“You are no longer president of Turkey, Kurzat,” Cizek said. “I met with General Guzlev, the chiefs of staff, and the Ministry of the Interior, and we have decided that you are not competent to give orders anymore. You said so yourself, Kurzat: you’re tired. Well, your weariness is a danger to the brave men and women in the field who are risking their lives on the president’s word. We feel you cannot be trusted to give any more orders under a state of emergency. Prime Minister Akas, of course, is in no better shape. So we have decided to take over for you.”
“What? What are you saying? What in hell are you doing?”
“You know what’s happening here, Hirsiz,” Cizek said. “The only question is, what will you do? Will you play the befuddled and embattled president, or will you take responsibility for your failures and do the responsible thing?”
“What on earth are you talking about? You…you are going to stage a coup d’état?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Cizek said. “Under a state of emergency, you can appoint anyone to be commander in chief of the armed forces. You appoint me and get some well-deserved rest for a few years until you are well enough to resume your duties; I rescind the order for the stage two pullback, and we consolidate our gains in Iraq.”
“This is insanity! I will not comply! I will never relinquish my office! I am the president of Turkey! I was elected by the Grand National Assembly…!”
“You swore an oath to protect the people of Turkey, but instead you stand by and do nothing but moan and drool while thousands of soldiers are killed by the Iraqis and Americans,” Cizek shouted. “I will stand for it no longer. The only proper response is a military one, not a political one, and so the army must be free to end this crisis. You are afraid to unleash the army and the Jandarma: I am not. Which will it be, Mr. President? Take your orders from me, and you and your family will be allowed to stay in a very comfortable residence in Tarsus or maybe even Dipkarpaz, under very careful security and seclusion—”
“As your puppet?”
“As president of the republic, Hirsiz, taking sound and urgent advice from your military advisers to end the attacks against our country,” Cizek said. “If you do not agree to this, you will suffer a terrible heart attack, and we will remove you and your family from Ankara forever.”
“You cannot do this!” Hirsiz protested. “I have done nothing wrong! You have no authority…!”
“I swore an oath to protect this country, Hirsiz,” Cizek shouted, “and I will not sit idly by while you erase all the gains our brave soldiers have made for this country. You leave me absolutely no choice!”
Hirsiz hesitated again, and Guzlev pulled out his .45 and pointed it at the president. “I told you he wouldn’t do it, Hasan…!” he said.
Hirsiz’s eyes bulged, his arms and shoulders went limp, and his knees wobbled—it was as if all of the fluids in his body left him. “No, please,” he whimpered. “I don’t want to die. Tell me what to do.”
“Good call, Hirsiz,” Cizek threw some papers on the desk. “Sign these papers.” Hirsiz signed them without reading them or even raising his head except to find the signature line. “We will escort you to the national communications center, where you will personally address the people of the republic.” A sheaf of papers was placed in his hands. “Here is what you will say. It is important for you to address the people of Turkey as soon as possible.”
“When can I see my wife, my family…?”
“Business first, Hirsiz,” Cizek said. He nodded to an officer of the Presidential Guard. “Take him away.” Hirsiz mumbled something as he and his aide were led out of the office under heavy military guard.
Guzlev holstered his .45 with an exasperated shove. “Balls, I thought I was going to have to shoot the fucking bastard after all, Cizek,” he cursed. “He’s going to look like shit on television.”
“All the better,” Cizek said. “If he can’t or won’t do it, I’ll read it myself.” He stepped toward Guzlev. “Rescind that phase one and two withdrawal order and be prepared to march on Irbil. If one peshmerga fighter, Iraqi soldier, or American—especially those robots and Tin Man creations—pops his head out just a centimeter, I want a squadron of jets to blow them all straight to Hell.” He thought for a moment, then said, “No, I’m not going to wait for those robots and the Tin Men to come after us. I want Nahla Air Base shut down. They think they can kill a thousand Turks and just march away? I want the place leveled, do you understand me? Leveled!”
“With pleasure, Hasan…I mean, Mr. President,” Guzlev said. “With pleasure.”
Following the memorial service for the fallen soldiers from Second Regiment, Patrick McLanahan, Jack Wilhelm, Jon Masters, and chief of security Kris Thompson escorted Vice President Ken Phoenix to the flight line, where a newly arrived CV-22 Osprey tilt-rotor aircraft was waiting to fly him to Bahrain.
The vice president shook hands with Wilhelm. “You did an outstanding job out there last night, Colonel,” Phoenix said. “I’m sorry for your losses.”
“Thank you, sir,” Wilhelm said. “I wish we hadn’t gotten sucker-punched like that, but I’m glad the Turks decided to call the cease-fire, pull back, and start negotiations. It’ll give us a chance to fly our boys home.”
“I’ll feel better when you’re all home, safe and secure,” Phoenix said. “Thank you for leading these men and women so well.”
“Thank you, sir,” Wilhelm said, saluting.
Phoenix returned the salute. “I’m not in your chain of command, Colonel,” Phoenix said. “I don’t rate a salute.”
“You stood with my troops, you took enemy fire, and you didn’t start crying, whining, ordering us around, or getting in the way,” Wilhelm said. “You earned it, sir. If I may say so, you looked very…presidential.”
“Why, thank you, Colonel,” Phoenix said. “Coming from you, that’s high praise. Lousy politics, but high praise.”
“Good thing I don’t do politics, sir,” Wilhelm said. “Have a good trip.”
“Thank you, Colonel.” Phoenix turned to Patrick and shook his hand. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again, Patrick,” he said, “but I think you and your team did an extraordinary job out there last night.”
Thank you, sir,” Patrick said. “Unfortunately I still don’t think it’s over, but a cease-fire and a pullback is definitely good news.”
“I read your plan for action against Diyarbakir,” Phoenix said. “I don’t think there’s any chance the president will approve it, especially when he learns it comes from you. But I’ll talk to him about it.”
“We can put it into action in less than a day, and at the very least it would send a message that we’re serious.”
“That it does,” Phoenix agreed. “I’d also like to talk to you about this company of yours and your incredible weapon systems like the CID, the Tin Man, and those electromagnetic rail guns. I don’t know why we’re not fielding thousands of them.” He looked at Patrick with a puzzled expression, then added, “And I’d like to know why you have them, and not the U.S. Army.”
“I’ll explain everything, sir,” Patrick said.
“I doubt it,” Phoenix said with a wry smile, “but I still want to talk to you about them. Good-bye, General.”
“Have a safe trip, sir.” The vice president nodded, loaded aboard the CV-22, and the big twin rotors were turning moments later.
It was hard for Patrick to hear at first over the roar of the Osprey’s twin rotors in full vertical takeoff power, but he did, and he opened his radio. Wilhelm was doing the same at that very moment. “Go ahead, Boomer,” he said.