.”
“No problem, that’s part of the job.”
Another minute passed, then there was an audible click and rustling on the line. A deep baritone voice spoke with an undertone of irritation. “James, what’s up? My aide sounded like he’d been pretty much ordered to put me on the line.”
“Sorry for that, Stephen,” responded Chesterton, almost calling the prime minister the familiar “Steve,” instead of the formal “Stephen” that he preferred. “An emergency has come up.”
“What is it?” The PM’s tone had changed to concern.
“This is going to take some detailed explanations and briefings, but there’s no time for that right now. You know the listening base we put up on your Ellesmere Island a few years ago?”
“Yes,” answered the PM, a note of caution seeping into his tone.
“Well, we’ve just gotten a flash message from them that they expect to be attacked by an armed force of unknown origin and uncertain size.”
“What!” exclaimed the PM. “Is this for real?”
“I’m afraid so. The message was short. We’re having sporadic interference from atmospheric conditions. All we have so far is that an armed force of at least fifty were expected to hit the site. We don’t know exactly when this is supposed to happen, but we need support there ASAP.”
“Let me get Thurston in on this call and see what our options are to send aid,” the prime minister said hurriedly, referring to the Canadian defense minister.
“Sorry, Stephen, there’s no time. We need help there as fast as possible. My people tell me that realistically your forces will take longer than ours to get to Ellesmere. I’m looking at a computer screen in the situation room under the White House and getting an update on options. I’ve okayed our people moving right away, but I wanted to check with you because they’ll be operating on Canadian soil and over your airspace.”
“Mr. President—” Harper suddenly started using the title, instead of first names.
Oh, shit, Chesterton thought, he’s going to try to insist Canadian forces will handle any situation.
“—I can’t authorize any such action without at least consulting with the Defense Ministry and our Armed Forces chiefs.”
“Under any but the most dire circumstances I would understand, Mister Prime Minister.” I can play the formality game just as well, thought Chesterton. “However, we have two reasons why this situation makes that impossible. The first is time. I’m seeing that our first response can be air cover over the site in about two hours or less, with troops on the ground two hours or so after that. We project that you might be able to have air support there shortly after ours, but your ground support would likely arrive several hours after ours.”
“I understand, Mr. President, and I’m sorry, but I simply cannot authorize this on my own.”
“Then give me options, Mister Prime Minister. Help has to arrive at the site as soon as humanly possible.”
“And we will get help there and coordinate with your efforts as soon as we can manage it here.”
Chesterton was silent for almost thirty seconds. He had hoped to avoid pushing too hard, but he could see no other choice.
“I’m also sorry, Mister Prime Minister, but that is not acceptable. What you are proposing is not action that is as fast as humanly possible, but action that is as fast as a bureaucracy can manage.” While saying this, Chesterton authorized Hardesty to proceed with all proposed actions. He had cut the sound to Harper for a few seconds—long enough to connect to Hardesty and tell him, “General Hardesty, you are a go with all proposed actions,” then cut back to Harper.
“That is completely out of the question. You cannot violate Canadian sovereignty without our permission!” Harper’s voice had taken on an outraged tone.
“Mr. Prime Minister, we are coming.”
Harper started speaking several times, stopping only to start again—obviously trying to gather his thoughts and consider the implications. Then he spoke in a cold, steady voice. “Mr. President, such actions would be unprecedented in relations between our two countries and would severely damage our alliance and cooperation for God knows how many years. As a Canadian, I can assure you of major consequences in how my countrymen will view the United States. Leaving that aside, you must realize that my party would be forced to take major diplomatic actions to protect both our sovereignty and our p
arty’s standing with the citizenry. Anything less would be unacceptable by Canadians.”
“I understand, Mr. Prime Minister, but we have no choice.”
The line was silent for several moments, then Harper spoke again, now with an accusatory tone. “Something is not quite right here, Mr. President.” Harper paused. Chesterton could almost hear the gears of Harper’s mind backing up and processing past information and missing pieces.
“Who’s attacking the site?”
“Early indications are the Chinese.”
“Chinese?” exclaimed an incredulous Harper. “On Ellesmere Island? I might have expected the Russians since they’re closer, but the Chinese? And why would they do such a thing?” Harper paused yet again. “It can’t be just the listening post. Even if the site were recording every single communication in all of China, they wouldn’t risk such an outrageous act. The diplomatic and economic consequences could be incalculable. It’s something else, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“It’s something you’re doing in that restricted portion of the site that we allowed you to set up.”
“That’s our assumption.”
“Well, Christ, Chesterton!” Harper exploded “You’ve obviously lied to us about the site’s purpose and now intend to illegally violate our territory to stop the Chinese from an attack on Canadian soil!”
Chesterton wanted to tell Harper to get off his high horse. The Canadians didn’t complain about the restricted site when they thought the United States was paying for the entire site construction and operation and thought they were getting free participation in its intelligence gathering. Yet he felt empathy for Harper’s outrage. Unfortunately, this was not the time to give in to those concerns.
“So, EXACTLY what is going on there? And don’t give me any bullshit about security. Not now.”
Chesterton knew the game was up, at least with the Canadians.
“What is happening has a security level literally off any chart, and I agree that you will be brought totally into it. Not that it matters at the moment, but we’ve been planning on doing this anyway in the coming year. The current circumstances make it necessary for this to happen as soon as we get this situation settled.”
Harbinger (The Janus Harbinger Book 1) Page 52
