Air Battle Force

fast.”

“Sir, the mission was a success,” McLanahan said. “Our mission was to locate, identify, track, and if necessary interdict that group of Taliban raiders that has been killing United Nations aid workers and Afghan government security forces. We were successful, and the systems we employed worked perfectly, until we were hit by ground fire, went out of control, and were in danger of crash-landing almost intact in Turkmenistan. The only way to retrieve the aircraft was to switch to line-of-sight radio control.” He didn’t need to explain what that was — Robert Goff was an industrialist and engineer and knew almost as much as any aerospace scientist.

“It was supposed to recall itself if there was a problem,” Goff said. “It was supposed to come back if it sustained any damage or lost contact with you.”

“I have no excuse for that, sir — I haven’t had time to analyze the data we were able to retrieve from the UCAV’s flight-control computers,” Patrick responded. “We couldn’t recall it or self-destruct it, and I knew we couldn’t just let it crash-land in Turkmenistan — our most sophisticated unmanned combat aircraft would be in the hands of the Russians or sold on the black market. No special-ops forces were available to retrieve it. The only choice I had was to dash across Pakistan and Afghanistan, reach it before it ran out of fuel, and hope it responded to direct line-of-sight commands instead of satellite-relay commands. Flying over Iran was unavoidable as well. We were able to reach it and get it turned around, but at the same time we were attacked by Turkmen air defenses. The drone was shot down, and we sustained damage to our aerial-refueling system. I thought we had enough gas to safely reach the runway.” He paused, then added, “I was right.”

“Don’t smart-mouth me, mister,” Goff said. “You were ordered by me to ditch that plane. Why did you ignore that order?”

“Sir, I felt an ejection and ditching under those circumstances would be hazardous to my crew, pose a danger to vessels and aircraft in the area, subject the United States to unnecessary security and negative publicity exposure, and result in unnecessary loss of a valuable military asset,” Patrick McLanahan replied. “I made a decision as senior officer on board the aircraft to attempt a landing. I felt the risk was minimal compared to an uncontrolled crash-landing at sea.”

“I don’t care what you felt or what you decided — you violated a direct order from several superior officers,” Goff said. “You could have caused unmentionable damage to that airfield and the aircraft parked there. Both of you could have been killed.” Goff looked at Venti, who had remained silent during this entire meeting. “Well, General Venti? What do you think we ought to do to these two?”

“Sir, I recommend the Air Medal be awarded to both Generals McLanahan and Furness for successfully completing a dangerous mission over hostile airspace, for bringing their crippled aircraft home, and for preserving and protecting the secrecy of their mission, even at considerable risk to their own lives,” Venti responded, a broad smile spreading across his face.

“Make it the Airman’s Medal. We can award that in peacetime, can’t we, General?”

“We can indeed, sir,” Venti replied happily.

“Good,” Goff said. “I’d make it the Distinguished Flying Cross, but I know that can’t be awarded in peacetime.” He enthusiastically shook hands with McLanahan and Furness. “Stand at ease. Damn fine job, you two. If either that drone or your B-1 went down anywhere in Central Asia, even Afghanistan, the president would’ve been embarrassed enough to make him consider resigning. Not that he ever would, of course, but he’d consider it for the good of the country. That means I’d be the one forced to resign. The situation is so screwed up over there, who knows what would have happened? Good job.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“General Venti says you want to send in a team to look at the wreckage of the drone, recover the critical components, and destroy the rest?”

“Yes, sir. The team is already in place aboard a salvage vessel in the Arabian Sea—”

“The ones that went in over Pakistan to divert attention away from you so you could escape?”

“Yes, sir. We’ve got the location of the wreckage pinpointed fairly accurately by satellite — about fifty-five miles southwest of Kerki, about twenty miles south of the Kara Kum Canal. It’s uninhabited, but close enough for a patrol to go out searching for the wreckage. We need to get there first.”

“How soon can you have the team in?”

“The recovery team is standing by, sir. We’re ready to go in immediately if our satellites spot any activity near the crash site,” Patrick replied. “The rest of the team will be in place within twenty-four hours.”

“You want to go back there in twenty-four hours? That’s impossible. From what the CIA tells me, the Iranians and Pakistanis are still on full air-defense alert — hell, even CNN still has reporters in the area. It’s too hot to try a recovery effort now. You’ll have to wait until things calm down.”

“Our plan has taken that into account, sir,” Patrick explained. “Our plan calls for three aircraft plus Air Force tanker support. Two aircraft will be CV-32 Pave Dasher tilt-jets, based off our salvage ship in the Arabian Sea. One of them will be used as an aerial-refueling tanker — it’ll go three hundred miles inland with the leader, refuel him, and return to the ship. The lead aircraft will carry the recovery team — Sergeant Major Chris Wohl and three commandos.”

“Four commandos? That’s all?”

“Four Tin Men, sir,” Venti pointed out.

Goff nodded — he knew what just one of the Tin Men was capable of. “Almost sounds like overkill now,” he quipped. “I’m afraid to ask, but… what’s the third aircraft?”

“An EB-1C Vampire missile-attack aircraft,” Patrick responded.

“A Vampire bomber? The same one that you almost got shot down in over Turkmenistan?” Goff asked incredulously.

“The Vampire can attack air, ground, and even surface targets with the right mix of weapons,” Patrick said. “It’ll stay at high altitude and keep watch over the entire recovery team from launch to landing. It’s stealthy enough to stay out of sight by search radars, and it can defend itself if any fighters manage to get a lock-on and approach it.”

“For Pete’s sake…,” Goff muttered. He looked at Patrick and said, “I suppose you already have this Vampire in the theater?”

“Not quite, sir,” Patrick replied. “I’ve launched one EB-52 Megafortress attack plane, which will go on alert on Diego Garcia in about twelve hours, ready to respond in case the salvage vessel is threatened. I want to launch the EB-1C Vampire attack aircraft within forty-eight hours to be ready to go into the recovery area in case someone goes looking for the wreckage.”

Goff looked at General Venti. “Any other assets we can use in the region, General?”

“The Twenty-sixth Marine Expeditionary Unit can be within range in forty-eight hours,” Venti replied. “But flying nine hundred miles across four hostile countries is a long haul for them, and their support is all nonstealthy fixed-wing planes. They would be able to execute the plan within forty-eight hours, but I wouldn’t give them the same chance for success as General McLanahan’s troops.”

Goff shook his head — but soon relented. “All right, the mission is authorized. But let me be perfectly clear, General McLanahan: That drone is not worth a scratch on one man or woman’s little finger. If it looks too hot, I want your troops out. No downed aircraft, no captured troops, no screw-ups for the president to admit to on the evening news. It gets done perfectly or you don’t do it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“General Venti also says you have a project you want me to consider — some new force concept you want to establish out there at Battle Mountain,” Goff said. “Well, first things first. You pull this one off, General, and you’ll have your chance to make your pitch to me and the White House. We’re up against an enormous budget crunch, as you know, but you know what the president and I like: state-of-the-art, cutting-edge stuff. Stretch the limits. Build in lots of redundancy, make it reliable and powerful, make it a definite force multiplier, and — most important — dazzle us. If you can do that, you’ve got a chance.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Goff looked at his watch. “Catch up with me, General. Congratulations for bringing your cripple home, you two.” He headed toward the door, then stopped and turned. “I don’t need to tell you both that you have lots of enemies in the administration and on Capitol Hill,” he said. “Unfortunately, your crash-landing on Diego Garcia will be considered a major screw-up, not a success. Blowing this recovery mission will probably put an end to everything