Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 09 (18 page)

 
          
At
the north end of the runway, Smoliy pulled his throttles back to military
power, yanked his bomber into a hard ninety- degree right-bank turn, and swept
the wings forward, quickly slowing the big bomber down below the sound barrier.
By the time they rolled out on the downwind side, they were at the perfect
altitude and airspeed for the approach, and Smoliy and Dewey began configuring
the bomber for their overhead approach. The second Tu-22M was precisely thirty
seconds behind him.

 
          
“That
was
awesome
, General!” Annie shouted, after she double-checked that the
landing gear was down and locked. “Totally awesome!”

 
          
“Thank
you, young lady,” Smoliy said. “I do enjoy watching young excited women.” He
nodded to her, then said, “The aircraft is yours, Captain.’' Surprised but
excited, she put her hands on the controls, and Smoliy patted her on the
shoulder to tell her she had the aircraft. “Make us proud.”

 
          
She
did. Annie Dewey made a perfect touchdown on Nel- lis’s main runway and taxied
to their parking spot, the applause of the huge crowd audible even over the
roar of the idling engines. When both aircraft swept their wings partially back
and shut down their engines simultaneously, the applause replaced and then
easily surpassed the noise of the engines. After the crew stepped out of their
aircraft. General Smoliy drove the cheers and applause to even greater heights
when he stepped out to the end of the red carpet laid out for him on the tarmac
and kissed the ground. The greetings, hugs, handshakes, and shoulder-slapping
went on for a long time. General Smoliy greeted the
Air
Warfare
Center
commander, Major-General Lance “Laser”
Peterson, and most of the others in the reception party like long-lost
brothers.

 
          
The
Ukrainian bomber crew members also met other foreign aviators, including the
commander of the Turkish Air Force, Major-General Erdal Sivarek, who had
arrived with several of his aircraft and two jet transports carrying equipment
and spare parts earlier in the day. The big Backfire bombers were parked
directly across from the Turkish F-16s, and the size difference was astounding.
The size difference carried over to the two commanders—the Ukrainian general
was almost a foot and a half taller than the Turk. The meeting between the two
commanders was cordial but icy; General Smoliy did not reserve the same jovial
friendliness for the Turkish officer as he did his American hosts.

 
          
“General
Sivarek,
merhaba
,” a voice behind Sivarek said after the encounter
ended.
“Gunaydin. Nasilsiniz?”
It was Rebecca Furness, recently promoted
to full colonel, the commander of the One-Eleventh Bombardment Squadron of the
Nevada Air National Guard, based at Tonopah Test Range northwest of Las Vegas.
“Do you remember me, General?”

 
          
It
took only a moment for the Turkish officer to recognize her, and his face,
which had been dark with moodiness, brightened considerably. “Major ... no,
Colonel
Rebecca!” Sivarek exclaimed.
“Siz nasilsiniz?
I am glad you are well.”

           
“It’s been a long time.” Rebecca
said. “It’s nice to see you, but it's a time I’d sooner forget.”

 
          
Rebecca
was the commander of the 111th Bombardment Squadron of the Nevada Air National
Guard, the only unit in the United States flying the EB-1C aerial battleship.
Until their new base was built in Battle Mountain, Nevada, her little unit of
six EB-1C bombers was temporarily located at Tonopah Test Range, or TTR. in
western Nevada inside the Nellis range complex.

 
          
She
had first met Sivarek just a few years earlier, during the Russian-Ukrainian
conflict, when a power-mad Russian president had tried to reunite parts of the
old Soviet Union by force. The Russians had used the pretext of Russian
citizens being abused by governments in former republics to send the Russian
Army in to reoccupy the republic. When Ukraine had put up a fiercer than
expected resistance. Russia had retaliated with tactical nuclear weapons. The
United States, fearful of allowing the conflict to escalate to an all-out
nuclear war, had sent in only a few tactical air units to Turkey, including an
Air Force Reserve unit from Plattsburgh, New York—Rebecca Furness’s old unit,
flying the RF 111G Vampire bomber, the first iteration of Rebecca's EB-1C
Megafortress flying battleship.

 
          
Although
Rebecca’s unit had acquitted itself well in several skirmishes against the
Russians, the general feeling was that NATO and the United States had let their
Turkish allies down. Several bases in Turkey and several warships had been
destroyed by Russian attacks, yet the United States had refused to commit sizable
forces against Russia. Only the heroism of Rebecca’s tiny unit, and the
desperate bravery of what was left of the Ukrainian Air Force, had prevented an
all-out war—and saved Turkey.

 
          
“It
is indeed a small world. I am glad you kept up with your Turkish.
Agzina
siglik!
Health to your mouth.”

           
“Tesekkur ederinu efendim,
”
Rebecca replied, giving him a slight bow.
“Biraz konusuyorum.
And that’s
about all I remember.”

 
          
Sivarek
clapped his hands in approval. “So, what unit are you with?”

 
          
“I’m
with the Nevada Air National Guard,” Rebecca replied. Sivarek noted with
considerable interest that Rebecca did not go into any details. “We're
participating in some of the exercises with your squadron and the Ukrainians.”

 
          
“Very
good. I noticed your air force does not fly the RF-llls anymore. 1 would have
welcomed the chance to try our hands at them.” He nodded toward the Tupolev-22M
Backfire bomber. ‘Those whales will be no trouble for us.”

 
          
“They
might have some surprises for you.”

 
          
“We
have encountered them before, over the Black Sea on training flights and
patrols,” Sivarek said. “The Ukrainians seem unsure about pushing them to their
full capability. It is understandable, I suppose. But I hope NATO is not
counting on them for much.”

 
          
“Maybe
we can help them improve their tactics.”

 
          
Sivarek
nodded, his face darkening again, his lips thinning in frustration. “Your new
friends in eastern Europe, I suppose,” he said. “Turkey has been coming here to
Red Flag and other exercises for over twenty years, but it seems as if we get
little respect from the United States regarding affairs in our region. But when
Ukraine wants to play NATO warriors, the world comes running.”

 
          
“I
think that’s not quite accurate.” Rebecca said. But she knew he was at least
partially correct. During the Russia-Ukraine conflict, Turkey had suffered
tremendous loss of life and property, but afterward relations between Turkey
and the West had mostly gone back to the way they were, as if the conflict had
never happened at all. Instead of rushing in to help Turkey modernize its
military, NATO’s easternmost ally had been left to rebuild and rearm by itself,
with no more than ordinary levels of support and cooperation from the United
States or NATO.

 
          
“You
are a loyal American officer,” Sivarek said with a smile. “I would have liked
very much for you to have stayed in my country with your incredible RF-111
fighter-bombers after the conflict.”

 
          
“I
didn’t know that.”

 
          
‘The
RF-111, the Vampire I believe you called it, would have been ideal for Turkey’s
defense,” Sivarek explained. “A single aircraft with reconnaissance,
counterair, close air support, heavy bombing, antiship, and electronic-warfare
capabilities? We would have liked very much to have two squadrons.
Unfortunately, you sold them all to Australia. That was a dark day for Turkey.”

 
          
“Some
would have said it was a bright day for the Kurds and the Greeks.”

 
          
“We
are not at war with Greece, nor will we ever be,” Sivarek said. “All parties
realize we must find a peaceful settlement to the Cyprus question. But the
Kurds—they are a different song. They are butchers, terrorists, anarchists, and
spawns of Satan.”

 
          
“The
sight of F-111 s bombing Kurdish villages would have sickened most Americans,”
Rebecca pointed out. “I understand the media paints a different picture than
you'd like—they are portrayed as oppressed persons, persecuted by
fundamentalist Muslim governments, denied a homeland by both Iraq and Turkey.
The government will always be seen as the oppressor, and the Kurds as heroic
refugees, like the Jews. Their hardships will be seen as the faithful
struggling against tyranny.”

 
          
“A67
patlicani kiragi calmaz
—the worthless don’t suffer hardships,” Sivarek
said. “So Turkey, a NATO ally, is scorned by the West. Ukraine once aimed
nuclear weapons at your country. Iran once tried to sink an American aircraft
carrier and has engineered countless terrorist attacks against American
interests, but you court their favor now so you can import their oil and
counterbalance a resurging Russian hegemony. Turkey has cooperated with America
for thirty years, standing on the front line of defense against Russia, yet we
are virtually ignored. What is Turkey supposed to say about this American
foreign policy?”

 
          
“The
old saying goes, if you don’t like American foreign policy, wait a few
days—it’ll change,” Rebecca said.

 
          
“Ah
yes—your new American president, the Jeffersonian hippie president,” Sivarek
said, with an amused, slightly mocking smile. “I think he will break up NATO.
This will leave Turkey all alone to face the Russians. Very unfortunate. What
will you do then? Will you come back then and help defend my country, Colonel
Rebecca? Or will you come to the aid of your new Ukrainian friends instead?”

 
          
“I
don’t think the President will ever actually leave or break up NATO,” Rebecca
said. “It would not be in our best interests. But I would very much like to
speak with you about your country and your defense needs.”

 
          
“Oh?”
Sivarek smiled that swarthy, cocky smile. “You never did mention what unit you
are with. Colonel Rebecca.”

           
“No, I didn't,” Furness said with a
sly smile. She extended her hand, and he shook it warmly. “
Gidelim,,
General.”

           
At that same time, when Annie Dewey
emerged from the lead bomber’s crew compartment, she was met by Colonel David Luger,
and she ran happily into his arms. “Oh, God, David,” she breathed, “it’s so
good to see you.”

 
          
Luger
murmured a “Welcome back” to her, but she could tell immediately that his
attention was elsewhere. When she looked at him after their embrace, she saw
him staring with an almost blank expression at the Tupoiev-22M Backfire bomber.
“Hey, David,” she said, studying his face with growing concern. “Everything
okay?”

 
          
“Sure
... sure ...” But everything was not all right. She thought she began to feel
his hands grow cold, and she swore that his face was looking paler.

 
          
“You’ve
seen one of these things before, haven’t you?” she asked. “I thought you knew
all there was to know about every warplane in the known galaxy.”

 
          
“Yes
... yes, I know all about ‘Speka.’ ”

           
“Speka? What’s that?”

           
“Hey! My copilot! Annie!” they heard
behind them. It was General Roman Smoliy. “Hey you, I did not know you had eyes
for any other man but me! Who is this usurper daring to compete with me for
your affections?”

 
          
David
Luger turned—and looked into the face of Hell. “General, this is my good
friend, Colonel..But Annie’s introduction was cut short when Luger suddenly
turned and strode quickly away. “David!” she called after him. But he was
quickly lost in the crowd that had come to see the big Ukrainian bombers up
close.

 
          
Annie
turned back to Smoliy. “I am so sorry, General. I don’t know what...” But when
she looked at the big Ukrainian pilot, he was staring at the spot where Luger
had been standing, with an odd expression on his face. “General Smoliy? What’s
wrong?”