by Dale Brown
“Why wasn’t I notified of this?”
“The mission is described as ‘routine,’ sir,” Carlyle said. “Crew of two, three passengers, six orbits of the Earth and return to Elliott Air Force Base, total mission duration ten hours.”
“What is this, a fucking joy ride? Who are the passengers? I ordered essential missions only! What in hell is going on? I thought I grounded all of the spaceplanes.”
Carlyle and Kordus exchanged puzzled expressions. “I…I’m not aware of an order grounding the spaceplanes, sir,” Carlyle responded feebly. “You did recall the SkySTREAK bombers from their patrols, but not the space—”
“I had a deal with Zevitin, Conrad: No more spaceplane launches without first notifying him,” Gardner said. “He’s hopping mad about the launch, and so am I!”
Carlyle’s brows knitted, and his mouth opened and closed with confusion. “I’m sorry, Joe, but I’m not aware of any agreement we made with Zevitin to inform him of anything dealing with the spaceplanes,” he said finally. “I know he’s been clamoring for that — he rants and raves to every media outlet in the world that the spaceplanes are a danger to world peace and security because they can be mistaken for an intercontinental ballistic missile, and he’s demanding that we notify him before we launch one — but there’s been no formal agreement about—”
“Didn’t I order Cannon to be sure that those spaceplanes and any space weapons didn’t enter sovereign airspace, even if it meant keeping them on the ground?” the President thundered. “They were to stay out of any country’s airspace at all times. Didn’t I give that order?”
“Well…yes, sir, I believe you did,” Kordus replied. “But the spaceplanes can easily fly above a country’s airspace. They can—”
“How can they do that?” the President asked. “We have airspace that’s restricted from the surface to infinity. Sovereign airspace is all the airspace above a nation.”
“Sir, as we’ve discussed before, under the Outer Space Treaty no nation can restrict access or travel through outer space,” Carlyle reminded the President. “Legally space begins one hundred kilometers from Earth’s surface. The spaceplane can climb into space quickly enough while over friendly countries, open ocean, or the ice packs, and once up there can fly around without violating anyone’s sovereign airspace. They do it—”
“I don’t give a shit what it says in an obsolete forty-year-old treaty!” the President thundered. “For many months we have been involved in discussions with Zevitin and the United Nations to come up with a way to alleviate the anxiety felt by many around the world to spaceplane and space station operations without restricting our own access to space or revealing classified information. Until we had something worked out, I made it clear that I didn’t want the spaceplanes flitting around unnecessarily making folks nervous and interfering with the negotiations. Essential missions only, and that meant resupply and national emergencies — I had to personally approve all other missions. Am I mistaken, or have I not approved any other spaceplane flights recently?”
“Sir, General Cannon must have felt it important enough to launch this flight without—”
“Without my approval? He thinks he can just blast off into space without anyone’s permission? Where’s the emergency? Is the spaceplane going to dock with the space station? Who are the three passengers? Do you even know?”
“I’ll put in a call to General Cannon, sir,” Carlyle said, picking up the phone. “I’ll get all the details right away.”
“This is a damned nightmare! This is out of control!” the President thundered. “I want to know who’s responsible for this, and I want his ass out! Do you hear me? Unless war has been declared or aliens are attacking, I want whoever’s responsible for this shit-canned! I want to speak with Cannon myself!”
Carlyle put his hand over the phone’s mouthpiece as he waited and said, “Sir, I suggest I speak with General Cannon. Keep an arm’s-length distance from this. If it’s just a training flight or something, you don’t want to be perceived as jumping off the deep end, especially after just speaking with the president of Russia.”
“This is serious, Conrad, and I want it clear to my generals that I want those spaceplanes under tight control,” the President said.
“Are you sure that’s how you want to handle it, Joe?” Kordus asked in a quiet voice. “Reaching down past Secretary Turner to dress down a four-star general is bad form. If you want to beat someone up, pick on Turner — he was the final authority for that spaceplane launch.”
“Oh, I’ll give Turner a piece of my mind too, you can bet on that,” the President said angrily, “but Cannon and that other guy, the three-star—”
“Lieutenant General Backman, commander of CENTAF.”
“Whatever. Cannon and Backman have been fighting me too hard and too long over this space defense force idea of McLanahan’s, and it’s about time to bring them back into line — or, better, get rid of them. They’re the last holdouts of Martindale’s Pentagon brain trust, and they want the space stuff because it builds up their empires.”
“If you want them gone, we’ll get rid of them — they all serve at the pleasure of the commander-in-chief,” Kordus said. “But they’re still very powerful and popular generals, especially with congressmen who are for the space program. They may push their own plans and programs while in uniform, but as disgraced and disgruntled retired generals, they’ll attack you openly and personally. Don’t give them a reason.”
“I know how the game is played, Walter — hell, I made most of the rules,” the President said hotly. “I’m not afraid of the generals, and I shouldn’t be worried about tiptoeing around them — I’m the damned commander-in-chief. Get Turner on the line right away.” He reached over and snatched the phone out of the National Security Adviser’s hand. “Signals, what the hell is going on? Where’s Cannon?”
“Stand by, sir, he should be connecting any second now.” A few moments later: “Cannon here, secure.”
“General Cannon, this is the President. Why the hell did you authorize that spaceplane to launch without my authority?”
“Uh…good afternoon, sir,” Cannon began, perplexed. “As I explained to the Secretary of Defense, sir, it’s a pre-positioning flight only while we await final approval for a mission inside Iran. With the spacecraft in orbit, if we got approval it would be easy to insert the team, do their job, then get them out again. If it was not approved, it would be equally easy to return them to base.”
“I specifically ordered no spaceplanes to cross foreign borders without my approval.”
“Sir, as you know, once the spaceplane is above the sixty-mile threshold, it’s—”
“Don’t give me that Outer Space Treaty crap!” the President thundered. “Do I have to spell it out for you? I don’t want the spaceplanes in orbit unless it’s to support the space station or it’s an emergency, and if it’s an emergency it had better be a damned serious one! The rest of the world thinks we’re getting ready to launch attacks from space…which apparently is exactly what you are planning, behind my back!”
“I’m not hiding anything from anyone, sir,” Cannon argued. “Without orders to the contrary, I launched the spaceplanes on my own authority with strict orders that no one crosses into any sovereign airspace. That is my standing general order from SECDEF. Those instructions have been complied with to the letter.”
“Well, I’m rescinding your authority, General,” the President said. “From now on, all movements of any spacecraft will need my direct permission before execution. Do I make myself clear, General? You had better not put so much as a rat in space without my permission!”
“I understand, sir,” Cannon said, “but I don’t recommend that course of action.”
“Oh? And why not?”
“Sir, keeping that level of control on any military asset is dangerous and wasteful, but it’s even more critical with the space launch systems,” Cannon said. “Military units need one commander to be ef
fective, and that should be a theater commander with instantaneous and constant access to information from the field. The spaceplanes and all of our space launch systems are designed for maximum speed and flexibility, and in an emergency they’ll lose both if final authority remains in Washington. I strongly recommend against taking operational command of those systems. If you’re not happy with my decisions, sir, then may I remind you that you can dismiss me and appoint another theater commander to have control of the spaceplanes and other launch systems.”
“I’m well aware of my authority, General,” Gardner said. “My decision stands.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now who the hell is aboard that spaceplane, and why wasn’t I informed of this mission?”
“Sir, along with the two flight crewmembers, there are three members of General McLanahan’s Air Battle Force ground operations unit aboard the spaceplane,” Cannon responded tonelessly.
“McLanahan? I should have known,” the President spat. “That guy is the definition of a loose cannon! What was he up to? Why did he want that spaceplane launched?”
“They were being pre-positioned in orbit pending approval for a reconnaissance and interdiction mission inside Iran.”
“‘Pre-positioned’? You mean, you sent a spaceplane and three commandos over Iran without my permission? On your sole authority?”
“I have the authority to pre-position and forward-deploy forces anywhere in the world to support my standing orders and fulfill my command’s responsibilities, sir,” Cannon said testily. “The spaceplanes were specifically directed not to enter any foreign airspace without permission, and they have fully complied with that order. If they do not receive authorization to proceed with their plan, they are directed to return to base.”
“What kind of nonsense is this, General? This is the spaceplane we’re talking about — loaded with McLanahan’s armed robots, I assume, correct?”
“It’s not nonsense, sir — it’s how this command and all major theater commands normally operate,” Cannon said, trying mightily to keep his anger and frustration in check. Gardner was the former Secretary of the Navy and Secretary of Defense, for God’s sake — he knew this better than anyone…! “As you know, sir, I give orders to pre-position and forward-deploy thousands of men and women all over the world every day, both in support of routine day-to-day operations as well as in preparation for contingency missions. They all operate within standing orders, procedural doctrine, and legal limits. They don’t deviate one iota until given a direct execution order by myself, and that order isn’t given until I receive a go-ahead from the national command authority — you, or the Secretary of Defense. It doesn’t matter if we’re talking about one spaceplane and five personnel, or an aircraft carrier battle group with twenty ships, seventy aircraft, and ten thousand personnel.”
“You seem to believe that the spaceplanes are simple little windup toy planes that no one notices or cares about, General,” the President said. “You may think it’s routine to send a spaceplane over Iran or an aircraft carrier battle group off someone’s coastline, but I assure you, the entire world is in mortal fear of them. Wars have been started by far less. It’s obvious your attitude toward the weapons systems under your command has to change, General, and I mean now.” Cannon had no response. “What members of McLanahan’s Battle Force are aboard?”
“Two Tin Men and one CID unit, sir.”
“Jesus…that’s not a recon team, that’s a damned strike team! They can take on an entire infantry company! What were you thinking, General? Did you think McLanahan was going to fly that kind of force all that way and not use them? What in hell were McLanahan’s robots going to do in Iran?”
“Sensors picked up unusual and suspicious activity at a remote highway airbase in eastern Iran that had previously been used by the Iranian Revolutionary Guards,” Cannon said. “General McLanahan believes the base is secretly being reopened either by the Iranians or by the Russians. His satellite imagery can’t give him precise enough pictures to tell for sure, so he requested an insertion of a three-person Battle Force squad to take a look and, if necessary, destroy the base.”
“Destroy the base?” the President thundered, angrily slapping the handset into an open hand. “My God, he authorized McLanahan to send an armed spaceplane over Iran to destroy a military base, and I didn’t know about it? Is he insane?” He raised the receiver: “And when were you going to let the rest of us know about McLanahan’s little plan, General — after World War Four was under way?”
“McLanahan’s plan has been passed along to us here at Strategic Command, and my operations staff is reviewing it and will be presenting a recommendation to the Secretary of Defense,” Cannon replied. “We should be making a decision any moment—”
“I’ll make a decision for you right now, General: I want that spaceplane to land as soon as possible back at their home base,” the President said. “Do you understand me? I don’t want those commandos deployed, or that spaceplane to land, anywhere but back in Nevada or wherever the hell it’s from, unless it’s a life-or-death emergency. And I don’t want one thing to be launched, ejected, or otherwise leave that spacecraft that might be considered an attack on anyone…noth-ing. Am I making myself perfectly clear, General Cannon?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And if that spaceplane crosses one political boundary anywhere on the planet under that damned sixty-mile altitude limit, you will lose your stars, General Cannon…all of them!” the President went on hotly. “You overstepped your authority, General, and I hope to hell I don’t have to spend the rest of my first term in office explaining, correcting, and apologizing for this monumental blunder. Now get on it.”
The President slammed the phone down, then took his seat, fuming. After a few moments of muttering to himself, he barked, “I want Cannon fired.”
“Sir, technically he does have the authority to move his assets anywhere he wants to on routine missions,” National Security Adviser Carlyle said. “He doesn’t need permission from the national defense authority — you or the Secretary of Defense — for day-to-day operations.”
“But we usually tell the Russians before we move any weapon systems that might be confused as an attack, correct?”
“Yes, sir — that’s always a wise precaution,” Carlyle said. “But if the theater commander needed to position his assets in preparation for an actual mission, we aren’t obligated to tell the Russians anything. We don’t even have to lie to them and tell them it’s a training mission or something.”
“Part of the problem with these spaceplanes, Conrad, is that they move too quickly,” Chief of Staff Kordus said. “Even if this was a routine mission, they’re around the world in the blink of an eye. We’ve got to put stricter controls on those guys.”
“If Cannon had something going, something important, he should have told me or Turner before launching that spaceplane,” the President said. “Walter’s right: those spaceplanes are too fast and too threatening to just launch them anytime, even on a perfectly peaceful, benign, routine mission — which this certainly was not. But I thought I made it clear to everyone that I didn’t want the spaceplanes up unless it was an emergency or a war. Am I mistaken about that?”
“No, sir, but apparently General Cannon thought this was a pretty serious indication, because he moved very quickly. He—”
“It doesn’t matter,” the President insisted. “The Russians spotted him, and I’m sure they’re radioing the Iranians, Turkmenis, and half the spies in the Middle East to be on the lookout for the Battle Force. The gig is blown. The Russians are hopping mad, and so will the United Nations, our allies, the media, and the American people be as soon as they find out about this—”
“Which will probably be any minute now,” Kordus added, “because we know Zevitin runs and leaks his information to the European press, who can’t wait to excoriate us on the most trivial matter. On something this big, they’ll have a field day. They’ll roast us alive
for the next month.”
“Just when things were starting to settle down,” the President said wearily, lighting another cigarette, “Cannon, Backman, and especially McLanahan have managed to stir it all up again.”
“The spaceplane will be on the ground before the press can run with this, Joe,” the chief of staff said, “and we’ll just refuse to confirm or deny any of the Russians’ allegations. The thing will die out soon enough.”
“It’d better,” Gardner said. “But just to be sure, Conrad, I want the spaceplanes grounded until further notice. I want all of them to stay put. No training, no so-called routine missions, nothing.” He looked around the suite and, raising his voice just enough to show his irritation and let anyone outside the suite hear, asked, “Is that clear enough for everyone? No more unauthorized missions! They stay grounded, and that’s that!” There was a chorus of muted “Yes, Mr. President” responses.
“Find out exactly when that spaceplane will be on the ground so I can notify Zevitin before someone impeaches or assassinates his ass,” the President added. “And find out from the flight docs when McLanahan can get off that space station and be brought back to Earth so I can fire his ass too.” He took a deep drag of his cigarette, stubbed it out, then reached for his empty coffee mug. “And on your way out, have that stewardess bring me something hot.”
CHAPTER SIX
It is difficult to overcome one’s passions, and impossible to satisfy them.
— MARGUERITE DE LA SABLIÈRE
