Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 06

by Fatal Terrain (v1. 1)

  “And how long can you possibly keep that up? ” Secretary of Defense Chastain asked. “Aren’t you afraid of exhausting your crews?”

  “The limiting factor is the planes, not the crews,” McLanahan answered. “On patrol, it’s all high-altitude cruising time. All combat flying is stressful, but the high-altitude cruise legs will give the crews a little opportunity to decompress. During a combat surge, the crews will only be in actual hostile territory anywhere from ten to twenty minutes maximum—that’s the power we have with standoff weapons. In a combat surge, we anticipate running out of weapons before running out of combat-ready aircraft. Of course, we’re just a covering force, sir—we’d expect support from the Navy and Air Force within three to four days.”

  “Pretty optimistic,” Chastain sniffed. “I haven’t heard you give any estimates for combat attrition.”

  “Attrition? You mean, how many Megafortresses will we lose?” Masters retorted. “I’ll answer that one, Art—zero. Zip. Nada. The EB-52s will be grounded because of systems failures before China even gets a shot off at one.”

  “That’s pretty arrogant of you, Dr. Masters,” Chastain said. “If I’m not mistaken, the PRC got a couple of your EB-52s in the Philippines conflict.”

  “The planes we’re using now are a generation more advanced than the ones we used three years ago—the weapons are, too,” Masters said resolutely. “The bad guys won’t touch us. We’re a lot safer than those subs you got shadowing that battle group, I guarantee that”

  “All we ask is that you let us act with a great degree of autonomy, once you send us into the area defense ‘basket,’ ” General Samson said. “We can set up real-time datalinks to provide the task force commander with a look at everything we’re looking at, but we’re vulnerable and weak if we can’t act right away.”

  “That can’t be helped, General,” Chastain said. “A B-52 bomber loaded to the gills with cruise missiles, taking on a Chinese naval battle group—we’re going to insist on absolute control. ”

  “Although we’re using strategic bombers, sir, we’re actually flying a close-air-support-type mission,” Samson explained. “We’re flying close to the enemy, staying out of sight but zooming into lethal range when it’s time to strike, then bugging out of lethal range again. We must be given authority to shoot when it comes time to do so—we can’t loiter within lethal range hoping to be given the order. As Patrick explained, sir, our objective is to match, and never exceed, the level of force used by the enemy—but we need absolute real-time authority to shift our level of response. As good as Dr. Masters’s surveillance and communications gear is, it’s not perfect nor one hundred percent reliable. Our guys must be given authority when to shoot. That’s why we’re here, sir.”

  President Martindale shook his head and gave them a weary smile. “Can’t believe we’re considering using a private company to fight our battles for us,” he said. “I feel like I’m hiring mercenaries.”

  “Then make us part of the military, sir,” Patrick McLanahan said. Several mouths dropped open in surprise—the President’s, Freeman’s, Samson’s, even Masters’s. “What did you say, Patrick?” Samson finally asked.

  “Make us part of the military again,” McLanahan explained. “Recommission the B-52 bombers—but make it a fleet of EB-52 Megafortresses instead. Right now, you have a fleet of eight converted bombers. Dr. Masters and I have identified thirty H-model B-52s in the fleet that are suitable for the conversion. Within two years, maybe less, we can have a wing, two squadrons, of EB-52 Megafortresses flying. They can do any mission you can think of: reconnaissance, drone control, defense suppression, minelaying, strategic or tactical precision attack, heavy bombardment, even air defense and space launch. Reactivate Dyess Air Force Base in Texas as the initial base, or colocate the unit with Jon’s facilities in Arkansas.”

  “I think we’ve got plenty on our plate right now without having to digest that idea,” Chief of Staff Jerrod Hale interjected. He made it obvious he didn’t think much of the idea—but Freeman, Samson, Masters, and even Secretary of Defense Arthur Chastain suddenly wore thoughtful expressions as Hale continued, “You’ve got ten minutes before you need to be on the road for that speech, Mr. President. I suggest—”

  Just then, there was a knock on the Oval Office door, and before the Secret Service agent could fully open it, Admiral George Balboa, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, stormed into the room. “I’m sorry, Mr. President,” he thundered, “but my aide was given a message by someone in the communications center that the meeting had been postponed an hour. But there’s no record of any such message. Then, as if by some weird coincidence, I find Brad Elliott outside in the reception area. Brad Elliott. Would somebody tell me what he’s doing?” And then Balboa noticed General Samson, Patrick McLanahan, and Jon Masters in the Oval Office, seated with the President and his military advisors. “Would somebody mind telling me what’s going on?”

  “Brad Elliott?” the President asked in a suddenly squeaky voice. “He’s here?” And then everyone understood why Balboa was late for this meeting with the President. He smiled mischievously and shook his head, saying, “Nooo . . . no, Elliott wouldn’t dare.”

  “Wouldn’t dare leave a phony message with my aide so he or his cronies can talk with the President of the United States alone about some cockamamie secret stealth bomber attack plan?” Balboa asked in a breathlessly sarcastic tone. “Hell, sir, I’m surprised he didn’t try to ambush my car with one of his robot drone missiles. But it worked, didn’t it? You’ve been talking about some covert air patrol of the Formosa Strait against the PLAN.”

  “We’re discussing what China’s next move might be,” Freeman said, “and what we should do about it.”

  “Do . . . what we should do?” Balboa asked, with considerable restraint evident in his voice. Balboa was a hot-tempered but dynamic and well-respected Navy veteran, strong-willed and intelligent, just the way Martindale liked his advisors. “Oh, yeah, the Air Force’s scheme to put those experimental ‘stealth’ B-52s out there.” Balboa said “B-52” as if it were the punch line to a very bad joke. “Mr. President, I’m prepared to brief you on the Joint Chiefs’ recommendation.”

  “The carriers,” the President guessed. “Full-court press.”

  “It’s the best response—maximum firepower if we need it, maximum visibility otherwise,” Balboa said. “Send both Independence and Washington into the Formosa Strait right away. When Vinson replaces Lincoln in the Arabian Sea, we send Lincoln into the theater until things calm down, then rotate it with Indy and send her home for her decommissioning party. ”

  “I’m reminding the President that there are powerful elements of the Japanese parliament that see this administration as more hawkish when it comes to Asia in general and China in particular, and they’re fearful of us using military force if it means threatening trade and instigating military and economic conflict,” Freeman said. “The carriers are a powerful weapon—maybe too big a stick. The bombers could keep an eye on things without stirring up too much hostility.”

  “He’s right, Admiral,” the President said. “Two, three carriers in the Formosa Strait—that’s an awful lot of firepower, almost Desert Storm-sized. It’s bound to make China nervous.”

  “It’s supposed to make ’em nervous,” Balboa said with a loud laugh.

  “Mr. President, we’re totally exposed right now. If the Chinese try an attack against Quemoy, Matsu, or any of Taiwan’s islands, we pound on ’em. My guess is, they’ll back off with two flattops parked in their front yards.

  “Mr. President, the Chinese wouldn’t dare try an invasion of Taiwan,” Balboa went on with a confident tone, punctuated with an exasperated glance at Freeman, “but if they’re contemplating following up their attacks on Quemoy with a play on the island of Formosa itself, we can have the carriers standing by ready to respond. The carriers’ll discourage the Taiwanese from getting too frisky too. We’ll see to that.”

  “The car
riers aren’t in position, Admiral,” Freeman argued.

  “We’ve got four frigates in the area ready to assist Taiwan, sir, plus land-based attack planes out of Okinawa,” Balboa said. “Plus the Taiwanese are no slouches when it comes to defending their islands. Indy will be on station in two days, and George will be on in five, tops. Just the news that two American carriers are on the way will scare that PLAN task force right back to base. They’ll back off, just like they did last March.”

  “Admiral, we’re marching towards a huge naval confrontation by racing to put two aircraft carrier battle groups in the Formosa Strait to oppose China’s task force,” Freeman said. “Yes, it might scare them into retreating—or it might provoke them into firing first. Putting a couple of our EB-52 Megafortress stealth bombers in the area will keep things quiet and give us plenty of firepower in case the Chinese task force tries something. No one will know we ever had the Megafortress bombers on station.”

  “Is that what you said about the B-2 attacks against Iran, General?” Balboa retorted. The conflict in the Persian Gulf region between Iran and the United States was still classified top secret, but the rumors and the heated debate over the mysterious attacks on Iran’s secret military bases and warships in the Gulf of Oman were just beginning. “ ‘No one would find out?’ Then why is it that half of Congress is calling for an investigation into an alleged illegal overflight of several Asian countries, including China, by a B-2 stealth bomber? Why is it that some loudmouth congresspersons are calling for the President’s impeachment?”

  Jerrod Hale’s head jerked up angrily at that word, but before he could react, the President said, “Hold on, now, Admiral, but no one’s going to impeach me, and sure as hell no one’s going to intimidate me into responding or not responding.” That sentence was aimed as much at Balboa as it was at the few opposition party legislators who’d actually suggested an independent prosecutor investigate the President for his actions during the Iranian conflict. “The bottom line is, the B-2 stealth bomber attacks over Iran and the Persian Gulf forced the Iranians to stop their attacks and back off. If China, Afghanistan, and Congress are upset about us flying one lousy stealth bomber around to do the job, that’s tough.”

  “Mr. President, the American people are upset because you conducted a secret, covert war,” Balboa said. He saw Hale’s face flush, but ignored him. “The American people don’t like secret wars, sir—the fallout from our escapades in Central America prove that.” Everyone realized that Balboa’s remark was aimed directly at the President, who, as the ex-vice president, had engineered many of those secret military missions in Central America in the aftermath of the James spy incident. Martindale had been severely criticized for initiating so many “dirty” skirmishes in Central America.

  But Martindale could dish it out as well as take it. “You wouldn’t happen to be upset, Admiral,” the President said, “because I chose to keep the Abraham Lincoln carrier group out of the Persian Gulf but sent in a B-2 bomber to bust Iran’s chops; that I allowed the Lincoln to get shot at by the Iranians but didn’t give them a chance to retaliate?” It was no secret that many in the Navy were upset at precisely that point: Iran had attacked the USS Abraham Lincoln with long-range cruise missiles and shot down one of its E-3C Hawkeye radar planes, but the President had not allowed the Lincoln to spearhead a retaliatory strike.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, sir,” Balboa said, his voice showing the slightest hint of irritation toward his commander in chief. “We’re all on the same side. True, the Lincoln was ready to conduct their counterattacks, destroy the Iranian bomber bases, sink the Iranian carrier, and rescue those CIA operatives long before the stealth guys got on the scene. True, we were cut out of the game unfairly and unnecessarily. But I’m not going to prefer the Navy over any other service just because I wear a Navy uniform.” Eyes turned away from Balboa at that instant, and the reply “Bullshit” came to many of their minds. “But this Taiwan operation is totally different. The Navy is in a much better position to assist Taiwan than these . . . things the general wants to send in.”

  “We need to make our involvement deniable and perfectly black,” Freeman said, “or we risk starting a war on the high seas in the entire region. That’s the advantage of using the aircraft we suggest.”

  “Does the Joint Chiefs have a problem using Air Force assets in the Pacific? ” the President asked.

  “Sir, I apologize if I sounded too ... argumentative to General Freeman, and of course CINCPAC will use any and all assets available in his theater if needed, including the Air Force,” Admiral Balboa responded, saying the words as if they were part of a well-rehearsed boilerplate speech—very little sincerity in those words at all. “But I think we’ve already seen the harmful result of using renegade, secretive units in military operations. The B-2 bomber operation the general put together against Iran could have been a complete disaster and a major embarrassment for the United States.”

  “Instead, it was a major victory and completely stopped all further aggression,” Freeman said. “We proved that.”

  “All you proved, General Freeman, was that terrorism works,” Balboa said acidly.

  “What in hell did you say, Balboa?” Jerrod Hale exploded. Hale was a tall, very large man in his early fifties, a former Los Angeles district attorney who, as the Martindale for President campaign director, had engineered Martindale’s stunning comeback from a defeated, divorced former vice president to a powerful, awe-inspiring, and rather fearsome President of the United States. More than almost any other person in Washington besides the President, Hale commanded a lot of power because he controlled access to the man in the White House—and Hale was not shy about wielding the forces under his control. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? General Freeman is an advisor to the President of the United States. You’re right on the verge of getting yourself shit-canned!”

  The President’s eyes narrowed and his lips tightened, but he raised a hand to silence Hale. “All right, Admiral,” he said, carefully controlling his surprised anger, “it’s obvious you’ve got something to say, so say it. It sounded like you’re accusing me of terrorism. Did I hear you correctly?”

  “With all due respect, Mr. President—yes, I believe the B-2 bomber attacks were tantamount to acts of terrorism,” Balboa said. “Under advisement from General Freeman, you ordered a stealth bomber to over-fly China and bomb Iran without warning. In my book, in anyones book, that’s terrorism, and it ought to be eliminated in this administration.” He paused for a few breaths, then added, “The Chiefs recommend that this latest operation, this Megafortress support mission, be canceled and more conventional means be used to support Taiwan’s naval forces. What in hell is this thing? You call it a modified B-52, but it’s sure as hell not like any B-52 I’ve ever seen! Where is it now, Mr. President? I want to see it and give my evaluation.”

  “Excuse me, Admiral,” Chief of Staff Hale interjected, much more forcibly than before, “but the President will issue his instructions to you, not the other way around. If you have any further questions, submit them to me and I’ll see that he gets them.”

  Although Hale towered over the Navy four-star, Balboa wasn’t going to be intimidated by a civilian staffer, even if he was the chief of staff and, arguably, the second-most-powerful man in Washington. His gaze encompassed McLanahan and Masters as well as Freeman as he said, “I think it might be better if you dismissed your civilian staffers, sir, so we could discuss this operation.”

  Hale’s eyes blazed, and even the old veteran sailor Balboa took notice. “That’s it, Balboa!”

  The President tried to defuse the tension by grasping Balboa’s arm as they headed for the door. “Look, gents, I’ve got a function to attend, and if I’m late, the press will have me for breakfast,” the President said. “Admiral, I’m going with the Megafortresses. I’m augmenting the sub fleet and keeping the frigates on patrol, but I don’t want the carriers in the Formosa Strait right now.”

&n
bsp; “But, sir, the Chiefs—”

  “Admiral, there’s a time for shooting, a time for gunboat diplomacy, and a time for negotiations. We made the decision to keep the carriers out of the Strait during China’s Reunification Day celebrations, and I think it was a good decision even though China now seems to be taking advantage of it. I agree, we’re on the back side of the power curve now, and if China makes a move against Taiwan, there won’t be a hell of a lot we can do. As you recall, Admiral, one reason to keep the carriers out of the Strait was because of our concern that China might use nuclear or subatomic weapons against Taiwan, and I think that fear is all but a certainty now.

  “But I think we’ve got a new option: we use our technological advantage and make our enemies think we’re right on their ass ready to blow their shit away,” the President went on. “The ability to make the Iranians or the North Koreans or even the Chinese think that we can freely, effortlessly fly an armed warplane right over their damned heads without them knowing about it is an awesome capability, powerful enough to stop a war dead in its tracks, and I want to take maximum advantage of it.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand,” Balboa said in a low voice, not masking the intense disappointment in his face, “but at least change the pecking order a little. We’ve got civilian spooks—intelligence agents, mercenaries, defense contractors, I’m not even sure exactly what to call them!—flying Air Force planes asking for Navy support. It’s too confusing. Even the Air Force hates this plan. At least put the flyboys under CINCPAC, Admiral Bill Allen at Pacific Command. He’s got to be informed of any military assets entering his operational theater anyway, sir—let’s use him and his staff at Pearl to keep track of things. If things go to hell, he’ll see it coming and can jump in immediately to contain the damage. All the chiefs will sign on in support for this mission, if you make this change.”

  The President thought for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll buy that idea, Admiral.” He turned over his shoulder and said to Freeman, “Phil, brief CINCPAC on the ROC support mission, and turn operational control over to him. Include Admiral Allen on progress updates and video conferences. Draft up the execution order and have it ready for me to sign in one hour. ”