Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 09 (56 page)

 
          
“Sir,
General McLanahan and Colonel Furness were on a fully authorized mission,”
Luger pointed out.

 
          
“That’s
right—I was the backup plane on the mission, sir,” Patrick said. “I already had
full authority to proceed.”

 
          
“Negative,”
Samson said. “The idea of a backup ship is to pick the best
one
aircraft
to fly the mission, not to send
two
aircraft into hostile airspace.”

 
          
“I’ll
argue that it’s exactly what I did,” Patrick said. “Annie and Dev had been shot
down. I’ll argue that it was my responsibility to continue the mission for
which I was briefed—”

           
“Your mission was to assist Madcap
Magician in extracting Siren,” Samson said, his voice showing the irritation of
having to argue with his normally respectful, introspective deputy. “That
mission was accomplished by Vampire One, before they were shot down. You
weren’t authorized to conduct any other operations over
Russia
.”

 
          
“The
‘other operation over
Russia
’ was to help
save Annie and Dev,"
Patrick said, his voice showing a slightly incredulous edge. “I was notified of
the incident, and I immediately responded to render any assistance necessary.”

 
          
“And
what about the attack at Zhukovsky? Are you going to tell me that was part of
the operation?”

 
          
Patrick’s
face went blank. “What attack on Zhukovsky?”

           
“There was a huge explosion at
Zhukovsky
Flight
Test
Center
right around the time you reentered Russian
airspace,” Samson said. “One target was singled out—Metyor Aerospace’s
research-and-development facility. The authorities said it was a natural gas
explosion. CIA obtained some information from the Russians investigating the
incident. The building was hit with a high-explosive incendiary device, at
least a two- thousand-pounder—about what you'd use in an air-launched cruise
missile. Even more—the roof was punched in with a shaped-charge penetrator
explosion before the main explosion. Sounds like a cruise missile attack to me.
Care to tell me about that?”

 
          
“I
don’t know anything about it, sir.”

 
          
“I’ll
inventory the weapons storage area, Patrick,” Samson warned him. “I’ll check
every logbook entry, every millimeter of security tape, until I find out the
truth.”

 
          
“I’m
telling you the truth, sir—I have no idea what happened at Zhukovsky,” Patrick
said. “It wasn’t me. But I strongly resent your tone. It appears to me you’ve
already decided I did it.”

 
          
“General,
I don’t give a shit if you resent my tone or anything else,” Samson snapped.
“You had the incredible, unmitigated gall to fly a warplane over
Russia
without authorization and clearance, kill
Russian soldiers, and destroy Russian property. You almost got shot down. I
could have lost two valuable crew members and another top-secret warplane over
Russia
. It was bad enough you went over my head
and got the National Security Council to buy off on this mission—”

           
“Sir. I did not get anyone to ‘buy
off on this mission.” Patrick said. “Yes, I transmitted my plan directly to
SecDef without clearing it through you first, but you know I was going to
consult with you on my first opportunity—”

 
          
“No,
I don't know that—and that's the problem,” Samson inteijected. “I absolutely
do
not
believe you would have consulted with me if you thought you could get
away with it otherwise. The proof of this was you returning to Russian airspace
w ithout clearance. You could have called and made your case at any time. But
you flew for an hour in the wrong direction and never called. Neither did
Colonel Furness. You didn’t call because you thought you might not get the
answer you wanted. You didn't pitch the mission to me because you thought I
would have refused to allow it.”

 
          
“Would
you?”

 
          
“It
doesn't matter now, does it. General?” Samson exploded. “You went ahead with it
anyway. You conducted your own private little war.”

 
          
“Why
are you doing this, sir?” Patrick asked. He was not pleading—it was a true
query, asked honestly and sincerely. “We brought Dewey and Deverill home
safely—”

 
          
“No,
the
President
brought them home safely,” Samson argued. “The President
was on the phone w ith Russian president Sen'kov for less than ten minutes and
had him agreeing to allow the exfiltration to go ahead without interference. In
fact, the President had gotten Sen'kov to agree not to shoot
your
asses
down—he not only saved Dewey and Deverill, but he saved yours, Briggs's, and
Wohl's butts as well. Pretty extraordinary, since you had already illegally
shot down three Russian aircraft by then.”

 
          
“So
you’ve already decided we're guilty of court-martialable offenses?” Luger
asked. “You’ve decided that we're guilty, so you're asking us to resign rather
than face charges?”

 
          
“It
doesn't matter at this point. Colonel—I believe you're guilty of breaking faith
with me, the men and women you serve with, the Air Force, and your country,”
Samson said. “I
have
judged you guilty of that. I’m advising you of all
this because I thought you both deserve an opportunity to accept retirement and
avoid any blemishes on your records. I advise you to take the offer. Even if
you win in a court-martial, you’ll never work here again, and l seriously doubt
if there’s any command in the Air Force that will accept either one of you.”

 
          
Patrick
got to his feet and took a step toward Samson’s desk. “Permission to speak
freely, General?”

 
          
“This
will be your last opportunity to do so.”

 
          
“What
are you really afraid of. sir?” Patrick asked. “What did I do that is forcing
you to give me a summary dismissal? Are you afraid I made you look bad in front
of the President?”

           
“You definitely did that. General,”
Samson said. “I was for damned sure the dumb-shit nigger general who can’t keep
his hotshot troops in line. But you already cemented that thought into
Washington
’s head earlier with your one-man operation
over
China
and with stealing the One-Eleventh’s bombers to work for your project
here at Dreamland. It’s Brad Elliott’s wild-card reputation, shifted over to
you by default. You’re Patrick McLanahan. You’re the technical wizard, the lone
wolf. Everyone else around you are bit players in your one-man play to keep the
world safe for democracy. My career was over the minute I was assigned here
with you.

 
          
“Most
of all, McLanahan, I’m afraid of what you’re becoming,” Samson went on. “I knew
Brad Elliott. He was a friend, my teacher, and my mentor. But he changed into
something to be feared in my Air Force—the rogue, the loose cannon. His way or
no way. I got away from him as soon as I could, and I knew I made the right
decision.”

 
          
“I
was proud to work with him,” McLanahan said.

 
          
“I
was, too,” said Luger. “He saved my life. Twice.”

 
          
“But
you both stayed too long, and you got corrupted by his twisted visions of good
and evil, right and wrong, duty and vanity, responsibility and bigotry,” Samson
said. “Sure, Brad got things done. Yes, he was a hero, to me and to a lot of
folks. But he did it all
wrong.
He did it irresponsibly. He did it
illegally. Your hero, Patrick, David, and mine, was wrong. Either you couldn’t
see it, or you ignored it. Or maybe you liked it. You enjoyed the power and
freedom this job gave you. ‘Absolute power corrupts absolutely,’ and there’s
nothing like the power of a two-hundred-and-fifty-ton B-52 on an attack run. Is
there?”

 
          
Samson
stood up. leaned forward on his desk, and let his eyes bore into McLanahan’s.
“The only way he could be stopped. Patrick, was to
die
. If you were
allowed to keep on doing what you did over Russia, and you got to pin on three
or four stars, or were selected to run the Department of Defense, or advise the
President on national security policy, or even become president yourself—you'd
be just as dangerous to world peace as Brad was.

 
          
“The
only way to stop you, Patrick, is either for someone in authority to slap you
down, hard, or die yourself. That’s the final outcome I’m trying to save you
from: dying as an imperfect. desperate, schizophrenic man, like Brad Elliott. I
have the authority as your commanding officer to do something before you
corrupt the world with your brand of ambush-style warfighting. The buck is
stopping here, I only wish someone had stopped Brad before he went over to the
dark side.”

 
          
“Brad
... Brad was none of those things, General Samson,” David Luger said, in a
small, quivering voice. They did not hear him mutter something else beneath his
breath, something in Russian.

 
          
“You
say you knew him so well—I say that’s bullshit,” Patrick snapped. “You only
think
you knew him. I think all you really wanted was a nice, comfortable command, to
wear your stars but not shake up the system too much. Brad Elliott did just the
opposite. They gave him three stars and a command like no one else’s, even
though he pissed off half of
Washington
on a regular basis. He created machines and
aviators that had real courage and real determination. Even after they fired
him. he still came back a hero. He’s saved the world a dozen times, sir. Is it
my insubordination that makes you angry—or is it your own frustration at never
having taken your bombers into battle?”

 
          
“I’m
not frustrated about never being in battle. General,” Samson retorted, perhaps
a little too vehemently. “No real soldier ever wants war, and they sure as hell
don't regret never going. It is enough for me to serve my country in whatever
way I’m asked, whether it’s slopping tar on runways in
Thailand
in one-hundred-degree weather or leading
the world’s greatest military research facility. I don’t go around
creating
wars to fight in.” That comment hit home with Patrick. He lowered his eyes and
stepped back away from Samson’s desk.

 
          
“End
of discussion,” Samson said. “The charges stand, General, Colonel. Submit your
retirement requests by seventeen hundred hours or I prefer the charges to the
judge advocate general.”

 
          
“Don’t
wait until then, sir,” David I.uger said. “I can give you my answer now: I’m
not voluntarily resigning or retiring. I’ve been through too much in the past
few years just to give it all away. If you want to penalize me, just do it.”

 
          
“I
recommend you think about it some more,” Samson said sternly. “You have too
much at stake to risk your retirement and honorable discharge. Your background
and other factors might not make you a popular or extremely sought-after
candidate for a corporate or other government position.”

 
          
“Excuse
me
, General?” Luger asked, far more politely than Patrick would have.
“Ty
shto, ahuyel?"

 
          
“What
was that? What did you just say, Luger?” Samson exploded. David did not reply,
but seemed to wither under Samson’s booming voice and averted his eyes to the
floor, his arms straight down at his sides. “I’ve been watching you for the
past several weeks. Colonel Luger, and especially since that Ukrainian general
showed up. You reported your former contact with that man and detailed some of
your experiences with him in
Lithuania
, but then refused to take leave while the
Ukrainian contingent was here. That was a big mistake in judgment that I
believe has emotionally and psychologically unbalanced you.”