“That’s the short and sweet of it, gentlemen.” The general nodded to his chief operations officer. “Colonel Ziegler will brief you on the details in a moment. But before he begins, does anyone have any preliminary questions or comments?”
“I do, sir.” Thorn spoke up first. Unlike the other men in the room, he didn’t hold a field command not at the moment at least. He had less of immediate value to lose by speaking bluntly. “May I speak frankly?”
Farrell nodded. “Always, Pete.”
“Well, sir, first of all, this is not the right mission for our troops. Delta and the SEALs are trained as hard-hitting assault forces, not as glorified military police outfits. Using them this way does not make good military sense.”
The general’s face was impassive. “Anything else, Colonel Thorn?”
“Yes, sir. You know what the areas near most of those airports are like. Christ, around D.C., it’s a mix of heavily wooded countryside and heavily congested population centers.” Thorn shook his head decisively.
“Under those conditions, there’s no conceivable way that a few hundred soldiers and a few dozen helicopters can adequately secure enough ground against terrorists equipped with handheld SAMs. All we’ll succeed in doing is dispersing a large part of the troops and equipment we may need later somewhere else.”
There were mummurs of agreement from around the table.
“What’s worse, sir, is that I’m convinced this whole operation is way too late,” Thorn said flatly. “From what we’ve seen so far, the terrorists conducting these attacks are too damned good to risk sticking their necks into a highly publicized buzz saw. They’ll move on to safer targets instead. I’m afraid we’re going to wind up guarding the team door while these bastards are burning down the farmhouse!” Farrell said nothing for several seconds, leaving Thorn to wonder briefly whether he had finally gone too far. Delta and the other special forces units operated with a high degree of informality away from outsiders and behind closed doors, but a two-star was a two-star was a two-star.
At last, the general simply shook his head. “I understand your concerns, Pete. I know for a fact that some of them have been raised at higher levels. But I also know what’s politically possible and what’s not in this situation. Right now, the President wants action ASAP and he wants it from us. And the Chiefs aren’t going to get in his way to let us off the hook. So we’re all just going to have to shut up and soldier and pray for the chance to do things the right way when it counts. Is that clear?”
Thorn knew the only possible answer to that. “Yes, sir. Perfectly clear.”
A C-141 transport touched down on the main runway at Andrews Air Force Base and taxied slowly toward the four other Starlifters already parked on the tarmac. Dozens of reporters and cameramen were on hand to record the first military movements in the administration’s highly choreographed and scripted Operation SAFE SKIES.
Soldiers in black coveralls, Kevlar helmets, and body armor trotted out of two of the C-141s, forming up facing away from the reporters with the easy grace of disciplined troops. Even in the full glare of publicity guaranteed by their dramatic arrival, the officers and men of Delta Force’s B Squadron wanted to keep their faces off television.
Air Force and Army crewmen swarmed near the open rear cargo ramps of the other Starlifters, readying for flight the twelve small helicopters they had ferried in, the MH-6 transports and AH-6 attack craft belonging to Delta’s own aviation company. More helicopters belonging to the 160th Aviation Regiment were scheduled to arrive on transports throughout the night.
MOST SECRET General Staff, Armed Forces of the Islamic Republic of Iran Operations Order 4
FROM: Chief of Staff TO: CINC, Army CINC, Air Force CINC, Navy SITUATION UPDATE:
Recent news reports confirm earlier indications of large-scale troop movements within the boundaries of the United States. The American political authorities are reacting as we predicted. Most significantly, the Americans are dispersing essential elements of their special warfare and rapid-reaction force structure units of their elite 101st Division and the Delta Force commando battalion. These formations are being committed piecemeal to security details stationed in major American cities. Effectively, they are chasing ghosts.
ORDERS:
1. All units slated for SCIMITAR should be brought immediately to full operational readiness.
2. First-wave formations should begin moving to their preassigned assembly areas NO LATER THAN 3 December.
CHAPTER 16
OVERLOAD
Newly refurbished as part of an ongoing corporate effort to maintain the glamour and profitability of Disney’s oldest theme park, the Disneyland Hotel stood as a tribute to the power of “imagineering” and the American love of glitter and fun. The “guests” mostly parents with small children and teenagers heading for the monorail ride to the park itself were brought to a fever pitch of excitement by their surroundings. They moved through a maze of enticing sights, smells, and sounds emanating from an array of restaurants and souvenir shops. Live entertainers musicians, magicians, and actors inside larger-than-life character costumes mingled with the crowds.
With an effort, Hassan Qalib concealed both his disgust and his amazement at the sight of so much godless luxury and so much waste. Everywhere the young Somali looked he saw excess and idolatry. Idolatry in the way these Americans taught their young to love and worship these mythical beasts, these cartoon characters. Excess in the half-eaten food they so casually discarded. The trash cans were full of hamburgers, hot dogs, french fries, and other foodstuffs that could have fed a family in Mogadishu for nearly a week.
Qalib caught sight of himself reflected in a storefront and scowled inwardly. He, too, appeared contaminated by this evil land and way of life. Three months on a typical American diet had added kilos of muscle and fat to a normally bony frame. The extra weight made him less conspicuous, but it also made him look bloated and alien when compared to the older self of memory.
To complete the masquerade as a park-goer, he wore typically American casual clothes: khaki slacks, brown loafers, and a light grey windbreaker over a more colorful Mickey Mouse-emblazoned sweatshirt. In his right hand he carried a large plastic bag full of gift-wrapped packages purchased several days ago from one of the hotel souvenir shops by another member of his special action cell.
Ahead of him the jostling crowds began forming lines as they approached a row of turnstiles and uniformed employees at the entrance to the Disneyland Hotel monorail station. He joined one of the lines.
With an effort, Qalib forced himself to smile politely as he showed a young white woman his Magic Kingdom passport. The ticket guaranteed him all-day admittance to the park and all its attractions. It also cost more than most people in his starving homeland earned in a month. The Somali was careful to smile with his mouth closed. Anyone who saw his stained and broken teeth would not have mistaken him for a college-age, middle-class American black man. She glanced at the passport and nodded him through the turnstile with a chirpy, impersonal “Have a nice day!”