“Two minutes,” his backseater said. “On course, on time.”
He grunted an acknowledgment. He could see the first landmark now, the small village just south of the border. There, that water tank. Just as briefed, just as he’d flown before. He descended to one thousand feet, turned east and commenced his final approach. His wingman settled in behind him. At two miles out, he descended another five hundred feet. Then he bore in, mentally checking off the landmarks as his backseater called them off.
“Five seconds,” his backseater said. He continued to count off the seconds. At precisely the right moment, the pilot toggled off the bombs. His Tomcat jolted upward, suddenly relieved of the two thousand pounds of drag.
He rolled his Tomcat out hard to the right immediately, at right angles to his earlier course. He jammed the throttles forward and went into afterburner. The Tomcat climbed quickly, putting distance between his aircraft and the target. It was only a matter of seconds now.
He ascended to five thousand then continued his turn to the right, giving him a view of the impact point. The land was still and quiet, and for one cold moment he thought they’d missed the target. Then he spotted the iron bomb, curving down in a graceful arc toward its target. He experienced a mild surge of excitement.
The white building in the middle of the clearing exploded. He had one brief second to see the structure start to crumble, then the entire area was consumed in a boiling mass of flames and smoke. It billowed up, mushrooming in clear air and rapidly expanding. A second explosion then, followed by a third and a fourth. The entire area was now a flaming mass of destruction, details invisible inside the conflagration. Then the mushrooming cloud seemed to double its rate of growth — his wingman’s weapon had found its target as well. The tactical circuit filled with cries of congratulation and victory.
There was much to be proud of, that was true. According to the intelligence reports, they had just destroyed a major covert headquarters facility operated by the rebel Macedonians. The hurried briefing from the ground controller was that the mission had been authorized as retaliation for a terrorist bombing just hours earlier in Tavista.
Destroying the HQ now would save countless Greek lives down the line, both Greek and Macedonian. After all, the Macedonians were Greek as well, weren’t they? A small segment of them were rabid nationalists, misleading the rest of the populous with their inflammatory accusations of racial cleansing. But Greece — his Greece — would never engage in such conduct. No, it was the Macedonians that killed women and children, that brought their terrorist devices into peaceful towns and cities. And while he hoped and prayed that no civilians were killed in the bombing, as would any good Christian, the fact remained that they had brought it on themselves.
“Better than baby-sitting the Americans, is it not?” his wingman cried out. “It was beautiful — did you see it?” And he rattled on with another description emphasizing the size and quality of the blast.
The pilot nodded, made the right sounds at the right moments. But something else had replaced the joyous victory he felt initially. A premonition, perhaps, of what was to come. It seemed that the future held nothing but death, dying, and more bombing runs.
The prospect of that didn’t bother him nearly as much as the fact that he enjoyed it.
SEVEN
“The resolution condemning terrorist activities by Macedonian forces inside Greece and authorizing UNFORGREECE strikes in retaliation is hereby approved.” The secretary general’s voice made it clear that he was just reporting the results of the vote. His own arguments against military action were already on the record. “The ambassador from China has moved that all military forces be placed under direct UNFORGREECE command. The United States opposes the motion. China has the floor.”
Ambassador Sarah Wexler gazed out across the assembled delegates to the United Nations. The mood running through the room was ugly, a mixture of strident righteousness and false bravado that so often characterized the proceedings at their worst.
There was such potential for good in this organization, she thought, studying the faces of the delegates. At least half of the men and women in this room were possessed of an innate goodness that she cherished. The other half were solidly entrenched nationalists incapable of seeing any viewpoint other than that supported by their own narrow concerns. In a way, the latter were easier to work with. She could draw on the resources of the United States, promise them improved foreign aid or economic advantages, and generally get them to do the right thing… if not necessarily for the right reasons. The deals were made behind closed doors, out of the sight of the rest of the world. She regretted many of them, while simultaneously appreciating that the end result was for good.
The ambassador from China fell into the latter category. At least for now. As a growing powerhouse, China would soon be in a position to spurn those benefits that friendship with the United States offered. With nearly two billion people residing inside her boundaries, she possessed a military and economic power untapped at present time but intimidating in its potential. China was just beginning to wake, and she feared if the dragon ever fully uncoiled, the world would feel the consequences.
“I am surprised, Madame Ambassador,” the ambassador from China said, “that you oppose this motion.” He paused for an appreciative murmur to sweep across the room. “Surely the United States is concerned about the massacre of so many civilians, women and children among them?”
“Of course we’re concerned,” she said immediately, silently damning him for even daring to play that card. As if China had any right to protest the massacre of countless civilians, given their own record on human rights. “Our forces are now standing by to augment and support the UN peacekeeping efforts in the area.”
The ambassador laughed softly. “Peacekeeping. An aircraft carrier loaded with missiles, bombs and fighter aircraft is an excellent weapon — I mean to say, tool — for peacekeeping, yes?”
“Many nations have thought so,” she shot back. “Including your own, I believe.”
“The United States confuses peace with imposing its own wishes on a region.” T’ing nodded at the shouts of agreement now, primarily from China’s client states. The young Asian Tigers, she thought bitterly, sweeping her gaze over them and counting their numbers. The world applauded their economic aggressiveness, sought to emulate them in ways that would never ever work in the American culture. But let China follow the path she feared it was taking, and they would be the first to cry for United States intervention. If China ever moved to dominate the region, there would be no stopping her. At least not without another world war. Couldn’t they see that? That someday in the not too distant future they would need the aid of the other country they now tried to humiliate in this very forum?
“The USS
“A careful choice of words,” the ambassador replied. “But of course, it is not under the direct command of our UN task force commander, is it? No, it sits there willing to provide resources to support this noble effort only at those times that the United States deems it appropriate. In reality, it is no more than a pawn in these games we play.”
“Is the United States serious about peace in Macedonia?” he asked. “Prove to me that she is serious. Prove it to the world.”
“We’re following the well-established and eminently sensible practice that characterizes UN actions today. Our forces are available. As are the forces of other nations that have agreed to participate.”
The ambassador nodded sagely. “Oh, yes. As in the previous UN peacekeeping forces that were actually a front for American aggression. As in the Persian Gulf. As in Hong Kong. Infringing on the rights of other nations under the pretext of international relations.”
