Dale Brown - Shadows of steel

“You what?” the Vice President asked incredulously. “Used them … as in, sent them off to war?”

“Sent them off before the war,” the President said, still smiling.

“Remember that Soviet laser site in Siberia, the one that was shooting down satellites and even taking shots at our intelligence aircraft? Remember how it just up and blew itself apart one night?”

“We all assumed it was the Navy SEALs or Delta Force.”

“Delta Force didn’t even exist back then,” Freeman corrected her.

“The defenses were so thick around that site, we couldn’t get a plane or a sub in close enough to infiltrate a SEAL or Green Beret team. We thought we’d need an ICBM to take it out.” He turned to the President. “That was Elliott? Flying one of his experimental planes?”

“A fucking B-52 bomber, a job older than most of the crew members who flew it. They called it the Old Dog. Called Brad Elliott that, too,” the President said proudly. “Elliott called it a ‘flying battleship,’ had it loaded up with smart bombs, decoy drones, even air-to-air missiles, if you can believe it.”

“I can’t believe this,” Whiting exclaimed. “Congress knew absolutely nothing about it?”

“No one knew, except for the White House inner circle,” the President said. “Heck, even I got briefed after the fact! But Elliott did it, Ellen. He was so successful, we used him again and again. A Chinese radar site and a big battleship needed taking out in the Philippines? Nobody else around within a thousand miles, no carriers, no subs—but Elliott’s toys would take them out. Elliott’s toys destroyed an entire Belarussian armored battalion, a hundred tanks and armored vehicles, in one night—hell, in one pass—without anyone in Europe knowing about it.”

The Vice President was still shaking her head. “What happened to him?”

“He was fired, forced to retire,” Martindale replied. “He started to make mistakes, got a little overconfident. He was a throwback, too. He’d go out looking for fights—he’d want to fly his hybrid spaceships in each and every little conflict that cropped up in the whole friggin’ world. Fortunately for us, he would never quit—unfortunately for him, he never learned when to quit.”

“Sounds like my kind of guy,” Freeman said with a smile.

“No, Phil, not anymore. If you’re thinking about using him in some way for this Iran thing, forget it. He was a loose cannon.

We stayed awake nights thinking of how we were going to explain things to Congress, to the American people, to our allies, if Elliott screwed the pooch.”

“I wasn’t thinking about Elliott,” Freeman said. “I was thinking about McLanahan.”

“Who?” asked Whiting.

“Patrick McLanahan,” said Martindale. “One of Elliott’s deputies.

Damned talented youngster. But I thought he was gone, too,” “I found him,” Freeman said with a mischievous smile. “I found most of the surviving members of Elliott’s gang … and I pre-screened most of them under NSA Article Three.”

“Article what?” Ellen Whiting asked. She hurriedly read through a draft Executive Order that Freeman handed to her. “And You’re proposing that we create a military force that acts under sole authority of the White House? The Pentagon will never support it.

The Cabinet will never buy it. Congress will never fund it. The American people will scream bloody murder.

“We’ve already got the force in place, Ellen,” Freeman said.

“It’s called the Air Force Intelligence Agency, based out of San Antonio, Texas. They’ve been in business for four years now, assisting the Air Force and other agencies in combat, scientific, and human intelligence operations. The agency is a combination of assets from other forces, including Air Combat Command. These were the guys that helped pick out targets in Baghdad for the stealth fighters; they Operated in Iraq and even in Haiti, picking targets for the Air Force. They’re experienced with working with the National Security Agency, CIA, and foreign intelligence services. So what we do is team them up with the Intelligence Support Agency to find Iran’s mobile missiles and mess up their command-and-control system. If we destroy their communications and command-control network, maybe we can head off a war before it starts.” The Vice President remained openly skeptical; the exasperated shake of her head told her opinion of the legal authority to conduct military operations without notifying Congress, not to mention the commonsense logic of doing such operations without getting the entire Cabinet on board. “Ma’am, I’m not suggesting we start a war—I’m suggesting that we get some high-tech eyes out there to keep an eye on the region and get some precision, survivable firepower in the area in case something does happen,” Freeman went on. “We all know that Iran would very well start a war if we do a Desert Shield-type escalation or overtly threaten them with any show of force—that’s why I’m suggesting we do this operation as quietly and as stealthily as possible.”

“But we have political and diplomatic realities to face, General.”

The President held up a hand to the Vice President. “Hold on, Ellen. Let’s let the general dig himself out of this. What are you proposing, Philip?” the President asked. “I’m proposing an escalation of technologies, if you will all employed by the Air Force Intelligence Agency, and all centered around keeping an eye on Iran as it conducts this saber-rattling routine,” Freeman said. “I want the same B-2A HAWC flew over the Philippines in the China conflict, the one that carried the exotic weapons that no one ever heard of.

We’ll need specialized crews for this plane. They happen to be civilians, but I think they’ll come back and fly for us.”

“Why that particular plane, Phil?” the Vice President asked. “Why a civilian to fly it?”

“The Air Force doesn’t have the new weapons yet—no one has them, except the crews that used to work at HAWC in Nevada,” Freeman replied. “Even the B-2As still use dumb bombs. Only a handful of fliers know how to use the real twenty-first-century Buck Rogers hardware and I found them.”

“So you’re proposing sending this B-2A loaded up with smart bombs and flown by CIA spies over Iran to blow up a command center—without declaring war or notifying Congress?” Whiting asked incredulously. Both Freeman and Whiting noticed that the President was perfectly content to let her play “devil’s advocate” and come up with as many negatives as possible, so she charged ahead: “I can’t think of a faster, easier way to start a world war, bring down international condemnation on this office, and be branded as lunatic terrorists ourselves!”

“If the force is never, never applied within the United States, the American people won’t care what we did as long as it got results.”

“You sound like Bud McFarlane or Oliver North all of a sudden, General,” the Vice President said acidly. “Are you forgetting the Iran-contra debacle? We may have a Republican Congress now, but that doesn’t mean they or the American people will like or appreciate what you’re trying to do.”

Whiting turned to the President and went on: “Let’s assume for a moment that there is legal precedent for forming such a group, Mr. President, that this Air Force Intelligence Agency can legally do these missions. The question you need to ask yourself is, will you take the bombardment of criticism we’re undoubtedly going to receive? You cannot hope that General Freeman or anyone else is going to deflect or absorb the negative press for us. Could this be considered an abuse of power? Could this be considered an impeachable offense?

Will this affect our chances of a second term—or could this even affect our ability to effectively govern through our first term in office?”