Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 05 (54 page)

           
“And now we’re talking about an
invasion force,” the President said, “something I want to avoid.
Iran
hasn’t declared war on anybody—if we shoot
first, we’re the bad guys.”

 
          
“And
after all that, our chances of success will be low,” Freeman admitted. “The
shooters would be outnumbered ten to one by advanced Iranian fighters, and
they’d be detected long before they got within firing range. And because the
Lincoln
is so far from the
Gulf
of
Oman
right now, fighter coverage would be
minimal or nonexistent.”

 
          
“I
take it you have an alternate plan, or else you wouldn’t be here right now,”
the President said to Freeman. “Let’s have it.”

 
          
“The
plan involves considerable risk to Air Vehicle Eleven, the B-2A bomber Jamieson
and McLanahan are flying,” Freeman said. “It’ll be sent in against the Iranian
air defenses all by itself, armed with non-lethal weapons. It involves much
more risk—not just to the crews, but to you politically as well. If it fails at
a critical time, you’ll be totally exposed—there’ll be no doubt about what you
attempted to do. If it succeeds, we’ll be able to meet your original criteria:
the mission will be totally deniable, it’ll involve no or minimal loss of life,
and it won’t look like an invasion force is out to destroy
Iran
.”

 
          
“Then
let’s do it,” the President said. “Brief me on the plan, and let’s get
started.”

 
          
“You
should think about this for a time, Mr. President,” Freeman said. “The plan
involves great personal political risk.”

 
          
“Philip,
this job is nothing
but
a long list
of great personal political risks,” President Martindale said. “But I told you,
I want that carrier stopped. If you got a way to do it without starting a
general war in the
Middle
East
—”

 
          
“Or
Asia
, sir?” Freeman interjected.

 
          
The
President hesitated—Freeman and the other advisers could see the President
avert his eyes, thinking hard, perhaps reconsidering .. .

 
          
“Or
Asia
,” the President said. “Let's hear it.” And
with that, Philip Freeman began outlining his plan to the President and his
advisers.

Tehran
,
Iran

THAT SAME TIME

 
          
Smiling,
General Buzhazi hung up the dead phone. “Your threats will do you no good,
President Martindale,” he said. To Air Force General Sattari, Buzhazi’s acting
chief of staff, he asked, “Is the mission ready to proceed, General?”

 
          
“Yes,
sir,” Sattari responded. “Backfire bombers from
Esfahan
and attack planes from Bandar Abbas will
attack the
United Arab Emirates
’ bases at Taweela, Mina Saqr, and Mina
Sultan, and the Omani naval base on the
Musandam
Peninsula
; six fighter-bombers from the
Khomeini
will attack Sib Air and Naval
Base near
Muscat
in
Oman
. Six fighters from the
Khomeini
will provide primary air cover to the east, backed up by
fighters from Chah Bahar; Bandar Abbas and Abu Musa will provide air- and
ground-based air defense cover for the western attackers. The attack will be perfectly
coordinated so that all attacks are simultaneous and that air defense fighters
will launch and cover the strikers’ retreat, without alerting anyone that an
attack is imminent.”

 
          
“And
what about the Americans?” Buzhazi asked. “The Americans patrol the
Arabian Peninsula
almost all the way to the
Gulf
of
Oman
.”

 
          
“We
outnumber all Western and GCC aircraft by a factor of three to one,” Sattari
responded. “As you ordered, we shall launch six fighters for every one of
theirs. The American and Saudi F-15s are respectable, but they are not a match
for a locust swarm of MiG- 298 and their own F-14 Tomcats.”

           
“Very good,” Buzhazi said. “And the
preparations for an attack by their stealth bombers?”

 
          
“Radar
sites from
Shiraz
to Char Bahar are now all synchronized. We
cover the entire
Persian
Gulf
and
Gulf
of
Oman
region with radar capable of detecting the
B-2 A stealth bomber,” Sattari replied proudly. “The network is controlled by
the master combat information center aboard the
Khomeini,
but any radar facility can become the master combat
center if the others should go off the line. The long-range air defense radars
around
Tehran
have also been synchronized, and soon all
of
Iran
’s long-range radar systems will be synchronized to be able to detect
stealth aircraft.”

 
          
“And
what of our preparations for the follow-on attacks?”

 
          
“We
are ready, sir,” Sattari reported. “We have two fighter- bomber and one
additional fighter-interceptor teams ready to fly in follow-up sorties should
the first round of attacks prove successful. The slowest element in the
follow-on sorties will be the carrier-based aircraft, so we have split their
force into two bomber and two fighter elements, to provide continuous air
defense patrols while the bombers land and depart. The other elements from Chah
Bahar and Bandar Abbas will be ready to attack the follow-on targets in
Saudi Arabia
,
Bahrain
, and
Qatar
immediately. In addition, other forces from
Tabriz
and Mahabad will be standing by to strike
targets in
Turkey
if you so order.”

 
          
“Excellent,
General, excellent,” Buzhazi said. “The attack will commence tonight. May Allah
be with our pilots!”

Andersen air Force Base,
Guam

28 April 1997
,
1551 hours local

 
          
Patrick
McLanahan was on the third-floor catwalk of the hangar in which his B-2A Spirit
stealth bomber was going through its final maintenance checks. He wore a black
flight suit with no patches or insignia—it looked like mechanics overalls—with
Chinese-made flight boots, thick and woolly.

 
          
“The
thousand-yard stare again,” Wendy McLanahan said as she approached him. She
linked her arm in his and rested her head on his right shoulder. “They did a
pretty good job on it in such a short time,” she said, looking at the left
engine nacelles. “Can’t even tell you were hit by an Iranian missile and almost
blown into a thousand pieces.”

 
          
“Wendy...”

 
          
“This
is really a crazy idea,” Wendy said irritably, “and I can’t believe
you
thought of it, and I can’t believe
Freeman accepted it.”

           
“It’s the only way we can do it,
Wendy,” Patrick said absently, still staring at nothing, as if trying to look
into the future and see if this was going to work. “If there was another way,
I’m open to suggestions. ...”

           
“I’ve got one—let it be. Let the
Iranian carrier be,” Wendy said angrily. “No one has declared war here,
Patrick. Paul White and the survivors of the
Valley Mistress
are safe, Hal got back at the Iranians for what
they did—aren’t we even now?”

 
          
“We
were—until Buzhazi had President Nateq-Nouri killed,” Patrick said. “It’s
obvious that he doesn’t want peace. He wants to take that carrier battle group
and wreak havoc in the entire region, all for the sake of glory and power for
himself. ”

 
          
“Why
risk your life for a man you didn’t know—for an
Iranian,
” Wendy asked incredulously. “He was just another
fundamentalist Muslim looking to infect the rest of the world with his brand of
Islam by whatever means he could ...”

 
          
“Nateq-Nouri
was a man who wanted peace,” Patrick said. “He wasn’t a Muslim
fundamentalist—he was a realist. He may not have liked the
United States
, but he was wise enough to think of
innovative ways to avoid a conflict. Buzhazi’s not a fundamentalist, either—
he’s a homicidal psychopath. He’s out there taking shots at our aircraft
carriers with Backfire bombers and supersonic cruise missiles just for
fun.
What if he gets lucky and lands a
one-ton warhead on the decks of the
Abraham
Lincoln,
or decides to put a torpedo into one of our ships? How many
Americans does he have to kill before we should go after him?” Wendy had no
answer for him.

 
          
They
stood together for a few minutes longer, until Patrick looked at his watch and
sighed. “I’ve got to go,” he said.

 
          
“I
know,” Wendy responded. He hugged Wendy closely, and she started to cry. “You
know... you know we talked about trying to have another child,” Wendy said in a
tiny voice through her tears. “We should stop trying. ...”

 
          
“What?”
Patrick asked.
"Why,
Wendy? We
both want one so much. Why. .. ?” He read the sorrow in her eyes, then shook
his head in exasperation. “Is it because I’m with Future Flight? Dammit, Wendy,
I was afraid this would happen. I never should have accepted this Future flight
assignment. I was happy working the pub in Old Sacramento—”

 
          
“No
you weren’t,” Wendy interjected. “You wanted to come back, wanted to start
flying again. When Freeman came along, it was a dream come true for you. You
made a decision.”

 
          
“But
I love you, Wendy. I want us to be happy. I know how much you want a child, how
upset you were when you lost the first one. If it means that much to you,
Wendy, I’ll quit...”

 
          
“You
will? Right now? Three hours before takeoff?”

 
          
“Yes,”
Patrick said resolutely. “You mean more to me than this mission or Future
Flight or even the damned country! ”

 
          
Wendy
was so surprised that she had to remember to close her mouth. “I... I can’t
believe this ... you’d do that for me? For us?”

           
“Yes.”

           
“That’s so sweet... I love you so
much, Patrick,” Wendy said. “But that’s not what I meant.”

 
          
“What?
You don’t.. . I’m confused, Wendy. What are you saying? Don’t you want me to
quit flying?”

 
          
“Of
course not,” Wendy said. “What, and watch you stare off into space and mope
around the house all day and yell and scream at the employees all night? No,
you’re doing what you love to do, and you’re the best at it, so keep doing it.
I’ll consult for Jon Masters, and telecommute with Sky Masters from home while
I take care of our baby.”

 
          
“Our
... our
what?”

 
          
“Our
baby,
bomber-brain—our offspring, our
rug-rat, our cookie-cruncher,” Wendy said. “We can stop trying to have a baby
because
we did it—I’m
pregnant.
”