“Surely the Secret Service CAT teams in the area can contact them?” offered Thomas, well aware that Vince was the acting SAIC of the VP’s detail.
The Judge Advocate answered, “The Secret Service has been unable to make contact with these land-based assets. This includes the efforts of Marine Two and the CAT team Blackhawk, with both helicopters reporting shots fired before mysteriously breaking radio contact and seeming to disappear into thin air.”
“Shots fired?” Thomas repeated, his stomach suddenly tightening with concern.
“Gentlemen, we’ve obviously got a serious situation down there,” observed Major General Atwater, who used the cursor to highlight Fort Leonard Wood’s location on the upper portion of the map segment.
“As the crow flies, it’s approximately seventy five miles from this EOC to the spot on the Eleven Point where the VP’s party was last heard from. We’ve just been tasked to send a platoon-sized element down into the Mark Twain National Forest to seek out Andrew Chapman and determine his ability to assume the Presidency. Time is therefore critical, and since the Secret Service and the FBI will be unable to get personnel to the area until later this evening, we’ve drawn the assignment.”
“Special Agent Kellogg,” interjected the Judge Advocate, “as both you and Colonel Callahan know, it is highly unusual for us to receive tasking from a government organization other than the DOD. This is especially the case when this tasking concerns an operation on American soil. Title Eighteen of the United States Code, Section 1385, severely limits the manner in which the military can operate under such circumstances.”
“The Posse Comitatus Act,” added Ted Callahan.
“Precisely,” said the Judge Advocate.
“And to legally overcome these restrictions, we intend to invoke House Joint Resolution 1292, which directs all departments of the government, upon the request of the Secret Service, to assist that service in carrying out its statutory protective duties.”
Major General Atwater quickly chimed in.
“I’ve already called together a Search and Rescue force, comprised of a squad of combat Sappers and the post’s MP Special Response Team. They’re currently gathering their gear, and will be ready for a helicopter airlift to the Eleven Point within the half hour, with a mechanized unit to follow by road.”
“Special Agent Kellogg, to ensure that our men don’t infringe on Posse Comitatus restrictions, we’d feel a lot better if you’d consider accompanying them,” posited the Judge Advocate.
“And Colonel Callahan,” added Atwater.
“You’d also be an asset in this regard.”
Thomas replied without a moment’s hesitation.
“I’d be honored to go along, especially since my brother, Vince, is the Special Agent in Charge of the VP’s security detail down on the Eleven Point.”
“You can count me in,” agreed Ted Callahan.
“Excellent,” replied Atwater.
“I’ve taken the liberty of putting together some gear for both of you. So good luck, and good hunting!”
Chapter 17
“American military 747, this is my last warning. You are to immediately return with me to Simferopol Airport or suffer the consequences.”
Coach’s frustration was obvious as he pushed back his chin mike and spoke to his copilot.
“Lucky, whatever it takes, stall him. I’ll get the good Colonel on the horn, and get a definitive answer on how the hell they want us to handle this mess.”
Lucky flashed Coach a “why me?” stare, and paused for a moment before addressing the radio.
“Come again, Foxbat leader? Your last transmission was incomplete. I suggest that you switch frequencies to NATO band …”
Ever appreciative of his copilot’s ingenuity. Coach activated the intercom.
“Colonel Pritchard, it’s Major Foard. Unless you have any better ideas, I’m afraid we’re gonna have to change our flight plan from Andrews to Simferopol.”
“Can’t you stall them just a little bit longer?” Pritchard’s amplified voice sounded pleading.
“The Chairman’s still trying to get in touch with the Ukrainian Defense Minister. And we’re having one hell of a time making contact, because it appears they’re in the middle of some kind of coup down there!”
“Sir,” countered Coach, “coup or no coup, we’re about to get an AA-6 air-to-air missile up our keister. As air crew commander, I say it would be more prudent if we sorted this whole thing out down on the tarmac at Simferopol.”
“He’s not buying it. Coach!” interrupted Lucky.
“He says he’s gonna shoot!”
Coach abruptly ended his intercom conversation to concentrate on the crisis at hand.
“What’s our lead Foxbat’s range?”
“Twelve and a half miles and holding steady, sir,” replied the navigator from the rear of the cockpit.
“That’s well within the AA-6’s IR envelope,” informed Jake Lasky.
“With an approach speed of Mach 4.5, we’ll be toast before we know what hit us.”
“American military 747,” the radio boomed, “unless you turn at once for Simferopol, I have no choice but to take you out.
Be informed that I’m initiating armament sequence and launch countdown.”
“At least we can’t say he didn’t give us plenty of warning,” noted Coach, who found himself without options.
“It’s time to turn this big lady around for some Ukrainian cooking.”
As Coach reached out to deactivate the autopilot. Lucky readjusted the scan of the instrument panel’s radar screen. He requested maximum range, and had to do a double take upon spotting a formation of four new contacts, rapidly approaching from the south.
“We’ve got some more company coming!” he excitedly revealed.
Coach looked at the radar screen, and a smile lit up his face as the three MiGs suddenly broke off their pursuit and turned back to the north.
“Looks like Comrade Dubrinski has had a sudden change of heart,” observed the grinning pilot.
“Nightwatch six-seven-six,” broke in a crisp voice over the radio.
“This is Captain Brantley Williams, your Fighting Falcon leader. How can we be of service this evening? Over.”
Back in the 747’s Operations Team Area, the arrival of the U.S. Air Force F-16s was met with shouts of relieved joy.
Nightwatch was now free to continue on the long flight back to Andrews, and as it initiated a wide-banked turn to the west, Brittany Cooper had to reach out and steady herself on the side of the workstation she was standing next to. On the other hand, the woman seated behind this console didn’t appear to be the least bit fazed by the sudden turn. Oblivious to her straining seat harness. Red continued to attack her keyboard, her glance locked on the assortment of data filling the console’s flashing monitor screen.
“Iron Man One,” she said into her chin mike. “This is Nightwatch six-seven-six. I have a Priority One transmission. Over.”
Brittany knew that this call was being directed to yet another U.S. military airborne command post. Iron Man One was their current TACAMO alert aircraft. While Nightwatch was a U.S. Air Force platform, TACAMO belonged to the Navy. Its original mission was to offer survivable communications to the strategic submarine fleet. For over three decades, and using several types of aircraft, TACAMO had proved itself an invaluable asset, utilizing a five-mile-long antenna to transmit VLF broadcasts to submarines deep beneath their patrol zones.
With the addition of a new state-of-the-art airframe, TACAMO had recently expanded its mission. Iron Man One was the first TACAMO platform to be outfitted with the so-called “Looking Glass” operations suite. Looking Glass was originally an Air Force program, run by the Strategic Air Command, that offered survivable command and control of nuclear-armed ICBMs and land-based bombers.