“Perhaps Colonel Callahan can help us identify it,” he suggested.
Ted Callahan had been following in the next team, and it didn’t take him long to join them. Only a single glance on his part caused him to audibly gasp, and when he spoke, it was with shocked reverence.
“That, my friends, is a Yugoslavian Type PMR-2A antipersonnel mine. It’s got a kill radius of fifteen meters, and is designed to kill and maim by fragmentation. Our units in Bosnia were the first to encounter it, and, I’m afraid to say, it appears we’ve finally found one of the mines that were stolen from Leonard Wood.”
Chapter 45
“Well, I think someone should go down there and check on his condition,” said Lucky from the copilot’s seat.
“It’s not like Coach to go and get sick like that.”
Major Owen Lassiter was seated beside Lucky, and the pallid faced backup pilot voiced himself while reaching up to make a minor adjustment to the navigation display.
“None of us are immune to food poisoning. Captain. It can strike without warning, and take down the most healthy of individuals. I’ll never forget my honeymoon in Acapulco, when I came down with the worst bout of diarrhea of my life. Poor Peggy, ‘cause I didn’t leave the toilet for three whole days.”
“Ole Montezuma’s revenge,” mused Jake Lasky, their current flight engineer.
“Yes, I know it well.”
“That’s only to be expected when eating in Mexico,” countered Lucky as he pushed back his chin mike.
“But all of us ate the same chow this evening, and none of us got sick.”
“Look, Captain, I’m only passing on what the Op chief told me,” Lassiter retorted, a caustic edge to his voice.
“And the initial prognosis was that Major Foard has come down with food poisoning, and that he’s resting in the Chairman’s stateroom.”
“Come to think of it. Lucky,” offered Jake, “Coach did order his club sandwich without bacon. I bet it was made especially for him, and that’s why none of us hog eaters came down with the runs. It only further proves my case that health diets are nothing but dangerous fads, and that a body needs a variety of nutrients.”
Lucky adamantly shook his head.
“I wouldn’t go that far, Jake. There are some foods that are—”
“Gentlemen,” interrupted Lassiter, “would you mind piping down and keeping the idle chatter to a minimum? A guy can’t get a moment’s peace up here.”
No sooner were these words spoken, than the nasally voice of the AGO broke over the intercom.
“Plight, prepare for wire out and the transmission of flash traffic.”
“Roger, Comm,” replied Lassiter into his chin mike.
“Initiating orbit entry checklist.”
Nowhere was the order to prepare for wire-out and the transmission of flash traffic met with more dread than in the 747’s forward entry area. It was here beside the galley, in a small private nook reserved for the Operations staff, that Brittany and Red had gathered, on the pretense of taking a coffee break.
“I tell you. Red, I feel totally out of the loop,” revealed Brittany, a mug of steaming black coffee cradled in her hands.
“The Chairman and Major Hewlett have been playing their cards extremely close to their vests. They won’t even include me in the standard SIOP briefings, and I’m afraid they suspect something.”
“Don’t feel alone. Commander,” replied Red as she finished stirring her hot chocolate.
“For the first time in the entire flight, neither I nor Sergeant Schuster is being allowed to place the Chairman’s phone calls. From what I understand. Major Hewlett is making them personally, leading me to believe that our SIOP advisor is an inside player.”
“If only Coach were here with us. He’d know what to do next,” Brittany said worriedly.
“Food poisoning, indeed,” retorted Red with a disgusted shake of her head.
“That has to be one of the lamest excuses I’ve ever heard. He looked perfectly fine the last time we saw him. And what’s this I hear about Coach being allowed to recuperate in the Chairman’s stateroom?”
Brittany sighed.
“Before meeting you here, I took a stroll by Warner’s quarters. Coach appears to be in there, all right, along with an armed sentry outside and a do not disturb sign posted on the closed door. They must have caught him red-handed talking with General Spencer, and then placed him in detention.”
Red’s troubled expression suddenly brightened, and she put down her drink, bent forward, and whispered, “You know, there’s a way to get into that stateroom without going through the front door. The majority of my transmitters are located in the forward lower equipment area, directly below us. Behind the SHF SATCOM transponder is an access shaft, utilized both for ventilation and to hold power conduit. It’s designed to fit a single individual, with iron footholds extending up the shaft, which extends right past the Chairman’s stateroom, before terminating behind the flight deck.”
“That’s certainly good to know. Red. But before we’re forced to go to such a dangerous extreme, I’ll see if I can get some additional information on the nature of this flash traffic we’re about to send. If it’s indeed Yankee Hotel, our first priority should be to warn General Spencer.”
Both of them had to reach out and grab their mugs when the aircraft suddenly initiated a steeply banked turn, this extreme maneuver but a precursor to the tight racetrack orbit that was next on their flight plan.
“Orbit entry checklist complete,” came Owen Lassiter’s flat voice over the conference room’s intercom.
“Wire-out in three minutes and counting.”
The Chairman expectantly met the glance of his SIOP advisor, who was seated to his right, a laptop computer open on the table in front of him.
“So the moment of truth is almost upon us, Major. When we originally made the difficult decision to support the movement, we knew there was the possibility that this dark hour would come. Brave Americans have already died, and now it looks like many more are about to join them. But such is the steep price of our continued liberty.”
The sharp angle of the airplane’s canted deck further steepened, and the Chairman alertly reached out and grabbed his fountain pen before it slid off the table.
“Let’s get on with it,” he said with a heavy sigh.
“Bring up Yankee Hotel on your screen. I want to take another look at that warhead selection.”
Hewlett addressed his keyboard, and the monitor filled with a complicated targeting graphic, with the heading yankee hotel emblazoned in red at the top of the page. To better see it, the Chairman slipped off his bifocals, then scanned the screen, thoughtfully rubbing his temples.
“I realize it appears to be a major overkill just to eliminate a single individual,” remarked Hewlett.
“But now that we’re certain Chapman is contained inside the wilderness area, we’re going to need, at the very least, three lOOkt MIRVs (Multiple Independently targe table Reentry Vehicles) to ensure complete saturation.”
“And the number again on the estimated civilian casualties?”
asked the Chairman.
“If we strike sometime within the next couple of hours, we can take advantage of favorable meteorological conditions to guarantee minimal fallout drift. The last weather report showed continued high pressure over the target area, with light, westerly winds prevailing.”