Pontowski returned her salute. “Welcome to the American Volunteer Group,” he said.
Clark was shocked. Without exception, they were all young — too young. “A training squadron?” she said in a low voice.
Jessica heard it and dropped her salute. “Actually, ma’am, this is last Friday’s graduating class from basic security police training.” She looked at Rockne. “Your dog, Chief.” She whispered a command and sent Boyca on her way.
Rockne stroked Boyca as he looked them over. He had a new challenge. “Glad to see you could make this deployment,” he told her.
“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she told him.
Nineteen
The silver-haired senator followed the president through the door of the Situation Room and sat down next to her. I’ll be damned, Shaw thought. Savane’s one of the good guys. In Shaw’s political order of battle, Senator Philip Savane was truly a member of the loyal opposition and not to be confused with the likes of his fellow party member John Leland. She’s reaching out, Shaw decided. To his way of thinking, she couldn’t find a better ally in the Senate.
“I wish Mazie and Bernie were here to see this,” Vice President Kennett said, also impressed with the turn of events.
“Mazie’s due back this afternoon,” Shaw said.
“And Butler?”
“No idea,” Shaw replied. He fell silent as Colonel Scovill took the podium and waited for the signal from Wilding to start the morning’s briefing for the ExCom.
“President Turner, Senator Savane, gentlemen,” Scovill said, “I’d like to begin with a recap of last night’s B-2 missions.” He allowed a tight smile. “I can reconfirm that all ten aircraft returned undamaged to Whiteman Air Force Base.” A map of Iraq appeared on the big screen on the left. Arrows pointed to 160 targets. “These are the targets we hit last night. Preliminary bomb-damage assessment indicates that a hundred fifteen, or seventy-two percent, were destroyed; twenty-three, or fourteen percent, heavily damaged; and nine, or six percent, were lightly damaged.”
“And the other thirteen?” Savane asked.
“We missed,” the Marine answered.
“Been there, done that,” the senator replied, recalling his missions as a fighter pilot in Vietnam.
“Whiteman is launching twelve sorties tonight,” the Marine continued. “All thirteen of those targets will be revisited.” The screen on the right scrolled to a new map of Iraq with arrows pointed at the new targets. The screen zoomed in on Baghdad. “Of particular concern tonight is this target. We hit it three nights ago, but it was not totally destroyed.”
“Downtown Baghdad,” Savane said in a low voice. He was back in time, caught up in his memories. “I was flying over another downtown when I was shot down. Is it worth the risk?”
“We believe it is,” Scovill replied, his voice icy calm. His thumb danced on the hand controller in his right hand. “Specifically, this is target I36-8481, an underground command bunker built under the basement of the Al-Rashid Hotel.” The screen enlarged to an oblique aerial photo of the hotel.
“My God,” Shaw blurted, momentarily losing control. His doctor had warned him about that, and he clamped an iron-hard control on his surging emotions. But an explanation was in order. “That’s where the press is staying,” he muttered.
Scovill’s tight smile was back. “Exactly. On the left screen is the video taken from the attacking B-2’s targeting system. The pilot’s voice you hear is the mission commander on board the B-2. On the right screen is the simultaneous coverage supplied by a CNC-TV reporter as he reported the attack from the roof of the hotel.”
The left screen shimmered with a greenish image of the target as the pilot’s voice described the bomb run. “There’s the Al-Rashid Hotel.” The crosshairs on the screen moved over the hotel. “There’s offset one, there’s offset two.” Again the crosshairs on the screen followed his voice from the hotel to the offsets, each one a distinct target but progressively smaller in size. “Target acquisition now.” The crosshairs jumped from the last offset to the middle of a big parking lot. The crosshairs stabilized, and a few seconds later a finger of light flashed at the bottom of the screen. “Bomb gone.” A countdown timer in the lower left-hand side of the screen started to unwind to zero.
“The mission commander,” the colonel explained, “activated the release system when he went to target acquisition. The computer moved the crosshairs to the no-show target and automatically pickled the bomb when all release parameters were met. When the countdown timer reaches zero, the bomb will impact on the crosshairs. Meanwhile, from the rooftop of the Al-Rashid…”
The right screen cycled to the CNC-TV reporter. The skyline of Baghdad was in the background. A series of flashes jumped around the city as tracers lit the sky. “Each flash,” the reporter said, “is a precision-guided bomb going off. Radio Baghdad reports three B-2 stealth bombers have been shot down so far.”
“As all our aircraft returned,” Scovill interjected, “we have reason to believe that this claim is vastly overinflated or that they shot down someone else’s B-2s.” Savane laughed. “Now,” the colonel continued, “direct your attention to the left screen.” The crosshairs on the greenish screen disappeared in a little puff of smoke. “Now back to the Al-Rashid.”
The reporter on the right screen pointed to the parking lot. “It looks like a bomb hit in the middle of the parking lot but didn’t go off. There’s been no explosion.” A slight pause. “I can see a hole in the pavement now.” The camera zoomed in on the hole, a circular black void. “The bomb was a dud.” Suddenly a pillar of flame shot out of the hole, followed by billowing smoke. “Oh, my God!” the reporter screamed. “The building is shaking, and I can hear muffled explosions! Oh, no!”—this slightly more composed—“the entire parking lot appears to be caving in.” The camera recorded the parking lot collapsing into a big hole.
“The Iraqis,” Scovill explained, “had calculated that we would not strike the command post for fear of killing foreign reporters. We want to disabuse them of that thinking. To the best of our knowledge, the only casualties from the first strike were in the command post. Bomb-damage assessment indicates we destroyed the power room to the command bunker and at least two escape tunnels.”
“Then why are you ‘revisiting’ it tonight?” Kennett asked.
“Because,” the DCI answered, “we have monitored people still entering and leaving.”
“Thanks to TV coverage yesterday,” Scovill said, “we were able to identify the main entrance to the command post, which is located here, behind the Al-Rashid.” The screen on the left cycled to a photo of what looked like the service entrance to a bakery. “We intend to send a GBU-31 down the main entry — all courtesy of CNC-TV.”
Savane tried to look serious, but he was clearly enjoying the briefing. “I do believe that’s a gross violation of the freedom of the press.”
The Marine couldn’t help himself. “I do hope so, Senator. I wanted to send a thank-you note to CNC-TV, but my boss wouldn’t let me.”