“So, what do you have for us, Earthmover?” Brad Elliott asked, rubbing his hands in exaggerated anticipation. “Are we going after the North Korean chemical weapons plants? We going to polish up in Iran? Someone tried to whack the Iranian military chief of staff Buzhazi and missed— let us take a shot at him. And that ex-Russian carrier is in the South China Sea, on its way to Hong Kong — we should sink that thing before it gets within striking range of Taiwan. Rumor has it that it’s fully operational and carrying.”
Samson ignored Elliott for the moment — hard to do, since they were sitting right across from each other — and turned to Jon Masters instead. “I take it that Brad here is part of your team, Dr. Masters? I wasn’t made aware of that.”
“We’ve got five of the eight Megafortresses flying now, General,” Masters said. “We need experienced crews.”
“The Air Combat Command guys you sent need at least six months of training time,” McLanahan interjected. “They’re good sticks, and they can certainly handle the beast, but the systems are unlike anything they’ve experienced before. And we’re changing the systems, too, so we put them to work as engineers and test pilots while they’re getting checked out on the plane.” He paused, searching Terrill Samson’s face for any signs of difficulty. “Brad Elliott is the Megafortress. He’s the creator, the progenitor.” Samson was silent, his mouth a hard line on his face. “Problem, Terrill?”
“Terrill thinks the President’s going to have a cow when he sees me,” Elliott answered for the big three-star general. He turned to McLanahan.
“We’re going to meet the President — didn’t you know that? I called the White House communications office and confirmed the meeting. That cute V.P. Whiting, Chastain, Freeman, Hartman, Collier from NS A I think, and George Balboa, that old Navy squid sack of—”
“Brad…”
“We go way back, me and Martindale, so don’t worry about it, big guy,” Elliott interrupted, watching Samson’s face turn puffy with anger. “We’ll have a good meeting, and we’ll have all the right answers.”
“The President specifically didn’t want you for the Iran operation,” Samson said coldly, “because you have this knack for stepping on toes, for sticking your face in where it doesn’t belong. Apparently, retirement hasn’t mellowed you one bit.” He paused, then shook his head. “The President asked only for Jon and Patrick. Sorry, Brad — I’m not going to bring you into the meeting. I’ll mention to General Freeman that you’re on board — he can notify the President.”
“Sheesh, you make it sound like Jon hired Saddam Hussein to fly for him,” Elliott said sarcastically. “I’m not trying to take over this operation, Earthmover. I advise the kid here on how to design, build, and fly the Megafortress. That’s all.”
Samson ignored Elliott again and said to Masters and McLanahan, “Jon, Patrick, he’s your man, so you deal with him. I’ll back you all the way, but it’s still my opinion that Brad’s presence in the White House or the Pentagon will only hurt your chances of getting this operation approved.”
“You still haven’t told us what operation we’re being considered for, General,” Jon Masters said. “What is it?”
“You’ll be conducting a maritime reconnaissance operation in the Formosa Straits,” Samson replied. “I’ll run it down.”
“Shit, you don’t mean we’ll be working for Admiral ‘Tight-Ass’ Allen at Pacific Command?” Elliott interjected wearily. “Man, I was glad to get out of the service just so I didn’t have to listen to him bitch about the Philippines conflict. Now we’ve got to listen to him again? And with Balboa on as chairman of the Joint Chiefs, we’ll spend half our time arguing over who’s got the bigger cruise missiles.”
“You still get your orders from me,” Samson said. “I report directly to Philip Freeman at the White House, who will report to the NCA.”
“You just make sure Allen or Balboa don’t try to snatch this mission,” Elliott said, admonishing Samson with that cocksure grin again. “If they get control, they’ll screw it up for sure. We’ve got to have maximum autonomy out there, and you know the squids aren’t going to allow us to have it.”
“I’ll take your suggestion under advisement, Brad,” Samson said, his lips taut. Dammit, the guy was a real pain, but he sure knew the score in Washington — Elliott had correctly guessed who would probably be in the real chain of command in this operation. “I signed for the Megafortresses when I took them out of mothballs to let you characters play with them, and I picked Eighth Air Force crews to fly them, so I think I’ll keep operational command. But if you’re harboring any thoughts about maybe making the EB-52 an operational weapon system, play nice with the rest of the kids in the pool. Follow me? Any problem with that, Brad? Is that enough full disclosure for you?”
“No problem, Earthmover, none whatsoever,” Elliott said. “Actually, I’m happy to have you in the loop — even though you are responsible for eliminating all the BUFFs from the Air Force inventory. One of the greatest aerial attack platforms ever devised, and you, of all people, allowed it to be retired on your watch.”
“Let’s not get into a discussion about who’s responsible for any good — or any bad—stuff happening in the Air Force or the bomber world in recent history,” Samson growled, trying hard to control the sudden flush of anger rising up from his chest. He knew his comment had hit Elliott, but the bastard did not show it. Samson knew that Elliott knew that the downfall of HAWC had put air weapon research and development back several years and may have even ensured the downfall of the heavy bomber. So there was plenty of blame to go around.
“The bottom line is, boys, you got your chance to show what a modified B-52 bomber can do,” Samson said. “Let me deal with Washington — I want you to loudly kick some ass out there, then bring yourselves home in one piece.”
“Mr. President, may I present Ambassador Kuo Han-min, the new representative of the independent Republic of China,” U.S. Secretary of State Jeffrey Hartman announced, as he was ushered into the Oval Office. Already in the room with the President of the United States, Kevin Martindale, were Vice President Ellen Christine Whiting, National Security Advisor Philip Freeman, Secretary of Defense Arthur Chastain, and White House Chief of Staff Jerrod Hale. “Ambassador Kuo, the President of the United States, Mr. Kevin Martindale.”
The two shook hands, Ambassador Kuo bowing deeply, then presenting his blue leather credentials folder directly to the President. Kuo appeared a bit older than the President, with thick dark hair, thick wire- rimmed glasses, and a thin frame. “This is an honor for my country and for myself, Mr. President,” he said.