Patrick McLanahan Collection #1

by Dale Brown

  “Yes, sir,” she replied enthusiastically. She stood to attention, thrusting her chest out to him, before glancing at him mischievously, slowly turning on a heel, and departing.

  He knew he had her pegged, he thought happily as he released the button. “Give me a minute, Signals,” he said, reaching for a cigarette.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Shit, Gardner cursed to himself, what in hell does Zevitin want now? He pressed the buzzer button to summon his chief of staff Walter Kordus. He was going to have to review the policy he’d established of immediately taking calls from Zevitin, he thought—he was starting to speak with him almost on a daily basis. Ninety seconds and a half a cigarette later: “Put him through, Signals,” he ordered, stubbing out the cigarette.

  “Yes, Mr. President.” A moment later: “President Zevitin is on the line, secure, sir.”

  “Thank you, Signals. Leonid, this is Joe Gardner. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Joe,” Zevitin replied in a not-so-pleasant tone. “But I’m concerned, man, real concerned. I thought we had a deal.”

  Gardner reminded himself to stay on guard while talking to this guy—he sounded so much like an American that he could be talking to someone from the California congressional delegation or some Indiana labor union leader. “What are you talking about, Leonid?” The chief of staff entered the President’s office, picked up the dead extension so he could listen in, and turned on his computer to start taking notes and issuing orders if necessary.

  “I thought we agreed that we would be notified whenever you’d fly manned spaceplane missions, especially into Iran,” Zevitin said. “This is really worrisome, Joe. I’m working hard to try to defuse the situation in the Middle East and keep the hard-liners in my government in check, but your activities with the Black Stallions only serve to—”

  “Hold on, Leonid, hold on,” Gardner interrupted. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. What Black Stallion missions?”

  “C’mon, Joe—do you think we can’t see it? Do you think it’s invisible? We picked it up as soon as it crossed the horizon over the Greenland Sea.”

  “One of the spaceplanes is flying over Greenland?”

  “It’s over southwestern China now, Joe, according to our space surveillance and tracking units,” Zevitin said. “C’mon, Joe, I know you can’t talk about ongoing classified military missions, but it’s not hard to guess what they’re going to do, even if it is the Black Stallion spaceplane we’re talking about. Orbital mechanics are as predictable as sunrise and sunset.”

  “Leonid, I—”

  “I know you can’t confirm or deny anything—you don’t have to, because we know what’s going to happen,” Zevitin went on. “It is obvious that in the next orbit, in about ninety minutes, it will be directly over Iran. We expect it to begin deorbit maneuvers in about forty-five minutes, which will put it directly over the Caspian Sea when its atmospheric engines and flight controls will become active. You’re obviously flying a mission into Iran, Joe. I thought we had an agreement: hands off Iran while we pursue a diplomatic solution to the military coup and the murder of the elected Iranian officials.”

  “Hold on, Leonid. Stand by a sec.” Gardner hit the MUTE button. “Get Conrad in here,” he ordered, but Kordus had already hit the button to page the National Security Adviser. Gardner released the MUTE button. “Leonid, you’re right, I can’t talk about any ongoing operations. You just have to—”

  “Joe, I’m not calling to discuss anything. I’m pointing out to you that we can clearly see one of your spaceplanes in orbit right now, and we had no idea you were going to launch one. After all we’ve discussed over the past several weeks, I can’t believe you’d do this to me. When they find out about this, my Cabinet and the Duma will think I’ve been duped, and they’ll demand I take action, or else I’ll lose all the support for our cooperative efforts and rapprochement I’ve taken months to cultivate. You cut the rug out from under me, Joe.”

  “Leonid, I’m in the middle of an important meeting, and I need to finish up what I’m doing first,” the President lied, impatiently rising to his feet and resisting the urge to yell outside his door for Carlyle and Kordus to tell him what in hell was going on. “I assure you, we don’t have any actions under way against Russia anywhere, in any fashion—”

  “‘Against Russia?’ That sounds like an alarming equivocation, Joe. What does that mean? Are you launching an operation against someone else?”

  “Let me clear my desk and finish this briefing, Leonid, and I’ll fill you in. I’ll—”

  “I thought we agreed, Joe: essential flights only until we had a treaty governing military travel in space,” Zevitin pressed. “As far as we can tell, the spaceplane isn’t going to dock with the space station, so this is not a logistical mission. I know things are bad in Iran and Iraq, but bad enough to stir up widespread fear by launching a Black Stallion? I think not. This is a complete disaster, Joe. I’m going to get butchered by the Duma and the generals—”

  “Don’t panic, Leonid. There’s a rational and completely benign explanation. I’ll call you back as soon as I can and—”

  “Joe, you had better be straight with me, or else I won’t be able to rein in the opposition leaders and some of the more powerful generals—they’ll all be clamoring for an explanation and a strong response in kind,” Zevitin said. “If I can’t give them a plausible answer, they’ll start searching for one themselves. You know I’m holding on by a shoestring out here. I need your cooperation or everything we’ve worked for will unravel.”

  “I’ll call you right back, Leonid,” Gardner said. “But I assure you, on my honor, that nothing is going on. Absolutely nothing.”

  “So our ambassadors and observers on the ground in Tehran shouldn’t be worried about another hypersonic missile slamming through the ceiling any moment now?”

  “Don’t even joke about that, Leonid. It’s not going to happen. I’ll call you back.” He impatiently hung up the phone, then wiped the beads of sweat off his upper lip. “Walter!” he shouted. “Where the hell are you? And where’s Conrad?”

  The two advisers trotted into the executive suite moments later. “Sorry, Mr. President, but I was downloading the latest spacecraft status report from Strategic Command,” National Security Adviser Conrad Carlyle said. “It should be on your computer.” He accessed the computer on the President’s desk, opened a secure file location, and quickly scanned the contents. “Okay, it’s right here…yes, General Cannon, commander of U.S. Strategic Command, authorized a spaceplane launch about four hours ago, and the mission was approved by Secretary Turner.”

  “Why wasn’t I notified of this?”

  “The mission is described as ‘routine,’ sir,” Carlyle said. “Crew of two, three passengers, six orbits of the Earth and return to Elliott Air Force Base, total mission duration ten hours.”

  “What is this, a fucking joy ride? Who are the passengers? I ordered essential missions only! What in hell is going on? I thought I grounded all of the spaceplanes.”

  Carlyle and Kordus exchanged puzzled expressions. “I…I’m not aware of an order grounding the spaceplanes, sir,” Carlyle responded feebly. “You did recall the SkySTREAK bombers from their patrols, but not the space—”

  “I had a deal with Zevitin, Conrad: No more spaceplane launches without first notifying him,” Gardner said. “He’s hopping mad about the launch, and so am I!”

  Carlyle’s brows knitted, and his mouth opened and closed with confusion. “I’m sorry, Joe, but I’m not aware of any agreement we made with Zevitin to inform him of anything dealing with the spaceplanes,” he said finally. “I know he’s been clamoring for that—he rants and raves to every media outlet in the world that the spaceplanes are a danger to world peace and security because they can be mistaken for an intercontinental ballistic missile, and he’s demanding that we notify him before we launch one—but there’s been no formal agreement about—”

  “Didn’t I order Can
non to be sure that those spaceplanes and any space weapons didn’t enter sovereign airspace, even if it meant keeping them on the ground?” the President thundered. “They were to stay out of any country’s airspace at all times. Didn’t I give that order?”

  “Well…yes, sir, I believe you did,” Kordus replied. “But the spaceplanes can easily fly above a country’s airspace. They can—”

  “How can they do that?” the President asked. “We have airspace that’s restricted from the surface to infinity. Sovereign airspace is all the airspace above a nation.”

  “Sir, as we’ve discussed before, under the Outer Space Treaty no nation can restrict access or travel through outer space,” Carlyle reminded the President. “Legally space begins one hundred kilometers from Earth’s surface. The spaceplane can climb into space quickly enough while over friendly countries, open ocean, or the ice packs, and once up there can fly around without violating anyone’s sovereign airspace. They do it—”

  “I don’t give a shit what it says in an obsolete forty-year-old treaty!” the President thundered. “For many months we have been involved in discussions with Zevitin and the United Nations to come up with a way to alleviate the anxiety felt by many around the world to spaceplane and space station operations without restricting our own access to space or revealing classified information. Until we had something worked out, I made it clear that I didn’t want the spaceplanes flitting around unnecessarily making folks nervous and interfering with the negotiations. Essential missions only, and that meant resupply and national emergencies—I had to personally approve all other missions. Am I mistaken, or have I not approved any other spaceplane flights recently?”

  “Sir, General Cannon must have felt it important enough to launch this flight without—”

  “Without my approval? He thinks he can just blast off into space without anyone’s permission? Where’s the emergency? Is the spaceplane going to dock with the space station? Who are the three passengers? Do you even know?”

  “I’ll put in a call to General Cannon, sir,” Carlyle said, picking up the phone. “I’ll get all the details right away.”

  “This is a damned nightmare! This is out of control!” the President thundered. “I want to know who’s responsible for this, and I want his ass out! Do you hear me? Unless war has been declared or aliens are attacking, I want whoever’s responsible for this shit-canned! I want to speak with Cannon myself!”

  Carlyle put his hand over the phone’s mouthpiece as he waited and said, “Sir, I suggest I speak with General Cannon. Keep an arm’s-length distance from this. If it’s just a training flight or something, you don’t want to be perceived as jumping off the deep end, especially after just speaking with the president of Russia.”

  “This is serious, Conrad, and I want it clear to my generals that I want those spaceplanes under tight control,” the President said.

  “Are you sure that’s how you want to handle it, Joe?” Kordus asked in a quiet voice. “Reaching down past Secretary Turner to dress down a four-star general is bad form. If you want to beat someone up, pick on Turner—he was the final authority for that spaceplane launch.”

  “Oh, I’ll give Turner a piece of my mind too, you can bet on that,” the President said angrily, “but Cannon and that other guy, the three-star—”

  “Lieutenant General Backman, commander of CENTAF.”

  “Whatever. Cannon and Backman have been fighting me too hard and too long over this space defense force idea of McLanahan’s, and it’s about time to bring them back into line—or, better, get rid of them. They’re the last holdouts of Martindale’s Pentagon brain trust, and they want the space stuff because it builds up their empires.”

  “If you want them gone, we’ll get rid of them—they all serve at the pleasure of the commander-in-chief,” Kordus said. “But they’re still very powerful and popular generals, especially with congressmen who are for the space program. They may push their own plans and programs while in uniform, but as disgraced and disgruntled retired generals, they’ll attack you openly and personally. Don’t give them a reason.”

  “I know how the game is played, Walter—hell, I made most of the rules,” the President said hotly. “I’m not afraid of the generals, and I shouldn’t be worried about tiptoeing around them—I’m the damned commander-in-chief. Get Turner on the line right away.” He reached over and snatched the phone out of the National Security Adviser’s hand. “Signals, what the hell is going on? Where’s Cannon?”

  “Stand by, sir, he should be connecting any second now.” A few moments later: “Cannon here, secure.”

  “General Cannon, this is the President. Why the hell did you authorize that spaceplane to launch without my authority?”

  “Uh…good afternoon, sir,” Cannon began, perplexed. “As I explained to the Secretary of Defense, sir, it’s a pre-positioning flight only while we await final approval for a mission inside Iran. With the spacecraft in orbit, if we got approval it would be easy to insert the team, do their job, then get them out again. If it was not approved, it would be equally easy to return them to base.”

  “I specifically ordered no spaceplanes to cross foreign borders without my approval.”

  “Sir, as you know, once the spaceplane is above the sixty-mile threshold, it’s—”

  “Don’t give me that Outer Space Treaty crap!” the President thundered. “Do I have to spell it out for you? I don’t want the spaceplanes in orbit unless it’s to support the space station or it’s an emergency, and if it’s an emergency it had better be a damned serious one! The rest of the world thinks we’re getting ready to launch attacks from space…which apparently is exactly what you are planning, behind my back!”

  “I’m not hiding anything from anyone, sir,” Cannon argued. “Without orders to the contrary, I launched the spaceplanes on my own authority with strict orders that no one crosses into any sovereign airspace. That is my standing general order from SECDEF. Those instructions have been complied with to the letter.”

  “Well, I’m rescinding your authority, General,” the President said. “From now on, all movements of any spacecraft will need my direct permission before execution. Do I make myself clear, General? You had better not put so much as a rat in space without my permission!”

  “I understand, sir,” Cannon said, “but I don’t recommend that course of action.”

  “Oh? And why not?”

  “Sir, keeping that level of control on any military asset is dangerous and wasteful, but it’s even more critical with the space launch systems,” Cannon said. “Military units need one commander to be effective, and that should be a theater commander with instantaneous and constant access to information from the field. The spaceplanes and all of our space launch systems are designed for maximum speed and flexibility, and in an emergency they’ll lose both if final authority remains in Washington. I strongly recommend against taking operational command of those systems. If you’re not happy with my decisions, sir, then may I remind you that you can dismiss me and appoint another theater commander to have control of the spaceplanes and other launch systems.”

  “I’m well aware of my authority, General,” Gardner said. “My decision stands.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now who the hell is aboard that spaceplane, and why wasn’t I informed of this mission?”

  “Sir, along with the two flight crewmembers, there are three members of General McLanahan’s Air Battle Force ground operations unit aboard the spaceplane,” Cannon responded tonelessly.

  “McLanahan? I should have known,” the President spat. “That guy is the definition of a loose cannon! What was he up to? Why did he want that spaceplane launched?”

  “They were being pre-positioned in orbit pending approval for a reconnaissance and interdiction mission inside Iran.”

  “‘Pre-positioned’? You mean, you sent a spaceplane and three commandos over Iran without my permission? On your sole authority?”

  “I have the a
uthority to pre-position and forward-deploy forces anywhere in the world to support my standing orders and fulfill my command’s responsibilities, sir,” Cannon said testily. “The spaceplanes were specifically directed not to enter any foreign airspace without permission, and they have fully complied with that order. If they do not receive authorization to proceed with their plan, they are directed to return to base.”

  “What kind of nonsense is this, General? This is the spaceplane we’re talking about—loaded with McLanahan’s armed robots, I assume, correct?”

  “It’s not nonsense, sir—it’s how this command and all major theater commands normally operate,” Cannon said, trying mightily to keep his anger and frustration in check. Gardner was the former Secretary of the Navy and Secretary of Defense, for God’s sake—he knew this better than anyone…! “As you know, sir, I give orders to pre-position and forward-deploy thousands of men and women all over the world every day, both in support of routine day-to-day operations as well as in preparation for contingency missions. They all operate within standing orders, procedural doctrine, and legal limits. They don’t deviate one iota until given a direct execution order by myself, and that order isn’t given until I receive a go-ahead from the national command authority—you, or the Secretary of Defense. It doesn’t matter if we’re talking about one spaceplane and five personnel, or an aircraft carrier battle group with twenty ships, seventy aircraft, and ten thousand personnel.”

  “You seem to believe that the spaceplanes are simple little windup toy planes that no one notices or cares about, General,” the President said. “You may think it’s routine to send a spaceplane over Iran or an aircraft carrier battle group off someone’s coastline, but I assure you, the entire world is in mortal fear of them. Wars have been started by far less. It’s obvious your attitude toward the weapons systems under your command has to change, General, and I mean now.” Cannon had no response. “What members of McLanahan’s Battle Force are aboard?”