Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 06

by Fatal Terrain (v1. 1)

  “I’d like to leave you with one last thought, if I may,” the President said. “When I was a kid, I remember a gag poster of an old crusty Navy guy, had to be a hundred years old, at the helm of an old weather-beaten wooden rowboat, with about a dozen more old sailors crowded into the little boat manning the oars, all lit up by a single lantern, and the caption on the poster said, ‘Sleep tight tonight, the U.S. Navy is awake.’ All joking aside, my fellow Americans, I can tell you that a good portion of the United States Navy, along with their comrades in arms in the Air Force, Army, Marines, Coast Guard, and all of the other paramilitary, Guard, Reserves, and civilian members of the best fighting force in the world, the United States armed forces, are awake tonight, watching and ready to defend our homeland, our freedom, and our way of life. Give them your support and trust, and sleep tight—we are awake. Thank you, good night, and God bless America.”

  The President knew enough to keep his eyes straight ahead, looking into the camera, until well after the red light was off and technicians started coming over to unplug the mikes from his suit jacket lapels. He shook hands and offered thanks to a few of the technicians, the director, and the all-important makeup person, then made his way to his private study while the cameras and sound equipment were removed from the Oval Office, where Chief of Staff Jerrod Hale had the bank of six regular- screen TVs and two big-screen TVs on in the President’s study. Already in the study with Hale was National Security Advisor Philip Freeman and Secretary of State Jeffrey Hartman; Communications Director Charles Ricardo followed the President.

  The study was where Martindale did his real office work—the Oval Office was usually reserved for important meetings and “photo opportunity”-type office work, like signing important legislation. The study had two curtained bulletproof windows, but unlike the Oval Office, the Kevlar-reinforced curtains were always kept closed. Along with the bank of televisions, the study had two computer systems, with which the President was thoroughly educated; it had an exercise treadmill, plenty of seats for secretaries and staffers, and wall-size electronic monitors to display computerized charts, diagrams, or images. It was a good place to watch and listen to the media’s reaction to the President’s address. Afterward, the President’s “spin doctors” would prepare Q&A point papers for all of the top advisors, and within minutes of the address they would be sent out to talk with the press and put some finer finishing touches on the President’s remarks.

  “Good speech tonight, Mr. President,” Ricardo offered.

  “It sucked,” the President said grumpily, retrieving a can of Tab from the little refrigerator near his desk. “Too skimpy on details—the press will be clamoring for more from anyone they see. The rumors are going to start flying. Let’s get the point paper done and get the staff out there so we can head off the rumors as much as possible. First thing I want to know is, what about the screwup with the Democratic leadership getting on Air Force One? What in hell happened?”

  “The Secret Service screwed up, Mr. President—there’s no polite way to put it,” White House Chief of Staff Jerrod Hale replied. “I’ll talk to the Presidential Protection Detail chief myself. The PPD got confused because they were still escorting the press out of the building when the choppers showed up and they got word of an ‘actual’ evacuation. Anyone they didn’t recognize or specifically not accompanying you were held back.”

  “They didn’t recognize Finegold? She was on TV more than I was during the last five months of the campaign! ”

  “When the Secret Service realized it was an ‘actual’ evacuation rather than an ‘exercise,’ ” Hale went on, “they went a little bonkers. They should have escorted everyone from the Cabinet Room into a chopper and taken them to Andrews with you. But once you were on board Marine One with an ‘actual’ evacuation warning order, they ordered all choppers to launch. If this continues to be an issue in the press, I’ll get the chief of the PPD on the morning talk shows to explain the mix-up.”

  “No,” the President snapped. “No one takes the heat for ‘mix-ups’ around here but me.”

  Hale was flipping through a small stack of messages that had come in since the President’s address to the nation; he placed one on the desk in front of the President. “A thank-you note from President Lee of Taiwan,” he said. “He heard about the death of a crew member and wants your permission to thank the EB-52 bomber crews personally.”

  “How in hell did the ROC find out about the Megafortresses?” the President asked incredulously. “That chance encounter outside the Oval Office? Had to be more than that.”

  “We’ll find out, sir,” Freeman said. “It was obviously more than a leak—it was a direct exchange of classified information, a serious breach.”

  “Just find out who did it and throw his ass in jail,” the President snapped. “Next, I want to know—”

  “You better take a look at this, Mr. President,” Ricardo interrupted, pointing to one of the televisions. “It looks like Finegold’s giving a press conference inside the Capitol.”

  The group listened with shocked expressions as Senator Majority Leader Barbara Finegold announced that the Senate Foreign Relations Committee and Senate Armed Services Committee would be holding joint hearings on the report that the President had sent long-range bombers to attack Chinese warships, and whether or not these attacks prompted the Chinese to launch and detonate nuclear weapons—or if the American bombers had been the ones that dropped the nuclear weapons. She quoted the official Chinese government news agency, Xinhua, as saying that B-52 Stratofortress bombers had been spotted in the area launching nuclear-tipped missiles just before the nuclear explosions occurred, and that they had gun camera video to support the claim. Sprinkled throughout the statements and Q&A afterward were words like “independent prosecutor,” “violation of the War Powers Act,” “breach of trust,” and “terrorist.”

  “This is unbelievable! Who in hell does she think she is?” the President shouted. “How in hell did she find out?”

  “It’s a guess, Mr. President, nothing more,” Ricardo said. “The Chinese news agency is putting their own spin on the skirmish, and Fine- gold is latching on to it. She’s been on the stealth bomber warpath ever since the Iran conflict. She’s slinging shit, looking to see what sticks, that’s all.”

  “Terrorist,” Hale muttered bitterly, when he heard the word a third time. He had moved over beside the President so only he could hear his comment. “Sounds like Admiral Balboa put a bug in her ear. I’ll bet he’s talked to Finegold.”

  “Don’t even think about shit like that unless you’ve got evidence, and I mean concrete evidence, that he’s done something wrong,” the President said. “Not one word, not even an angry glance in his direction.”

  “Kevin, when are you going to stop coddling Balboa?” Hale asked the President in a low voice. Hale was probably the only man in America who could call the President by his first name, and even he rarely used the privilege—he was certainly mad enough to do so now. “He’s a selfserving snake. Force the bastard to retire, or fire his ass. He talked to Fine- gold, I know it.”

  “Jerrod, you and your father taught me all I know about leadership,” the President said. “You taught me how to come from nowhere, come from defeat and divorce and obscurity, how to pull together a disorganized party and almost take back the White House and Congress all at once. We didn’t do it by eliminating anyone who ever disagreed with me.”

  “What about loyalty, Kevin?” Hale asked. “You always demand absolute loyalty from your people.”

  “Balboa is not just an appointee, Jerrod—he’s a soldier,” Martindale replied. “I’m the commander in chief. He either follows my orders, or he destroys his own reputation and honor.”

  “What if he doesn’t give a shit about his reputation and honor, as long as he gets whatever the hell he wants?” Hale asked acidly. “Maybe Fine- gold promised him a job somewhere. What if he just decides, since he’s on his way out soon anyway, to destroy your reput
ation along with his own?”

  “If his false accusations stick, then maybe I don’t deserve to be in the White House,” the President said.

  Hale clenched his jaw in response. “That’s nonsense, and you know it, Kevin,” Hale said. “The people can be manipulated into thinking anything. There’s nothing noble in losing the White House because Balboa decided to betray your trust, or because the press latched on to a juicy story and let it blow all out of proportion.”

  “Hey, Jer, let me remind you, in case you forgot—I did send a B-52 bomber over the Formosa Strait, and it probably did precipitate the Chinese attack on Quemoy,” the President said. “Balboa and Finegold aren’t lying—they’re just talking out of school.”

  “But Balboa works for you, sir,” Hale said. “He knows better than to blab to anyone, especially the leadership of the opposition party. Balboa’s got to be stopped.”

  “We can handle him, Jerrod, but not by cracking his skull open with a baseball bat,” the President said. “Keep your eyes and ears open, but take no direct action. Got it?” Hale nodded, but he was seething nonetheless. “Get Chastain and Balboa on the videophone.” The President turned to Philip Freeman. “What have you got for me, Philip?”

  “Preliminary report from CINCPAC, Admiral Allen, says that either a Taiwanese SAM fired from one of their frigates, or an air-to-air missile fired by the EB-52 Megafortress stationed over the Formosa Strait, shot down a nuclear-tipped Chinese rocket or cruise missile, resulting in a partial nuclear yield,” Freeman said. “Had it not been for the EB-52, Quemoy would’ve been toast—or glass, depending on how powerful a full yield would’ve been. The Taiwanese frigate, identified by the EB-52 crew as the Kin Men, was destroyed by a nuclear-tipped cruise missile.”

  “Looks like putting that EB-52 thing out there was a good idea after all,” the President said.

  “Maybe not, sir,” Freeman said. “Good possibility that Taiwan could have fired first, followed closely by the Megafortress. Our side could’ve started the whole thing.”

  “Shit,” the President muttered, shaking his head. “Who was flying the ... ah, damn, never mind, don’t tell me, I know. Brad Elliott was flying the Megafortress, right?” Freeman nodded. “They all right? Elliott, McLanahan—he always flies with Elliott—and the rest of the Megafortress crew? They must’ve been close when the nukes went off.” “Substantial damage, one casualty on Elliott’s EB-52,” Freeman said. “The electronic warfare officer, a young lieutenant. Elliott was slightly injured. The plane’s on its way back, escorted by another Megafortress.” The President felt sorry for the dead crewman, but only because he had the bad luck of flying with Brad Elliott. “It was probably Elliott who spilled the beans to the ROC.” No one in the room offered to refute that theory. “Any chance whatsoever that the nukes came from one of the Megafortresses?”

  Freeman paused—and that pause, the realization that he didn’t know, made little hairs on the back of the President’s neck stand up. “I’ll order the Defense Intelligence Agency to do a complete security audit and inspection of the Megafortress project office at Edwards, Sky Masters, Inc., and their facilities on Saipan and on Guam,” Freeman said grimly. “I would love to say that Brad Elliott would never do such a thing as launch a nuclear weapon without permission—and it hurts me to even think this—but I can’t. In fact, I would assume he could get his hands on whatever weapon, nuclear or otherwise, he desired, in fairly short order. ” _

  “I’ll lock his cell at Leavenworth permanently myself if he’s to blame for all this,” the President said angrily. “How about any of our ships? Could they have launched a nuclear weapon?”

  “None of our surface forces in the Pacific theater have nuclear weapons deployed on them, sir,” Freeman said. “We have three Ohio- class ballistic missile boats on patrol in the Pacific-Indian Ocean fleet; only one, the West Virginia, was in range at the time of the explosion. We’re trying to get in contact with him.”

  “How often do they check in?”

  “Varies, but it’s much more often than during the Cold War,” Freeman said. Nuclear-powered ballistic missile subs on patrol, even now years after the end of the Cold War, did everything they could to remain undetected for long periods of time, sometimes spending as long as a month sitting on the ocean bottom. These days, they spent less time in total seclusion, but it was still important for them to remain undetected and autonomous, so contacting one was never an easy job. “All of the Los Angeles- and Sturgeon-class attack subs had their nuclear weapons removed five years ago.”

  “Double- and triple-check everything, including all vessels that could have had nukes on board—I don’t care how long it’s been,” the President ordered. “If there’s even the wildest possibility that a ship could have loaded and fired a nuclear missile, I want it checked out. What about Taiwan? Do their ships carry nukes?”

  “The Hsiung Feng anti-ship missile, which is a license-built version of the Israeli Gabriel, is reported to be able to carry a nuclear warhead, although the Israelis never deployed the missile with them,” Freeman replied. “We believe one of the frigates involved in the skirmish carried these missiles. The larger frigate carried American-made Harpoons and Standard missiles and ASROC rocket-powered torpedoes, which all were at one point or another capable of being fitted with nuclear warheads. Although we never sold any nuclear-capable weapons to Taiwan, if it once had nuclear warheads, there’s every possibility that Taiwan could have readapted their weapons with small nuclear warheads. But chances are very low the explosions were from Taiwanese weapons.”

  “Doesn't exactly fill me with confidence,” the President said grimly. “I want to talk with President Lee of Taiwan as soon as possible, and I hope the hell he comes clean with me.” He paused, deep in thought; then: “Let’s talk about China going to nuclear war with Taiwan—or us,” he said grimly. “Any thoughts?”

  “Becoming more and more of a reality, sir, considering what’s happened,” Freeman replied. “Last year, despite their threats, I would’ve said it was virtually impossible. Last week, I’d have thought it was improbable. Now I think it’s possible that we could see more low-yield attacks against Taiwan ...” He paused, then added, “... and possibly Okinawa, Guam, South Korea, even Japan. Like you said, sir, the genie’s out of the bottle.”

  The President slumped in his chair and put a weary hand on his forehead, shielding his eyes as if fighting off a massive headache. “Damn,” he muttered. “Was it a mistake to send those bombers over the Strait? Would any of this be happening?”

  “I think it would be ten times worse, Mr. President,” Jerrod Hale said.

  “I agree,” Freeman added. “Quemoy might be a smoking hole in the ocean, and Formosa might be under attack as well. Those bombers—in fact, that one bomber—deterred the PLAN from continuing their attack.”

  “But we weren’t talking about China destroying Okinawa, Guam, or Japan before,” the President said. “Shit, maybe it would’ve been better if they succeeded in their invasion.”

  “Then we’d still be here, talking about our options—except China would have attacked and perhaps destroyed an independent, capitalist, pro-America democracy in Asia,” Freeman said. “Sir, this isn’t your fault—the People’s Republic of China is driving events here, not you. The best we can do is anticipate, react, and hope we don’t escalate the conflict any faster than it’s already moving.”

  The President stopped and considered that point of view, then nodded his agreement. “Sometimes I don’t know if it’s my guilty conscience, or the press, that makes me think I’m responsible for every disaster in the world these days,” the President said. “But I’m not going to sit on my ass and watch China or anyone else start World War Three.”

  He paused again, shaking his head as if scarcely believing the words that were forming in his head. Finally, he said, “Philip, contact Arthur and George Balboa—I want the commanders in place to prepare to put our nuclear forces back on alert.” The Presidents st
udy seemed to get very quiet, as if all of the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room; even the unflappable Jerrod Hale had a shocked expression on his face. “I want it done as quietly as possible. Just the commanders for now—no aircraft, no subs, no missiles. I want them formed up and ready to start accepting their weapons, but they don’t get any weapons until I give the word.” Hale looked at the President, silently asking, “What about Balboa? ”—he knew that there was no way this could be kept quiet with Balboa chairing the Joint Chiefs of Staff. But the President remained resolute.

  Freeman nodded. “HI draft up an executive order for your review and signature,” he said. “The order will stand up the Combined Task Forces inside U.S. Strategic Command. The CTFs will meet in Omaha and organize their staffs, but nothing else until you give the word.” The President nodded absently—he could afford to forget that aspect of this growing threat for now. But Freeman pressed another problem into the foreground: “What about McLanahan and the Megafortresses? Keep them on patrol for now?”

  The President recognized that Freeman had phrased the question carefully, interjecting his own opinion into the question—he wanted the EB-52s, with their powerful offensive and defensive weapons, to stay. The President nodded. “As long as they pass a security review, they stay on patrol.”

  “Balboa probably won’t like that,” Hale offered.

  “Probably not,” the President responded. “But the reason we sent those things out there—because we needed something out there right away, something that could keep an eye on the Chinese and respond in case the shooting started—has come to pass. We need them now more than ever.”