Furness frowned in confusion. “Yes, sir,” she said formally, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “We can set up an orientation flight for you. Major Seaver isn’t currently qualified to fly the B-1, but…”
“I know that. I will administer his requalification checkout. Emergency procedures check in the sim tomorrow, then a flight ASAP.”
“I see,” Furness said, again noncommittally. “I would prefer that his requal ride be done by someone in the Nevada Guard. I would also like to know your qualifications, sir. Are you qualified to fly the Bone?”
“Doesn’t matter now, does it, Colonel?” Patrick replied.
Furness looked furious but held her anger in check. “Very good, sir. Well, this ought to be fun.” She slapped her hands together in mock excitement. “Well then, we’ve got a lot of work to do. Why don’t we get you set up in a hotel, schedule a meeting to review Seaver’s paperwork and fitness reports, and—”
“You don’t seem to understand, Colonel,” Patrick interjected. “I’m not here just to give Seaver his flight check, and I think we’ll all be too busy to worry about hotel rooms.”
“Then what the hell are you… pardon me, sir, but what are you here for, then?”
Patrick reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew an envelope. Furness saw the code “A-72” on it. Her eyes bugged out and her breath caught in her throat. He handed her the envelope. “You’ve just been notified, Colonel, that your squadron has seventy-two hours to put bombs on target and then deploy to a remote operations base to begin simulated long-range bombardment operations. Your unit’s predeployment evaluation has just begun. The clock is ticking, and as of right now, I am keeping score.”
“What?” Furness exploded. She grabbed the envelope and tore it open. Sure enough, it was a standard Air Force warning-order message, stamped “Confidential,” directing an air strike against simulated targets in the Nellis bombing ranges in southern Nevada. The strike would be followed by a deployment of not more than two weeks to an undisclosed location to conduct night and day bombing operations from a bare-base location. “This has got to be a joke!” the squadron commander shouted. “I don’t know you! I can’t generate seven Bones on your say-so only!”
At that moment, John Long’s cell phone beeped. He answered it immediately, listened, then closed it up. “Boss, the airfield operations manager just got a fax from Bretoff’s office, notifying them that intensive Air Guard operations will commence this afternoon.”
“That message was supposed to be secret,” McLanahan said. He shrugged. “You’ve got a good intelligence operation here, Colonel, I’ll give you that.” It was common courtesy for evaluators to give a “heads-up” to certain folks, such as local air traffic control facilities, before an exercise kicked off. It was also common for air traffic control facility managers to slip a heads-up call to the military guys when an exercise was about to commence, even though the information was supposed to be kept under wraps to enhance the shock and surprise element of the exercise.
“Also, Reno Approach Control reports a KC-135 twenty miles out, call sign ‘Blitz Nine-Nine,’” Long went on. The “99” suffix was a common one used by evaluation teams. “RAPCON says he’s parking at Mercury Air for two weeks and is requesting COMSEC procedures in effect for the Air Guard.” That, too, was typical of the kickoff of an exercise. From now on, under COMSEC, or communications security procedures, all movements of Air National Guard aircraft except for safety-of-flight concerns were not to be reported on open radio or phone lines.
Furness looked at McLanahan with a combination of irritation and surprise, then eased up. The predeployment exercise was usually conducted at another B-1B bomber base, usually with the unit flying out and beginning there — but nothing in the regs said it couldn’t start right at home base with a no-notice deployment generation exercise and Furness, like most good fliers, hated surprises.
But she also loved challenges, loved excitement, loved action. Exercises involving recalls, generations, en route bombing, and deployments were right there beside actual combat on the list of things that made Rebecca Furness’s blood race. McLanahan saw the fire ignite in her eyes. He was pleased.
“Long Dong, initiate a squadron recall,” Furness ordered. “Get Dutch and Clock’s sorties back on the ground on the double. The battle staff meets in fifteen minutes with their checklists open and ready to go, and I will personally kick the ass of the man or woman who is not in their seat ready to go by the time I get there. Notify Creashawn on the secure line, have them start a recall, and get ready to move live weapons for the entire fleet on my orders.” Creashawn Arsenal was the large weapons storage facility near Naval Air Station Fallon where live weapons for the B-1s were stored. “Then call Bretoff secure and inform him I’m generating my fleet for combat operations. Reference General McLanahan’s written orders and his own verbal orders.”
As Long got on his cell phone to initiate the recall, Furness turned to McLanahan, a mischievous smile on her lips and a malevolent glow in her eyes. She looked him up and down, then said, “McLanahan. I once heard of a McLanahan from a friend of mine, the chief of staff of the Lithuanian Army. He told some pretty extraordinary stories about him. Any relation, sir?”
“Maybe.”
“Interesting.” Furness grinned. “This McLanahan was in charge of some pretty cosmic stuff, real Buck Rogers high-tech gear, made for bombers.” There was no response. She nodded, then asked, “You ready for this, General McLanahan? We move pretty fast around here.”
“I’ll be with you the entire way,” Patrick said. “When the sorties launch, I want to be manifested with Seaver as copilot. He’ll be number two in your flight.”
Furness glared at McLanahan in surprise. “I can’t do that, sir,” she said. “I’m not going to put an unqualified person in the right seat during a live weapons mission. It’s unsafe.” She looked at him warily. “Or are you going to pull rank on this too?”
“Yes, I was,” Patrick said, “but I’ll make you a deaclass="underline" I’ll fly in the copilot’s seat with Seaver in the sim. If you don’t think I know my shit well enough, you can kick me out. Deal?”
“Deal,” Furness said. “Have fun flying in the DSO’s seat, sir.”
“Don’t bet on it, Colonel,” Patrick said with a smile. He glanced over at John Long and added, “Put Colonel Long in my OSO’s seat.”
“Whatever you want, sir,” Furness responded. Then she shouted to the rest of the squadron members, “Get your asses moving, you grunts! That’s the last time I want to see any of you hogs standing around with your thumbs up your asses! Now move!”
It’s good of you to come, Minister Kang,” the President of the United States said. He shook hands warmly with Minister of Foreign Affairs Kang No-myong of the Republic of Korea. With him in the Oval Office were Vice President Ellen Christine Whiting, Secretary of Defense Arthur Chastain, and White House Chief of Staff Jerrod Hale. Official White House photographers took photos of the handshakes; no reporters were present.
“Mr. President, Madam Vice President, Secretary Chastain, Mr. Hale, may I please introduce the South Korean minister of defense, retired general Kim Kun-mo,” Minister Kang said in broken but very understandable English. General Kim bowed deeply, then shook hands with each American. His Korean translator was also introduced, and all were led to seats around the coffee table in the Oval Office. As refreshments were served, the photographers snapped a few more shots of the leaders making small talk, then departed. The visitors looked around the famous White House Oval Office, as wide-eyed and awed as any congressman’s constituent on a “photo opportunity” visit. Jerrod Hale remained standing in his usual place behind and to the right of the President.