Jack McCarty asked, “Even if our forces were to penetrate the sites, wouldn’t the Saudis be able to electronically detonate the dirty bombs as soon as they were approached?”
“We believe our electronic warfare boys can jam all signals in and out of the facility without disrupting communications elsewhere. As a point of reference, after heavy convoy losses in our wars in Afghanistan and Iraq due to wirelessly activated IED bombs, the R&D boys at DARPA went to work on electronically jamming communications in a highly concentrated area—like within a hundred-meter diameter—without disrupting other communications. It’s called “PREW” technology, which stands for Precision Electronic Warfare. Anyway, long story short, with the right coordinates, frequencies, and beaming devices, we can jam Saudi communications with pinpoint accuracy. Al Mishari has given us the information we need to prevent detonation signals from ever reaching the dirty bombs—thus neutralizing them.”
“Al Mishari also showed us how to dismantle the dirty bombs—which are pretty plain vanilla in design—and our Navy Seal and Special Forces demolition teams are practicing the techniques as I speak. Further, he has strongly recommended we take out communications in the command post in Riyadh as an added fail-safe precaution. We are now targeting this site for electronic warfare; we’ll use a converted B-2 stealth bomber flying at 42,000 feet near Riyadh to jam signals.”
“One other detail, Mr. President,” Mullen continued, “and it’s important. After the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in 1991, the Saudis recognized how vulnerable they were. As a defensive deterrent, they extensively mined their oil infrastructure with conventional explosives. The idea was to render their oil fields inoperable for an extended time, leaving little but sand for any would-be conquerors. Some explosives may still be in place, and we could have some collateral damage to the fields. Unlike dirty bombs, however, damage from conventional bombs could be quickly repaired.”
“Thanks, Tony,” said the president, fascinated by the intelligence and countermeasures proposed. “What else did Al Mishari tell us?”
“He literally mapped out the Saudi order of battle: their troop dispositions, fortified lines, defense plan, air and ground assets, and most important, he outlined how to penetrate the secret base in the southern desert where four atomic bombs are in storage. He also confirmed our intelligence reports that most of the Saudi armored units deployed earlier in the protectorates of Kuwait, Qatar, and the UAE had been pulled back and redeployed along the borders.”
“Thanks Tony. Now, Thurmond, would you and your team go over the main battle plan for Operation Steel Drum?”
“Yes, Mr. President, glad to do so,” SecDef Thompson eagerly replied.
“As you know, we’ve been building up our land, sea, and air forces in the Middle East over the past half year, and we’ve worked closely with the Brits, China, and others in the effort. Combined, they’ll be contributing the equivalent of seven divisions to the effort. Our forces alone are more than enough to do the job, but if there’s one thing we learned from the Iraq War, it’s that there has to be a sufficient troop density to occupy the territory after the battle is won so that security can be maintained.”
Clayton recalled his many discussions with Lin Cheng on postwar security in Saudi Arabia. The 2003 Iraq War taught them the folly of disbanding an entire army and putting tens of thousands of angry young soldiers out on the street, jobless and packing weapons. By taking out a couple of layers of the officer corps and disbanding the elite Royal Saudi units, they could maintain internal security by channeling those soldiers into a military police force. China also agreed to supply security forces under UN direction.
“Are our forces ready, Thurmond?”
“They’ve been in a high state of readiness for some time, Mr. President, and they can launch an attack within 96 hours—four days,” Thompson declared with obvious pride.
“How will this dovetail, from a timing point of view, with the preliminary dirty-bomb demolition movements Tony has just described?” Clayton asked.
Secretary Thompson brought up a map of Saudi Arabia on the wall screen. “Mr. President, in keeping with Operation Steel Drum, six hours prior to the main attack a number of preparatory actions will take place. It will start with a major electronic jamming effort over key Saudi oil fields, in the Riyadh Control Center, and the nuclear facility in the south Saudi desert. We are confident that we can take out their ability to detonate the dirty bombs remotely as well as disrupt general communications.”
Thompson gestured to the map and continued, “Within minutes of this effort, a large number of Seal and Special Forces teams will be dropped on the preassigned targets in these locations. They’ll eliminate local security forces, and the specially trained dirty-bomb disposal teams will go into action. We’ll also send additional teams in to dismantle any conventional explosives. With respect to the nuclear facility in the south, we’ll air-drop several companies of the 101st Airborne Division to capture the nukes and establish a defensive perimeter. We risk early detection, but we can’t let those nukes fall back into their hands.”
Excitement mounted as the screen played out the inexorable movement of allied troops in a twenty-first-century blitzkrieg. Clayton nodded and then recognized the feeling of the slight tic in his right cheek that usually signaled extreme tension.
Thompson continued, “Now, with the dirty-bomb disposal operations well underway and communications cut off between the central command in Riyadh and their key military units, we’ll launch a massive aerial bombardment. Our top three priorities will be taking out any cruise missile sites or platforms capable of launching dirty bombs, crippling the Saudi Air Force, and eliminating their command and control structure. British fighter-bombers will concentrate on troop formations, military installations, and supply depots. We’ll use smart bombs to avoid collateral damage to the infrastructure. In terms of sheer concentrated firepower, it will be the most powerful military attack ever launched. We anticipate the morale and fighting ability of Saudi forces will be severely degraded by the airstrikes.”
The president, though captivated by the presentation, seemed perplexed.
“With no airpower,” Thompson continued, “and a command and control system in ruins, they’ll be unprepared for our ground actions. If you’ll refer to the screen, I’ll highlight the three attack points from eleven, one, and three o’clock around Riyadh.”
“The force and fury of the attack will make the ‘shock and awe’ attacks of the Iraq War look like child’s play. Within minutes, the broken Saudi forces will be faced with a three-pronged armored juggernaut coming from the northeast out of Israel, north out of Kuwait, and east out of Bahrain—all pushing for Riyadh at breakneck speeds. The Bahrain force will also send armored columns south to cut off Saudi forces stationed near the borders of Qatar and UAE, and they will meet up with the troops of the 101st Airborne Division guarding the perimeter of the nuclear facility. A small diversionary attack will be made south of Jeddah near the Red Sea to tie down forces there. We expect to reach the suburbs of Riyadh within twenty-four to forty-eight hours, leaving them little time to organize an effective defense of the city.”
Clayton thought about the hours of difficult negotiations with Jordan that had gained permission for American forces to cut across their territory from Israel to attack the Saudis. The Jordanians had no love for Mustafa, and they had finally agreed, provided that Israeli forces were excluded from the operation. Kuwait, though technically a protectorate ally of Mustafa’s, agreed to look the other way as long as Mustafa was prevented from dropping a dirty bomb on their oil fields.
“Where does Prince Khalid fit into all this?” asked the president, mindful of the importance of making this a Saudi operation to the greatest extent possible.
Thompson took a quick look at his notes before answering. “He’ll lead an all-Saudi armored brigade into the city of Riyadh. His brigade will be in the second wave of forces to embark from Bahrain, and he’ll be catapulted to the f
ront once Riyadh is about to fall. Like Charles De Gaulle entering Paris after the Nazis were booted out, Prince Khalid’s all-Arab armored force will be one of the first columns the people of Riyadh see entering the city. This has to be seen as a Saudi-led liberation effort and not a Western occupation.”
“Have the forces been sufficiently briefed on the location of the mosques and other holy sites?” asked Jack McCarty, ever mindful of the diplomatic aspects of the conflict.
“Yes, they have, and for added security, we’ve established a two-hundred-meter buffer zone between any holy site and point of military action. Our commanders will be briefed thoroughly on the importance of avoiding any incident that would provoke or offend the Saudi people. Likewise, we will not be targeting infrastructure like bridges, roads, or power stations needed to support the economy after the war. Our goal is to wipe out Mustafa’s fighting power without destroying the nation’s infrastructure and then to go after him and his henchmen. We have no quarrel with the Saudi people and will come as their friends.”
The next two hours of the meeting were devoted to the logistics of Operation Steel Drum, with a good amount of time spent discussing postwar efforts to follow. After adjourning the meeting and walking back to the Oval Office, Clayton and Jack conferred about the coming operation.
“How do you feel about it, Clayton?” Jack asked with obvious concern, “I noticed that little twitch in your cheek this afternoon, and I wasn’t sure how to read your reaction to the Situation Room briefing.”
Clayton thought a moment before answering as they turned the corner to enter the Oval Office. “We’ve waited a long time for this, Jack, and now that the time has come I’m a little nervous. I guess all commanders must feel this way before a major battle. You think more about the things that can go wrong—stuff like that. I’ve often wondered how Ike felt after making his D-Day decision to go, despite iffy weather in Normandy.”
“That’s understandable,” Jack persisted, “but is there anything specifically that’s troubling to you?”
“There are a lot of things, Jack. It all looks so glitzy and sanitized when Thurmond Thompson shows it on the screen, but I remember how formidable it all looked to me as a ground-pounder in the Gulf War. My perspective as commander in chief is obviously different, but I still have that infantryman’s skepticism.”
“Talk to me, Clayton. This is important. What concerns you most?”
Clayton hesitated, uneasy, but he felt he owed Jack an answer. “Lots of things, Jack. For instance, what if things aren’t as Al Mishari says they are? What happens if some of the oil fields actually go up in a radioactive blizzard? Or, what happens if our electronic warfare people can’t jam the communications like they say, or our Seal teams can’t prevent the detonation of the conventional explosives?”
Jack nodded, then said something that eased the way for the decision that Clayton had all but made.
“Let’s suppose some of these things materialize, Clayton, as they so often do in war. As things stand now, the global economy is strangling for lack of oil, and there’ll be precious little left of any economy to save if this thing continues for another six months. Just look at the mess we’ll be in a couple of weeks from now as our SPR dries up. The question I’d put to you is this: will our actions, if they totally fail, put us in a worse position than the one we’re in today?”
Clayton fell silent as he pondered Jack’s question. If we do nothing, the oil crisis will worsen. If we do something and it fails, we won’t be any worse off, because we’re not getting the oil anyway. Furthermore, as Jack says, in another six months there’ll be little left to save, so why wait?
“You’re right, Jack. We’re screwed as it is, and it won’t get better. If we don’t do something soon—especially when there’s an opportunity like we have now—there’ll be little left of our economy to save. I’ll talk to Lin Cheng and, assuming there are no objections on his part, I’ll order the attack to commence on April 6. I’ll leave the exact time for our Joint Chiefs of Staff to decide. Thanks Jack,” he said gratefully, feeling better about what he was about to do.
After Jack left, Clayton adjourned to Shangri-la. Political historians loved to talk about how the president had the loneliest job in the world, but until you’ve been there, Clayton thought, you could never realize just how true it was. He felt with every fiber in his body that an attack was the right choice, but there was still a nagging red flag in the back of his head that he couldn’t identify. What am I missing? he thought as he picked up the phone to clear the strike with his friend and ally, Lin Cheng.
61
Hart Senate Office Building
3 April 2018
“I just don’t understand it, Hugo,” muttered Tom Collingsworth. “How could things have unraveled so fast? What did we do wrong?” The rain beating against the office window matched the pervading atmosphere of despair inside.
“I wish I knew, Senator,” said Bromfield, currently more concerned with his own well-being than that of his nincompoop boss. He had another job offer on his desk from a newer member of the Senate—a demotion, to be sure—but it was starting to look better all the time as he considered how far the Collingsworth star had fallen.
“It simply amazes me,” Collingsworth continued. “The country has never been in such a horrible mess, and the worse it gets, the higher the approval ratings seem to be for McCarty and his cohorts.”
“That’s true, Senator, but what bothers me most is that the better his ratings get, the worse your ratings are. There are powerful forces working to strip you of your chairmanship, and I honestly don’t know if we can fend them off.”
Collingsworth poured himself another stiff double scotch, not offering Bromfield one, and scratched his head in dismay. “Our partnership with Wellington Crane had gone so well for so long, we seemed unstoppable. What on Earth happened?”
“Hard to say, Senator, but for one thing, Wellington’s popularity has plummeted. He’s losing followers and sponsors now that he’s viewed more as a negative voice than a positive influence. Wellington’s gone off the deep end, and I’m afraid he’s taking us with him.”
“He’ll be calling me shortly to talk about his show next week. He wants me to throw a few bombs on McCarty’s handling of the oil embargo and economy. The last three times I’ve been on his show, the mail has been four to one against me.”
“There’s no doubt, Senator, you’re digging your own grave by showing any support for Wellington. I’ve tried to tell you,” Bromfield said with growing anger, “you need to distance yourself from Crane and send a few olive branches the way of the White House. But you refuse to listen.”
“You’re right, Hugo, I know you’re right, but I just don’t know how to sever my ties with Wellington. He’s not one to forget disloyalties, and he’d kill me if I abandoned him.”
At that, the anger and resentments Hugo had swallowed over the past four months erupted in a venomous fury. He lit into his terrified boss like a fighting-mad Marine Corps gunny sergeant tearing into an incompetent new recruit.
“I’ve had it with you, Senator,” he screamed. “I’m fed up with carrying the water for you. I’m tired of crafting positions for you that you don’t follow and doing damage control every time you open your mouth without thinking. Your star is falling, Tom, and I don’t know if I can save you. I don’t know if I even want to. Certainly I can’t save you if you stupidly fail to follow my advice.”
On a roll, Hugo could not control the invective spewing out in waves, and it was obvious that Collingsworth was too stunned to fight back. Finally, emotionally spent and totally dejected, Hugo concluded, “I’m probably the only friend you have left, Tom, and I’m leaving too if you don’t tell Wellington where he can shove it. Your choice, Senator, I’ve had it with you.”
As luck would have it, his secretary tapped on the door at just that moment to tell the senator that Wellington Crane was on the phone. Collingsworth quickly gunned down another double scotch bef
ore picking up the phone.
“Yes, Wellington, what can I do for you?”
“I’m calling to nail down talking points for my show next week, Senator, and …”
“I won’t be able to be on your show next week, Wellington,” Collingsworth interrupted loudly as Hugo glared at him with disdain.
“What do you mean you won’t be able to be on my show? Is this some kind of joke?”
“No, it’s ah, it’s not a joke, Wellington, I just can’t make it,” he muttered, obviously feeling the effects of four quick double scotches. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s time we cool our jets for a while.”
“Who do you think you’re talking to, Senator, some yes-man flunky like Hugo? What do you mean, ‘cool our jets'? What does that mean?”
Looking at a scowling Bromfield, the senator quickly responded, “What I’m saying is that you are a political liability, Wellington, and I’m getting killed because of my relationship with you. I think it’s time we parted company for a while.”
Hugo noticed the stunned silence following the senator’s comment and knew a full-scale retaliatory attack from Wellington was imminent. He wasn’t surprised when, for the second time in ten minutes, the senator took a combat-grade tongue-lashing. Crane blistered him with profanities and accusations of stupidity. He accused him of every disloyalty known to mankind and said that at least Clayton McCarty had the guts to stand up for his positions, unlike a namby-pamby like him and his no-good, gutless Senate colleagues. Hugo could not help but agree with Wellington’s harsh assessment and had absolutely no compassion whatsoever for his beleaguered boss.
Collingsworth slammed the phone down in a rage and poured what looked like a triple. He would have quite a few more before leaving his Senate office.
62
Mankato, Minnesota
4 April 2018
Lethal Trajectories Page 38
