by Dale Brown
“We don’t need McLanahan’s gizmos, sir,” Secretary of Defense Gardner said. “We’ve got one carrier battle group in the Persian Gulf, one in the Arabian Sea, and another in the western Pacific en route to the Indian Ocean. There are twenty-five thousand NATO troops in Afghanistan, a thousand U.S. troops in Uzbekistan, fifty thousand in Iraq, and another fifty thousand ashore and afloat spread between Turkey and Diego Garcia. The Air Battle Force doesn’t and never has integrated with the total force. They’ll just get in the way.”
“But the fact is, Joe, they can send a tremendous force out there in a real hurry,” the President said. “Special Operations Command can send a small force out quickly; the army can send a big force out slowly. McLanahan’s guys can send a big punch anywhere fast.”
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves here, ladies and gentlemen,” Vice President Hershel said. “Looks to me like we’re letting Buzhazi pull our strings now—he attacks, then we’re forced to act when the Revolutionary Guards counterattack. Buzhazi’s insurgency is an internal Iranian matter. We’d be provoking a serious and unpredictable Iranian response if anyone caught us sending covert military forces in or over Iran. Iran still commands a vital chokepoint in the Persian Gulf and is the most powerful Islamic military force in the entire region. Let’s not get drawn into a fight we don’t want by a disgruntled and disgraced Iranian general.”
“Mr. President, I’ll be happy to look over McLanahan’s plan and give the staff my thoughts,” General Sparks said, “but right now I’d advise against putting armed spacecraft in orbit, no matter how speedy or cool they are.”
“I agree,” Carson interjected. “And double goes for sending McLanahan’s stealth bombers anywhere near Iran. We don’t want to be seen as ratcheting up the tension. If Iran does lash out, they could claim it was our actions that led them to retaliate.”
President Martindale glanced back and forth between the videoconference screen and his advisers in the Oval Office. “I agree that our primary concern should be Iran’s missiles and whether Masoud Ahmadad intends to use them,” the President said after a short silence. “General McLanahan has a plan for dealing with them, so I want the plan vetted right away. Patrick, be prepared to brief the national security staff as soon as the schedule permits. General Sparks and Secretary Gardner will review it and have their comments ready as well.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Carl will find a slot in tomorrow afternoon’s schedule—be ready by then. Thanks, Patrick.” He was about to motion for Minden to disconnect the videophone link, but Minden was taking a message from the White House office assistant. Minden’s expression after he read the message got the President’s full attention. “What now, Carl?”
“Message from Communications, sir,” Minden replied. “The wire services are reporting that Russia intends to file a protest with the United Nations Security Council to halt illegal overflight of American spaceplanes over its territory.”
“Oh, shit…”
“Several members of Congress have called for press conferences within the hour, including Senator Barbeau. General Lewars was right on—the press had wind of this already.”
“General Lewars, draft up a response so we can brief the staff and get a statement out right away,” the President ordered.
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“This is starting to smell like a big sewer leak right here in the White House, and I will personally kick his or her butt when I find out who it is.” He turned to the videophone: “Okay, Patrick, out with it. Did your guys overfly Russia? Do the Russians have a legitimate beef?”
“Our crew did overfly Russia, sir, but I don’t think the Russians have a legitimate reason for a protest,” Patrick replied.
“Explain—and this better be good.”
“During its ascent, the spaceplane was lower than one hundred kilometers—about sixty miles—aboveground when it entered Russian airspace. One hundred kilometers is the altitude mentioned in the Outer Space Treaty as to where ‘space,’ and therefore the treaty’s provisions, begin. Russian military air defense operators broadcast a warning on the international emergency frequencies, which we received. When the spaceplane did not alter course it was fired upon by Russian surface-to-air missiles. But the spaceplane was accelerating to suborbital velocity—approximately nine times the speed of sound—and it outran the SAMs.”
“So the crew did violate Russian airspace. Why?”
“I gave the order to do so, sir,” Patrick said. Both the President and the chief of staff nodded—they had already guessed that. “The Black Stallion had four passengers on board—the four Air Battle Force ‘Tin Men’—and I wanted the spaceplane on the ground as soon as possible to prepare it for another mission. The original flight plan had the spaceplane flying in a southeasterly orbital course which would have taken it away from hostile airspace but would have meant keeping them aloft for an extra three hours or longer and would have given the crew no military alternate landing airports. Based on those factors, I uploaded a suborbital flight plan to the crew that took them directly back to Dreamland…”
“Over Russia.”
“Yes, sir. But at all times the spaceplane was accelerating and climbing—it was not descending and decelerating like a warhead or missile would have. The spaceplane was not armed with anything more than hand-carried infantry weapons—it had no weapons of mass destruction or any kind of ground attack weapons of any kind.”
“None of that makes a rat’s ass of difference, General,” Minden snapped. “The press is going to start a shitstorm over this, and Congress is going to jump in with both feet.”
“You’ve done it again, General McLanahan,” Secretary of Defense Gardner said bitterly. “You’re starting to look as bad as Oliver North during Iran-Contra, running your own covert ops agency right out of the White House basement.”
“I authorized the mission over Iran, Joe…with your blessing, reluctant as it was,” the President reminded him.
“I judge the mission to help Buzhazi a success, sir,” Gardner said. “Unfortunately, General McLanahan’s decision to send the spaceplane back over Russia will quite possibly erase all the good his crew did. This is going to kill the Black Stallion project for sure.” He turned to the President and added, “I recommend we ground the Black Stallion project pending an investigation as to whether or not it was necessary to send it illegally over Russia without permission. It’ll be necessary for you to remove McLanahan from his White House position and definitely not consider him for commander of HAWC pending the outcome of the investigation. We should also announce a suspension of all Black Stallion spaceplane flights. We can call it a ‘safety review’ or ‘policy review,’ whatever sounds appropriate, but they stay on the ground indefinitely.”
“That’s the typical knee-jerk reaction to something like this, Joe—we don’t need to indulge in it too,” Vice President Hershel said. “All the crew did was overfly Russia—they didn’t attack, and they did nothing hostile.”
“That’s not going to be the way it’s perceived.”
“We don’t know how it’s going to be perceived, Joe,” Maureen argued. “All I’m saying is, we shouldn’t hang Patrick—General McLanahan—or…or the spaceplane crew out to dry until we know the facts.”
“I understand your feelings and admire your loyalty to McLanahan, Miss Vice President, but…”
“But nothing, Mr. Secretary,” she snapped. “My feelings for the general have nothing to do with this. I…”
“That’s enough, all of you,” the President interjected. “Maureen, I’ve got no choice on this one. We know the press and the opponents of the Black Stallion spaceplane program are going to use this incident against this administration and against the project, and I don’t want to give them any more ammunition to use against us.” He thought for a moment; then: “I’m grounding the spaceplanes until the furor over the overflight blows over and the Senate concludes their midnight snipe-hunt. Is that clear, General Mc
Lanahan?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Patrick, you will report back here to your post in the White House,” the President went on. “I don’t want you anywhere near Dreamland. You’re still a special adviser to the President and covered by executive privilege. You let us take any comments on the spaceplane incident. And you don’t step foot on a combat aircraft even if it’s just flying you to Washington. You’re flying a desk for a while, right here, in a suit and tie. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dr. Carson, I’d like you to send a message to the Russian embassy, apologizing for the overflight, promising them it won’t happen again, assuring them the spacecraft was unarmed, not spying on Russia or any other country, and posed no threat of any kind to Russia,” the President went on. “You can even offer to pay for the missiles they shot at the spaceplane…the ones the spaceplane outran. We’ll provide no other details. Tony will mention this communiqué to the press.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Anyone have anything else for me?” the President asked.
“Yes, sir,” Patrick replied. “I’m looking at overhead imagery of the Ruhollah Khomeini library in Qom taken just moments ago, and it appears that the library has been destroyed.”
“What?” the Secretary of Defense exclaimed. “Destroyed by whom? McLanahan, I swear, if you had something to do with this…!”
“Most likely it was done by General Buzhazi,” Patrick said. “He’s making good on this promise to wipe out the theocracy. I never would have expected him to assassinate them, but I believe that’s what he’s done.”
“I haven’t heard McLanahan deny he had anything to do with it!”
“Patrick? Let’s hear it,” the President said.
If Patrick was stung by the accusation or the President’s request, he didn’t show it. “We have no spaceplanes or weapons of any kind in orbit, sir,” Patrick responded.
“What about the satellites that shot you that overhead imagery?” Gardner asked. “How many other satellites do you have in orbit?”
“We have a constellation of four NIRTSats in a circular orbit, initially providing surveillance and communications support for the Black Stallion mission and now providing surveillance on northern and central Iran,” Patrick replied. “Those satellites will cease operations in about six days. We are in the process of launching another constellation of more persistent reconnaissance satellites in an elliptical orbit over eastern Russia, maintaining a longer-term watch over the Kavaznya ground-based anti-satellite laser site. We have no other spacecraft in orbit.”
“Kavaznya? Why in hell would you watch Kavaznya?” Vice President Hershel remarked. “That place was destroyed decades ago…by you.”
“We believe the Black Stallion spaceplane was hit by a high-powered laser from the vicinity of Kavaznya,” Patrick said.
“What…?”
“You have proof of this, Patrick?”
“No, ma’am. That’s why we’re going to launch the surveillance satellites as soon as possible.”
“If the Russians want to complain about spaceplane overflights, maybe we should complain about our aircraft being shot at by their laser!”
“I’d rather not, ma’am,” Patrick said. “I’d like time to get some photos and gather more intel first.”
“Why—so you can plan and carry out another sneak attack on Russia?” Secretary of Defense Gardner asked derisively. “That’s your style, isn’t it, McLanahan—keep all the intel you gather for yourself and lash out without getting permission? You follow the old saying: better to ask forgiveness than ask permission. Right, General?”
“Enough, Joe,” the President said. “I was in the White House when the Russians first fired that thing, and it was the most terrifying weapon we’ve ever encountered except for their nuclear missiles. We rely on spacecraft a lot more than we did twenty years ago. If it was Kavaznya, the Russians must shut it down immediately, or we’ll destroy it again.”
“You sure you want to restrict the spaceplane fleet now, in light of this new development, Kevin?” Maureen Hershel asked sotto voce. “If we had to move against that laser, the spaceplanes might be the only weapon system short of a sub-launched ballistic missile that can take it.”
“The spaceplanes stay restricted,” the President said, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “We’ll deal with Kavaznya diplomatically. Got that, Patrick?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jonas, I want to know everything about that laser site as soon as possible,” the President said. “General McLanahan, cancel your plans to insert that new satellite constellation to watch over Kavaznya. Let General Sparks coordinate intel work with the National Reconnaissance Office and the NSA—the Air Battle Force does have a habit of giving out information only after the fact.”
“That’s not our intention, sir,” Patrick argued, in a more defensive tone of voice than he’d intended. “We share all our information in a timely…”
“General.”
“Yes, Mr. President, we’ll cancel our constellation setup immediately.”
“Thank you.” The President nodded to his chief of staff, who immediately hit the “OFF” button on the videophone device.
“I accept that you’re bringing McLanahan back to the White House, sir,” National Security Adviser Sparks commented after the videophone terminal had gone dark, “but I will not take any more reports or requests of any kind from him unless I ask for them first. He can sit in the basement and twiddle his thumbs all day for all I care.”
“I’ll have plenty for him to do,” the President said.
“That’ll be important if we intend on protecting him under executive privilege,” chief of staff Minden pointed out. He accepted a folder from an aide that had hurried into the Oval Office. “The various legal advisers to whatever Congressional committee who wants to subpoena him will surely find out if he’s just taking up space in a basement office. If they believe we’re just hiding him here, they’ll pierce the executive privilege veil easily.” He paused, then said, “And here’s the first subpoena: the Senate Armed Services Committee, naming all the usual players in the White House, including McLanahan. Requested by Senator Barbeau as ranking member but signed off by the chairman.”
“Hand it over to the counsel’s office and winnow the list down.”
“Yes, sir,” Minden said.
“It might help if you spoke with Senator Barbeau yourself, Mr. President,” Secretary of Defense Gardner suggested. “Privately.”
The President glanced over at Minden, noticed the conspiratorial smile on his face, and scowled at both of them. “Are you pimping for me now, Joe?”
“We know exactly what the woman wants, what motivates her, and what tantalizes her,” Minden said seriously, yet the smile remained. “She’s as hard to read as a Playboy centerfold.”
“Stick to the issues, Carl.”
“What she wants, other than ever-increasing doses of power and influence, is a strong long-range attack force based on manned and unmanned bombers—built and based in Louisiana, of course,” Gardner said. “The Pentagon wants a balanced, powerful, flexible, effective force, composed of land-based bombers, sea-based attack aircraft, and ballistic missile submarines. Spaceplanes might be thrown into the mix, but they’ll take at least ten and perhaps twenty years to develop. If we put them on the back burner and rebudget the money, we can have a robust force of bombers and attack planes on the line in five years—less than half the time it’ll take to build McLanahan’s gadgets.”
“It’s McLanahan’s contention that the bombers and carrier-based aircraft represent outdated twentieth century technology,” Vice President Hershel said. “The spaceplanes represent the twenty-first century. They’ve proven they can do the job, even in this initial phase of operational testing.”
“Employed properly that may be so, Miss Vice President,” Gardner said. “But right now only one man knows how to use the damned things.”
&
nbsp; “You mean, because that one man is Patrick McLanahan, you want to put the entire program on the back burner?”
“I just don’t trust the guy, that’s all, Miss Vice President,” Gardner said, spreading his arms resignedly. “Any other general would have requested permission to fly those spaceplanes over Russia, or at least notified us ahead of time. Not McLanahan. And it’s not the first time he’s sprung a surprise on the White House or Pentagon.”
“He gets the job done…”
“He’s not the guru everyone thinks he is,” Gardner argued. “Not long ago, McLanahan was clamoring for more money for his robot bombers, hypersonic missiles, and fancy airborne lasers…”
“That was before the American Holocaust, Joe.”
“Exactly. Now we have no bombers in the inventory, except for a handful of those robot planes. That’s the force that needs to be rebuilt again, not spaceplanes. McLanahan is delusional. He has this inflated ego that makes him think he’s got all the answers…”
“This is not about the man, but the weapon system…”
“Unfortunately they seem to be one and the same right now, ma’am,” General Sparks said. He turned to the President and added, “I agree with SECDEF, sir: if we place all our trust and funding into these spaceplanes, we may not see a return on our investment for twenty years—if at all.”
“But the alternative is bombers that take twelve hours and a half-dozen support aircraft to reach a target, or ships that can be sunk with one torpedo or cruise missile?” the President asked. “Is that the best the United States can do?”
“We’re not talking about propeller-driven bombers and wooden sailing ships,” Gardner argued. “We’re talking about several wings of unmanned stealth bombers carrying long-range standoff weapons, modern aircraft carriers, and the latest carrier-based aircraft and weaponry, all assembled and deployed within five years. It may not be the latest and greatest technology, but it’s years better than the enemy’s.”
