Lion Resurgent (3 page)

“And there, Sir, lies the real danger. Argentina is a military dictatorship and it faces a lot of internal dissent. My guess is that they’re setting this whole thing up to bring about a surge of patriotism from a successful little war. If that scheme falls flat, they’ll up the stakes. We know Argentina has nuclear weapons. They’re a self-declared nuclear power just like Brazil. They’re all too likely to try a nuclear strike to break things loose. Obviously, we can’t allow that.”

“My predecessor would have done.” Reagan’s voice was bitter. He was spending most of his time trying to clear up the mess left by Jimmy Carter’s disastrous four year term as President. Carter had been obsessed with trying to ‘rebuild America’s image in the world’ and ‘atoning for past mistakes.’ His efforts to achieve that had done an incredible amount of damage. He hadn’t succeeded in doing anything to reduce the fear and resentment that marked other country’s attitudes to the United States but he had managed to degrade the respect that came from unmatched power and the willingness to use it. He’d even contrived to damage the Russian alliance that was the foundation of U.S. foreign policy. Fortunately, to the great relief of both governments, Reagan had already managed to repair those wounds.

“Probably not, Sir.” The Seer’s voice was dry. He’d spent four years trying to make sure that the so-called ‘peace initiatives’ coming out of the White House hadn’t undermined National Security too badly. It had been a hard struggle and he had found it more wearing than most of the wars he’d fought over the years.

“Certainly not. We can thank God that this whole business is cropping up now, not a year or so ago. What would you recommend as our course of action if Argentina does move on Chile?”

“I’d suggest, Sir, that we don’t let it get that far. What I would recommend is that we send George Schultz down to Buenos Aires with a stern warning. Basically, tell the Generals down there, ‘we can see you, we know what you’re up to. Don’t.’ And do some over-flights of Argentina with B-70s at the same time. A few islands here or there are of no great consequence, and it does nations good to let off a little steam now and then, but this Argentine plan is way beyond that.”

Reagan nodded, thinking the implications over. “And if they don’t listen?”

“We take out their airfields, naval bases and troop concentrations. Then we ask them, very politely, if their hearing has improved. If it hasn’t, we take out everything else. We have to make an example of somebody to show the world that the prohibition on wars of aggression still remains in place. Argentina is as good a candidate as any.”

Reagan gulped slightly at that. “I guess we better hope they listen then. Where next?”

“Africa, Mister President. Still a constant low-level war going on there. There’s the Caliphate in the North, South Africa down south and a great strip of chaos in between them. Some parts of the region, Kenya for example, are stable and reasonably well-run. Others, like the Congo and the Central African Empire are gruesome nightmares. The South Africans absorbed Rhodesia and the old German and Portuguese colonies but they’ve stopped there. Smart people, they’re holding what they can without over-extending themselves. They just do raiding operations further north to disrupt any efforts to mount a threat against them.”

“Ah, not risking Imperial Overstretch.” President Reagan was a lot better-read than his political enemies realized and his tastes in books spread widely. He looked around and saw everybody present, including the Seer grinning broadly.

“Definitely not. Something that we, also, are trying to avoid, by the way. We prefer to nuke our mortal enemies into oblivion without a second thought.”

“I should hope so!” Reagan put mock irritation into his voice. “Another Russian Front is a nightmare scenario. Any sign of Caliphate involvement in Africa?”

The Seer thought carefully. “There’s some, but not much. Ever since the 1973 bombing, the Caliphate has gone quiet. Oh, they’re still expansionist and they move into any power vacuums that develop, but they aren’t the hyper-aggressive power they were a decade ago. They’ve eased back on internal repression as well; a little anyway. And their ‘Governing Council’ these days seems to be neither seen nor heard. The bad news is that they’re picking up a little on industrial development. They’re building things that a few years ago they wouldn’t even have attempted.”

“And their military equipment still comes from Chipan?”

“It does, Sir. Arms in exchange for oil; the devil’s bargain the Chipanese have been running for three decades now.”

“So, if we kick the props out from under the Chipanese, we cut off both the supply of arms to the Caliphate and also their supply of money.”

“We surely do Sir. Although, the problem won’t be bringing Chipan down, they’re folding anyway. It’ll be bringing them in to a soft landing. We don’t want a spasm of use-it-or-lose it.”

“Get your people working on that, Seer. I want to know how we can do it. Another thing; I greatly enjoy reading your briefing books. Is it possible to read them for the last four years? Are they kept on file?”

“Of course, Sir.” Naamah spoke up for the first time. “I’ve got everything on file. Would you like them all at once or one at a time?”

Reagan laughed at the thought of four years worth of weekly situation reports piled on his desk. “A month at a time if you please Naamah. Starting with the earliest ones from four - no, make it five - years ago. If you could give me each set as I finish the previous one, that would be ideal.”

“It’ll be done, Sir.”

“He never read them did he?” Reagan’s voice was soft but still the condemnation seeped through. The President had a very personal dislike for his predecessor in office. It was a mixture of big and little things. The big ones were associated with a completely different world view. The little ones were personal. Carter had allowed a degree of casualness that Reagan thought inappropriate for buildings and institutions owned by the American people and just borrowed by their occupants.

“I can’t say, Sir. Confidentiality.” Naamah’s voice was equally soft. She knew that one look at them would tell Reagan that the briefing books had never been opened.

“Very proper. Naamah, I may often forget to say so, and probably will all too many times, but I find your help invaluable. Never think that the efforts you make go unnoticed.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Naamah knew that even the lowliest member of the White House team was treated with the same respect. It was one of the many differences between the Reagan and Carter White Houses.

“And thank you for the briefing, Seer. Excellent as always. One thing though, a little more care with the grammar and punctuation in the briefing books would be a good thing.” The Seer winced at that. Often the only comment he’d had back from Carter on the briefing books was a supercilious typo correction. He grinned ruefully at the President who winked back. Reagan was beaming broadly as he made his way out. He loved the Friday Follies.

Married Quarters, McDill Air Force Base, Florida

“Drink your milk Tommy.”

“Aww, mom. . .”

Master Sergeant Selma Hitchins-Yates tilted her head to one side, half closed her eyes and lifted one eyebrow. Thomas Yates, at the ripe age of ten, knew the signs of impending trouble and gulped down his glass of milk.

“There, that wasn’t so bad was it?”

“Mom, other kids get chocolate or strawberry flavor for their milk.”

“Tommy, that stuff is loaded with sugar. It will make your teeth rot. You don’t
like
having your teeth drilled do you?”

“No, but...”

“There you are then. Now, school bus is due in five minutes. Have you got everything? Susie? You got everything you need?”

“Yes, Mom.” Her two children chorused the answer together, knowing what was coming next.

“Let’s see, shall we?” Selma picked up a clip-board hanging from a hook on the wall. “Morning check-list. Lunch?”

“Check.” Another two-voice chorus.

“Homework?”

“Check.”

She ran down the list, reading off each item in turn. General LeMay had been a great promoter of the check list system and Selma had found it worked just as well at home as it did on SAC’s bombers. Of course, it didn’t help much with marriages themselves. SAC was a brutal environment for married couples. Up to 70 percent of SAC marriages ended in divorce. The Hitchins-Yates family had been one of the lucky exceptions. Ten years, two children and still together. It probably helped that they were both serving SAC personnel so they both knew the problems first-hand. Selma was prepared to bet that the marriages that failed were between somebody inside and a partner outside.

“Schoolbus?”

“Check!” Both her children chorused the reply in triumph because the yellow bus had just appeared at the end of the street. It would stop there, pick up one batch of children and then come down to her end for the other. That left her just enough time to get her two out there, ready to get on board when the bus stopped.

As always, the schedule worked perfectly. It was a fine day. Humid, of course, but Florida always was. Timing things to perfection really showed its benefit when it was raining but even today it was worthwhile just to have things running efficiently. The children scrambled on to the bus, the driver touched his cap to their mothers and the bus pulled away in a cloud of blue smoke.

Selma waved good-bye and then returned to the house, ready to stack the dishes in the dishwasher and get ready to leave for her duty shift. Her husband was at the table, pouring himself a cup of coffee while something whirred in the microwave oven.

“Why don’t you let me make you a proper breakfast? Those oats aren’t a fit way to start the day.”

Mike Yates chuckled and ruffled his wife’s hair. “I was brought up on oatmeal for breakfast, Angel.”

She twisted away and looked severely at him. “That is hardly an advertisement. I mean, just look at you. Thin and pale. . .”

The microwave dinged and he took the steaming bowl out and stirred it. “Ambrosia. Nectar of the gods. You got anything interesting on today?”

“War Queen
and
Spear Woman
are coming in for a full systems check and rebuild. They’ll be in for a week or more. How about you?”

“Nothing today. Some simulator time and a lot of paperwork. We’ve got new target folders coming down for study. Not flying again ‘til the end of the week; then we’ll be taking
Shield Maiden
down south for some over-flights. Legal ones this time.”

Selma laughed. President Carter had tried to stop SAC’s habit of over-flying other countries but he might as well have tried to hold back the tide. Deliberate over-flights had been replaced by “navigational errors” if anybody had complained. Few countries had. Even the Caliphate had remained quiet about the continued presence of SAC bombers in their skies. Carter’s so-called ‘policy’ had been reversed within minutes of Reagan taking office. Nobody said so, but there had been a distinct sense of relief at that. Countries might not like SAC knowing what was going on in their territory but they appreciated the fact that a threatening build up on their borders would also be spotted and a potential aggressor warned off. Often the public complaints about overflights had been matched by private messages of appreciation for the information they had generated.

“How are the birds?” Yates was obviously interested and his wife was a prime source of information on the real state of maintenance.

“Overall, pretty good. We’ve got spares and so on flowing in again.
War Queen
and
Spear Woman
were hangar queens. They always were a problem, so when spares were short, we stripped them. Now we have to replace all the bits we took out. Do a few upgrades at the same time. Anything planned this evening?”

“Not this evening, no. Heads up, though. George and Jenna Pryor are retiring from the PX business and their retirement bash is tomorrow night. We should be there. Nice couple, George was a thirty-year veteran before he retired from SAC and took over running the base PX here as a way of keeping busy. Why do you ask?”

“I know Jenna; heard her reading out a supplier once for sending sub-standard stuff. Anyway, the kids are spending the night with mom and our pops. So we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

Yates nodded. His mother had been bitterly opposed to his marriage to Selma and had gone out of her way to be as unpleasant as possible to her daughter-in-law. Eventually, she had died and Yates’s father had retired to Florida, buying a house close to MacDill so he could make up for the time he’d lost with his grandchildren. Selma’s parents had met him and the three had become firm friends, taking shared delight in looking after their grandchildren from time to time. Then the implications of Selma’s remark sank in.

“Aha.”

“That’s right, Lover. I plan to be a very bad girl tonight. So hit the ATM on the way home.”

Royal Australian Navy Submarine
Rotorua,
South of Akamaru, South Pacific

“Ready to come to periscope depth?”

Captain Steven Beecham tossed the question out to his ops room crew more as a formality than anything else. They had been doing a fast transit under the inversion layer and their batteries had reached a worryingly low charge level. The
Rotorua
needed to come to periscope depth and recharge them using her snorkel. Beecham reflected that the battery charge gauge was the bane of the diesel-electric submarine commander’s existence and the ever-present center of his attention. Something the nuclear submarine drivers never had to worry about. There was always talk that the ‘next’ class of Australian submarines would also be nuclear-powered, but that seemed a long way off, if ever. The S-class boats would be air-independent using Kreislauf diesels. Until they entered service, the
Rotorua
was the best submarine the Australian Navy had. In fact the Improved R class were probably the best class of diesel-electric submarines in the world.

They were also an unusual design. Most submarines used the body of revolution hull design. They looked like an airship, with a single screw at the back. This reduced under water drag to a minimum and made them both fast and agile. The problem was that the design only allowed a single screw. That had significant consequences from a design and equipment point of view. In contrast, the
Rotorua
had a broader hull, a flattened ellipse in cross section, with two screws, moved far out to the sides of the hull. The design had become known as a beaver-tail and it offered a lot of advantages including lack of vulnerability to disablement by damage to a single screw and reduced noise. With both screws out of the stream of disturbed water from the sail, the
Rotorua
had no blade beat to speak of.