Shadow Command

before the attack if the target was legitimate based on the rules of engagement established by us under the attack order, as is required if there is any uncertainty as to the safety to noncombatants due to weapon effects or collateral damage. The videoconference was convened as a preliminary incident review to determine if a more detailed investigation would be warranted.”

“And?”

“General Bain has ruled that, although it could have been possible for General McLanahan to anticipate civilian casualties, his order to engage was justified and proper based on the information at hand, the threat of more civilian deaths at the hands of the insurgents, and his authority under the attack plan,” Carlyle responded. “He is recommending to the Secretary of Defense and to you that no further investigation is warranted and that McLanahan be allowed to continue his operation as planned, with the full complement of missile launch bombers instead of just one.”

“Is that so?” The President paused for a moment, then shook his head. “General Bain, you’re telling me that you thought it was proper that McLanahan attack a target knowing that so many civilian noncombatants were nearby, and that such an attack is within the letter and spirit of my executive order authorizing a hunt for insurgents in Iran?” he retorted. “I think you have grossly misinterpreted my orders. I thought I was being very plain and specific: I don’t want any noncombatant casualties. Was that not clear to you, General Bain?”

“It was, sir,” Bain responded, his jaw hardening and his eyes narrowing under the scolding, “but with the information General McLanahan had at the time, and with the threat posed by these insurgent rockets, I felt he was fully justified in making the decision to—”

“Let’s get this straight right here and now, General Bain: I am the commander-in- chief, and I make the decisions,” the President said. “Your job is to carry out my orders, and my orders were no civilian casualties. The only proper order in this instance was to withhold because of the numbers of civilians around that launcher. Even if they had been told to leave the immediate area, you should have anticipated that they would be near enough to be hurt or killed by the explosion. They—”

“Sir, there was no explosion, at least not one caused by us,” Bain protested. “The SkySTREAK missile is a kinetic-energy weapon only — it was designed to—”

“I don’t care what it was designed to do, General — McLanahan knew there were civilians in the immediate area, and according to General Huffman, you were briefed that some rockets might have chemical weapons on them, so he obviously should have withheld. End of discussion. Now what is this about McLanahan firing a missile at the Russian fighter? McLanahan’s bombers have air-to-air missiles on them?”

“That’s standard defensive armament for the EB-1D Vampire aircraft, sir, but McLanahan didn’t—”

“So why did you fire on that Russian reconnaissance plane, General McLanahan?”

“We did not fire any missiles, sir,” McLanahan responded as firmly as he could, nodding to Lukas that he was all right, “and it was not a reconnaissance plane: it was a MiG-29 tactical fighter.”

“What was it doing up there, McLanahan?”

“Shadowing our bomber over the Caspian Sea, sir.”

“I see. Shadowing…as in, performing reconnaissance? Am I interpreting this correctly, General?” Patrick rubbed his eyes and swallowed hard, licking dry lips. “We’re not keeping you up, are we, General?”

“No, sir.”

“So the Russian aircraft was just performing reconnaissance after all, correct?”

“Not in my judgment, sir. It was—”

“So you fired a missile at it, and it returned fire, and you then hit it with a radioactive beam of some sort, correct?”

“No, sir.” But something was wrong. Patrick looked at the camera, but seemed to be having trouble focusing. “It…we didn’t…”

“So what happened?”

“Mr. President, the MiG fired on us first,” Boomer interjected. “The Vampire just defended itself, nothing more.”

“Who is that?” the President asked the National Security Adviser. He turned to the camera, his eyes bulging in anger. “Who are you? Identify yourself!”

“I’m Captain Hunter Noble,” Boomer said, getting to his feet, staring in shock at the image of Patrick being helped by Lukas, “and why the hell don’t you stop badgering us? We’re only doing our jobs!”

“What did you say to me?” the President thundered. “Who the hell are you to talk to me like that? General Bain, I want him fired! I want him discharged!”

“Master Sergeant, what’s going on?” Bain shouted, ignoring the President. “What’s happening to Patrick?”

“He’s having trouble breathing, sir.” She found a nearby intercom switch: “Medical detail to the command module! Emergency!” And then she terminated the videoconference with a keypress on the communications control keyboard.

* * *

“McLanahan is having a heart attack?” the President exclaimed after the video images from the space station cut off. “I knew he shouldn’t be up in that thing! General Bain, what kind of medical facilities do they have up there?”

“Basic, sir: just a medically trained technician and first aid equipment. We’ve never had anyone have a heart attack on an American military spacecraft.”

“Great. Just fucking great.” The President passed a hand through his hair in sheer frustration. “Can you get a doctor and some medicine and equipment up there right away?”

“Yes, sir. The Black Stallion spaceplane can rendezvous with the space station in a couple hours.”

“Get on it. And terminate those bomber missions over Iran. No more cruise missile shots until I know for sure what happened.”

“Yes, sir.” Bain’s videoconference link cut off.

The President sat back in his chair, loosened his tie, and lit up a cigarette. “What a clusterfuck,” he breathed. “We kill a bunch of innocent civilians in Tehran with a hypersonic missile fired from an unmanned bomber controlled from a military space station; Russia is screaming mad at us; and now the hero of the American Holocaust has a damned heart attack in space! What’s next?”

“McLanahan’s situation might turn out to be a blessing in disguise, Joe,” Chief of Staff Walter Kordus said. He and Carlyle had known Joseph Gardner since their years in college and Kordus was one of the few allowed to ever address the President by his first name. “We’ve been looking for ways to cut funding for the space station despite its popularity in the Pentagon and Capitol Hill, and this might be it.”

“But it has to be done delicately — McLanahan is too popular with the people to be used as an excuse to cut his favorite program, especially since he’s been touting it all over the world as the next big thing, the impregnable fortress, the ultimate watchtower, yada yada yada,” the President said. “We have to get some congressmen to raise the question of safety on that space station, and if it needs to be manned at all in the first place. We’ll have to ‘leak’ this incident to Senator Barbeau, the Armed Services Committee, and a few others.”

“That won’t be hard,” Kordus said. “Barbeau will know how to stir things up without slamming McLanahan.”

“Good. After it comes out in the press, I want to meet with Barbeau privately to discuss strategy.” Kordus tried hard to control his discomfort at that order. The President noted his friend and chief political adviser’s warning tenseness and added quickly, “Everyone’s going to have their hand out for the money once we start the idea of killing that space station, and I want to control the begging, whining, and arm-twisting.”

“Okay, Joe,” Kordus said, not convinced by the President’s hasty explanation, but not wanting to press the issue. “I’ll set it up.”

“You do that.” He took a deep drag of his cigarette, crushed it out, then added, “And we need to get our ducks in a row soon, just in case McLanahan kicks the bucket and Congress kills his program before we can divvy up his budget.”