by Dale Brown
FATAL TERRAIN 347
trade d the name and the trophies for a choice assignment. You
could have worked for a dozen CINCs all over the world. You
could have had a staff of twenty at the Pentagon. Two- and
three-star generals were fighting each other to get to endorse
your officer effectiveness reports. But you, standing in the hall-
way with your beer and your give-a-shit attitude-all you
wanted was to climb aboard the B-52 and drop some more
shack bombs. You told me so, and you've proved it a dozen
times since. Why would I think you'd ever change?"
Patrick laughed as his thoughts interlinked with Elliott's,
through time and space, from the present to the past and back
again over dozens of battles, through tragedy and triumph.
"Hell, I think I've got to change, General. I'm afraid I'll get
left behind-- And then he stopped abruptly, his cheeks flush-
ing red under his longish blond hair.
"You were going to say 'left behind like you,' like me,
right, Muck?" Elliott said. Patrick raised a pair of sad, apol-
ogetic blue eyes at his friend and mentor, to the man he had
just betrayed with his thoughts. Elliott smiled reassuringly
back. "Hey, Muck, it's okay. I see myself in you, Patrick, but
sure as shit, you I 're not like me. I get things done by blasting
ahead, by kicking ass and doing things my way and to hell
with anyone that thinks they know better than me. You don't
do it that way. You plan, you train, you build, and you let the
smart commanders and the smart decision-makers come to
you. You're smart, working with guys like Jon Masters-I can
only stand the skinny dweeb for a few minutes a day and that's
it. We're different, Muck. You're the future of the Air Force,
bud."
"Some future," McLanahan said. "In five days, we'll be
entering a plea in front of a federal judge on about twenty
different charges. We could go to prison for ten years."
"In five days, you'll be a commanding officer in charge of
the greatest strike force the planet has ever seen, snatching
victory from the jaws of defeat," Elliott corrected him
proudly. "And after that, you'll take your rightful place in the
world. It won't be behind a desk, and it won't be in a federal
prison. That's my prediction."
McLanahan smiled a cautious, hopeful smile, but Elliott ex-
tended a confident, reassuring hand, and the young bombardier
took it warmly. "I like the way you think, sir," he told him.
At that moment the door to the room opened, and a gentle-
348 DALE BROWN
man in a dark suit and tie, similar to the federal marshal's,
came in. McLanahan quickly stood, blocking the man I s path,
and motioned for the man to step outside. "Excuse me, sir,
but the general needs his rest and can't be disturbed right
now."
"Hold on, Muck," Elliott said. "You don't remember this
gent, do'you? Ambassador Kuo Han-min, meet Colonel Pat-
rick McLanahan, my friend and colleague." The Asian gen-
tleman smiled a very pleased and excited smile, bowed, and
extended a hand. "Muck, meet Ambassador Kuo Han-min,
ambassador to the United States from the newly independent
Republic of China. You ran into each other outside the White
House Oval Office, remember?" McLanahan's expression told
Kuo that he remembered, which pleased him even more.
"What are you doing here, Ambassador?" McLanahan
asked as the ambassador took his hand and shook it. "How
did you get on base? How did you know to find us here?"
"I told him, of course," Elliott said. McLanahan turned a
shocked grimace toward his ex-boss. "Hell, Muck, don't act
so damned shocked-you knew it all the time. I talked to Kuo
before our patrols began over the Formosa Strait; I've talked
to him almost every day since. We've coordinated our moves
as much as we could over the past month." McLanahan could
do nothing but nod-yes, he knew, or at least strongly sus-
pected, that Brad Elliott was sharing information with Taiwan
all the time, not just before the initial patrol but ever since
then.
"Very pleased to meet you, ' Colonel," Kuo said with a
warm, admiring smile. "You are a very great hero in my coun-
try. Many members of my government and my military wish
to meet you and extend to you every courtesy and honor."
"I appreciate it, Mr. Ambassador," McLanahan said, trying
to stay polite despite his uneasy feeling that Brad Elliott was
tiptoeing on the very thin line between cooperation between
allies and treason. "Someday I'd like to visit Taiwan. I've
never been there before." His tired voice, however, signaled
that it might be a very long time before he got the opportunity
to visit anywhere but a rec: room in a minimum-security prison
facility.
"I have heard of your legal troubles, my friend," Kuo said.
"It is very unfortunate that your bravery is not rewarded by
FATAL TER RAI N 349
your own government. I wish there was some way we could
help.'
"Perhaps.you could tell us about the attacks you staged
against China, sir," McLanahan suggested.
"Of course," Kuo said. "The attacks were planned as pre-
emptive strikes against the communications, headquarters, and
fuel-storage facilities that might be used in an attack against
Quemoy Tao, which our intelligence said would be the Com-
munists' first target."
"Did you know the PRC had nuclear-armed surface-to-air
missiles?"
Kuo shrugged. "Yes, Colonel, we knew," he replied. "We
know of many Communist nuclear weapon deployments, both
tactical and strategic. Part of the strike against Xiamen was
against their suspected nuclear-armed Hai Ying-2 and Ying Ji-
6 land-based anti-ship missiles."
"Nuclear anti-ship missiles?"
"The Communists have an extensive menu of tactical nu-
clear weapons, Colonel, similar to the American arsenal in the
1960s and 1970s," Kuo said. "Their ships carry short- and
intermediate-range ballistic missiles with nuclear warheads,
and their subs use nuclear-tipped torpedoes and can lay nu-
clear-armed mines, similar to the Mk 57. They employed nu-
clear cruise missiles from their long-range bombers on their
attacks on my country, and we believe they can launch me-
dium-range ballistic missiles from their heavy bombers as well.
The world has looked the other way for many decades, but we
on Taiwan have lived under the shadow of a powerful nuclear
adversary."
"Shit," McLanahan swore. "No one ever suspected they
had a nuclear arsenal like that. Have you ever shared this in-
formation with the American government?"
"Always, but our information was disregarded as unreliable,
biased, and unverifiable," Kuo said. "I believe your govern-
ment simply chose not to believe our information, that starting
a war with China over its military hardware would mean fi-
nancial and economic disaster to your country. Many other
p
ieces of information were discarded by your government. We
reported the actual size of the Communists' amphibious assault
fleet to your chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff directly, but
your official published estimates did not reflect this. We re-
ported the Communists' advanced ballistic missile capabilities,
350 DALE BROWN
including air- and sea-launched M-9 nuclear ballistic missiles,
but that went unheeded as well. The Republic of Iran has far
less military hardware than Communist China, and you sent
your stealth bombers over there secretly to bomb their bases-
but for some odd reason, your government refuses to punish
China for its aggression.
"Our information is reliable," Kuo went on, 11 and we ex-
pected the Communists to begin using these weapons against
us at any time. We believed the Mao battle group and their
attempted attack on Quemoy to be the first step. The attack on
Quemoy by nuclear missiles fired by the carrier Mao Zedong
that you stopped with your amazing EB-52 Megafortress was
typical of the People's Liberation Army. Since then, however,
their tactics have become very confusing, very unconven-
tional-not at all like the People's Liberation Army and its
leadership. The attack on the Mao was obviously a compli-
cated and well-orchestrated ruse."
. "Your sub was caught in the immediate vicinity, and reports
said the PLAN recovered pieces of torpedoes used by your
navy," McLanahan pointed out. "It could be a well-planned
ruse--or it could have been an attack by your submarine."
"Our submarine did not fire on the carrier," Kuo insisted.
"Yes, we were shadowing the carrier, but we did not attack."
"Can you prove it?"
"The Communists covered their tracks very effectively by
sinking the submarine instead of capturing it," Kuo said. "We
cannot prove our contention-jpst as it is difficult for you to
prove that your frigates were fired upon by underwater-
launched rocket torpedoes. The faked attack against your frig-
ates, in which you were involved? Pure genius, if I may say
so. Setting off the underwater-launched rocket torpedoes at the
same time a passenger ferry cruises near the area, a ferry
equipped with radio emitters to make it appear like a warship?
The sheer imagination of the plan must be applauded, do you
not agree?"
"I agree," McLanahan said. It was the only possible expla-
nation, and one that he had suspected right from the start. "So
this leaves us alone, isolated, and with China holding all the
cards. They've got the world believing both Taiwan and the
United States are trying to provoke a war-and in trying to
FATAL TERRAIN 351
defend themselves, they seem to be given tacit permission to
use nuclear weapons."
"After Taiwan, the South China Sea and Spratly Islands will
fall to the Communists-as you have stated, Colonel, they will
be allowed to defend their new conquests with nuclear weap-
ons," Kuo said grimly. "The entire world will be in danger
if the Communists are allowed to control access to the South
China Sea." He paused, looking first at Elliott, then Mc-
Lanahan. "We were praying for a miracle, that your amazing
EB-52 Megafortresses might be able to come to our defense
once again."
. "There isn't a snowball's chance in hell of us getting those
planes back into action," Elliott said. "It would take a small
army to move those Navy security policemen. And even then,
we'd have no place to take them."
McLanahan had been quiet for several long moments, but
now he was looking at Kuo and Elliott, a glimmer of an idea
in his eyes. "We can get them off Guam," he said.
"You and what army, Muck?" Elliott asked.
"Getting past the marshals and Navy security is the easy
part," McLanahan said with a sly smile. "But -if we fly the
Megafortresses back to the States, they'll be ground up into
asphalt filler in a matter of days, and we'll be in front of a
federal court judge fighting for own freedom and the survival
of our company. We need a base of operations. Sky Masters,
Inc., has a support base on Saipan, and he has pretty good
connections with the sultan of Brunei, who would probably be
happier than hell to have the Megafortresses based in his coun-
try."
"If you are able to get your aircraft off Guam with weapons
and support personnel, I have a base you can use," Ambas-
sador Kuo said proudly. "We have skilled aircraft technicians,
a good supply of fuel and ordnance, and very good security."
"A base on Taiwan?" McLanahan asked. Kuo bowed in
assent with great enthusiasm. "With all due respect, sir, Tai-
wan has been hit pretty hard. It might be too dangerous."
"It would be, as you might say, the last place anyone would
look for your EB-52 Megafortresses," Ambassador Kuo said
with an unabashed grin. "Please, Colonel McLanahan, let me
explain.
352 DALE BROWN
ANDERSEN AIR FORCE BASE, AGANA, GUAM
MONDAY, 23 JUNE 1997, 1901 HOURS LOCAL
(SUNDAY, 22 JUNE, 0401 HOURS ET)
The "six-pack" crew truck pulled up to the first hangar on
the north side of the aircraft parking apron, and was immedi-
ately surrounded by U. Marines in green-and-black battle
dress uniforms carrying M- 16 rifles slung over their shoulders.
As Patrick and Wendy McLanahan, Brad Elliott, Nancy
Cheshire, and Jon Masters stepped out of the big pickup truck
and began unloading their gear, a Navy officer in a clean,
neatly pressed white tropical uniform met up with them, ac-
companied by a security guard wearing black fatigues with
"U. MARSHAL" in yellow across his chest.
"A little late to be out working, isn't it, Mr. McLanahan?"
the Navy officer asked. He glared at Brad Elliott, obviously
surprised to see him up and about. Elliott gave him his best
mischievous grin in return.
"Not if we want to depart by tomorrow night," Patrick
replied. The rest of his crew tried to carry their gear past the
Marine guards, but were stopped by a raised hand from the
Navy officer. Patrick put his bags down at his side. "Is there
a problem, Commander Willis?"
U. Navy Commander Eldon Willis pointed at the bags of
flight gear, and the federal marshal and a Marine guard began
searching them. Willis was the commander of security forces
at Agana Naval Base on Guam, sent up to Andersen Air Force
Base to personally supervise the security on the EB-52 Me-
gafortresses ordered by Admiral George Balboa, chairman of
the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Willis took this assignment very se-
riously and knew that it might be a path to getting an assign-
ment for the Chief of Naval Operations or even for Balboa.
"I didn't expect you out here tonight, Mr. McLanahan." He
turned to Elliott. "And I certainly did not expect you either,
General. I hope you're feeling better, sir." He used the words
11 sir" and "General," but
it was obvious that Willis offered
no sign of respect to the retired Air Force three-star.
"Peachy, Willis, just peachy," Elliott said, with his mad-
dening grin.
Willis gave him a sneer along with a slight bow. In the
meantime, the guards finished their inspections. "Tech orders
FATAL TERRAIN 353
and checklists, Commander," the marshal reported. "No fly-
ing gear."
Ile Navy security officer nodded, disappointed that they
hadn't found anything a little more incriminating. "I hope you
weren't planning on running engines tonight," Willis said.
"That's precisely what we had in mind," Patrick said.
"We're going to tow all the planes over to the north apron,
then run 'em one by one."
"'Me DC-10 tanker too," Jon Masters said. "We'll do the
final checkout on it tonight, then start loading up tomorrow."
"I wasn't advised about any of the planes being towed out-
side," Willis said pointedly. "My orders are to not allow any
activities that were not approved in advance."
"What do you think we're going to do out here, Com-
mander-steal our own planes?" McLanahan asked with a
boyish disarming smile. "Look, Commander, either we depart
on schedule tomorrow night or my company loses millions
when you guys chop up these planes. We're running a little
behind with maintenance glitches. All we need is to run en-
gines for a few minutes. It's too much of a hassle to clear out
the hangars to run engines inside, so it would be better if we
could--
"Denied, Mr. McLanahan," Willis said sternly. "No clear-
ance, no activity."
McLanahan stepped a bit closer to Willis and said in a low,
somewhat emotional voice, "Hey, Commander, would it kill
you to extend a little professional courtesy to me? I am offi-
cially retired from the service, despite what you might have
heard about me. How long have you been in the Navy?"
"That is hardly the topic of conversation here."
"I was in for sixteen years," McLanahan said. "Yes, I took
the early out-actually, I was strongly induced to accept it, or
else I would have stayed in. I was on the 0-6 list, and I was
Just a couple months from pinning on. I understand you've
