After Thomas’s retort, McClain searched for a graceful exit. “Fine, you were right about not committing to a massive strike on day two; I’ll grant you that. But we can’t stop fighting because you’re grasping at straws.”
Thomas shifted from anger to frustration. “We’ve covered this before. We’re not fools. Nobody seriously thinks the fighting will completely end, but we have got to stop lobbing nukes at each other. Another two or three days, and there won’t be anybody to negotiate with — on either side.”
Hargesty’s role was to play devil’s advocate, flushing out the arguments. It was tough to tell whose side he was on. “What do you propose, Bob, ignore the mobiles, focus on a cease-fire?
“I’ve talked to the president, and he understands the significance of the SS-25s. But he wants to regroup. We need a breather. Then push militarily if diplomatic efforts collapse.”
Hargesty had a sour look. He was getting sick of Thomas referring to personal talks with the president. “He’s said the same to me,” said Hargesty testily, “but I don’t agree. We can’t let up the pressure. Not now.”
“There’s another way,” offered Thomas. “We can go after the mobiles with special operations forces. SOF is the only hope of finding the 25s. Root them out one by one”
“It’s a suicide mission,” scoffed an army general. His Army Special Forces Groups would bear the brunt. It was listed as one of their assigned missions in OPLANs, but no one had ever taken it seriously. The logistics were overwhelming, and most in the community considered it a one-way mission. The actual scenario called for such action before a nuclear exchange, not after. “You’re just going to drop them in and walk away?” he added.
Thomas was piqued by the comment. “That’s right. Air-refueled MC-130s and MH-53s can carry teams and their vehicles out of England and Germany. Teams are staged as we speak. The Europeans have been reluctant to let us use any of our conventional forces, but they’ve agreed to let SOF slip by. As to the suicide comment, with millions already dead, I hardly think that rates an answer. That’s their job. They’ll go where they’re ordered.”
“Of course they will,” said the general, “I was just saying that we would be wasting valuable forces. We may need them later, for something else.”
“There’s no higher priority mission,” said Hargesty. Thomas was pleasantly surprised by the intervention. “OK, Bob, we get them in, and then what?”
Thomas leaned forward slowly and folded his hands on the table. He considered sending in SOF the last resort. The army general was right — they didn’t have a chance.
“Two possible tactics. The first is direct action, DA. The teams would haul in their own standoff weapons. Problem is the SS-25s deploy with company-level security and plenty of decoys. A small team in Humvees armed with TOWs or AT-4 rockets would be outgunned.” Thomas paused and looked around for a map. An aide scrambled, anticipating an order. He figured the captain knew what he wanted and turned back to the others.
“Another option would be for the teams to locate, identify, and designate the targets for air strikes.”
“Are you talking about orbiting bombers?” asked McClain. “It would never work. I don’t have the aircraft for that. You even said so yourself.”
“No, tactical aircraft. FB-111s or F-15Es with conventional ordnance. The teams could lase the target. If not, the aircraft could use cluster bombs based on GPS coordinates and carpet the area.” Thomas was getting on shaky ground. It would only work for southern targets, not in the northern heart of Russia where the preponderance of SS-25s roamed.
“You’ve got to be kidding. It would never work,” McClain snorted. “We have to use nuclear weapons, no question.” The nods around the table confirmed that the others felt the same way.
“I don’t agree,” Thomas countered. “We’ve got to wean ourselves from a knee-jerk use of nukes at every turn. Conventional weapons are the only feasible choice while we’re negotiating. We’ve got to de-escalate.”
“You’ve got a hard sell on that one,” interjected Hargesty. “If we’re lucky enough to find one of the bastards, we’ve got to be sure we get him. We can’t risk missing.” Hargesty stopped midthought and reconsidered. His frown indicated a tussle underway in his brain. “But we shouldn’t write off the idea completely.”
McClain didn’t like what he saw coming. “Fine, but where do we get the planes?”
“We’ve got a few aircraft left in Turkey. They can cover a thousand-mile arc with refueling,” answered Hargesty
“There are not going to be any tankers. The survivors are all reserved for the bombers.”
“Then it’s a one-way mission, and the aircrew comes out with the team or by themselves or ditch somewhere. They don’t launch until we have a positive ID on targets.”
McClain rolled his eyes. The stunned army general sat mumbling. But the decision was Hargesty’s. “It’s a long shot, but we’ve got try. John, coordinate the ops with SOCLANT and SOCEUR. I want forces in country within twenty-four hours.” Reluctant nods greeted the last comment. The plan smacked of a terrible waste of good aircraft and superbly trained men.
“Anything else?” Hargesty turned to an aide. “Do you have the marked-up map of CENTCOM?”
Thomas slumped and breathed easy. For the moment, he had held off the dogs. He prayed the Army Special Forces would make a dent in the Russian mobile ICBM inventory and save the president from even worse decisions.
CHAPTER 32
Rawlings paced a well-worn path around dim, dank hanger. His mood was getting darker by the hour. They had sat and slept on the cold, hard concrete for nearly seventy-two hours. Food service was provided like clockwork. Their gear was delivered the first night, minus weapons. The amenities were appreciated, but the fact remained that they were prisoners.
Enough bad news had filtered through the steel doors from sympathetic guards to turn their stomachs. Major Banks had punctually called every few hours at first, less as time wore on. While sympathetic, Banks and the other Brits wouldn’t mind if the Americans packed up and left their island for good. With each passing hour, the British fear and consternation mushroomed, the London leadership paralyzed by the very real threat of being dragged into a war they’d just as soon shun. Being hosts to units of America’s most-potent surviving military forces exacerbated the hand-wringing at Whitehall and Ten Downing. The worst rumor had the Americans being handed over to Russians to buy peace. Rawlings doubted the British would sink so low. The rest of NATO maybe, but not the British, even in a weak moment.
The idle chatter common to comrades in cramped quarters had ceased after the first chaotic hours, each man withdrawing into an emotional cocoon. The current mood was somber. Not knowing was the worst part. For Rawlings, being a bachelor brought some relief, but he was worried sick about his parents and two sisters at home in Birmingham, Alabama. He prayed they were unhurt. Rawlings shook his head. Nuclear war, it sounded crazy, unbelievable, yet that’s what they were being told.
“We got visitors, Captain,” one of the sergeants said, long before noon chow was due. Ears perked and heads swung toward the entrance. It wasn’t the food detail, but an assemblage of Special Air Service brass and what looked like an American contingent. Rawlings jumped to his feet, his men forming a huddle to his rear. A hard-looking lieutenant colonel spotted him and stepped his way.