Patrick McLanahan Collection #1

by Dale Brown

  Russian Federation

  A short time later

  Nikolai Stepashin came into the conference room almost at a dead run, a message form in his hand. The president was looking over reports from all over the world, shaking his head—none of it was good. “How in hell did the press get the news about the attack on Shemya so fast, and in so much detail?” Gryzlov asked when he heard Stepashin enter the room. “The Americans must have reporters embedded right on board their airborne military command post.” He looked up and noticed the panicked expression on the chief of the general staff’s face. “McLanahan…?” Gryzlov asked, jumping to his feet.

  “Unknown as yet, sir,” Stepashin said. “It appears our air base at Petropavlovsk came under antiradar-missile attack again.”

  “What losses on our side?”

  “Two MiG-29s from Petropavlovsk.” Gryzlov grimaced in surprise and disappointment. The MiG-29s were among the world’s best fighters, but they were taking heavy losses tonight. “The airfield itself is temporarily shut down—some bomblets were scattered on the runways and taxiways.”

  “Have we done anything to the enemy yet, Stepashin?”

  “One fighter reported downing a large aircraft, type unknown, about sixty kilometers east of Petropavlovsk,” Stepashin responded. “No more attacks occurred after it was taken out, even though Petropavlovsk’s radar was down and there were no fighters on patrol for several minutes.”

  “That’s good—that is very good,” Gryzlov said. “Whatever was hit must have been very costly to them. If McLanahan used unmanned attack aircraft to attack Petropavlovsk, perhaps the aircraft we downed was their control mothership; or, even better, perhaps it was a manned Megafortress or Vampire. Destroying one of those planes is akin to shooting down an entire flight of our best fighter-bombers. Americans have no stomach for protracted battle. If they can’t win in one night’s worth of bombing, or if they lose more than a few troops, they’ll go home.

  “It hurt them, Nikolai, I know it did,” the Russian president remarked, wearing a rare smile. “McLanahan’s forces must be stretched to the limit. Every aircraft we shoot down means he has fewer and fewer resources to draw upon. If we can remove one of his tankers, he’ll have to think twice before flying his bombers out to the far east.”

  He studied the wall chart of Siberia again. “He’s a little bit behind schedule,” Gryzlov said. “I would’ve expected attacks on Magadan or Vladivostok by now. I want ops-normal reports from every one of our Far East Military District bases every hour. Keep your men ready, General. In a very short time, McLanahan is going to attack. He knows now that he can be hurt. Let’s just see what he is made out of.”

  Yakutsk Air Base, Russia

  A short time later

  Less than two hours after passing the Kamchatka Peninsula, sadly leaving their escort Vampire bomber behind, the two MC-17 cargo planes were safely inside hangars at Yakutsk, and the EB-52s and EB-1Cs were being loaded. The MC-17s brought in enough weaponry to completely load four EB-52s and two EB-1Cs, plus refuel the two deployed AL-52s. Patrick’s armada at Yakutsk already included two manned EB-1Cs loaded and on defensive patrol, along with two unmanned EB-1Cs dedicated to refueling and rearming StealthHawk unmanned attack aircraft. In addition, Patrick had two EB-52 Megafortresses and one AL-52 Dragon battleship on patrol, plus two KC-10 Extender aerial-refueling tankers, with one continuously airborne to support the patrol planes.

  At the end of the day, Patrick and “Shade” O’Dea landed their EB-52 for rearming and refueling, and so Patrick could attend the mass briefing. He assembled the men and women together in the base-operations building’s conference room. The crews were beyond dog tired—they were zombies, guzzling hours-old coffee and trying to keep their drooping eyelids from closing completely. Patrick was stunned to realize how small his force was.

  But he was even more surprised to see these hardworking professionals come to attention when he stepped into the room. Through the nearly seventy-two hours of almost continuous flying, mission planning, and preflighting, they still cared enough to practice military etiquette.

  “As you were, ladies and gentlemen,” Patrick said. The crews, already on their feet in an effort to stay awake, shuffled to more relaxed positions, stifling yawns and draining coffee cups. “First of all, I have no news on General Furness and Colonel Mace. The Pave Dasher and an MC-130 are out looking for them. I have asked Colonel Cheshire to task one Megafortress crew to head out there to provide air cover for the rescue effort.

  “Here’s the situation as we know it: Despite promising the president of the United States that they would disarm, the Russians attempted to attack Eareckson Air Base with nuclear weapons and have now deployed their mobile ICBMs and appear to be ready to launch them. Our mission tonight is to find and destroy numerous Russian intercontinental-ballistic-missile sites—a total of six SS-18 launch-control centers and seventy-two silos, plus one hundred and eighty road-mobile SS-25 units. If we are successful, we’ll eliminate almost half of the Russians’ land-based intercontinental-ballistic-missile fleet, which, after the attack on the U.S., will bring us to rough parity and may avert another nuclear exchange.

  “The Russians have a very sophisticated and dense antiaircraft network, and it is fully functional and on the highest state of alert. We have the advantage of stealth and precision firepower, but the Russians are fielding twenty fighters and at least fifty surface-to-air missiles for every one of our bombers. The National Command Authority made the decision not to use nuclear weapons of any kind, not even enhanced radiation, microyield, or electromagnetic-pulse weapons, for fear of precipitating an all-out nuclear exchange. This means we have to go after the ICBMs without any defensive laydowns whatsoever. It’s a lousy hand we’ve been dealt. Normally, I would have done whatever I felt necessary to get the job done, even if it meant using special weapons, but I feel we can do the job without them. If I’m wrong”—he paused, looking each man and woman in the room straight in the eye—“I’ll burn in hell along with Gryzlov and all the other nutcases who started this war.

  “Here’s the lineup for tonight: Bobcat Two-three has the longest drive—two SS-18 launch-control centers at Aleysk with Wolverine thermium-nitrate penetrator cruise missiles, plus Wolverine cruise missiles dropping thermium-nitrate bomblets on all twenty-four of their silos. We’ve modified the Wolverine missiles with delayed-action fuzes so the missiles will penetrate at least a hundred feet underground before the warheads detonate, which gives us a good chance of taking out the underground launch-control centers. We don’t know if the bomblets will be strong enough to do any damage on the silo doors, but it’s the best we have. All we need to do is try to dislodge the doors from their tracks or jam them closed, and we’ve done our jobs. Bobcat Two-four will do the same on the SS-18 wing at Uzhur, which has four LCCs and forty-eight silos.

  “Bobcat One-two and One-three will locate and attack the SS-25 units at Novosibirsk and Barnaul, with StealthHawks and Longhorns. Right now we’re targeting the garrison locations where a number of SS-25 launch units have been dispersed to. We’re hoping to tag as much as fifty percent of their road units in their garages. You also have locations of known field-dispersal and launch points that we’ve seen the Russians use in the past, so your job will be to keep an eye on those locations in case any units show up. Bobcat One-four will attack the SS-25 wings at Irkutsk. Bobcat Two-five will attack the SS-25 wing at Kansk, and Bobcat Two-six will attack the SS-25 wing at Drovyanaya.

  “Colonel O’Dea and I, in Bobcat One-one, along with Bobcat Two-seven, have a special task,” Patrick went on. “Our job is to seek out and destroy four SS-24 rail-mobile ICBM squadrons that our intelligence tells us have been dispersed north of Krasnoyarsk on the national rail lines. Each SS-24 squadron carries three missiles, each of those with a ten-thousand-mile range—long enough to decimate every American city and military base on planet Earth. They were supposed to be taken out of service years ago, but they’re still out there, so
we must assume that if they violated that provision of the START II Treaty, they violated more, and thus they still have their full complement of ten independently targetable warheads. Bobcats One-five and Two-eight will stay behind to guard Yakutsk until the MC-17s depart and to provide backup for all other sorties, and Bobcat One-eight will provide air cover for search-and-rescue forces out in the Bering Sea.

  “The AL-52 Dragon aircraft, Bobcat Three-one and Three-two, will take up patrol orbits over two locations. They’ll be in a position to cover our ingress and egress on our strikes, and in case the Russians fire any missiles, they’ll be able to intercept them.

  “After your assigned attacks, withhold any weapons you have left for follow-on attacks or any other pop-up targets you might encounter or that are datalinked to you,” Patrick said. “Follow your egress routings to the Sea of Japan and the Pacific Ocean, and rendezvous with your assigned tankers. The planned recovery base is Battle Mountain, but we may be sending you directly to dispersal bases if Battle Mountain has come under attack. Questions or comments?” Patrick fielded a few, and then they received a weather briefing and current threat analysis.

  Finally, when the last briefer finished, Patrick moved to the front of the room again. “Ladies and gentlemen, if we’re successful tonight, we can seriously degrade between one-third and one-half of Russia’s ICBM force,” he said. “We call this base ‘Camp Vengeance.’ Taking this base marks the beginning of the American counteroffensive against Russia. If we’re successful, we might even the score and avert any more nuclear exchanges. That’s not a certainty by any means, but at the very least it’ll be exactly what this base was named for: vengeance.”

  Patrick paused for a moment, then said, “I want to let you all know, before we get airborne again, that it’s been a privilege to serve with you. You have all proved that you truly are the best of the best. You’ve gotten this far with skill, determination, professionalism, and audacity. Now we need to put every ounce of that skill to the test. I know you can do it. We will prevail, and with God’s help we’ll all be on our way home very soon. Good luck, good hunting. I’ll see you all airborne in about one hour.”

  Ryazan’ Alternate Military Command Center

  That same time

  Anatoliy Gryzlov was on the phone to a member of the Duma when he looked up and saw something he very rarely saw—General Nikolai Stepashin chewing out some young officer, screaming at the top of his lungs at him—and then actually striking him in the face! Oh, shit, he thought, this looks very serious.

  “Get a confirmation from the commanding general,” Stepashin was saying when Gryzlov approached him. “I need to know exactly what he saw, as soon as possible!”

  “What is it, Nikolai?”

  “Sir, a report came in early this morning that said an Ilyushin-78 tanker aircraft was damaged at Yakutsk.”

  Gryzlov’s blood turned ice cold, and his eyes bugged out in shock. “This morning!?” he shouted.

  “Sir, the message came in saying an aircraft was ‘damaged’—that’s all,” Stepashin said excitedly. “The lieutenant who took the report asked to speak with the commanding general at the base. He did not get to speak with him because the commander was at the crash scene, but then the lieutenant forgot to follow up, thinking it was just a minor accident. He finally followed up a short time ago and reported in his log that yefreytor radio operators at Yakutsk confirmed the accident but said that it was minor and that investigators and commanders were investigating, but gave no other details except to insist that it was not a result of hostile action. However, we also learned that the base has been closed off all day. Day-shift workers were turned away supposedly because of a hazardous chemical spill, believed to be weapons-related but unconfirmed. I ordered a security team from Magadan to fly out via the fastest way available to investigate and report back to me at once.”

  “Did anyone speak with the commanding general?”

  “The operator said he was at the crash site, sir. That is highly unusual and not standard procedure, but—”

  “It is not just unusual, Stepashin—it is not the truth!” Gryzlov shouted. “I don’t know how, but McLanahan is there.”

  “McLanahan?” Stepashin had to consciously keep from rolling his eyes and snorting in disgust in front of the president of the Russian Federation and the Commonwealth of Independent States. “Sir, Yakutsk is a support base in the middle of Siberia. They have aerial-refueling tankers and a long runway, and that is all. Why would McLanahan shoot down a tanker over Siberia?”

  “The answer is obvious, Stepashin—McLanahan knows that our bombers cannot strike America without tanker support, and Yakutsk was central to the plan,” Gryzlov said. He shook his head, his mind frantically calculating and plotting. “I underestimated McLanahan again, Stepashin. I believed he would use his stealth bombers and high-tech weapons to destroy our bomber bases. Instead he attacked Yakutsk. He knows that without the tankers we cannot mount another attack on the American mainland.”

  Stepashin appeared relieved. “If it is true, sir, it was a daring attack,” he said warily, “but he drove his planes a very long way for nothing. We can ascertain very quickly if Yakutsk has been destroyed or if he simply shot down a few tankers. But he bypassed several more viable targets just to attack a relatively unimportant support base. The air base at Petropavlovsk was attacked but is still operational; our sub bases at Rybachiy and Vladivostok, our naval base at Magadan, and our air bases at Kavaznya and Anadyr are still fully operational. It was a pinprick, an irritation, nothing more. Even if he managed to destroy a number of tankers, we can reconstitute those lost forces quickly.”

  “They may be just pinpricks to you, General, but McLanahan’s attacks are targeted for a very specific purpose,” Gryzlov said. “He attacks radar sites and fighter airfields because that allows him to fly larger, less stealthy aircraft such as tankers and transports through our airspace. Besides, this is not like the army, where the loss of a few tanks or artillery pieces means little, General. Aerial-refueling tankers are force multipliers. A long-range bomber needs several of them to be effective. McLanahan knows that if he can destroy even a few tankers at just one key base, he degrades dozens, perhaps hundreds of bombers, fighters, reconnaissance, intelligence, and transport planes.” He paused, a thought still nagging at his head. “Get in contact immediately with the commanding general at Yakutsk, Nikolai. Something else is happening there, I know it.”

  “I have a call in already, sir.” At that moment a phone rang, and Stepashin snatched it up. He listened for a moment.

  And then Gryzlov saw the look of complete fear in Stepashin’s face, and he knew that McLanahan’s real plan was now finally going to reveal itself. “What happened, General?” Gryzlov growled.

  “The security team I dispatched from Magadan Air Base overflew the tanker-crash site in a MiG-27, then overflew the base after receiving very confused and improper radio transmissions from the control tower at Yakutsk,” Stepashin said. “He reports seeing several American B-52 and B-1 bombers taxiing around on the field!”

  “Taxiing at Yakutsk Air Base?” Gryzlov shouted. His stunned expression quickly turned into one of disbelief, then to amazement and grudging respect. “Of course—it makes sense now,” he said. “His last safe refueling for his bombers has to be at least two thousand kilometers away, back over the Aleutians. He would not risk taking a large, unstealthy tanker across Siberia with his stealthy bombers. And although his bombers can easily make it back out to Alaska with one refueling, having a landing base inside Russia greatly expands his…his…”

  Gryzlov stopped in midsentence, his mouth agape, and then he walked over to the wall chart of Russia, studying the territory around Yakutsk, measuring off distances with his fingers used as a plotter. “My God…it’s brilliant,” he gasped. He paused, nodded, then said, “I want Yakutsk Air Base attacked at once,” Gryzlov said.

  “Sir?”

  “Attacked—destroyed if necessary,” Gryzlov said. �
��Every hangar, every meter of runway, every aircraft that doesn’t look like a Russian aircraft must be destroyed at once. Use nuclear weapons if you have to.”

  “You cannot be serious, sir!” Stepashin exploded. “You are ordering the use of nuclear weapons on Russian soil?”

  “Don’t you see, Stepashin?” Gryzlov asked. “McLanahan knows exactly what we based our entire attack strategy on—building a tanker base in Siberia allowed us to fly our bombers halfway around the world with impunity. Now McLanahan occupies that base! From Yakutsk he has an almost unlimited supply of jet fuel, from our own Siberian oil fields, and he is within unrefueled heavy-bomber range of every military base in Russia!” He pointed to the chart. “He has to be stopped before he can launch his attacks. I want you to order a cruise-missile barrage into that base immediately. Do whatever it takes, but you must stop him from launching his bombers from Yakutsk! Give the order—now!”

  Yakutsk Air Base, Russian Federation

  A short time later

  Patrick’s chest couldn’t help but swell with pride as he watched his little air armada taxi for takeoff. Five EB-1C Vampires and four EB-52 Megafortress flying battleships, plus one KC-10 Extender aerial-refueling tanker, all lined up and getting ready for launch.

  This would be a very impressive display of American firepower anywhere in the United States—but to think that they were getting ready to launch from a Russian air base, getting ready to attack Russian missile sites, was even more incredible. This mission was possible only because he had professional, hard-charging troops willing to sacrifice to make his plan happen. These aviators were the hardest-working, most dedicated men and women he had ever served with. He couldn’t believe how privileged he was to be leading them.

  “Got some updates being transmitted to you, sir,” Dave Luger radioed. “A few more SS-25s moved out of garrisoned positions in a real big hurry. We’re thinking that maybe the Russians are starting to disperse more units.”