Battle Born (8 page)

“That’s it in a nutshell, sir,” Samson responded.

“Interesting,” the senator remarked. He looked at General Hayes, noted his barely disguised discomfort, and asked, “General Hayes, do you know anything about this Lancelot program?”

Hayes took a deep breath, let it out, then said in an even voice, “General Samson was handpicked by the President and the secretary of defense to run the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center, our nation’s primary air weapons research center. In all honesty, sir, I did not know about Lancelot . . .”

“Neither did I,” Admiral Balboa interjected hotly. “I know Dreamland is supposed to be a top-secret installation, General, but not from
me.
”

“Quite frankly, sir,” Hayes went on, “if General Samson waited to give me a detailed briefing and get my approval for every one of the hundreds of programs he manages every month out at HAWC, he’d never get any work done. We pay him to get results, not waste time in Washington giving briefings.” He noted the irritated frowns on the subcommittee members’ faces, grinned inwardly, and quickly went on: “If General Samson says it’s good and it’s ready to fly, then I support him. I’m sure General Samson enjoys the enthusiastic support of the White House.”

Balboa had no response to that because he knew it to be true. After the successful counterstrikes against
China staged by weapon systems developed at Dreamland, Samson was the new golden boy at the White House. He and his senior staff members were far more popular than Dreamland’s bombastic first director, Bradley James Elliott—who was missing and presumed killed in the attacks against China’s intercontinental ballistic missile sites—had ever been.

“Good,” the senator said, as if he expected no other response than that. “I’m sure GAO will have to look into the legality of General Samson raiding his budget for unapproved weapons research, but that’s a question for some other committee. If it fails, you’ll be the goat. If it works, you might be a hero.”

“It’ll work, sir,” Samson said enthusiastically. “My troops and I believe in Lancelot so much that we’ve put our careers on the line to prove it’ll work. If it doesn’t, I’m sure General Hayes will be looking for a new director at HAWC. But we believe that won’t happen, Senator. Lancelot will work. We can go into initial operational capability with one squadron, eight aircraft, within six months. Lancelot will give us a worldwide antiballistic missile, cruise missile, antiaircraft, and even antisatellite defense capability second to none until the airborne laser is deployed. We’re betting our careers on it.”

The members of the committee looked at each other, some with puzzled expressions. Then the subcommittee chairman said with a grin, “General Samson, General Hayes, I think that’s a sucker bet. You come back to us with a working, deployable antimissile system, and I for one will enthusiastically support it. Until then, it’s off the books and so not under our purview. Air Force will have to handle it from their existing budget—or scrap it. If there’s no other business?” He waited one breath, then said, “This session is in recess.” He rapped his gavel. A clerk immediately read a warning that the session
was classified top secret and not to be discussed outside the committee chambers, and the meeting was over.

Joint Chiefs Chairman Balboa managed not to say a word until he and the other blue-suiters were out of range of any photographers or TV cameras that might be nearby. Then he exploded. “Goddammit, Samson,” he swore, “you’d better start talking, and it better be good. What is this Lancelot thing? Why wasn’t I notified of it?”

“It’s a parts-bin project put together by my new deputy commander, sir,” Samson explained. “He got some help from a military contractor buddy of his, Jon Masters.” Balboa nodded—everyone in the defense business had heard of Jon Masters. That lent some credibility to Samson’s case. “The thing works, sir. It’s better than THAAD and it’s ready right now, not five or ten years from now.”

Balboa smiled as he felt the anger slowly drain away. He shook his head and said, “You’ve just been on the job a couple years, Samson, and already you’re hanging it out. Shades of that bastard Brad Elliott.” Samson’s jaw tightened—Brad Elliott was a friend of his, and his mentor; Brad Elliott had sacrificed himself so guys like Balboa could look like leaders. “It must be the damned desert air, the isolation—it makes you HAWC commanders crazy, makes you do stupid things. Makes you put your asses and careers on the line.”

He turned to General Hayes and said, “You’re on your own, General. You want to blow your budget on this man’s wet dream and embarrass yourself and your uniform, go ahead. But I’m not recommending any additional funding for this Lancelot program. Any money you need comes out of Dreamland’s or ABL’s budget. General Samson, let me warn you for the last time: you bushwhack me like that again in front of a congressional
committee, and I’ll can your ass on the spot. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Samson responded quickly and loudly. But Balboa was already in the car and on his way.

The two Air Force officers dropped their salutes as soon as Balboa’s car was out of sight. Hayes took a deep breath. “You know, Terrill,” he said, “the only guy I knew who even dared joust with Balboa and lived to tell the tale is dead. I think that’s the only way you’ll stay out of that guy’s bear trap.” He paused, then turned to the big three-star. “Well, what the hell is Lancelot?”

“I’d rather show you than tell you, sir,” Samson said. Hayes rolled his eyes in exasperation, about to protest, and Samson quickly added, “We need an extra pilot to fly a chase plane—perhaps you’d care to accompany me on a Lancelot test launch. I guarantee, sir, you won’t be disappointed.”

“Earthmover, be careful playing games—just when you think you’re having fun, the real world has a tendency to jump up and bite you in the ass.” Then Hayes shrugged. “What the hell—we’re already chin-deep in the shit. We might as well show ’em something. Put it together. I’ll get you your funding for one test, and I’ll come out and watch this Lancelot thing in action. I need the flying time anyway. But it better work, my friend, or you’ll be on the street so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

THE BLUE HOUSE,
REPUBLIC OF KOREA PRESIDENTIAL PALACE,
SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA
THAT SAME TIME

T
he presentation had just concluded; the full report was before each member of the Republic of Korea’s National Security Council, the government’s senior national defense policy-making board. Each member sat in stunned disbelief at what he had just heard.

“It is apparent that the crisis in the North has grown to dangerous, even epidemic levels, my friends,” Kwon Ki-chae, the president of South Korea, said in a low monotone. “Now is the time for decisive action.”

President Kwon had been elected to the presidency by the Election College less than a year ago, after the resignation of the elderly President Kim Yong-sam following a no-confidence vote in the National Assembly. Short and thin, younger than any of the others on the council by many years, educated in the United States, Kwon was a fixture in South Korean politics—but not because of his wisdom and insight into national and international politics. Kwon’s power base came from South Korea’s dominant private industries, which had groomed him from the start for the mantle of power he now possessed. He represented himself not as “the new South Korea,” but as “the new Korea.”

Kwon, the leader of the ultraconservative People’s Democratic Party and a longtime National Assembly member, had won an uneasy coalition of support for his ideas on reuniting the Korean peninsula and for his get-tough policies regarding relations with North Korea. The thirty members of his State Council, including the members of the National Security Council, shared these premises. But until recently, there was little any-one
in the South Korean government, even the powerful among them, could do to change the slow, dangerous course of the political, social, and military standoff between the two Koreas.

Now Kwon saw his chance. These men were scared to death and looking for guidance.

“Nuclear bombs, gentlemen,” Kwon began, resting his hands on the council table and staring each of his colleagues in the eye. “No longer a supposition, no longer an intelligence estimate, but reality. Not only does the North possess nuclear weapons technology, but they have nuclear gravity bombs and the means to deliver them. This is the most significant and dangerous situation on the Korean peninsula since the Japanese invasion.”

“Surely you exaggerate, Mr. President,” Park Hyoun, leader of the United People’s Party for Political Reform, said. The UPPPR was a small but rapidly growing opposition party; it had doubled its number of seats in the National Assembly in just two years. Although not yet a threat to Kwon’s ruling party, Representative Park had been invited to sit in on this National Security Council meeting, along with the leaders of the other major Assembly parties, as a show of solidarity and of full disclosure. “Look at your intelligence reports. The North Korean pilot was starving to death; his aircraft was easily spotted and intercepted; and he had no fuel to complete his mission, let alone return, even if he had somehow avoided our air defenses.”

“All valid points, Mr. Park,” President Kwon acknowledged. “Perhaps it was nothing more than the desperate attempt of a starving madman for glory or suicide at someone else’s hands. But I don’t think that’s all it was. I think we were fortunate—this time. The next attack could be a single Nodong rocket launch, or a dozen, or a
hundred
, all with nuclear warheads. We
might be able to intercept a fraction of them with our borrowed American Patriot antiaircraft missile batteries, but even one nuclear warhead allowed to hit the capital would kill hundreds of thousands of our citizens.”

“But what do you propose, Mr. President?” another party leader asked. “Peace talks have broken off again. The United States is delaying its next shipment of fuel oil and surplus wheat until the North resumes peace talks and agrees to inspection of the Yongbyon facility under construction . . .”

“Which are two conditions not a part of the original 1994 Agreement Structure,” Kwon reminded them irritably. The Agreement Structure, a negotiated deal between the United States, the two Koreas, Japan, and other world powers, gave North Korea a trillion dollars of aid over ten years. In exchange, North Korea was to dismantle all of its old Soviet-style breeder nuclear reactors, the ones capable of producing weapons-grade nuclear material. The agreement had been plagued with problems almost from the start. “With all due respect to our powerful American allies, they are hampering peace by imposing these conditions on the North without consultation or negotiations. I feel these conditions were added purely for American political reasons. It was an unfortunate choice by our American allies.

“But now we have seen the error of our past policies of appeasement and delay,” Kwon went on. “We have sent billions of yuan of cash, food, oil, and humanitarian supplies to the North, we allow increased family visits, we look the other way when their spies and minisubs wash up on our shores. And what do they do? They build two-thousand-kilometer-range ballistic missiles to sell overseas and to threaten us and our neighbors, and they have the audacity to test one of their rockets by firing it over our heads! Now we discover
they have nuclear weapons, and their starving soldiers are so desperate that they will actually use them. The North is coming apart, and they threaten to tear our own country apart if something is not done immediately.

“The already tense political and financial situation in the North has obviously seeped into the military ranks, and that is a danger that far surpasses the former East and West Germany situation. Then East Germany was sufficiently encumbered by the Soviet Union that a unilateral military action was almost impossible. But North Korea has no such constraints. No one holds the North’s leash. China and Russia have both disavowed any responsibility for the child they have spawned. Now their child has grown into an angry, starving, vindictive, and pathological monster. This monster must be stopped.”

The members of the Security Council were silent. They knew President Kwon was right. They knew what must be done—but no one dared speak it or even think it. They left it up to Kwon to say the words and initiate the actions that could change their destiny.

“It is time to put our plan into motion, my friends,” Kwon said. “Our military forces will be at their greatest stage of readiness prior to and during the Team Spirit exercises. In addition, we will have Japanese and American air and naval forces in our waters as well. That will be the perfect time.”

“But will the North be ready?” the defense minister asked.

“I believe they are ready now,” Kwon said. “But the burden will not only be on those in the North to act—it will be up to us to respond as well. When the time comes, we must be prepared.”

“What about Pak?” another council member asked.
“Will Pak Chung-chu stand with you when the time comes?”

“Let us find out right now, shall we?” Kwon picked up a telephone and ordered the operator to dial a secure number in Pyongyang, North Korea.

OVER THE PACIFIC OCEAN,
WEST OF SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND
SEVERAL WEEKS LATER

I
’ll tell you right now, Earthmover,” said Air Force General Victor Hayes, “I hate surprises. I mean, I
really
hate surprises. And I’m really hating this already.” Then he did an almost perfect aileron roll.

It had been years since Hayes, the Air Force’s senior uniformed officer, had been at the controls of any tactical jet. He had reluctantly left his last tactical command, the legendary First Fighter Wing, Langley Air Force Base, Virginia, over ten years ago. His aviation incentive pay had been decreasing for the past five years, and now, with two kids in college, he could barely pay his phone bills on time. Yet even though he had been flying a desk for so long, he was still a fighter pilot through and through. Short in stature, astronautlike in build, with broad shoulders tapering down to slender ankles, his piercing blue eyes forever seemed to be scanning the sky for any sign of “bandits.”