If that happened, all of his preparations would be lost. At the very best, he'd be back where he was two years before: commander of a single division, not the leader of an army corps three times the size. All of the connections he had carefully cultivated among the old-timers — the hard-liners shut out by the new government — would be lost. Those men valued strength, and the scent of weakness and failure would send them running.
So when the phone didn't ring at precisely 9:00 a.m. — the time set for Locusta to speak to the president about the incident — the general began to grow nervous. He fidgeted with his feet, a habit he'd had since he was a boy. Pushing them together under the desk, he began jerking his legs up and down, tapping his soles lightly together. At 9:05 he rose from his desk and walked around the office, trying to remain nonchalant and work off his growing anxiety.
By 9:10, he was worried, wondering if he should place the call himself.
He decided not to. President Voda's office had made the appointment, and made it clear that the president would call him. To short-circuit the process would be a concession, however subtle, to a man he despised.
The phone finally rang at 9:17. Locusta waited until the third ring before answering.
"General Locusta."
"Please hold for the president."
Another three minutes passed before President Voda came on the line.
"Tomma, tell me what is going on," said Voda abruptly.
"The pipeline is secure — for now. We have shot two guerrillas. With more men, I can prevent future problems."
"More men — you always ask for more men."
"Unfortunately, last night proves I am right."
"I see estimates that the guerrillas are faltering."
Locusta sighed. He knew that the guerrillas' movement was in fact growing smaller, partly because of his efforts, but also because the leftists were naturally weaklings. But it did him absolutely no good to admit this.
"Yes, yes, I suppose the events of last night are proof of what the situation is," said Voda finally. "I will get you your men. But — no operations over the border. Not at this time."
Though he had made suggestions in the past, Locusta had no plans to launch any operations now. He would, though, soon. When he was in full command.
"Did you hear me, General?"
"If we have a specific target, Mr. President, I think you might reconsider."
"When you have a target, you will review it with me. I will decide."
"Yes, Mr. President. But if we have to stay on defense, the additional men will be critical."
"You'll have them. You'll get whatever you need."
The president continued to speak. He was concerned about the situation. He didn't want news of it to get out; he didn't want Romania to appear weak. Locusta agreed — though he knew that the Russians would already be leaking it.
Then the president surprised him.
"I am considering asking the U.S. to assist us," said Voda.
"The Americans?" said Locusta, caught off guard.
"Politically, it would have been difficult a few weeks ago, but now that they are riding a wave of popularity, it is something that could be managed. You've been asking for more aircraft — they can provide some."
"I don't need the Americans to chase down these bandits."
"Our own air force is useless," said the president coldly.
Locusta couldn't argue with that. He suspected, however, that Voda wanted the Americans involved as much for political reasons as military ones. Voda's grand plan called for Romania to join NATO: another foolish move, borne from weakness, not strength.
"Their aircraft will help you track the guerrillas," said the president. "I will inform you if they agree."
The line went dead. Locusta stared at the phone for a second, then slammed it down angrily. The president was an ass.
The Americans would complicate everything if they came.
President Martindale watched out the window of Air Force One as the hulking black jet drew parallel to the wings. It was a sleek jet — a B-1, Martindale thought, though he would be the first to admit that he wasn't an expert on aircraft recognition. It had the general shape of a fighter but was much too large to be one — nearly as long, in fact, as the EB-52 Megafortress riding beside it.
He recognized the EB-52 very well, of course. No other aircraft had ever been so closely identified with an adminis tration before. It was ironic, Martindale thought; he certainly considered himself a man of peace — not a dove, exactly, but the last politician who would have chosen a weapon of war as his personal token. Yet he'd called out the military more than anyone since Roosevelt.
And much more effectively, he hoped.
Most of his critics didn't exactly see it that way. He didn't much mind the congressmen in the other party criticizing him. It was their job, after all. But when people in his own party questioned his motives in stopping the war between China, India, and Pakistan — that flabbergasted him.
And of course, they loved to claim he used Dreamland as his own secret air force and army.
Dreamland's reorganization under Major General Samson would stop some of those wagging tongues, integrating the command back into the regular military structure. But Mar-tindale didn't want the baby thrown out with the bathwater, as the old saying went. Dreamland was the future. Samson's real task, as far as he was concerned, was to make the future happen now.
"Are those planes an escort?" asked the Secretary of State, Jeffrey Hartmann. "Or are they checking us out?"
"Probably a little bit of both," laughed Martindale, sitting back in his seat.
"If we can get back to the Romanian issue before we land," said Secretary of Defense Chastain. "It's a very serious situation. Europe is depending on natural gas for winter heating. If that pipeline is destroyed, we'll have chaos."
"No, not chaos," said Hartmann. "The Russians can provide an adequate supply. They have over the past few years."
"At prices that have been skyrocketing," said Chastain. "Prices that will mean a depression, or worse."
"You're exaggerating," said Hartmann.
"The Russians see the pipeline as a threat," said Chastain. "They're dancing in the Kremlin as we speak."
"I don't see them involved in this," said the Secretary of State. "They'll exploit it, yes. That's the Russian way. Take any advantage you can get. But they're not going to back guerrillas."
"Don't be naive," said Chastain. "Of course they are."
"They have enough trouble with the Chechens."
"I think the situation is critical," said Philip Freeman, the National Security Advisor. "Gas prices are just one facet. If the Russians are involved, their real goal may be to split NATO. They certainly want to keep the other Eastern European countries from joining. Look at how they're setting the prices: NATO members pay more. We've seen the pressure with Poland. The Romanian pipeline makes that harder to do."
"You're jumping to conclusions," said Hartmann. "There's no evidence that the Russians are involved. I doubt they are."
There was a knock at the door of the President's private cabin. Martindale nodded, and the Secret Service man who was standing nearby unlatched it. A steward appeared.
"Mr. President, the pilot advises that he is on final approach."
"Very good. Buckle up, gentlemen. We're about to land."
Despite the fact that he acted as Dreamland's liaison, Jed Barclay had been to the base only a handful of times over the past two years. He'd never been there with the President, however, and so was surprised by the pomp and circumstance the secret base managed: Not only had a pair of Megafortresses and EB-52s escorted them in, but a half-dozen black special operations Osprey MV-22s hovered alongside Air Force One as the 747 taxied toward the hangar area. Six GMC Jimmy SUVs raced along on either side of the big jet, flanking it as it approached the small stage set up just beyond the access apron. The entire area was ringed by security vehicles and weapons. Mobile antiaircraft missiles stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Razor antiaircraft lasers. There were antipersonnel weapons as well — large panels of nonlethal, hard plastic balls were strategically placed on the outskirts of the audience area, along with an array of video cameras and other sensors. Given how difficult it was to get to Dreamland, the gear was obviously intended to impress the President and his party.