“Which leaves open the question of precisely where you should go, once it is safe to fly,” Wilk said slowly.
Martindale sighed. “That’s an easily answered question, Piotr. We have to pull Brad’s team out of the U.S. and get them back to Poland. At this point, it’s the only sensible option we’ve got left.” He looked tired. “Risking an Iron Wolf unit to protect Sky Masters and its secrets from Gryzlov’s mercenaries was a reasonable gamble. But now Barbeau has preempted that mission. Staying longer in the States, even if I manage to scratch up a new covert base out in the boonies somewhere, only increases the odds of someone spotting our CIDs or the Ranger stealth aircraft… either of which would confirm all of Stacy Anne’s darker suspicions about our involvement in this mess.”
Brad opened his mouth to object, but Nadia beat him to it.
“On the contrary, Mr. Martindale, we are not simply going to run home like frightened children,” the Polish Special Forces officer said with unconcealed disgust. She eyed Martindale’s static-distorted image with cold contempt. “The situation here remains the same. Without the combat power represented by our Iron Wolf machines, your country is effectively defenseless against Gryzlov’s forces.”
“The major’s right,” Macomber said. “There’s no way those Russians are going to let themselves get sucked into a stand-up fight where our Army and Air Force can use tanks and precision-guided missiles against their robots. They’re not that dumb.”
“Ambushes happen, Colonel,” Martindale retorted. “You, of all people, ought to know that.”
Brad held his breath, waiting for Whack to explode in fury. Hitting him like that with a reminder of the disaster that killed Charlie Turlock was a very low blow.
But the big man surprised him by staying calm, on the outside at least. “The Russian cyberwar complex at Perun’s Aerie was a point-source objective,” Macomber said frostily. “It was also a setup from the beginning. And the bad guys knew right where we had to be in order to destroy it. But Gryzlov’s mercs aren’t limited the way we were. They can go after any of dozens of potential targets. There’s no way the Pentagon can assign enough forces to picket all of them.”
Exasperated, Martindale threw up his hands. “That’s precisely my point! You can’t fight someone you can’t find! If the combined air and ground forces of the United States, the FBI, the state, and local police can’t track down these Russians, what in God’s name do you really think one Iron Wolf aircraft, three CIDs, and a handful of dismounted scouts can accomplish?”
“Drawing a bead on the enemy is the core of this problem,” Patrick McLanahan agreed quietly. “We know that Gryzlov has figured out ways to move his robots and missiles around the U.S. without anyone seeing them. Once we crack the code on how he’s doing that, we ought to be able to find his mercenaries… and finish them. But we can’t do that unless we already have a team in reasonable striking range.”
“Which rules out trying to fight this war from Poland,” Brad argued. “Our base at Powidz is a minimum of twenty hours’ flying time from just about anywhere in the States — unless, of course, we decide to just barrel straight through the North American Air Defense Identification Zone—”
“Which would break the record on stupid,” Macomber interjected. “Especially with Barbeau’s itchy finger on the trigger.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Brad said, glancing over his shoulder with a quick, humorless smile. He faced the screen again. “So there’s the dilemma. We can’t hope to hit Grzylov’s forces without actionable intelligence. But by the time we could get back here from Poland, any intelligence we picked up would be stone-cold… and almost certainly useless.”
After a moment’s thought, Wilk nodded, accepting his reasoning. He turned to Martindale. “Brad and the others are right, Kevin. As are you about the dangers involved. But we have no other acceptable choice. Unless we can prove that the Russians are behind these raids, using their own war machines, Poland is in grave danger. The longer our enemies operate unchecked and undetected on American soil, the higher the risk that President Barbeau will publicly accuse Scion and the Iron Wolf Squadron of these crimes — and demand that I hand you over for punishment.” He sighed. “Refusing such an ultimatum would risk a disastrous war against both of the world’s strongest powers. But accepting it would effectively disarm us in the face of Gryzlov’s next inevitable aggression.”
“Our American friends would call that a no-win scenario,” Nadia murmured.
Wilk nodded again. “Which is why we cannot back away now. We must press on. No other honorable course is available to us.”
Brad saw his father smile approvingly. “‘He either fears his fate too much, or his deserts are small, who dares not put it to the touch, to win or lose it all!’” the older McLanahan quoted.
“Very nice,” Martindale said sourly. “Of course, the guy who said that, the Earl of Montrose, fought for the Royalists during the English Civil War. And they lost.” Then, plainly almost against his will, he shrugged his shoulders. “But at least I know when to stick to my guns and when to yield… at least to my friends. I’ll see what the Scion operatives I have positioned in the U.S. can rig up.” He looked at Brad. “What do you need most?”
“Besides a secure landing site somewhere within a thousand miles or so?” Brad ticked off their requirements on his fingers. “Jet fuel, first. By the time we land, our tanks will be almost dry. And more drinking water. We’re down to about two or three days’ supply.”
Martindale stared at him. “You’re almost out of water?” He scowled. “Are you telling me that you and I would have been having pretty much this same conversation in a couple of days… no matter what boneheaded move Stacy Anne Barbeau pulled?”
“I try never to deal in hypotheticals,” Brad said virtuously. Out the corner of his eye, he caught Nadia stifling a grin.
“I bet you don’t,” Martindale snorted. He shook his head. “Never mind. Stay put. Stay hidden. I’ll get in touch as soon I have somewhere else for you to fly.”
The big-screen monitor in Gennadiy Gryzlov’s office was tuned to one of the more excitable American cable news networks. Though their reports were often inaccurate and hopelessly one-sided, its anchors did an excellent job of conveying the conventional wisdom of Washington, D.C.’s political and chattering classes. And in some ways, that was more useful than anything else to Russia’s youthful, aggressive leader. For the pure raw facts, he had the reports of his own intelligence services. But facts were of limited use when you were trying to understand an enemy’s mind-set and psychology.
Images of attack helicopters and troop carriers clattering low over a rugged desert landscape filled the screen. They were replaced by action shots of American soldiers fanning out at the double across a large complex of office buildings, windowless machine shops and engineering labs, and huge aircraft hangars. More pictures followed, showing troops marching crowds of bewildered-looking civilians out of those same buildings at gunpoint. “While it appears there was no significant resistance at the Sky Masters Nevada facility, anonymous White House and Pentagon sources credit this success both to President Barbeau’s decision to use overwhelming force and to the complete surprise achieved by the brave soldiers and airmen involved in this high-stakes raid. Administration spokesmen stress that although no formal charges have yet been filed, federal law enforcement and intelligence officials are only at the beginning stages of this important investigation. In the meantime, the suspects seized by troops from the Fourth Infantry Division remain locked up in what is termed ‘protective custody’ at an undisclosed location—”