shortly,” Wohl responded. “AnAWACS radar plane and a couple F-15 interceptors from Elmendorf are on their way now to fill in for the long-range radars that are out.”
“So at the present time, all the surveillance we have north of Alaska is
Wohl nodded. “Thought you’d need to know that right away, sir,” he said.
He did. Hal thought hard for a moment, then spoke into the air, “Briggs to Luger.”
“I was just going to give you a call, Hal,” Brigadier General David Luger, commanding the Air Battle Force, responded via the secure subcutaneous-transceiver system. “I got the message just now.”
“What do you think is going on?”
“Whatever it is, it’s not good,” Dave said. “What’s your status?”
“I just need to get the children out of bed and the planes rolled out, and we’re off,” Hal responded. “Fifteen minutes max.”
“Good. Stand by.” There was a slight pause. Then Luger said, “Civilian approach controllers just issued a ‘pending’ notification to NORAD — an unidentified target heading east, altitude unknown, groundspeed five hundred and forty knots.”
“A plane at low altitude going point-seven-two Mach over Alaska?” Briggs remarked. “Either it’s Santa Claus on a training flight — or it’s trouble.”
“It’s trouble,” Luger said. “I’ll see if the Navy can get any look-down eyes out there. Get your guys airborne. Disperse them someplace nearby. Adak?”
“The bad guys are the other way, Dave,” Hal said. “The Coast Guard said we can use their hangar on Attu Island, so that’s where we’ll go.” Attu Island, about fifty miles west of Shemya, was the largest and rockiest of the Near Islands, and the westernmost of the American Aleutians. It also had the worst weather in the Aleutians — if it wasn’t having driving rain or snow with hurricane-force winds, it was blanketed in thick, cold fog. The U.S. Coast Guard maintained a small search-and-rescue, maritime patrol, communications, and ground navigation facility there, with just twenty people manning the small site — they welcomed visitors and encouraged all services to use their facilities. “They usually have plenty of fuel and provisions, too. We’ve made a few resupply flights for them just since we arrived.”
“Good. Disperse there and keep in touch.”
“You think Shemya could be a target?”
“No, but it doesn’t hurt to be safe — and that big old radar out there plus all the ballistic-missile defense stuff sure are pretty inviting targets,” Dave said.
“Rog,” Hal said. He turned to Wohl and twirled his index finger in the air, telling the master sergeant to get his men ready to fly. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure,” Dave said. “I’m not authorized to fly my bombers….” He thought for a moment, then added, “But no one said I couldn’t fuel them and hoist them to the surface, just for a systems-test run. Maybe I’ll see how fast my guys can get them upstairs.” Unlike any other air base in the world, Battle Mountain Air Reserve Base was built twelve stories underground in an abandoned national alternate military command center first built in the 1950s. The facility was originally constructed to house an entire fighter-bomber air wing and over five thousand men and women and protect them from all but a direct hit by a one-megaton nuclear device. Aircraft were raised up to the surface on eight large elevators located at the end of the airfield’s twelve-thousand-foot-long runway and at the mass parking ramp.
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Hal said. “We’ll report in when we’re safe on Attu.”
“Roger that.”
“Any word from the general?” Even though Patrick McLanahan had been gone for several weeks now, everyone still referred to him as “the general.”
“He’s not at AIA headquarters anymore,” Dave said. “He may be heading back to Sacramento. I think he may have gotten spanked for going around Houser and Samson about what the Russians are doing.”
“I have to admit, it’s quite a stretch to see a bunch of tankers at one base in Siberia and conclude that the Russians are going to bomb the United States,” Hal said. “But that’s the general. He’s a smart guy and one hell of a leader, but he does tend to lead with his chin sometimes.”
“Hal, it scared the hell out of me when I saw all those bombers and tankers at those bases — and now with that BEELINE report about the North Warning System radars down, I’m more scared than ever,” Dave Luger said. “We’ll know what happens this morning. In the meantime I want to make sure our unit is safe.”
“We’re on our way, boss,” Hal said. “We’ll report when we’re on alert on Attu. Briggs out.”
Back at Battle Mountain, Luger thought about the situation for a moment, then spoke, “Duty Officer, set condition Alpha-Foxtrot-one for the Air Battle Force Alpha alert team, and set condition Echo-Foxtrot-two for all other aircraft. Then get me Colonel Shrike at Elliott Air Force Base.”
“Furness to Luger,” Rebecca Furness radioed excitedly a few moments later. “I didn’t hear an ‘exercise’ classification. What’s going on?”
“This is not an exercise, Rebecca,” Dave said. “I want all the Alpha-alert aircraft into Foxtrot-one.”
“Luger, I damned well shouldn’t have to remind you that we’re not authorized to fly our aircraft
“By the time the crews arrive and the planes are hoisted to the surface, I’ll have authorization,” Luger said.
“Then why not order an Echo generation for all aircraft?” Rebecca asked. “You ordered an Alpha launch for the Alpha force — that’s a survival launch for our aircraft with weapons aboard.” Even though the planes were decertified and declared non-mission ready, David Luger and Rebecca Furness had directed that the Air Battle Force’s Alpha force — composed of two EB-1C Vampire bombers, four EB-52 Megafortress bombers, and four KC- 135R tankers — remain loaded with weapons, fueled, and ready to respond at short notice for combat operations. These planes could be airborne in less than an hour. The other planes were all in various stages of readiness, but in general the Bravo force could be ready in three to six hours, and the Charlie force could be ready in nine to twelve hours.
“Rebecca, something’s happening up in Alaska,” Dave said, “and after what we’ve seen in Siberia, that’s enough warning for me. I need you to countersign the order to launch the Alpha team right away.”
“You’re going to end up out on your ass even faster than McLanahan,” Rebecca said.
“Rebecca…”
“I want your word that you won’t launch any aircraft, even the tankers, without my counterorder,” Rebecca said. “Otherwise I’ll defer my countersignature to higher headquarters.”
“Agreed.” A moment later he heard the Duty Officer report,
“Put him on.”
“Shrike here, secure,” Colonel Andrew “Amos” Shrike was commander of Elliott Air Force Base at Groom Lake, Nevada, the supersecret weapon-and aircraft-testing facility north of Las Vegas.
“This is General Luger at Battle Mountain.”
“What do you need, General?” Shrike said testily. Shrike was a twenty-three-year veteran of the U.S. Air Force. He’d received an Air Force commission through the Officer Training Corps program after graduating from the University of Texas A&M in electrical engineering. Through hard work and sheer determination, he rose through the ranks all the way to full colonel, wrangling a pilot-training slot for himself at a time when the Air Force was RIFing (Reduction in Forces) pilots left and right. He was hand-selected by Terrill Samson to take over the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center, with strict instructions
But on a personal level, Shrike resented the young, brash men and women like Luger who got promoted by
