Patrick McLanahan Collection #1

by Dale Brown

  …just as the AT-6 Spiral anti-tank missile slammed into the Pasdaran armored vehicle, setting it afire in a spectacular fireball. Wohl was thrown skyward by the concussion. The damned Pasdaran gunner got so target-fixated that he lined up and hit his own guys!

  Wohl rolled unsteadily to his feet, alive and mostly unhurt except his eyes and throat were clogged with oily smoke. The entire left side of his helmet, along with most of his sensors and communications, had been damaged in the blast. He had no choice but to take the helmet off. The blast had also ruined his hearing, and the acrid smoke burned his eyes and throat. He was a sitting duck. His first order of business was to get away from the burning vehicles behind him, which could be highlighting him…

  …but before he could move, a line of automatic gunfire stitched the ground in front of him, and the big Mi-24 Hind attack helicopter zoomed before him and stopped, the chin-mounted 30-millimeter cannon trained directly on him. His armor would protect his body, but that would be of no use to him without a head. Wohl had no idea if they would accept a surrender, but if they were distracted long enough it might provide the others a chance to escape, so he raised his hands. The Mi-24 started its descent to touchdown, and he could see the clamshell crew doors open on either side, with soldiers ready to dismount as soon as the big chopper set…

  …and at that instant there was a flash of fire on the right side of the attack chopper, followed by a large plume of smoke, more fire, an explosion, and a scream of metal, and then the big chopper spun to the left and hit the ground. Wohl dashed away just as the helicopter began to disintegrate in several more tremendous explosions. He was about to head back toward the others when he saw several vehicles, including an armored personnel carrier, approach. The lead vehicle, a pickup truck with a machine gunner in back, was flying a flag, but he couldn’t make it out yet. He thought about running away from where he last left Turlock, Macomber, and the Irishman…until he saw the vehicles veer left away from him and toward the hiding place.

  Wohl took off at top speed toward the vehicle at the tail end of the six-vehicle convoy, which had a machine gunner covering the rear of the formation. The other vehicles wouldn’t fire toward their own vehicles, and hopefully he could reach the machine gunner, disable him, and take the gun before he could get a shot off. Just a hundred yards to go…

  …and then he saw Turlock coming out of her hiding place, with her arms up. Was she surrendering? It might be good timing after all—if they were concentrating on them he had a better chance of reaching the last pickup truck and…

  …but then as he got closer Wohl realized that Turlock wasn’t raising her hands in surrender, but waving to him, motioning him back! Why was she doing this? Now she was pointing at the lead vehicle, the one with the flag…

  …and Wohl finally realized what she was trying to tell him. The flag the vehicle was carrying had the green, white, and red stripes of the Islamic Republic of Iran on it, but the center symbol wasn’t the “red tulip” stylized word “Allah,” but the profile of a lion carrying a sword with the rising sun behind it—the flag representing the pre-revolutionary era and the opposition to the Islamists.

  Chris trotted over to Turlock and Macomber, carefully watching to be sure none of the gunners pointed their weapons at him. “Not answering your phone, Sergeant Major?” Turlock asked, pointing to her ear, indicating his subcutaneous transceiver system.

  “Got my bell rung back there,” Wohl said. He nodded toward the newcomers. “Who are these guys?”

  “These are Buzhazi’s men,” Charlie said. “General McLanahan actually called Buzhazi and asked for help.”

  “They came right on time. Good thing they brought Stinger missiles with them.”

  “They didn’t shoot down the Hind, Sergeant Major.” Charlie pointed to the sky, and they saw the contrails of a very large aircraft high overhead. “Compliments of the general. They’ll be on station for another two hours.”

  “Outstanding. That should get us enough time to get across the border.”

  “The general suggests we head back toward Tehran with these guys,” Charlie said. “They’re bringing in a helicopter to pick us up, and the Vampires will cover for us.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a hot idea, ma’am.”

  “I’ll explain.” She did…and Wohl couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  You don’t hold your own in the world by standing on guard, but by attacking and getting well hammered yourself.

  —GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

  CAPITOL HILL, WASHINGTON, D.C.

  A SHORT TIME LATER

  “Frankly, Brit, I don’t care what the Russians say,” Senate majority leader Stacy Anne Barbeau said. She was in the second-floor area of the Senate normally used by reporters for “staking out” senators for comments on their way to the floor or between committee meetings. “They have been claiming all sorts of things for many months and none of them have been proven. Although I believe Leonid Zevitin to be a capable and forthright leader, the statements made by his foreign minister Alexandra Hedrov seem more shrill and bombastic every time we see her in the news. President Zevitin is certainly not like that at all, which naturally leads me to the obvious question: Who is telling the truth out there at the Kremlin these days, and who is lying, and for what purpose?”

  “But tomorrow there is a key vote in the Senate about funding for the U.S. military,” the reporter pressed, “and in the midst of all this wrangling about where to spend the money in the military, President Zevitin’s Cabinet members seem to be taking great pleasure in stirring up anxiety about another future confrontation. Are the two activities related, and if so to what end?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what is in the mind of a Russian, even one as Westernized, worldly, and charming as Leonid Zevitin,” Barbeau said. “I would think they would want to avoid rattling sabers at a time where we in the Congress are trying to determine the proper direction for the world’s greatest military force.”

  “But this is more than just saber-rattling, Senator,” the reporter went on. “There is definitely something stirring out there, Senator, and I’m not just talking about the turmoil in Iran, but with American military activities, isn’t there? To put it plainly, ma’am: We can’t seem to get out of our own way. The civil war in Iran is threatening to blow the entire Middle East into an inferno, and yet we’re not doing much of anything except sending unmanned reconnaissance aircraft over the region; oil prices are skyrocketing; the economy is sinking like a rock; Russia accuses us daily of killing civilians, bombing a civil relief base in Iran, and causing unrest and chaos around the world, especially with the Armstrong Space Station and our spaceplanes; the space program seems robust and substantial one day, then completely ineffectual the next. We even have a famous and well-loved American three-star general, the hero of the American Holocaust, in essence stranded in space because no one can tell us if he’s well enough to be brought back home. My question is, madam: What in the world is happening, what has Congress been told by the White House and the Pentagon, and what are you going to do about it?”

  Barbeau gave him her most appealing mind-blowing smile, again defining the phrase “making love to the camera” to millions of viewers as she replied: “Why, sir, what a dreadful picture of doom and gloom you are painting here this morning! Let me assure you, and everyone in your audience around the world, that the Congress of the United States is working very closely with the President and his department officials not only to deal with current and future crises as they rear their ugly heads, but to chart a course for America’s armed forces that is second to none, forward-looking, adaptable, scalable, and affordable. It has been less than five years since the American Holocaust, and three different governments have had to deal with the world as it has become since those awful attacks on our soil. We are making progress, but it will take time.”

  “So tell us how you envision the debate will develop, Senator. What’s on t
he table?”

  “The most important question for us right now is simply this: What is the best force to take the place of the land-based long-range strategic bombers and intercontinental ballistic missiles that were destroyed in the Holocaust?” Barbeau replied, still radiant even while wearing a stern, concerned, determined expression. “President Thorn favored land- and sea-based tactical air forces, both manned and unmanned, along with ballistic missile defense systems. President Martindale favored the same but, as advocated by his special adviser General Patrick McLanahan, also sought to ‘skip a generation,’ as he said, and develop a fleet of spaceplanes that could strike any target anywhere around the world with amazing speed, launch satellites into orbit whenever needed, and fly troops and equipment anywhere around the planet within hours.

  “As the former Secretary of Defense, Joseph Gardner supported those ideas and encouraged development of Armstrong Space Station, the entire constellation of space-based assets, and the Black Stallion spaceplane,” Barbeau went on. “The space program has taken some amazing strides and has greatly benefited the entire world—the global Internet access provided by our space program has without question truly changed all of our lives and brought our world together—but it has also suffered some serious setbacks. As President, Joseph Gardner has wisely recognized that perhaps the space-based defense force visualized by Patrick McLanahan wasn’t mature enough yet to serve America.”

  “So where does this leave us, Senator?” the host asked.

  “President Gardner has met with the leadership and proposed a more reliable, familiar, proven mix of weapon systems,” Barbeau said. “He wants to take the best concepts proposed by previous administrations and combine them in a comprehensive program to quickly stand up a credible force to meet the country’s needs.”

  “And which concepts are those, Senator?”

  “I can’t give you any specifics, Brit, or I’ll have a lot of very angry gentlemen nipping at my heels in short order,” Barbeau said sweetly. “But in a nutshell, we have the individual services do what the services do best, what has served the nation and the world so well for the past three generations but also recognizes changes in technology and our vision for the future: fully fund and support an expanded and strengthened Army and Marine Corps as the dominant land and special operations forces; fully support the Navy as the dominant sea and air force; and the Air Force as the dominant global support and space defense force.”

  “The Air Force wouldn’t be the dominant air force in the U.S. arsenal? That doesn’t seem right.”

  “Details have yet to be worked out, and of course I’m sure we will adjust and rearrange things as necessary to ensure the absolute best force we can build,” Barbeau began, “but it seems to President Gardner and we in the congressional leadership that there is a wasteful and costly overlap between the Air Force and Navy regarding tactical air forces. It all comes down to the basic notion, Brit, that Navy planes can do everything Air Force planes can do, but Air Force planes cannot do everything Navy planes can do—namely, take off and land on an aircraft carrier, which as everyone readily recognizes is the undisputed definition of power projection in the world today.”

  “And the President as we all know is a big supporter of the Navy, being the former Navy secretary.”

  “It’s a duplication of forces, plain and simple, and now is the time to address this if we want to have a robust, mature, twenty-first century fighting force,” Barbeau said. “We’re trying to think ahead. The Air Force is the proven expert in long-range strategic attack and rapid resupply, and the Navy has no such equivalent capability—it makes sense to give that mission to the Air Force and let the Navy have the mission of training and equipping tactical fighters for theater commanders around the world.”

  “Won’t your constituents in Louisiana object to this plan, Senator?”

  “I represent the finest, most patriotic, and most pro-military folks in the country, Brit: the good people of Barksdale Air Force Base near Bossier City, Louisiana—Bomber Town, USA,” Barbeau said. “But even the staunchest bomber supporters, like me, have seen the shift coming for years: the shift from World War Two–era land-based bombers to the importance of global reach, rapid mobility, unmanned aircraft, space technology, and most importantly, information warfare. The Air Force is and will remain the leader in these areas. We’ve seen this coming for years, and President Gardner and I think it’s time to design our twenty-first-century forces around this new reality.”

  “But the battles are just beginning, aren’t they, Senator?”

  “With President Gardner’s strong leadership and his steadfast pledge to work closely with Congress, I think the battles will be kept to the barest minimum. Together, we’ll prevail. The alternative is too awful to consider.”

  “So does this mean we’ll see the end of the Black Stallion spaceplanes and military space stations watching over us 24/7?”

  “The Black Stallion is a remarkable technological advancement, to be sure, but as we’ve seen with a man like General McLanahan, it has its risks and dangers,” Barbeau said, a serious look of concern briefly shadowing her features. “My heart sank when I learned of General McLanahan’s illness, and we are doing everything we can to bring him safely home. But my concern is this, Brit: Patrick…General McLanahan…is a powerful man. You know the stories as well as I, Brit…”

  “The ones about McLanahan being challenged by visiting heads of state and generals to rip their respective capital’s phone books in half?” the reporter filled in with a chuckle. “I thought that was a White House Press Corps rumor.”

  “It’s not a rumor, I assure you!” Barbeau exclaimed. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes—Patrick can rip a D.C. phone book in half as easily as you or I could rip a page out of your little notebook there. And yet he was still brought down by something difficult to detect, diagnose, or treat, something so debilitating that it could put the lives of every space crewman we have in jeopardy. There is great concern that the injury has affected more than just his heart.”

  The reporter’s mouth opened in surprise. “I haven’t heard anything about that, Senator. Would you care to elaborate? What exactly do you mean?”

  “It’s all just speculation and nonsense, I’m sure,” Barbeau said dismissively, acting as if she’d said something completely unintended but riveting the attention of every viewer by looking directly into the camera for a brief moment. “But we do need to fully understand what happened to him. We owe it to him because he is truly a national treasure, a hero in every sense of the word.

  “But the fundamental question remains: Can we afford to put our nation’s military future on hold while we study this awful catastrophe?” Barbeau asked resolutely, first looking at the reporter and then directly at the camera, right into the hearts of the viewers. “As responsible caretakers of our armed forces, sworn to build the best possible force to protect and defend our homeland and way of life, the answer is simple and obvious: the space defense force is not ready, and so we must turn to proven systems that we know will work. That’s our job here today, and with the cooperation of the President and the House, we’re going to get it done. The American people expect no less from us.”

  Stacy Anne Barbeau fielded more questions from the gaggle of reporters, until finally the officials of the Senate Press Gallery and Barbeau’s aide shooed them away and let her go. On the way to a late-night meeting in a committee conference room, she took a call on her cellular phone: “I thought you laid on the praise for McLanahan a little too thick, Stacy Anne,” President Joe Gardner said. “His ass will be grass here shortly.”

  “All the more reason to sing his praises, Mr. President,” Barbeau said, greeting supporters and colleagues as she walked and talked. “I advise you to do similarly, Mr. President: Let your Secretary of Defense, the pundits, the Russians, and the anti-military media trash him, not us.”

  “You won’t be saying that when you hear what just happened, Senator.”

&n
bsp; Barbeau’s mouth instantly turned dry. “What’s happened, Mr. President?” she asked, turning a puzzled expression to her aide, Colleen Morna. As they reached the conference room, Morna immediately shooed everyone else out so Barbeau could talk in private.

  “McLanahan lost it, and I mean completely,” Gardner said. She detected a slight hint of triumph in his voice, like he’d finally gotten something that Barbeau didn’t have and expected some quid pro quo for sharing it with her. “His people took over a Turkish air base, captured the base commander and most of the personnel with their manned robots, then launched another air mission over Iran.”

  Barbeau froze, and her mouth dropped open in complete shock before she exclaimed, “What!” Her expression was so alarming that her aide Colleen Morna thought she was having a heart attack. “I…I don’t believe it…”

  “What do you say about your knight in shining armor now, Stacy?” the President asked. “But you haven’t heard the best part. When the brass sent in some security units from Incirlik Air Base to arrest McLanahan’s people, they were gone. The planes and most of their stuff are gone. We have no idea where they are.”

  “They…they must be on their way back to the States, Mr. President…”

  “Not that anyone is aware, Stacy,” Gardner said. “McLanahan has stolen about four experimental attack planes and moved them somewhere. We hope they’re on their way back to Dreamland, their main base in south-central Nevada north of Vegas. If they are, McLanahan can be charged with conspiracy and sedition against the U.S. government. How about them apples? How’s your hero looking now?”