Master Sergeant John Nesbit jerked the message out of the high-speed printer. He had studied and been forced to learn the various types of messages, their format, sources and priority for handling. This was the first time he had seen an actual Apple Wave. The fact that it was being used indicated that the sender judged the message to be of critical importance.
Nesbit also knew better than to hesitate. He pushed the “Immediate Action” button for Colonel Blevins, wishing Colonel Gomez was on duty. This will certainly get Ramrod’s attention…
Blevins was out of the cab and at the coffee bar when he saw the summoning lights come on. He sat his coffee cup down and waddled up the stairs to the cab.
Nesbit handed Blevins the message as soon as the puffing colonel cleared the door. Blevins scanned the message, then reread it slowly:
USAF C-130, CALL SIGN GRAIN KING ZERO THREE, TRANSITING SOUTHERN LIBYAN AIRSPACE ON APPROVED FLIGHT PLAN ENROUTE TO ALEXANDRIA SOUTH AIR BASE. CURRENTLY MONITORING INCREASED COMMUNICATIONS BETWEEN INTERCEPTOR FIGHTER UNITS AND HEADQUARTERS TRIPOLI. ACTIVITY INDICATES PROBABLE LIBYAN INTERCEPTION OF GRAIN KING.
“What in hell,” Blevins exploded. “Some fool has used an Apple Wave because the Libyans are talking to each other and have OK’d a UN flight over their country?” He sat down and reread the message for the third time, ready to ignore its significance and file a security violation against the sender for a possible compromise.
Then he remembered Tom Gomez’s changeover briefing. Glancing at his watch, he picked up a phone and pressed the button for the analysis section. “Send up Captains Marshall and Williamson ASAP.” He had asked for the two best analysts on the shift, two officers that Blevins disliked for their ability and did not trust because of their informality.
The two captains ran up the stairs to the cab. The entire staff of the Watch Center had seen the Immediate Action lights and the hurried reaction of the analysts confirmed something was about to break. A computer technician banged his head on a console, moaning, “Not on a Friday.”
Blevins handed the captains the message without a word. They stood side by side reading it.
“I’ll call up the boards, Don, if you’ll search the status file. OK.” Don Williamson and Sara Marshall were a well-rehearsed team, each intuitively understanding the other. Their casual approach to their duties irritated Blevins, but he had to use them because he didn’t stay current with the masses of information they dealt with each day. The colonel had discovered from past experiences that if he tried to interfere with the way they did their job, the two officers would only do exactly what he told them. And if he missed anything important, they would never mention his oversight.
Blevins stopped Sara Marshall before she left. “I may have to notify the battle staff. How soon before you can tie this into the big picture with an assurance and coordinate with the Defense Intelligence Agency?”
The captain halted and turned to look at the portly colonel, “No idea, sir. No one’s been working this. It may be hours before we get anything definite, and it takes days to coordinate with DIA.”
Blevins turned to Williamson and asked for an assurance.
Williamson took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “This one is going to go down fast, Colonel. I doubt that we can work up an assurance before it happens.”
“Before what happens, Captain?”
Sara looked at Don and raised an eyebrow.
With a shrug the junior male partner told him, “Like the Apple Wave says, the Libyans will intercept the Grain King. That in itself is not a hostile act, but knowing the Libyans, they’ll most likely try to shoot it down. Other than that, they might force it to land at one of their bases and intern the crew.”
“Bullshit. I don’t believe that,” Blevins snapped.
“It’s not bullshit, Gene.” Tom Gomez’s voice cut through the air.
Blevins twisted to look at him, puzzled that he was still in the Center. Why hadn’t he gone home after the shift changed? How had he entered the cab unobserved? How did he know what was going on? The too-innocent look on Nesbit’s face told him the answer to his last two questions.
““If I were in your place I’d do two things,” Gomez continued. “First, relay the situation to the base at Alexandria South and have them bring two fighters up to cockpit alert. Second, call the heavies now.”
“But we need to coordinate this information first, I need an assurance, goddamnit.”
“You don’t have time for that,” Gomez told him.
The decision had been made for him. Blevins hated Gomez for taking it from him and made a promise to himself to even the score.
As the on-duty Watch Center commander, Blevins had the authority to change the alert status of fighters at Alexandria South. He could even launch those fighters into a holding orbit. It was justifying his actions after the fact that frightened Blevins. Reluctantly, he turned to Nesbit. “Establish an open channel to Alexandria South. Have them bring two fighters to cockpit alert status immediately. Keep the channel open but do not, repeat, do not relay any other information to them at this time.”
Blevins straightened his shoulders. He scanned the generals’ meeting schedule to find out what was slated for the morning. What he saw was not reassuring: a meeting of the Contingency Budgeting Committee was in progress. He believed the generals would not like having that one interrupted.
Reluctantly, Blevins called the Emergency Actions Cell in the War Room. “This is the Watch Center commander. A situation is developing that requires the presence of the battle staff in the Watch Center. Notify the appropriate individuals this is a Priority Three. Standing by to authenticate.” The Emergency Action Cell challenged Blevins with a two-letter code. The colonel studied the page with the authenticator table that Nesbit handed him and gave the proper two-letter response and hung up the phone. If he was lucky, only the generals assigned to the battle staff would respond and not the Air Force chief of staff, General “Get-the-Hell-out-of-Here-by-Sundown” Cunningham.
Gomez regarded Blevins. The colonel was having a hard time controlling the quiver in his voice. “Relax, Gene. This is not a Priority One. It’s only a Three, a potential incident involving Air Force resources within six hours. You did it by the book.” Gomez almost felt sorry for Blevins.
The controller in the command post at Alexandria South Air Base saw the incoming light on the teletype bank flash. In quick succession the sergeant hit the wing commander’s page button and unlocked the cover on the highly classified teletype. Colonel Shaw’s voice came over the intrabase radio before the message started to print. “What’s up, Barry?” he asked.
“Sir, I have a priority message coming in that requires your immediate attention.”
“I’ll be right there,” the colonel answered.
The controller read the message as it started to scroll out of the printer and immediately hit the button sounding the scramble horn in the alert area and the squadrons.
Shaw came through the door of the command post, followed by two anxious deputies. Colonel Sam Hawkins, his DO, whose hawklike nose matched his personality, was right behind him. He was closely followed by a shorter, heavyset man, Colonel Clayton Leason, his deputy for Maintenance (DM). The wing commander read the short message and handed it to his deputies.
“Fun and games,” Shaw said, “telling us to bring our crews up to cockpit alert doesn’t tell us much. Any ideas?”
Sam Hawkins rubbed the back of his neck. “Beats me. Intel hasn’t said anything is brewing. But that’s not unusual, they never have a clue.” He didn’t think much of Intelligence.