Patrick McLanahan Collection #1 (213 page)

“Gladly, Marshal,” Azar said.

“Thank you,
Malika,
” Buzhazi said. “If you would,
Malika,
Vice-Marshal Noshahr, I'd like to show you something first before we proceed that could have a bearing on our planning. Colonel Najar, take over.”

Azar walked beside Buzhazi through the airport terminal to the exit. “Very dramatic gesture you made back there, Marshal,” she said. “I never thought I'd see you kneeling before anyone, let alone
me
.”

“I had to do something to outdo
your
grand gesture, Highness,” Buzhazi said. “Besides, if all this fancy froufrou court stuff is what your people know and expect, I guess I had to play along. You were really going to give up your throne and join my ragtag force of outlaws?”

“Did you mean what you said about surrendering your forces to me and swearing allegiance?” They smiled together, knowing each other's reply. “Do you think we can pull it off, Hesarak?” she asked.

“Well, before today, I gave us no more than one chance in ten of winning,” Buzhazi said honestly. “Since then, things have improved greatly. I give us perhaps one chance in five now.”

“Really? A one hundred percent improvement so fast? We haven't done anything yet except perhaps rearrange the deck chairs on a sinking ship! We have the same forces as before, the same resources—perhaps better organization and a little extra motivation. What else has changed other than our names, titles, and allegiances?”

They had walked outside and were escorted by guards to the nearby Iran Air hangar. After their identities were verified, Buzhazi stepped aside to let Azar pass him. “What else has changed?” he asked with a smile. “Let's just say something from above has dropped into our laps.”

“What…?” Azar stepped into the hangar……and was immediately confronted by a ten-foot-tall humanoid robot, wearing some sort of cannon on his shoulders. The robot stepped closer to her with amazing speed and agility, examined them all for a moment, then stood at attention and shouted, “Detail, ten-
hut
!” in a loud computer-synthesized voice, then repeated it again in Farsi. It stepped aside…

…revealing that the hangar had two sleek, jet-black, massive American bombers inside. Azar recognized them as Air Force B-1 bombers, except the cockpit windows appeared sealed closed. The hangar floor was choked with vehicles, cargo containers of every size and description, and perhaps two hundred American airmen in utility uniforms standing at attention.

“As you were,” Azar said. The Americans, men and women alike, relaxed. Many came over to the newcomers, introducing themselves with salutes and handshakes.

A few moments later, a tall man in a strange dark gray all-body suit of armor that Buzhazi recognized as the American Tin Man battle system, without his helmet, came over, stood before Qagev and Buzhazi, and saluted. “General Buzhazi?” he said via his Tin Man suit's on-board electronic translator. “Major Wayne Macomber, U.S. Air Force, detail commander.”

Buzhazi returned his salute, then shook hands. “Thank you, Major. May I present Her Highness, Azar Assiyeh Qagev…” He
paused for effect, giving her a sly wink and nod, then added, “Queen of Persia.”

Macomber's eyes widened in surprise, but he recovered quickly enough, snapped to attention again, and saluted. “Nice to meet you, Your Highness.” She extended her hand, and he shook it, his armored hand dwarfing hers. “Never met a queen before.”

“I have met a Tin Man before, and I take great pleasure and comfort knowing you're here,” Azar said in English so perfect, so American that it surprised him. “Welcome to Persia, Major.”

“Thanks.” He turned his hand and looked down at hers. “Hypoplastic thumb. Nice job fixing it. My youngest sister has it too. Bilateral?”

“Yes, Major,” Azar replied rather awkwardly. “I'm surprised at you. Most people I greet look at my hand and then look away, pretending not to notice.”

“Ignorance, that's all, ma'am,” Macomber said. “Good for you not hiding it. My sister doesn't hide it either. Freaks people out but that's her plan. She still has a wicked tennis backhand.”

“You should see me on the rifle range, Major.”

The big commando smiled and nodded, his turn to be surprised. “Looking forward to that, ma'am.”

“Me too, Major.” She looked at another commando in a Tin Man battle armor system approach. “Hello, Sergeant Major Wohl,” she said, extending her hand. “Nice to see you again.”

“Thank you, Highness,” Wohl said. “Nice to see you too.” He glanced at Buzhazi. “I hope your new title doesn't mean bad news about your parents.”

“I hope so too, Sergeant Major,” Azar said, “but the situation has forced my elevation, and so we proceed.” Wohl nodded in approval, but still gave Buzhazi a warning glare.

The ten-foot robot came over to them. Macomber motioned to her and said, “Ma'am, I'd like to introduce you to my second-in-command, Captain Charlie Turlock, U.S. Army Reserves, piloting a Cybernetic Infantry Device manned robot battle system she
helped develop. She's on patrol now so she can't get out to greet you properly. Captain, meet Queen Azar Qagev of Persia.”

“Nice to meet you too, Captain,” Azar said, shaking hands with the giant, amazed at her delicate touch despite the size of her mechanical hand. “My minister of war and commander of my armed forces, Marshal Hesarak Buzhazi.”

“Nice to meet you, Highness, Marshal,” Charlie said from within the CID unit. Macomber's eyes widened at Buzhazi's new title. “All patrols reporting secure, sir. Excuse me, but I'll continue my assignment.” The robot saluted and hurried off.

“Incredible, absolutely incredible,” Azar remarked. “Thank you so much for the extraordinary job you did in hunting down the Pasdaran's mobile missiles. But now I'm confused. Did Marshal Buzhazi ask you to come to Tehran?”

“We had a little…trouble, you might say, with our accommodations in Turkey,” Macomber explained. “My commanding officer Lieutenant General Patrick McLanahan got in contact with General—er, Marshal Buzhazi, and he offered to put us up until we get our situation straightened out.”

“McLanahan? The general up in the space station?”

“Let's go somewhere and talk, shall we?” Macomber suggested. They moved through the hangar, greeting more airmen, and took a quick tour of the EB-1 Vampire bombers before entering an office just off the main hangar floor. Macomber spoke as if to thin air; a moment later, a telephone rang right beside him. He picked the receiver up and handed it to Azar. “It's for you, Highness.”

Azar took the phone, trying to act like impromptu and mysterious phone calls for her were completely normal. “This is Queen Azar Assiyeh Qagev of Persia,” she said in English. “Who is this, please?”

“Highness, this is Lieutenant General Patrick McLanahan. How are you tonight?”

“I'm well, General,” she responded, trying to sound official
and coherent even though her senses were swimming trying to keep up with the amazing otherworldly technology she was being exposed to here at breakneck speed. “We were just talking about you.”

“I was listening in—hope you don't mind,” Patrick said. “We keep a close eye on our troops all around the world.”

“I understand,” Azar said. “I hope you are recovered from your space flight injuries. Are you in Persia?”

“No, right now I'm over southern Chile, aboard Armstrong Space Station,” Patrick said. “Highness, I was in a little bit of trouble, and I called on General Buzhazi for help. I apologize for not informing you first, but time was of the essence.”

“You and your forces are welcome forever and always in Persia, General,” Azar said. “You are a hero and champion to all free Persians, and we consider you our brother-in-arms. But perhaps you can explain what's going on.”

“We believe Russia has moved military forces into Iran and is working with the theocratic regime to exert influence in the region.”

“Well of course they have, General,” Azar said matter-of-factly. “Don't tell me that's a surprise to you?” His rather embarrassed pause gave her all the answer she needed. “The Russians have pledged substantial military and economic assistance over the years to the theocratic regime in exchange for presence and to put pressure on them to stop supporting anti-Russian separatist movements inside the Russian Federation and its near abroad, such as in Kosovo, Albania, and Romania. Russia has enjoyed its most-favored-nation status for decades.”

“We knew that Russia was using Iran along with the conflict in Iraq to distract the United States from its other activities around its periphery,” Patrick said, “but we didn't know their involvement was so widely known and accepted.”

“The aid Iran has received from the Russians is reportedly greater than what the United States gives any other nation in the region except perhaps Israel,” Azar said. “That was very important not only to keep the theocrats in power but to sustain the Iranian people.
Unfortunately a lot of that aid went to the Revolutionary Guards Corps and their drastic arms buildup, which they used to crack down on any dissent in our country. But has something else changed recently? Is Russia playing a different game?”

“We believe the Russians have brought a new weapon, a powerful mobile anti-spacecraft laser, into Iran and have used it to down one of our spacecraft,” Patrick said. “Major Macomber, Captain Turlock, and Sergeant Major Wohl survived such an attack.”

“You mean, one of the spaceplanes I've heard so much about?” Azar asked. “They were riding in one in space when it was hit by this laser?”

“Yes, Highness. I would like assistance to hunt down this Russian weapon and neutralize it.”

“I don't think that'll be difficult at all,” Azar said. She handed the phone to Buzhazi, who put it on a speaker and asked Major Haddad to translate for him.

“Marshal Buzhazi?”

“Greetings, General McLanahan,” Buzhazi said through Haddad.

“Hello, Marshal. You got a promotion, I see.”

“And I judge by your unexpected call, the sudden appearance of such a large force on my doorstep, and the disturbing lack of information from your military or foreign ministries, that your career has not enjoyed similar success,” Buzhazi said. “But you helped me when I was on the run, and I was hoping to one day do the same for you. So. The Russians have shot down your spaceplane?”

“Can you help us find that laser, Buzhazi?”

“Of course. I am sure we can find it quickly, if my men do not already know where it is.”

“You sound pretty confident.”

“General, we do not automatically distrust the Russians like you do—in fact, we have more reasons to distrust the
Americans,
” Buzhazi said. “We are neighbors with Russia, and our borders have been safe and secure for decades; we have purchased many weapons and received substantial military, economic, industrial, and trade assistance from Russia, which was urgently important to us
during all the years of the trade embargo with the West; we even still have a mutual defense treaty that is in full force and effect.”

“So you're saying that you have been working
with
the Russians, Marshal,” Patrick asked with surprise, “including supplying them with information on our activities in Iran?”

“General McLanahan, sometimes the depth of the naïveté of the Americans astounds me,” Buzhazi said. “
We
have to live here; you merely influence events here for America's national interests, sometimes from the relative comfort of a battle staff room—or a space station. Of course we supply Russia with information, just as we supply you with information on Russia's activities and assist you when you run into…domestic political problems, shall we say?” Again, no response from Patrick.

“We all have our own necessities, pursuits, and agendas,” Buzhazi went on. “We hope such cooperation enriches us all and is mutually beneficial, but in the end it is our own objectives that must be attended to first, no?” Again, silence. “General McLanahan? Are you still there?”

“I'm still here.”

“I am sorry to have upset or disillusioned you, General,” Buzhazi said. “You did save my life and help me defeat the Pasdaran in Qom and Tehran, and for that I would help you until the last of my days. All you had to do was ask. But you should not be so surprised to learn that I would extend similar courtesies to any other country that helps my cause, including
your
adversaries. So. You wish to locate this Russian mobile laser system? Very well. I shall contact you immediately through Major Macomber when I have its precise location. Is that agreeable?”

“Yes, it is, Marshal,” Patrick said. “Thank you. And what of my men there in Tehran?”

Buzhazi turned to Azar and spoke in low tones for a few moments; then: “The queen wishes to extend all possible aid and comfort to you and your men. In return, she hopes you will assist us when the time comes.”

“So do I have to worry about a Russian attack on that location, Buzhazi?” Patrick asked.

“Patrick, I think I have made myself plain to you,” Buzhazi said through his translator. “I hope you are not one of those idealistic men who believe that we help each other because we believe it is the right or just thing to do, or because one side is inherently good and the other is evil. You brought your forces to Tehran for reasons that are not entirely clear to me yet, but I know that we did not invite you. We will learn all soon, God willing. Until then, I will do what I must for our nation and our survival. You will do what you must for your men, your cause, and yourself. Hopefully all those things are mutually beneficial.” And he hung up the phone without even a departing salutation.

“Everything okay, sir?” Macomber asked via his subcutaneous transceiver after he had excused himself from Buzhazi and Azar.