Rogue Forces

confusion. “Who are you guys?” he asked in a low voice, almost a whisper. “What in hell is going on around here?”

For the first time, Patrick softened his opinion of the regimental commander. He certainly knew what it was like to lose men in combat and lose control of a situation, and he understood what Wilhelm was feeling. But he didn’t yet deserve an answer or explanation.

“I’m sorry about your loss, Colonel,” Patrick said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a plane coming in.”

The second XC-57 Loser aircraft touched down at Nahla Allied Air Base at eight P.M. local time. It had been preceded by a CV-22 Osprey tilt-rotor transport plane that the press and local dignitaries had been told would be carrying the vice president. The CV-22 executed the standard “high-performance” arrival—a high-speed dash into the base from high altitude, followed by a steep circle over the base to lose speed and altitude—and encountered no difficulties. By the time security forces had escorted the Osprey into a hangar, the XC-57 had already landed and taxied safely to another part of the base.

Jack Wilhelm, Patrick McLanahan, Jon Masters, Kris Thompson, and Mark Weatherly, all wearing identical civilian clothes—blue jeans, boots, plain shirt, sunglasses, and a tan vest, very similar to what Kris Thompson’s security forces typically wore—stood beside the XC-57 as the vice president climbed down the boarding ladder.

The only one in uniform was Colonel Yusuf Jaffar, the Iraqi commander of Allied Air Base Nahla. He was in his usual desert gray battle dress uniform, but this time was wearing a green beret with an array of medals pinned to the blouse, black ascot, spit-shined boots and pistol holster, and a .45 caliber automatic pistol. He did not say anything to anyone except his aide, but he seemed to be watching Patrick, as if he wanted to speak with him.

No one except Jaffar saluted as Vice President Kenneth Phoenix stepped to the ground. Phoenix was dressed almost exactly as the other Americans—it looked like a gaggle of civilian security guards. Several other men and women alighted, dressed similarly.

Phoenix looked around, grinning at the sight, until his eyes finally locked onto a familiar face. “Thank God I recognize someone. I was starting to feel like I was having a weird dream.” He stepped over to Patrick and extended a hand. “Good to see you, General.”

“Good to see you, too, Mr. Vice President. Welcome to Iraq.”

“I wish it was under happier circumstances. So, you’re working for the ‘dark side’ now: the evil defense contractors.” Patrick made no response. “Introduce me around.”

“Yes, sir. Colonel Yusuf Jaffar, commander of Allied Air Base Nahla.”

Jaffar did not lower his salute until he was introduced, and then he stood at rigid attention until Phoenix extended his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Colonel.”

Jaffar shook his hand as stiffly as he stood. “I am honored you have you visit my base and my country, sir,” he said in a booming voice, his words obviously well rehearsed. “Es salaam alekum. Welcome to the Republic of Iraq and to Allied Air Base Nahla.”

“Es salaam alekum,” Phoenix said with a surprisingly good Arabic accent. “I am sorry for your losses, sir.”

“My men served with honor and died as martyrs in the service of their country,” Jaffar said. “They sit at the right hand of God. As for the ones who did this, they shall pay dearly.” He snapped to attention and looked away from Phoenix, terminating their conversation.

“Mr. Vice President, Colonel Jack Wilhelm, regimental commander.”

Phoenix extended a hand, and Wilhelm took it. “I’m very sorry for your losses, Colonel,” he said. “If there’s anything you need, anything at all, you come directly to me.”

“For now my only request is your presence at the departure ceremony for Second Platoon, sir. It’ll be in a couple hours.”

“Of course, Colonel. I’ll be there.” Wilhelm introduced the others from his command, and the vice president introduced the others who arrived with him. Kris Thompson then led them to waiting armored vehicles.

Before Patrick climbed into an armored Suburban, Jaffar’s aide came up to him and saluted. “My apologies for the interruption, sir,” the aide said in very good English. “The colonel wishes to speak with you.”

Patrick looked over at Jaffar, who was partially turned away from him. “Can it wait until our briefing with the vice president is over?”

“The colonel will not be attending the briefing, sir. Please?” Patrick nodded and motioned for the driver to go.

The Iraqi snapped to attention and saluted when Patrick stepped over to him. Patrick returned his salute. “General McLanahan. I apologize for the interruption.”

“You won’t be attending the briefing with the vice president, Colonel?”

“It would be an insult to my commander and the chief of staff of the Iraqi army for me to attend such a meeting before them,” Jaffar explained. “These protocols must be observed.” He glared at McLanahan, then added, “I should think that your commanding officers and diplomats in Baghdad would be similarly offended.”

“It’s the vice president’s decision, not ours.”

“The vice president cares little for such protocols?”

“He’s here to find out what happened and how our government can help get things straightened out, not observe protocols.”

Jaffar nodded. “I see.”

“He might think that you not attending the briefing is a breach of protocol, Colonel. He is here to help Iraq and the Iraqi army, after all.”

“Is that so, General?” Jaffar asked, a razor-sharp edge to his voice. “He comes unbidden to our country and expects me to attend a briefing that our president has not yet heard?” He made a show of thinking about his point, then nodded. “Please make my apologies to the vice president.”

“Of course. I can brief you later if you’d prefer.”

“That would be acceptable, General,” Jaffar said. “Sir, may I have permission to inspect your reconnaissance aircraft at your earliest convenience?”

Patrick was a little surprised: Jaffar hadn’t shown any interest in their activities whatsoever in the short time he’d been there. “There are some systems and devices that are classified and I can’t—”

“I understand, sir. I believe you call it NOFORN—no foreign nationals. I understand completely.”

“Then I’d be happy to show it to you,” Patrick said. “I can brief you on tonight’s reconnaissance run, show you the aircraft before the preflight inspections, and go over the unclassified data as we receive it to show you our capabilities. I’ll have to get Colonel Wilhelm’s and my company’s permission, but I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Nineteen hundred hours, in your office?”

“That is acceptable, General McLanahan,” Jaffar said. Patrick nodded and extended a hand, but Jaffar snapped to attention, saluted, spun on a heel, and walked quickly away to his waiting car, followed by his aide. Patrick shook his head, confused, then jumped into a waiting Humvee, which took him to the Command and Control Center.

Wilhelm was waiting for him in the conference room overlooking the Tank. Mark Weatherly was introducing the vice president to some of the staff members and explaining the layout of the Triple-C and the Tank. “Where’s Jaffar?” Wilhelm asked in a low voice.

“He’s not coming to the briefing. Said it would insult his commanders if he spoke with the vice president first.”

“Damn hajjis—this was supposed to be for his benefit,” Wilhelm said. “Why the hell didn’t he tell me himself?” Patrick didn’t answer. “What were you two talking about?”

“He wants to tour the Loser, get a briefing on our capabilities, and watch the next recon mission.”

“Since when is he interested in any of that stuff?” Wilhelm growled. “Today, of all days, just after us getting our asses chewed up and with Washington crawling up and down our backs.”

“I told him I needed your permission first.”

Wilhelm was about to say no, but he just shook his head and muttered something under his breath. “He’s entitled to be in the Tank for all operations—we keep the commander’s seat open for him, for God’s sake, even though he’s never been in it—so I guess I don’t have any choice. But he doesn’t get to see the NOFORN stuff.”

“I told him the same thing, and he understands. He even knew that term.”

“Probably saw it in a movie and likes to parrot it every chance he gets. I’ll bet it sticks in his craw.” Wilhelm