“Comrade President, I must say again, we must not send the Mao Zedong aircraft carrier battle group anywhere near Taiwan,” Sun said earnestly. “It would be seen as a large-scale provocation. I have a plan to draw the American carriers well within range of our shore-based attack planes. We would have the upper hand then. We must—”
“I said be silent, Admiral,” Chin said angrily. “That is your final warning.”
Admiral Sun looked as if he was going to continue the argument— but a reassuring glance from the president himself, Jiang Zemin, caused him to relent. He bowed, folded his hands, kept his head lowered, and did not raise his eyes again for most of the rest of the meeting. He’d taken the chance to get his ideas presented in front of the Commission, and he’d failed, and he’d dishonored himself in doing so.
“We will begin preparations for the invasion of Quemoy immediately,” President Jiang announced. “The carrier battle group will be diverted north with its invasion force to blockade the island. Within thirty days, comrades, victory will be ours! ”
BARKSDALE AIR FORCE BASE, NEAR SHREVEPORT, LOUISIANA FRIDAY, 30 MAY 1997, 0845 HOURS LOCAL (0945 HOURS ET)
“Like most transitions, my friends,” Air Force Lieutenant General Terrill Samson, commander of Eighth Air Force, began in a deep, emotional voice, “today we are witnesses to both an end and a beginning. Although you might have a tough task believing this is a happy occasion, I believe it truly is.” Samson was standing before a crowd of about two hundred out on the flight line in front of Base Operations at Barksdale Air Force Base, Louisiana. It was still early in the morning, and the event was scheduled early to avoid the inevitable summer heat and humidity common this time of year.
Flanking Samson was the wing commander of Air Combat Command s Second Bomb Wing, Brigadier General George Vidriano, along with members of the staff of Eighth Air Force, the major Air Force operational command that for years had organized, trained, and equipped America’s bomber forces, and Colonel Joseph Maxwell, commander of the 917th Wing of the Air Force Reserves based at Barksdale. Standing at parade rest next to him was a detail of officers and NCOs, carrying small blue-and-gold squadron guidons, representing the various squadrons based at Barksdale. Behind Samson were three Air Force aircraft, washed, waxed, and polished as brilliantly as if they had just rolled off the assembly line: a T-38 Talon jet trainer used for copilot proficiency training, an A-10 Thunderbolt II close-air support attack jet, and a huge, light gray B-52H Stratofortress strategic bomber, with cruise missiles hanging off its wing pylons.
“We are here today,” General Samson continued, “to stand down one of the world’s premier bomber units, the Second Bomb Wing, and to retire the last of this nation’s most successful aerial war machines, the B- 52 Stratofortress bomber. In the sixty-four year history of Barksdale Air Force Base, the men and women assigned here have stood at the forefront of our nation’s peace and security. They have proved this by an impressive string of awards and achievements: the Fairchild Trophy for the best bomber wing in bombing and navigation competition; twelve Air Force Outstanding Unit citations; and sixteen Eighth Air Force Outstanding Unit Awards.
“But what makes me proudest of this base’s legacy is its commitment to its community. The people of Bossier City and Shreveport, and the soldiers of Barksdale, have been tightly linked, supporting one another through good times and bad, through triumphs and tragedies. I was privileged to serve as a wing commander of the Second Bomb Wing during my career—the year we missed the Fairchild Trophy by missing one time-over-target by eleven seconds, I hasten to add—and so I know firsthand the link that has always existed between the uniformed and civilian members of the Bossier City and Shreveport community. It is a tradition that has set the standard for the rest of the United States’ armed services.
“I am pleased to tell you that the Air Force is giving back to this great community a great deal of the support that we have received over the decades. Barksdale Air Force Base will become Barksdale Jetport, with a variety of aviation and non-aviation businesses relocating here with state and federal assistance, including an aviation-career campus of Louisiana State University; the base hospital will become a joint Veterans Administration and community hospital; and the other buildings, housing units, and dormitories on base will be used for a variety of programs and industries, including job retraining and agricultural research.
“In addition, the men and women of the 9-17th Wing of the Air Force Reserves under Brigadier General selectee Maxwell will still be here with the A-10 Thunderbolt II, but will eventually transition from the B-52H to the B-1B Lancer bomber when all of the B-ls go to the Guard and Reserves; and the beautiful Eighth Air Force Museum will still be here, open to the public, mostly because of the generous support from our friends in western Louisiana and eastern Texas. The Air Force is committed to easing the impact of the loss of a one-hundred-and-sixty- million-dollar federal payroll to the citizens of the cities of Shreveport and Bossier City.”
Samson paused, fidgeted with his notes for a moment, then added solemnly, “I can also tell you that it has been announced by the Pentagon that Eighth Air Force will stand down, as of October first of this year.”
There was a plainly shocked expression from most of the audience and even from most of the staff—this was news to almost everybody. “For sixty years, Eighth Air Force has been synonymous with the heavy bomber,” Samson went on, sticking to his prepared remarks, even though he, like many in the audience, was obviously emotionally affected by the surprise announcement. “From northern Africa to Europe to Korea to Vietnam to the Kremlin to the Middle East, warplanes bearing the ‘Mighty Eighth’ seal have struck terror into the hearts of the enemy as they hunkered down against the relentless bombardment of our planes.
“Our planes were rarely pretty—the B-17, B-29, B-36, even the B- 52H behind me could hardly be called sexy except by a few romantic ex- crewdogs like myself. Our missions were certainly never very glamorous—Dresden, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Inchon Harbor, Linebacker Two, the Iraqi Second Corps and Republican Guards, and the nightmarish concept of MAD, or ‘mutually assured destruction.’ But the men, women, and machines of Eighth Air Force have always been victorious by the use of the world’s deadliest war machines, the heavy bomber. As the old saying goes, ‘fighters are fun, but bombers win wars,’ and that has been true ever since Lieutenant Eugene M. Barksdale of the Eighth Aero Group, Army Air Corps, the pioneer for whom this base was named, first carried a seven-pound mortar shell aloft in his Curtis- Wright Aero to test out the then-outlandish idea of dropping bombs from an airplane.”
Finally, the emotions welling to the surface could be contained no more. Ignoring the reporters and cameras—CNN was here, carrying this ceremony internationally, as were a number of local stations, but still the big three-star general ignored the warning lights flashing in his brain— Samson put aside his notes and affixed his audience with a deep, sincere stare, as he continued:
“As commander of Eighth Air Force, the major operational command in charge of Air Combat Command’s heavy and medium bomber forces, I can tell you that Em not in agreement with my superiors on their decision to drastically reduce the size of the bomber force by retiring all the B-52H and F-111F bombers and to turn all of the sixty operational B-1B Lancer bombers over to the Air National Guard and Air Force Reserves, with the other thirty B-l bombers going into flyable storage. This decision will leave Air Combat Command with only twenty active-duty long-range bombers, the B-2A Spirit stealth bombers, by the year 2000— yes, twenty bombers, twenty planes.” The audience, which was made up of community leaders and military dependents, all very knowledgeable of the Air Force’s plans for the heavy bomber force and how their plans affected their lives, shook their heads in sympathetic amazement.
“The argument is of course that the B-2 stealth bomber is that much more capable, that the threat has changed, and the B-52s and B-ls are too costly to maintain and don’t have enough precision-guided weapon
capability. The newer planes, the F-15s and F-16s and F-22s and the Navy birds with their laser-guided weapons, can perform surgical strikes on any target, while the ‘heavies’ lack a similar precision-kill capability and it would be far too costly to retrofit them to give them the same capability. I can’t argue with the fact that the B-2 is an incredible warplane and it is redefining strategic warfare almost every time it flies. I will also not argue that the threats facing the United States and its military have changed: we are no longer using nuclear deterrence to threaten any nation, a strategy that the people of Barksdale and the other warriors of the U.S. Air Force exemplified but whose time is now past. We now foresee numbers of low-intensity non-nuclear conflicts similar to Desert Storm, rather than a major intercontinental war between superpowers with the possible use of nuclear weapons.
“But I will continue to argue the fact that when a crisis of any size erupts anywhere in the world, there is only one weapon system in existence, short of nuclear weapons—which in my mind are totally obsolete, except for the very small numbers that should be kept in case of a totally unforeseen political occurrence—that can quickly and effectively reduce or even eliminate an enemy’s ability to wage war, and that is the heavy bomber,” Samson went on, gripping the sides of the podium, as if he had to restrain himself from pounding on it or rushing into the audience to punctuate his points. “With or without forward bases, with or without sea access, with or without warning, with or without cooperation from allies or other nations, only the long-range bombers, along with the tanker force and with the latest in standoff and near-precision guided- weapon technology, can destroy the enemy’s will to fight. In the opening days of a conflict, the intercontinental-range bombers would make the difference between stabilizing or even eliminating the crisis, and losing control of it.
“Twenty B-2 bombers plus the ready Reserve B-ls might be able to affect the course of a conflict in one region of the world for a few days, perhaps even a few weeks, until other land- or sea-based forces could arrive. My concern is, what if no other forces are available? What if the seas are denied us, unlikely as that scenario may be? We were lucky in Desert Storm because we had a great and powerful ally, Saudi Arabia, with large bases close to the action and plenty of fuel and with two major bodies of water under Coalition control to operate carriers and submarines. We were also very lucky because Saddam Hussein chose not to sweep into northern Saudi Arabia and destroy Riyadh, the Saudi oil fields, or the numerous Saudi military bases there, and instead allowed the Coalition a full six months to prepare for war. We should not rely on any of those advantages in the next conflict.
“And what if another even more serious conflict breaks out somewhere else in the world, so we are faced with two major low-intensity conflicts? In my opinion, eighty bombers, or whatever number of them that survive the first crisis, would be hard-pressed to respond to a second crisis elsewhere in the world with the speed and power necessary to make a difference.”
The audience was very quiet; a few nodding heads could be seen, a few surprised expressions at Samson speaking his mind so plainly. This was not an uplifting good-bye speech by the bomber forces commander—this was an ominous warning message. Samson paused to get his emotions under control; then he took a deep breath and continued: “I want to thank the men and women of Second Bomb Wing for your service, and also add a personal thank-you to the men and women of Eighth Air Force for your hard work and dedication to duty to the command, to our nation, and to me.
“And I know it seems silly to do so, but indulge me: I want to thank the B-52 bomber, and all the men and women who have taken them into battle and who have sat with them on nuclear alert, defending our homes, our freedom, our way of life, and protecting our allies. You’re only a big hunk of metal, ten thousand random parts flying in formation, but God bless you anyway.” The applause was unexpectedly loud and long, which greatly pleased General Samson, who took a long look at the B-52H behind him and gave it a thumbs-up. He then turned back to the audience, snapped to attention, and said in a loud voice, “Attention to orders from the commander in chief.”
“Wing, ten-hut ” General Vidriano shouted. The uniformed men and women came to attention, and the audience respectfully stood.
Samson was passed a blue binder, and he opened it and read, “By order of the commander in chief of the armed forces of the United States of America, the Second Bombardment Wing, Heavy, and its component squadrons, Barksdale Air Force Base, Louisiana, are hereby relieved of all combat and support duties and ordered to stand down this date.” The tears flowed again, from the big man at the podium to the combat veterans to the tough young security policemen guarding the line. “Your success in long-range bombardment missions, as well as in maintaining a strategic combat-ready posture over the years, has ensured the peace and security of the United States and of the free world, and reflects great credit upon yourselves and the United States Air Force. I am pleased to express the heartfelt thanks of a grateful nation. Mission accomplished. Job well done. Signed, The Honorable Arthur S. Chastain, Secretary of Defense; The Honorable Sheila F. Hewlett, Secretary of the Air Force; General Victor A. Hayes, Chief of Staff, United States Air Force. General Vidriano, carry out the orders.”
Vidriano saluted, then said in a loud voice, “Wing, present your colors!” Samson closed the binder, then left the podium and walked in front of the group of officers and their guidon-bearers. One by one, the individual squadrons were called out. As the squadron commander’s and senior NCOIC’s names, along with a little of each squadron’s history and major accomplishments, were read aloud to the audience, the officers and guidon-bearers stepped forward, and the guidon was rolled up on its staff, covered, and presented to the Second Bomb Wing commander, who gave it to his wing NCOIC. _
After all of the squadron guidons were furled and covered, General Vidriano then took the wing flag, the tip of its flag’s staff festooned with dozens of campaign ribbons won from more than fifty years of combat service, from his wing’s senior noncommissioned officer and, holding it in two hands, held it out stiffly with both arms fully extended and presented it to General Samson. “Sir, I present to you the Second Bomb Wing, Heavy, the best heavy bombardment wing in the world. The wing has stood down, as ordered.”
Samson saluted. “Thank you, General. Please personally thank your men and women for their outstanding service to the nation.”
At precisely the moment that General Samson took the wing flag in his hands, a loud rumbling was heard in the distance. The audience members looked up and saw an incredible sight: flanked by three T-38 Talon jet trainers that looked insectlike in comparison, a massive formation of twenty B-52 bombers passed slowly only 5,000 feet overhead, forming a gigantic number 2 in the sky. The sound of those huge planes passing overhead sounded as if a magnitude ten earthquake were in progress—metal folding chairs rattled, bits of dirt on the ground jumped like giant fleas, a thin cloud of dust began to rise over the ground stirred up by the vibration, car alarms in the nearby parking lot went off, and somewhere behind the audience a window shattered in the Base Operations building.
Soldiers yelled and screamed in delight, civilians put their hands to their ears and made comments to people beside them that couldn’t be heard, and children clutched their parents’ legs and cried in abject fear— and combat veteran and (at least until October 1) Eighth Air Force commander Lieutenant General Terrill Samson felt a lump of awe lodge in his throat, dredged up by a wellspring of pride from his heart. The sounds of cracking glass in the Base Ops building finally caused his emotions to bubble forth, and the big three-star general laughed until he cried, clapping as hard as a young kid at a circus. The audience happily joined in.
Even without dropping any iron, Samson thought gleefully, the damn BUFFs—the Big Ugly Fat Fuckers—could still do what they had done best for the past thirty-five years: they could still break things on the ground with power and ease.
As General Samson’s C-21A Learjet transport
plane pulled up to the VIP parking area in front of Base Ops a few hours after the stand- down ceremony ended, General Samson shook hands with Barksdale’s senior officers and enlisted men and women, returned their salutes, picked up his briefcase, and headed to the jet’s airstair. Normally Samson would insist on taking the pilot’s seat, but this time he had business to attend to, so he headed back to the cabin and strapped in at the commander’s seat at the small desk. The copilot ensured that the general was comfortable, gave a short safety briefing to the general and the other three passengers already aboard, and hurried back to the cockpit. The plane taxied back to the runway and was airborne again within minutes.
“Forgot how emotional these damn stand-down ceremonies can be,” Samson said to his three fellow passengers. “I’ve been presiding over too damn many of them.”
“Some pretty cool flying, though,” said Dr. Jon Masters, as he sipped from a can of Pepsi. Jon Masters, barely thirty years old, drank several such cans of sugar-laden beverages every day, but somehow was still as skinny as a pole, still had all his teeth, and still had no detectable chemical imbalances or vitamin deficiencies. “They must’ve been practicing that formation for days.”
“Weeks, Dr. Masters,” Samson said. “That’s all the flying they’ve been doing lately.” He looked over at passenger number two, paused as if considering whether or not he should do it, then stuck out a hand. “How the hell are you, Brad?”
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