When the large LCD flat-plate monitor came to life, what Lieutenant General Terrill Samson saw came as a welcome relief: Brad Elliott, Patrick McLanahan, and Air Force Major Nancy Cheshire, alive and well. The Sky Masters, Inc., satellite-based teleconference established a secure, real-time voice, video, and datalink between several different offices around the world: from U.S. Pacific Command headquarters at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, where he and Admiral William Allen, commander of U.S. Pacific Command, waited; the Joint Chiefs’ “Gold Room” Conference Center at the Pentagon in Washington, D.C.; all the way to the three aviators in a secure hangar at Andersen Air Force Base on the island of Guam.
Samson let a long, deep sigh of relief escape his lips. “Good to see you folks,” he said.
“It’s even better to be seeing you, sir,” Cheshire responded. “Believe me.”
“I believe you, Major,” Samson said with a wry smile. “I’m very sorry about Lieutenant Vikram. My condolences to all of you.”
He paused respectfully for a few moments, which gave him a chance to study the three on the videoconference monitor. They all looked exhausted, absolutely bone-tired… but Elliott looked worse. Samson knew that Elliott had been hit by pieces of windscreen and the windblast when the Chinese Sukhoi-33 fighters attacked; he could see a bit of evidence of injury, but lots of evidence of something else. Elliott looked whipped, almost ragged; his breathing appeared labored, his lips slightly parted as if he were forced to breathe through his mouth to get more air.
“What’s happening now, Earthmover?” Elliott said. That voice had the same cockiness in it — it sounded like the old Brad Elliott. He didn’t look so good, but the old fire and steel was still in his voice and definitely still in his mental attitude.
“We’re waiting for the Pentagon to jump in on the videoconference,” Samson said. “I’d like to ask a few questions before the CNO or JCS comes in.”
“No one is responsible for Emil’s death or for what happened on this mission but me, sir,” Patrick McLanahan said immediately. It was very obvious that Patrick, as well as the others on camera from Andersen Air Force Base on Guam, had come right from the plane to the videoconference after landing their crippled bomber. All were wearing wrinkled flight suits, and had dark smudges under their eyes; the men had ragged, unshaved faces. “I take full responsibility.”
“Stand by one, Patrick,” Samson interjected. “I didn’t think I’d need to remind you, since you’ve flown missions like this before, but the reality of the situation is that no one is responsible for what happened, because this incident never happened, do you understand? Lieutenant Vikram died in the course of his military duties — no other explanation is needed or will be offered. If it becomes necessary, the government will pick the most mundane, unexciting, plausible reason for Emil’s death, but it won’t be necessary, because everyone involved, from Vikram’s family to the President of the United States, is legally and morally bound to keep their mouths shut in the name of national security. If they don’t, they will find that the blame will fall on them.
“This is also a good time to remind you folks that you are volunteers in a completely black, highly classified government program,” Samson went on. “If you screw up, your identities will be erased from all public or government records; if anyone digs to find said records, they’ll find the dead themselves at fault. When you step on board that monster, you cease to exist, and any memories of you will be manipulated by the government that you sacrificed your life to serve. So it does no good to blame yourselves, because no one is going to accuse or indict you — they will either forget you or deny you. Everybody understand?”
No reply, not even nods, from the three aviators. They all knew that it was a screw job in the worst possible sense: they were going to risk their lives for their country, and the best they could ever hope for is that they would be completely forgotten by that same country, and that no one would ask any questions about their deaths because the reply would trash their reputations. “You also understand,” Samson went on grimly, “that you can excuse yourself from this project at any time, without prejudice or harm to your careers?” Again no response. “I take it that you all understand your rights and all the realities here. Talk to me later if you like.
“We are going to be joined on this teleconference in a few moments by a few other parties, but first I wanted to find out how you guys are doing. I know it’s hard on you because of the loss of Lieutenant Vikram. I’m very sorry. Please, speak up.” There was no response. Samson gave them a few more moments, then urged them, “You were just involved in a nuclear exchange. You went head-to-head with over fifty armed Chinese warships. You saw hundreds of sailors get killed and injured, some by your hand. Are you guys doing okay?”
“What do you want us to say, sir?” Nancy Cheshire finally spoke out. “We got Emitter killed, and we got our butts shot up. We stopped the PLAN, I think, but I don’t know if it was worth Emil getting killed. I have a feeling, when we hear from JCS and CINCPAC, that the answer to that will be ‘no.’ ”
“I’ll give you an answer, Earthmover — we were hung out to dry,” Brad Elliott said angrily. “We were strung out by you, by the Navy, by the White House. You sent us into a no-win situation where the only way we could make a difference, the only way we could use the power we had at our command to do some good, was to disobey orders.”
“Brad, c’mon,” McLanahan said wearily. “We’re not accusing anyone right now. We knew what we were doing.”
“Patrick’s right, Brad — you knew the game you were playing long before wheels-up in Blytheville, Arkansas,” Samson said. “You knew you were going to be given a short leash. You knew the brass didn’t support you. You knew the Navy didn^t want you. But you launched anyway. Once over the cover area, you could’ve just obeyed orders and watched Quemoy get incinerated — but you acted. We’re all going to pay for that decision.”
“We had to do what we did, sir,” Cheshire said. “We couldn’t just sit back and watch.”
“Guys, I think it was a good decision to defend the Taiwanese ships and attack those Chinese ships — Emil Vikram did not die in vain,” Samson said. “But I think we’re going to get hammered for making it. What’s done is done. I think the Chinese were going to use those nukes over Quemoy anyway, so everything that happened was bound to happen anyway. As far as what happens to you… well, we suck it up and move on. Hell, I might be submitting my application to Jon Masters before the day’s out.”
“Wear a nice suit, Earthmover,” Elliott said. “You’re gonna need it.”
“We’re not done here until I know that Lieutenant Vikram didn’t die for nothing,” McLanahan said. “Support or not, we’re not leaving the theater until we know the PLAN isn’t going to keep on lobbing nukes at Taiwan or anyone else. There’s still no other U.S. forces nearby that can oppose them — our five Megafortresses are the only heavy strike group that can take on that carrier battle group.”
“That decision will be made soon, Patrick,” Samson said. “I don’t think you’ll get what you want.”
“Stop thinking like a staff puke and start thinking like a warrior again, Earthmover,” Brad Elliott said. “You might learn something.”
“Hey, Brad, you might want to cool your jets a little bit before the brass gets on the bird,” Samson said. “An attitude like that won’t win you any friends right now. ”
“We expect you to argue our case for us, sir,” McLanahan said. “Keep us in the theater until the President decides what other forces he’s going to send in.”