Battle Born (42 page)

“I tried to explain that Genesis was driving this exercise,” Dave said, using HAWC’s unclassified call sign, “but I don’t have nearly enough juice to put out this fire. General Samson wants to meet with the chief of staff and/or the CJSC, but with this Korea thing exploding, no one’s available to take a meeting.”

“Has General Samson talked with General Bretoff?”

“Affirmative,” Dave said. “Bretoff’s a nice guy, but this squabble is way over his head, and he’s swinging whichever way the wind’s blowing. I think if General Samson will run interference, Bretoff will run with the ball and let us play. I think this was just plain bad timing, Muck—everyone would be a lot less tweaked if the Korea thing hadn’t erupted.”

“Gotcha,” Patrick said. “I’m not really concerned about ACC right now—what I want is those planes.”

“Bottom line: I think all you’ll get are the planes that are airborne right now, my friend,” Dave said. “Might be better to leave it at that. We only have kits and weapons for two birds anyway, and funds for only two more. Get the four on the ground at Dreamland, and only the SECAF or higher can dislodge them. CSAF is already onboard, if your boys haven’t pissed him off too much.”

“We’ll see,” Patrick said. “Thanks, Dave. See you on
the ground shortly.” He switched back to interphone. “Co’s back up, crew. I’m going to interplane freq.” He switched to the air-to-air frequency: “Aces Two-Zero, check.”

“We’re up,” replied Rebecca Furness in the other B-1 in the patrol orbit.

“Aces Three-Zero flight, check.”

The transmission was a little scratchy, but they heard, “Aces Three-Zero flight of two is up. Hiya, hogs.”

“Three-Zero?” Furness remarked. “What’s going on, sir?”

“You’ll see.” On the interplane frequency, he said, “Three-Zero flight, Two-Zero flight is in fingertip in the anchor at one seven thousand block one eight thousand. I want you in the block one-niner to two-zero.” Both flights verified their positions on air-to-air TACAN and radar, then coordinated the rejoin with Los Angeles Center. Once both formations were within three miles of each other, McLanahan had Furness declare MARSA—”military assumes responsibility for separation of aircraft”—with the other formation. The civilian controllers seemed very relieved to relinquish responsibility for this strange and unusual gaggle of military aircraft.

“Hey, you guys hear what’s happened?” the pilot in Aces Three-Zero said on the secure interplane frequency after they were safely in the patrol orbit. “War has started in Korea. They expect the balloon to go up any second.”

“I think the balloon has already gone up—right on top of
us
,” the pilot of Aces Three-One chimed in. “We’ve been getting messages from the command post and SATCOM messages telling us to put down back in Reno. They say our whole unit’s been
violated.
What’s the story, boss?”

“I’m going to let the general explain,” Furness said, “because I don’t fucking understand it one bit.”

“Okay, listen up, all of you,” Patrick said on inter-plane. “This is Major Seaver’s copilot. A situation has developed related to the Korea crisis, and using my own discretion under the authority of the chief of staff of the Air Force, I have ordered all of the 111th’s aircraft and deployable aircrews to another location. We’re on our way there right now. It’s imperative that you follow my directions exactly, or you’ll be shot down. Do you understand?”

“What’s going down, Go-Fast?” asked Pogo Lassky in Aces Three-One. “Is this for real? What does he mean, shot down?”

“Shut up and listen, all of you,” Furness said. “I don’t know what’s happening, but the general is in charge. Be quiet, pay attention, and do like the man says.”

“How’s your fuel level, number one?” Lassky asked.

“I’m not under duress, Pogo,” Furness answered immediately. Lassky’s question was a code phrase, asking in as natural a manner as possible if there was a hijacker or any trouble onboard. “This is for real. We’ll be on the ground shortly, and then he’ll explain everything. Now listen good.”

“Hey, are you a terrorist or something?” John Long asked. “Is this some twisted plot to steal our planes and bomb Canada or something?”

“It’s a twisted plot, all right,” Patrick said with a smile in his voice. “And yes, I am stealing the planes—sort of.”

“Is this part of the pre-D?” someone else asked. “Is this part of the exercise? Some kind of loyalty or anti-terrorist test?”

“No, this is not part of the pre-D, and no, it’s not a test of your loyalty,” Patrick replied. “You can refuse to
participate in what I’m planning on doing. I will not order anyone to follow my directions. You can fly back to Reno. I’ll even invalidate the flying portion of the pre-D.”

“Say
what?
” Furness asked incredulously. “You’ll what?”

“The squadron did almost perfectly in the generation and predeployment,” Patrick said. “You didn’t do so well in the flying part. I’ve already received hate mail from Air Combat Command, the Guard Bureau, and several wing commanders, and I’m sure there are more waiting to chew some butt. But I’m willing to tell ACC, the National Guard Bureau, and the chief of staff of the Air Force that I unfairly influenced the flying portion to make it more difficult than the regs allowed. You keep all your Probability to Launch and Survive points, and you do the flying part some other time with some other evaluator.”

“Why invalidate the flying portion of the pre-D?” the pilot aboard Aces Three-One asked. “What happened? How did we do?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick said. “I haven’t tallied the reports yet. I’ll debrief you all later.”

“If we were doing okay, I think you’d tell us, sir,” another crew member said. “Why don’t you tell us the truth? We’re big boys.”

“Any objections, Colonel Furness?” Patrick asked on interplane. There was no response—Patrick decided Furness knew exactly what was coming and was afraid to countermand a full report in front of the troops. “Very well. All in all, the squadron did very well—I’d rate you an ‘excellent’ overall, in fact. Almost perfect in Probability to Launch and Survive points. Almost perfect . . . right up until Major Seaver taxied out of the parking area. After that, it all went downhill.”

“What . . .?”

“One documented ROE violation, three observed range safety violations, one observed weapons safety violation, one possible safety-of-flight violation,” Patrick said. “That gives Two-One’s sortie a zero Damage Expectancy score, which takes you down to eighty-six percent even if everyone else was
absolutely
perfect. You need an eighty percent to pass. If Two-Zero gets charged with a range safety violation for participating in that ‘airshow’ stunt with Seaver, they’ll get a zero DE score too. Two noneffective sorties out of seven is an automatic fail.”

“Stand by
!” Rinc Seaver thundered. “What the hell do you mean, we failed? What right do you have to tell
my
fliers something like that? Who the hell do you think you are, McLanahan?”

“That’s ‘General’ or ‘sir’ to you, Colonel!” Patrick snapped. “And don’t give me this innocence routine. You all knew what the ROEs are for this ride, and you deliberately broke them—not once, but
three times:
twice with the fighters and once with your own wing-man! And you know damn well that you were two hundred and twenty feet low on that last bomb release—you could’ve killed us all. I’ve got verified radar data from the AWACS plane. We haven’t even
landed
yet, and I’ve already received safety-of-flight complaints! You just don’t push the envelope or bend the rules, Seaver—you disregard them. You’re
unsafe.
”

“So if I’m such a hazard and a risk, why did you have us do all that other crazy shit over R-4808?” Rinc asked. “You want us for something, don’t you?”

“Right now I want your planes,” McLanahan said. “I’ll decide if and which crews I want for them later.”

“And what if we decide not to go along with this cockamamy scheme of yours?” Rebecca Furness interjected. “Why in hell should we do all this and risk getting busted and maybe even handing our planes over to
a terrorist or some wacko? We don’t know jack shit about you or what’s going on. Why should we trust you?”

“The answer is, you shouldn’t if you don’t want to,” Patrick replied. “Anyone who wants to can depart the anchor, get a clearance and a squawk from L.A. Center, and take your plane back to Reno. I’ll invalidate the flying phase of the pre-D exercise, and I’ll make sure you get full recognition for your outstanding job during the generation and deployment.

“I don’t know what will happen if you return to Reno, guys,” Patrick went on. “If you’re lucky, Major Seaver and maybe Colonel Furness will get fired or reassigned, and you’ll get to do your pre-D all over again after a six-month probationary period. But odds are, you’ll get decertified. The Nevada Air National Guard will lose its Bones, and it’ll take every ounce of juice from your congressional delegations and state lobbyists to get a military flying unit back into the state of Nevada, let alone to Reno.”

“So what happens if we go with you, General?” Furness asked.

“Maybe the same thing,” Patrick admitted. “The Air Force and the Pentagon can nix my entire plan. Then
I
get canned along with you and Seaver.

“But if the Pentagon signs off on my plan, by wintertime we’ll be flying the most high-tech warplanes on the face of the earth,” Patrick continued. “You’ll be placed on extended active duty for training in a new class of warplane. You’ll train a new generation of bomber crews with a mission unlike anything the world has ever seen before.”

“Well, shit, General,” Seaver said sarcastically. “When you put it that way, what’s the big deal?”

“This is the big deal,” Patrick said. “My program is ‘black’ right now. That means it’s so classified that everything
and anything that comes near it is sucked into a bottomless, agonizing pit of security rules that at best will drive you nuts.

“If you all agree to this, your lives will change forever. Your personal and professional lives, and the lives of your family, friends, and acquaintances, will be under intense scrutiny for decades. You will be giving up most of your personal freedoms and liberties by agreeing to do this. I know many of you joined the Air Guard to escape the life of an active-duty career military officer—well, if you agree to do this, life in the active-duty force will seem like a vacation in Hawaii compared to what you’ll be subjected to. You’ll be jerked around as soon as you get on final approach to our destination—I shit you not.”

Patrick waited for several moments; then: “According to my watch, we’ve got twenty minutes of fuel left before we need to head back to Reno. That’s how long you’ve got to think about my offer. Ask any questions, talk it over with your crews or with the colonel. Then give me an answer. Once we get back to Reno, the decision will be made for you.”

“We don’t need to talk about it,” Furness radioed. “I’m still the commander of Aces High, and I make the decisions.”

“Not this time, Colonel,” Patrick said. “This decision affects each aviator personally. It’s not a squadron decision.”

“They’re in my planes—it’s
my
decision, General.”

“I said, no it’s not, Colonel,” Patrick snapped. “Each man and woman makes this decision on their own.”

“You don’t know shit about command, do you, General?” Furness said. “Listen up, hogs. The general’s right on one count: we blew it today. We all know the rules of engagement exist so the fighter pukes can have a chance of bagging us. We all know they’re bullshit.
But we get paid to follow the rules, and we broke them because protecting our guys and doing the job means more than following some desk jockey’s safety rules. The pud-pounders have been looking for an excuse to shut down Aces High, and it looks like we gave them an excuse this morning. Fuck it. Our mission was BOTOTCHA, not playing by some stinking nice-nice rules. We put bombs on target and came out alive. We did our job.”

“I don’t know what game the general’s playing,” Rinc Seaver broke in, “but I got a peek at his super-secret project. It looks pretty cosmic, and it looks like it’s exactly up our alley. If we go back to Reno, we’ll probably be sucking wind. If we stay together and keep pushing forward, we might get a chance to do some pretty cool shit. We’re going for it. Everyone copy?”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Four.”

“Colonel Furness is not being entirely straight with you guys,” Patrick said. “I don’t know what will happen to your unit if you return. Like I said, my guess is that the two pilots involved in the ‘airshow’ incident will be forced to retire or reassigned. Your unit will probably continue on . . .”

“And I don’t think the general’s been entirely straight with us either,” said Seaver. “The general has a hidden agenda: he wants our planes more than he wants us. We’ve been ordered back to Reno. If we land someplace else, we’ve violated a direct lawful order. We could all get shit-canned on the spot. But the general will end up with our planes, which is probably all he’s wanted ever since he showed up in town. Tell me I’m wrong, General McLanahan.”

“You’re wrong,” Patrick said. “My underlying agenda involves finding the best crews and the best
planes for a new attack mission. I think you’re it. But my primary reason for coming to Reno was to conduct your predeployment inspection. Your showboating and the conflict in Korea has just sped up my timetable. It’s your hotdogging that’s put this unit in jeopardy, Major, not my agenda.”

“Thanks for the clarification, General—I think it agrees with what I just said,” Furness said. “We’ll leave it up to the crewdogs. Okay, hogs. Talk among yourselves, then report back and tell me if you’re in with me or out. If you want out, fine. No hard feelings.”

“Two’s in,” Rinc said immediately.

“Three’s in.”

“Four’s in.”

“That good enough for you, General?” Furness asked, a sharp edge to her voice.

“I guess it’ll have to be,” Patrick said. “Welcome aboard, guys and gals. Welcome to hell. Listen up carefully:

“We’re going to break out of this anchor and shoot an ILS approach at an undisclosed and uncharted military airfield. I have no doubt you’ll figure out which one I’m talking about shortly. As you might guess, security there is extraordinarily tight. Overflying the base is not allowed at any time no matter what the circumstances. We need to do this precisely so the security forces on the ground don’t encounter any surprises, because they have only one response to surprise aircraft overflying their location—they’ll destroy it. Plain and simple. They’ve done it before and they’ll do it again. Any aircraft, any person aboard—dead, if they don’t follow procedures. We are expected, so we’re not a total surprise for them, but this hasn’t been coordinated in advance, so all the security forces will be high-strung.