Plan of Attack

“Maybe you should retire, Patrick.”

Patrick was thunderstruck. He couldn’t believe that his longtime friend and partner just said what he said. “Dave…you don’t really believe that…?”

“Patrick, overflying four hostile countries without permission to retrieve that UCAV after it had gone out of control, then crash-landing on Diego Garcia after being ordered by the secretary of defense himself not to. Or when you ordered the bombing of Engels without authority, when you flew back over Russia in direct violation of orders after Dewey and Deverill were shot down — all those incidents happened because you made them happen. I’ll agree that the situation was desperate, you made a hard decision, and everything turned out for the better for us in the long run. But the fact is, you exceeded your authority each and every time. We don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t intervened — maybe lives would have been lost….”

“Maybe? Engels bombers were preparing to kill every soul in Charjew. Dewey and Deverill might still be in a Russian prison if I hadn’t gone back for them!”

“You don’t know that, Patrick,” Luger insisted. “In any case, you had no right to disregard orders.”

“I had every right. I was in command.”

“I know your arguments, Patrick, and I disregard them all,” Luger said. “We all have a superior officer. When he or she gives a lawful order, we’re supposed to obey it. The problem is, you don’t. Every day I saw more and more of Brad Elliott emerging from within you.”

“Oh, Christ, you’re not going to give me the ‘I’m turning into Brad Elliott’ bullshit, too, are you?” Patrick retorted. “I heard that enough from Houser and Samson and half the four-stars in the Pentagon. It has nothing to do with Brad Elliott — it has everything to do with accepting responsibility and taking action.” He paused for a few heartbeats, then added, “So you’re not going to consider my request for satellite-reconnaissance support?”

“I’ll be happy to consider it — but I’ll upchannel the request to my superior officers at Air Force, Air Combat Command, and Eighth Air Force,” Luger replied. “That’s what I feel I have to do.”

“You actually think that’s the way you should play this, eh, Dave?” Patrick asked. “Make no decision yourself. Don’t exercise your authority. Ask permission first — and don’t forget to say ‘pretty please.’ ”

“That is the way it’s supposed to be done, Patrick — you just forgot that somehow. Maybe it is Brad Elliott’s influence working on you. There’s no doubt that Brad was your surrogate father, and he praised and encouraged your success in the military the way you know your actual father never would have done. Your real dad wanted you to join the police force, and you told me many times how disappointed he was when his oldest son wouldn’t follow in his footsteps—”

“Don’t give me that Freudian psychobabble crap, Dave.”

“—or maybe it was just your sense of how the bomber world works…no, how your world is supposed to work, your world of instant justice delivered from above.”

“Are you listening to yourself, Dave? Do you really believe all this shit you’re telling me?”

“But that’s not how my world works,” Luger said, ignoring Patrick’s remarks. “In my world, in my command, I need authorization before I commence a risky operation that puts lives and weapon systems in jeopardy.”

“Oh, I get it — you have your command now, and you’re going to do everything you can not to see it get messed up. You’re afraid to take a risk because it might mean you’re unsuited to command a combat unit of your own.”

“With all due respect, Muck—eat shit,” Luger snarled. “The only reason I got this command is because you screwed up, so let’s not forget that. I didn’t ask to get it; I was your deputy, and I was content to do that job. But now I make the decisions here—not you. It is my responsibility and my call, and what I say is that I require authorization from higher headquarters before I’ll commit my aircraft, satellites, airmen, or ground teams. You must get me that authorization before I commence operations. If you don’t, I’ll upchannel your request to my superiors before I begin.

“And you know something, Patrick? I have a feeling you already knew the answer to your request, which is why you came to me first,” Luger went on hotly. “You thought you’d take advantage of our friendship and ask me a favor, hoping I’d go along just because we’ve partnered together for so long. Tell me I’m wrong, Muck.” No response. “Yeah, I thought so. And you wonder why half of Eighth Air Force wants to see you retire. You’ve turned into something I never thought I’d ever see you become.”

“Dave, listen…”

“You take it easy, sir. Air Battle Force, clear.” And Luger abruptly terminated the connection.

David Luger sat upright in his chair, hands on the armrests, staring straight ahead, feet flat on the floor. Anyone who might look in on him at that moment might think he was catatonic — and in a sense that’s exactly what he was.

Almost twenty years earlier, David Luger had been part of a secret bombing mission into the Soviet Union, along with Brad Elliott, Patrick McLanahan, and three others. After completing the mission by bombing a ground- based laser site, the crew was forced to land their crippled EB-52 Megafortress bomber on an isolated Soviet air base to refuel. Dave Luger sacrificed himself to draw the defenders away, which allowed the Megafortress and its crew to escape.

Luger was captured and held in a secret location in Siberia for many years. Brainwashed into thinking he was a Soviet scientist, Luger helped the Soviets design and build aircraft and weapons that advanced the Soviet state of the art by several years, perhaps several generations. Eventually Patrick McLanahan and the crew of the EB-52 “Old Dog” helped rescue him, but by then he had been held against his will, psychologically and physically tortured, for almost seven years.

During his captivity the rigid position he was in now was a sort of psychological and emotional “happy place”—when he was not being tortured or brainwashed, he was ordered to assume that position, which he equated with rest or relief. To Luger it actually felt good to assume that stiff, tense position. After his rescue and rehabilitation, his doctors and psychologists saw this posture as a manifestation of his emotional damage. But after years of therapy, David was fully aware of what he was doing when he put himself in this rather awkward-looking seated position. In a strange way, it was still a “happy place” for him — in fact, it helped him focus his thoughts more clearly.

Yes, he was angry at Patrick. Yes, Patrick was wrong for not following the proper chain of command, and it was exceedingly unfair of him to use their close personal relationship to break the rules and do something they’d both have to answer for later.

But…Patrick McLanahan was the best strategic planner and the best strategic-bombing task-force commander he had ever known. If he had a hunch about where those Russian bombers came from, he was probably correct.

“Luger to Briggs, Luger to Furness,” Dave spoke into thin air.

“Briggs here,” Colonel Hal Briggs responded via the subcutaneous transceiver system. All of the former Dreamland officers were “wired” with the global satellite datalink and communications system.

“Can you stop by for a chat?”

“I can be there in ten,” Hal said.

“I’m in the box and ten minutes to the high fix, Dave,” Rebecca Furness responded. “Give me twenty.” Furness, the commander of the 111th Wing, in charge of Battle Mountain’s fleet of airborne-laser and flying- battleship aircraft, was returning from a pilot-proficiency flight in the “virtual cockpit,” the control station for Battle Mountain’s fleet of remotely piloted aircraft. With Battle Mountain’s combat fleet grounded, the crews maintained proficiency by flying unmanned QF-4 Phantom jet-fighter drones, which were the closest to the unmanned QB-1C Vampire drone’s performance. “Get Daren, unless it can wait.”

“Roger. Luger to Mace.”

“Go ahead, sir.”

“You and Hal meet me in the BATMAN. I have a mission I want planned.”

“Are we getting a recert?”

“Soon — I hope. Luger to Masters.”

“For Pete’s sake, Dave, I just sat down to breakfast,” responded Jon Masters, one of the partners of Sky