“You’re welcome at any time, sir,” Bain said. “Please go on. The floor is yours.”
“Thanks, Taylor,” the President said. “I just got off the phone with Russian president Zevitin. General McLanahan?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He claims you fired a missile at one of his reconnaissance planes in international airspace, and when the missile missed you seriously damaged the aircraft with high-powered radioactive beams called T-waves or some such thing. He also claims a missile fired by one of your aircraft killed several dozen innocent civilians in Tehran, including women and children. Care to explain?”
“He’s lying, sir,” McLanahan replied immediately. “None of that is true.”
“Is that so?” He held up a piece of paper. “I have a copy of the Air Force chief of staff’s summary of the incident which seems to say pretty much the same thing. So both the president of Russia and the chief of staff are lying, and you’re telling me the truth, General? Is that what you want me to believe?”
“We’ve just discussed the incident and the issues brought forth by General Huffman, sir,” Bain said, “and I’ve ruled that McLanahan acted properly and as directed and was not responsible for the civilian deaths—”
“And as for Zevitin or anyone else at the Kremlin, sir,” McLanahan cut in, “I wouldn’t believe one word any of them said.”
“General McLanahan, scores of innocent Iranians are dead by chemical weapons and a Russian reconnaissance pilot is badly injured by radiation fired at him by one of your bombers,” the President retorted. “The world thinks you’re starting another shooting war with Russia in the Middle East and is demanding answers and accountability. This is no time for your bigoted attitude.” Patrick shook his head and turned away, reaching for his water bottle, and the President’s eyes widened in anger. “You have something else to say to me, General?” Patrick turned back to the camera, then looked at his outstretched arm in confusion, as if he had forgotten why he had extended it. “Is something the matter with you, McLanahan?”
“N — no, sir…” Patrick responded in a muted voice. He missed the water bottle, felt for it, grasped it, then used too much force to rip it from its Velcro mooring and sent it spinning across the module.
“What? I can’t hear you.” Gardner’s eyes squinted in confusion as he watched the water bottle fly away out of sight. “What’s going on there? Where are you, General? Why are you moving like that?”
“He’s on Armstrong Space Station, sir,” General Bain said.
“On the space station? He’s in orbit? Are you kidding me? What are you doing up there?”
“As the commander of his task force operating from space, I authorized General McLanahan to oversee the operation from the space station,” Bain explained, “just as any commanding officer would take charge of his forces from a forward-deployed command ship or—”
“On the bridge or CIC of a destroyer, yes, but not on a damned space station!” President Gardner shot back. “I want him off that thing immediately! He’s a three-star general, for God’s sake, not Buck Rogers!”
“Sir, if I may, can we address the question of the air strike on the insurgent rocket launcher and the actions against the Russian aircraft?” General Bain said, worriedly looking on as Valerie Lukas checked on Patrick. “We’ve conducted a review of the reconnaissance data, and we’ve determined—”
“It couldn’t have been a very thorough review if the incident happened just a couple hours ago, General,” the President said. He turned to the National Security Adviser seated beside him. “Conrad?”
“It’s a preliminary review of the same sensor data from the Global Hawk unmanned recon plane and the space station’s radars that General McLanahan and his crew saw before they attacked, sir,” Carlyle responded. “General Bain and his experts at the Pentagon reviewed the images as if they had been asked before the attack if the target was legitimate based on the rules of engagement established by us under the attack order, as is required if there is any uncertainty as to the safety to noncombatants due to weapon effects or collateral damage. The videoconference was convened as a preliminary incident review to determine if a more detailed investigation would be warranted.”
“And?”
“General Bain has ruled that, although it could have been possible for General McLanahan to anticipate civilian casualties, his order to engage was justified and proper based on the information at hand, the threat of more civilian deaths at the hands of the insurgents, and his authority under the attack plan,” Carlyle responded. “He is recommending to the Secretary of Defense and to you that no further investigation is warranted and that McLanahan be allowed to continue his operation as planned, with the full complement of missile launch bombers instead of just one.”
“Is that so?” The President paused for a moment, then shook his head. “General Bain, you’re telling me that you thought it was proper that McLanahan attack a target knowing that so many civilian noncombatants were nearby, and that such an attack is within the letter and spirit of my executive order authorizing a hunt for insurgents in Iran?” he retorted. “I think you have grossly misinterpreted my orders. I thought I was being very plain and specific: I don’t want any noncombatant casualties. Was that not clear to you, General Bain?”
“It was, sir,” Bain responded, his jaw hardening and his eyes narrowing under the scolding, “but with the information General McLanahan had at the time, and with the threat posed by these insurgent rockets, I felt he was fully justified in making the decision to—”
“Let’s get this straight right here and now, General Bain: I am the commander-in-chief, and I make the decisions,” the President said. “Your job is to carry out my orders, and my orders were no civilian casualties. The only proper order in this instance was to withhold because of the numbers of civilians around that launcher. Even if they had been told to leave the immediate area, you should have anticipated that they would be near enough to be hurt or killed by the explosion. They—”
“Sir, there was no explosion, at least not one caused by us,” Bain protested. “The SkySTREAK missile is a kinetic-energy weapon only — it was designed to—”
“I don’t care what it was designed to do, General — McLanahan knew there were civilians in the immediate area, and according to General Huffman, you were briefed that some rockets might have chemical weapons on them, so he obviously should have withheld. End of discussion. Now what is this about McLanahan firing a missile at the Russian fighter? McLanahan’s bombers have air-to-air missiles on them?”
“That’s standard defensive armament for the EB-1D Vampire aircraft, sir, but McLanahan didn’t—”
“So why did you fire on that Russian reconnaissance plane, General McLanahan?”
“We did not fire any missiles, sir,” McLanahan responded as firmly as he could, nodding to Lukas that he was all right, “and it was not a reconnaissance plane: it was a MiG-29 tactical fighter.”
“What was it doing up there, McLanahan?”
“Shadowing our bomber over the Caspian Sea, sir.”
“I see. Shadowing…as in, performing reconnaissance? Am I interpreting this correctly, General?” Patrick rubbed his eyes and swallowed hard, licking dry lips. “We’re not keeping you up, are we, General?”
“No, sir.”
“So the Russian aircraft was just performing reconnaissance after all, correct?”