“The dreaded marching orders?” Clark asked.
“I suppose,” he said, pushing the loaded cart into the hall. “Where’s the elevator?”
“You better let me push that,” Clark said. “It might upset the sergeants if they saw a general doing something physical.”
Pontowski laughed. “Ouch.” They headed for an elevator. “What do you think they’ll be?”
“Your marching orders?” she asked. He gave a little nod. “Formally and in writing, pretty standard. Diplomatic boilerplate, nothing surprising. Informally, I’d guess you’ll be given a great deal of latitude. Just don’t screw up.”
“Or they’ll disavow all knowledge of my mission and claim I was a cowboy out playing shoot-’em-up at the OK Corral.”
She grew very serious. “That’s the way it works.”
He pushed a button to call the elevator, then looked around. They were all alone. “Colonel Clark, I’d like you to be the base commander at Alpha.”
“And the wing commander is?”
“I’ve got a body in mind. He’s all fighter jock, hair on fire. A certified aerial assassin. I haven’t asked him yet.”
“He’ll say yes,” she predicted. “If he can make a decision, I can work for him.” She looked at him, thinking. “How long do I have to decide?”
“How about the same length of time you gave me?”
She laughed. “Ouch.” Then, “You’ve got yourself a base commander, General.” The elevator doors opened, and she pushed the cart inside. “You’ll want the second floor to get to the NMCC,” she told him. The doors swooshed closed.
Pontowski stood next to the glass in the commander’s cab high above the main floor of the NMCC and watched the president as she moved over the main floor. A two-star general, puffed with pride, escorted her, explaining the function of each position. Even from this distance Pontowski could sense Turner’s impatience.
“He’s running out of time,” Mazie said from behind him. Pontowski turned to see the national security adviser standing less than two feet away. She gestured at the president to indicate whom she was talking about.
“It’s the general’s chance to shine,” Pontowski said.
“Not for long,” Mazie replied. She pointed to a briefing room off to the left. “The ExCom is meeting inside.”
Pontowski followed her into the small room. He stiffened when he saw the secretary of defense, Robert Merritt, sitting in the chair next to the president’s position. Why do I distrust that man? he wondered. Butler motioned him to stand immediately behind him and against the sidewall.
“Shall we get started?” Mazie asked.
The big TV screen built into the wall came to life, and Colonel Scovill updated the ground situation in Saudi Arabia as a series of maps and graphs scrolled on the screen. The room was absolutely silent. Finally a simple chart flashed on the screen, tabulating casualties. Four soldiers had been wounded in action in the last twenty-four hours but not one killed in the last forty-eight. “Thank God,” Merritt said sotto voce.
“Are there any questions?” Scovill asked. There were none, and he made his escape.
“Stephan,” Mazie said to the secretary of state, “you wanted to discuss the political situation before the president arrived.”
“Indeed,” Serick said. “This is a replay from twenty minutes ago.” He fiddled with his hand controller and cycled to the channel covering the Senate.
Leland was on the floor speaking. “Two thousand of our valiant soldiers have given their all in the first ten days of this bloodbath.”
“Eighteen hundred and two,” Wilding muttered, correcting the misstatement. “And none in the last two days.”
On the screen Leland was looking directly at the camera. “We, as a God-fearing, peaceful nation, cannot, will not, tolerate such a wholesale destruction of the flower of our youth.” A slight movement at the door drew Pontowski’s attention away from the screen. Turner was standing there, her head slightly cocked as she listened to Leland. “We are at a crossroads,” Leland intoned, “and can stop this senseless killing if we listen to our allies and reassess our current policies and strategy accordingly.”
Butler snorted and shook his head. “The man’s an asshole.”
Merritt glared at the intelligence officer as Turner entered the room. “Turn him off,” the president said.
Patrick Shaw was right behind her. “Bad timing, General,” he whispered to Butler as he passed.
“My apologies, Madam President,” Butler said.
“We’ve all been under a strain,” Turner said as she sat down. “While I disagree with the good senator’s implication that we’re responsible, I do agree with his concern over casualties, as do most Americans. Now that we’ve stabilized the situation, we must keep it that way.”
Wilding stood by the screen. “Madam President, we’re entering the second phase of the war — stabilization and buildup. What we do now will determine how and when we go on the offensive. With your permission, we’d like to summarize how we’re creating the logistical base to defeat the UIF. After that we’d like to discuss the emerging threat on the Malay Peninsula.” Turner nodded, and Wilding turned the briefing over to a young Army lieutenant colonel.
Pontowski listened as the lieutenant colonel ran through the logistical details. The guy’s good, Pontowski thought. But Clark is better.
Twelve minutes into the briefing, a military aide entered the room and handed Wilding a note. He glanced at it and stopped the briefing. “I think you need to see this, Madam President.” He called up the Senate channel on the TV. But this time it was a replay of Leland’s closing remarks.
“By all reports,” Leland said, “our government made no attempt to defend King Khalid Military City, and as a consequence we suffered a disaster that can only be compared to Pearl Harbor. This august body must discover what went wrong. Therefore, I’m recommending we approve and appoint a special committee to commence an immediate investigation into this disaster.” He turned and looked into the camera. “I don’t know where this investigation will take us, but I can promise the families who lost their loved ones that their sacrifice will not have been in vain. We will hold those responsible accountable.”
Turner stood. “For some reason it totally escapes the good senator that those responsible happen to command the UIF. Please excuse me while I stomp out this brushfire.” Everyone stood as she left with the vice president. Shaw ambled out after them.
“I believe we’re finished here,” Mazie said.
Pontowski stayed behind as the room emptied. Finally he was alone with Butler. “I still haven’t got a clue as to what I can and cannot do with the AVG.”
“We’ll get something to you,” Butler said. “Please be patient. We’re playing this by ear.”
Pontowski arched an eyebrow. “That’s becoming more obvious by the moment.” He changed the subject, afraid he would say what he really felt. “I need to make a phone call.”
“You can use a phone outside.” Butler led him to a phone in the now-deserted battle cab and punched in his personal access code. He handed Pontowski the phone and turned away, surprised to see Patrick Shaw sitting in one of the commander’s chairs overlooking the main floor.
Pontowski waited while his call was put through. Then, “Maggot, Pontowski here. You got a job yet?” He listened to the reply. “I don’t think headquarters Air Force Reserve Command is ready for you. We’re reactivating the AVG. How’d you like to be the wing commander?” He held the phone away from his ear.