“Going to supersonic speeds causes a bang that damages private property on the ground. Therefore it is illegal. You will make sure these rules of engagement go out tonight.”
Chalk strode out of the office, leaving McNorman seething behind him. Then, the SecDef started to read the document outlining the ‘Rules of Engagement’. As he did so, a slow smile spread over his face. Quite unwittingly, the Attorney General had given him the precise tool he needed. The ‘Rules of Engagement’ were a godsend, a gift from providence. If they turned the mission into a disaster, Chalk would shoulder all the blame and suffer the penalties. But, the disaster would prove McNorman’s own point about the vulnerability of the bombers and the need to replace them with missiles. He’d get his way and somebody else would take the penalty.
But, if the ‘Rules of Engagement’ did not bring about a disaster, it would be proof that the high speed and high altitude performance of the next-generation bombers was unnecessary. He would have the justification he needed to cancel production of every one of them - and Ramsey Chalk would think that McNorman was his ally. No matter what the effect of the ‘Rules of Engagement’ proposal, he, McNorman would get what he wanted, the fundamental reconstruction of the entire US Department of Defense. At last, all those who stood in his way would have to admit that he had been right after all.
McNorman picked up the message with the ‘Rules of Engagement’ and read it again. It was truly the key he had been waiting for. It had to go out to Aviano straight away, before anybody could countermand it.
Aviano Italian Air Force Base, Italy
The four RB-58s were in a line on the taxiway, surrounded by their ground support equipment, waiting to go. Marisol was in the lead, she had the longest mission, up to Beirut and then down the coast to Gaza. After that she would follow the Sinai coast and then come back home. Tiger Lily would be following her, she was carrying an electronic intelligence pod under her belly. Her job would be to record the electronic signals from any systems that attempted to track Marisol. Behind them, Spider Woman and Queen Bee were waiting to follow up, they’d probe any unexpected areas of activity that emerged. It was a routine mission for the RB-58C, the only thing that wasn’t routine was that an Air Police pick-up truck was heading straight for them. It swerved to a halt in front of Marisol and Colonel Hazen jumped out, his face a mask of fury.
“Mike, the rest of you, you had better read this and read it now. It just came in. It’s a piece of trash called ‘Rules of Engagement’, it comes right from the top. From McNorman himself. I can’t believe it.”
Kozlowski took the message and went white. “Subsonic only? Altitude not to exceed 40,000 feet? Do not fire unless fired upon? Do not fire unless enemy weapons have actually been launched? Do not engage other nation’s fighter aircraft unless they fire upon us? Get visual identification of targets before firing? Don’t fire on ground targets that are within ten miles of civilian population areas regardless of circumstances? Are these maniacs trying to get us all killed?”
“Mike, these ‘Rules of Engagement’ are absurd. If you want to abort this mission while I get this confirmed, I’ll back you all the way. These orders make any penetration mission virtual suicide. According to McNorman’s covering orders, these are the legal determinations made by the Attorney General. I can’t believe the targeteers know about this. These orders will be reversed, I’m sure of it. If you want to refuse this mission, nobody will blame you. All of you, you want to scrub it?”
The four RB-58 crews looked at each other and shook their heads. SAC did not turn back. Kozlowski turned to Hazen “Sorry Allen, can’t do that. My old man would throw a fit. Anyway, the Navy needs the information we’ll be getting. We’ll take this one real careful and if the bad guys start shooting, then to hell with these, these ‘Rules of Engagement’, we’ll do what we always do.”
Hazen nodded, it was what he’d expected. He had a card to play though. “Mike, you carrying nuclear-armed AIM-47s and AGM-76s?’
“Of course.” The reply was irritable and impatient, Hazen couldn’t blame him.
“Well, under these ‘Rules of Engagement’ even carrying, let alone using, nuclear weapons is prohibited. So we’ll have to pull Marisol and Spider Lady from the flight line and reload them. We’ve got conventionally-tipped Bullpups for air-to-surface and we’ll borrow some conventionally-armed AIM-47s from the 357th for air-to-air. That’ll take at least an hour, buys some time to get this cancelled at least.”
Kozlowski nodded. “OK boys, mount up, we have a job to do.”
Hazen watched the crews board the bombers, then got back into his pickup truck. In addition to the hour needed to swap out loads, it would be a couple more before the aircraft were in a danger zone, the question now was whether he could get through to Washington, get these damned ‘Rules of Engagement’ countermanded and then get the word to the crews in time. Then, he had a brainwave. There was a direct link to the USS Thomas Jefferson the Mediterranean Fleet Flag, she had a direct link to Washington as well, lie could try and get a message through her also.
Anyway, it may not be all bad. Nobody in their right minds opened fire on a SAC aircraft and those who did got nuked. No if, buts or maybes. Everybody knew that and held their fire as a result. So even if these orders increased the vulnerability of the bombers, then the difference might not be critical. It all depended on how rational the enemy air defenses were and if they knew about these insane ‘Rules of Engagement’.
Outside Restaurant “Pizza-Dacha”, Zentral-Prospekt, Moscow, Russia
One thing that had always amazed Tony Evans was that Moscow could be baking hot in summer. He’d always had a picture of the city being perpetually wrapped in snow but today, the sun was beating down and people were taking the opportunity to enjoy it. They’d been walking the Prospekt window-shopping and were now waiting for his restaurant to open so they could have pizza. Evans had parked his Mustang by the building, he owned the Moscow and Petrograd dealerships for Mustangs now and they were selling well.
In fact, the Mustang was doing for Russia what the Model T Ford had done for America. It was cheap enough to sell widely, robust enough to be reliable, simple enough for people to maintain, sporty enough to appeal to youngsters and practical enough to appeal to their parents. When people bought cars, they wanted roads to drive them on, so the Mustang was slowly driving a road construction program in Russia.
“Tony, why is that man wearing a leather coat?” Klavdia’s voice was puzzled. Evans looked at his wife. She was wearing one of the boldly-floral print dresses that Russian women favored, a thin, summer-weight one. Evans was in shirt-sleeves as dictated by the weather. So were the passers-by. The militiaman, one of Moscow’s police, admiring the Mustang was in shirt-sleeves also. So why was that man wearing a long, heavy leather coat? The militiaman nodded. This deserved investigation.
“Hey You. Stop there. I wish to see your papers.” Russia was a free country now, by the standards of its past anyway, but people were still expected to carry state identification papers and show them on demand. But the militiaman’s shout set the man in the incongruous leather coat running, straight at a group of people gathered the other side of the Prospekt.
The militiaman cursed and there were a couple of light cracks as he drew his Makarov pistol on the runner. Evans cursed and went for the Ml911 he kept in the Mustang’s glove compartment. Then, there was a dull crash and he realized he needn’t have bothered. Klavdia might be wearing a light summer dress instead of Frontniki khaki but her rifle was never far away from her. This time, it had been on the back seat of the ‘Stang and she fired almost by reflex.