Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 06 (66 page)

 
          
“Sir,
I believe that would be a mistake,” Terrill Samson said earnestly. “I’ve got to
restate my position for the staff.”

 
          
Danforth
looked very perturbed—Samson could see a jaw muscle flexing in the dim light of
the Battle Staff Room. But CINCSTRATCOM motioned for Samson to step down.
“Let’s hear it, Terrill,” he said. Samson gathered up a folder of notes and
stepped down to the podium in front of the auditorium-like seats of the Battle
Staff Room.

 
          
“Admiral,
I’ll be as blunt as I can—the Chinese won’t believe we will use nuclear weapons
against them because
I
don’t believe
we would,” Samson said, “and if you can’t make
me
believe it, they certainly won’t.” “The President, the Secretary
of Defense, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and
me
say you’re wrong,” Danforth said irritably. “Part of the problem
is, General, is that the bombers aren’t coming up fast enough to make the
Chinese think we’re serious about putting a nuclear strike force on alert.
That’s
your
responsibility.”

 
          
“With
all due respect, Admiral, I think you’re wrong,” Samson said. “The bombers are
taking twice as long to come up as we planned because the crews practice all
year for
conventional
bombing
missions, but almost never for nuclear missions. The Chinese know this. We are
just
now
discussing moving up the
generation schedule for the bombers, several hours after we lose six thousand
troops in a nuclear attack—if we were serious about using nuclear weapons, our
counterattack would have been launched long ago.”     -

 
          
“I
don’t appreciate your talking in absolutes about things we have no way of
knowing, General,” Danforth said. “Make your point.”

 
          
“Sir,
my staff and I have prepared a target list and strike plan for central and
eastern
China
that I would like approval for issuance of a warning order,” Samson
said. “I want four B-2s, twenty B-1B bombers, and eight KC-135 or two KC-10
tankers, plus a list of non-nuclear weapons. The target list includes Chinese
long-, intermediate-, and short-range nuclear missile sites, known nuclear
weapon storage and maintenance bases, air defense sites, and communications
centers . . . virtually the same targets we have at risk under the SIOP, sir,
but targeted with bombers carrying conventionally armed cruise missiles,
precision-guided cruise missiles, and satellite-guided gravity bombs.

 
          
“We
can halt the SIOP generation of the bombers I need and reconfigure them easily
for the conventional mission,” Samson continued. “I plan to launch all
twenty-four aircraft, pick the best twelve and have them continue to their
targets, and recover the remaining twelve on
Guam
for refueling and launch them as a
follow-on attack. Within twenty-four hours, we can have the bombers launched;
within eighteen hours, the bombers will be striking targets in
China
and recovering at
Guam
, ready to begin round-the-clock attack
operations. Commit the remainder of the bombers, and we can begin surge
operations that can hold
China
’s entire military at risk and even assist
in air operations over
North Korea
at the same time if needed. I can
guarantee—”

 
          
“Frankly,
General Samson, your management of the Air Force bomber fleet up to this point
has been something far less than adequate,” Danforth interrupted, with a
definite note of exasperation in his voice, “and I don’t think you’re in a
position to guarantee anything.”

 
          
“Sir,
I feel that
your
current deployment
of the bomber force is a waste of time, money, and manpower, and will do
nothing to resolve the situation.” Samson could see Danforth bristling with
anger, but decided to quickly press on and say what he thought. “I urge you in
the strongest terms to recommend to the NCA and the Joint Chiefs to abandon the
nuclear generation and adopt this non-nuclear attack strategy my staff and I
have drawn up. More lives and more time will be wasted if you don’t.”

 
          
The
Battle Staff Room was quiet, deathly quiet. Danforth sat motionless, a finger
on his lips, expressionless. After a few long moments, he sat up and waved to
Samson with the back of his hand. “Thank you, General Samson,” Danforth said.
“That will be all.”

 
          
“Yes,
sir.” Samson picked up his papers, left the podium, and headed back to his seat
in the Battle Staff Room.

 
          
“I
said, that will be
all,
General,”
Danforth repeated. Samson stopped, confused. “What I mean, General,” Danforth
said angrily, “is that you are relieved of duty.”

 
          
“What!”
Samson exclaimed; then, quickly
regaining his composure, he asked, “I beg your pardon, Admiral?”

 
          
“You
have failed to carry out your orders to generate the bomber fleet to wartime
readiness as directed by the National Command Authority and this command;
instead, you have wasted our time by advocating a posture that runs completely
counter to orders that originate from the commander in chief himself,” Danforth
said. “Further, you don’t seem to have any desire to follow my orders, and you
have insulted and disgraced your fellow commanders in this room by your
flagrant disregard for your superior officers and their lawful directives. You
are relieved of command of CTF Three and are ordered to report back to
Barksdale Air Force Base immediately to await further disciplinary action. Have
your deputy report to me ASAP. Get out of my command center.”

 
          
Stunned,
Terrill Samson turned and headed for the door. He had to wait several long
moments for the safelike blast door to be opened by security guards, and he
could feel the stares of his colleagues on the back of his head—it was a very
uncomfortable period of time until he could be escorted out. He had been fired.
For the first time in his long and distinguished military career, he had been
fired. Even worse, his commanding officer had said he had “failed”—and that was
the worst slap in the face of all.

 
          
ANDERSEN
AIR
FORCE
BASE
HOSPITAL
,
GUAM

SUNDAY, 22 JUNE 1997, 0745
HOURS LOCAL (SATURDAY, 21 JUNE, 1845 HOURS ET)

           
It was no great surprise when
Patrick McLanahan entered Brad Elliott’s hospital room fifteen minutes before
official visiting hours began and found his friend and former commanding
officer on the phone. He looked a little embarrassed when he saw McLanahan’s
disapproval. “Get back to me on that right away,” he told his caller, his voice
slightly nasal from the oxygen cannula. “Don’t worry about the time—call me
back as soon as you get the info.” He hung up.

 
          
“You’re
obviously doing much better, Brad,” Patrick said disapprovingly. “The nurses
said you ordered the phone turned on ten minutes after you woke up last night.”

 
          
“Don’t
start nagging me,” Elliott said with a scowl. “I’m feeling just fine.”

 
          
“You
need rest, Brad, not more work,” Patrick said. “You have a secretary and a
staff back in Eaker, remember that. Have them take some of the jobs you want
done. Or just call me or Wendy—she’ll do whatever you want done.”

 
          
“Okay.”

 
          
Obviously,
he hadn’t heard a word Patrick said. He gave him a knowing, sarcastic smile and
added, “The nurse said you’re doing good. The clot-busting medication is
working—no surgery, not even angioplasty. But she said you’re up at all hours
of the day and night making phone calls and watching the news on TV. This has
got to stop or you’ll never heal.”

 
          
“All
right, all right, I will,” Elliott said.

 
          
“What
are you up to, anyway, Brad?”

 
          
“I’m
trying to get hold of Samson and Vic Hayes, see what in hell the fleet is
doing.” He nodded toward the two TV sets installed in his room, one tuned to
CNN and the other to the Armed Forces News Service, which broadcast news and
directives to all military units worldwide. “The news said
Taiwan
attacked the mainland, but then all hell
seemed to break loose and there hasn’t been a damn thing since. What do you
got?”

 
          
“The
attack’s been verified,” Patrick responded. “The Chinese got it on video again
and showed it on several international news networks—Taiwanese F-16 Falcons,
bombing and strafing the shit out of Juidongshan Naval Base. Successful hit,
from what the news said. Maybe a couple subs, headquarters building, a POL
farm, air defense sites. They report lots of casualties, but we haven’t seen
any on TV.”

 
          
“Shit
hot,” Elliott exclaimed happily. “The ROCs have the right idea. Now I just wish
we’d get into the game.” He noticed Patrick’s downcast expression. “You heard
something else? What?”

 
          
“There
was another ROC attack last night on the amphibious attack staging bases near
Xiamen
,” McLanahan replied. “Much larger strike
package—perhaps the remainder of
Taiwan
’s F-16 fleet.”

 
          
“Great!
I didn’t hear anything about it in the news. They kick ass too?”

 
          
“Not
exactly,” Patrick said. “Satellite radiation sensors indicate the attack formations
were hit by surface-to-air missiles with nuclear warheads. Five detonations
were detected, all in the twenty- to fifty-kiloton range, about twenty miles
east of
Xiamen
over
Quemoy
Island
. No survivors.”

 
          
“What!”
Elliott exploded. “The Chinese
used SAMs with
nuclear warheads
?”

 
          
“
’Fraid so,” McLanahan said. “No statement yet from the Chinese government.”

 
          
“They’ll
probably say that the Taiwanese fighters were carrying nuclear weapons and they
accidentally went off,” Elliott said disgustedly. “If that doesn’t work,
they’ll admit that their SAMs had nuclear warheads on them but they were
provoked into using nuclear weapons because a thousand crazed Taiwanese attack
planes were bearing down on them, assisted by an American stealth bomber, or
some crap like that. The damned thing is, the world press will believe them.”
Elliott fell silent for a moment; then: “I wonder what in hell Samson and the
Chiefs are doing now? We should at least be lining up some strikes against
Chinese ICBM or medium-range ballistic missile sites, especially the nuclear
sites.”

 
          
“Might
be too late,” McLanahan said. “
China
retaliated against the
Taiwan
attack—they attacked with nuclear-armed
air-launched cruise missiles and medium-range ballistic missiles.
Taiwan
got blasted all to hell. They’re not a
smoking hole in the Pacific, but their big air bases got creamed.”

 
          
“I
don’t believe it! ” Elliott exclaimed. A cold chill ran up and down his spine.
He remembered the nuclear scares of the past thirty years, but it had never come
to an all-out nuclear exchange ... until now. “No wonder I can’t get anything
out of anybody. What else, Muck? What else happened?”

 
          
“Looks
like someone popped off a couple ballistic missiles over North and
South Korea
,” McLanahan went on. “
Wonsan
in the North got
hit.”                                                                
-