“No problem, Sir,” came the response from the pilot. “That’s what we’re here for. We’ll be ready to take you back to DC when you’re done.”
Typical of the boss, thought Colonel Bear Smythson. He never forgets to thank the troops for what they do for him. That pilot would never have guessed the gravity of the news he was carrying to the President.
Even during the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962, when the world had stood on the verge of nuclear Armageddon, the Soviets had pulled back at the eleventh hour. Today, however, the Russians had thrown caution and common sense to the winds and attacked three NATO countries without warning. It was going to take cool heads to ensure that nuclear missiles did not start flying and mutually assured destruction became a reality.
Bear had no doubt that MacWhite was the right man in the right place. Perhaps the only man who could extract America and the world from this horror. But what if the President disagreed? On such small matters as how the pair of them presented and explained the crisis to the President would such decisions be made. Unless she had absolute trust in MacWhite and his team, the President would not feel comfortable working with him. It would be difficult to overstate how much was going to depend on this meeting.
The side door slid open and MacWhite unbuckled his straps, then leaped out with the agility of a twenty-five-year-old, acknowledging as he did so the smart salute from the loadmaster.
Bear followed him into the waiting people carrier, driven by an immaculately turned out female US Marine Corps Lance Corporal, who took them up the front drive of Aspen Lodge. There, in the moonlight, sitting on top of a hill in a three-acre forest clearing, Bear saw the rambling single-story wooden cabin used by US presidents since Franklin D. Roosevelt had converted a camp built for federal civil servants and their families into a presidential retreat and refuge from the rigors of Washington.
The two men were shown into the living room where President Dillon sat chatting with Pete Chiarini, her Senior Executive Assistant, who invariably traveled with her to ensure the umbilical cord back to the White House remained unbroken. Both men knew Chiarini well and shook hands as he came forward to greet them.
It was Bear’s first visit to this room, the President’s inner sanctum, and he took in the atmosphere of relaxed, informal warmth and comfort: wooden walls decorated with paintings by classic American landscape artists, beamed rafters under the low roof, a glowing log fire in the grate to ward off the chill of a spring night in the mountains, deep-cushioned sofas and low table lights around a rustic, wooden coffee table. Large, picture windows, which in daytime would doubtless provide panoramic mountain views, were hidden by well-chosen check curtains.
Dillon, in jeans, a plaid lumberjack shirt and deck shoes, greeted them. “Welcome, gentlemen. I’m very glad to see you,” she said in her warm, vibrant voice, which Bear was beginning to recognize as a key element of the charisma she radiated.
“Madam President,” began MacWhite. “Good evening… or should I say good morning. It’s good of you to see us. I’m sorry we’ve had to disturb you at this time of night, but there’ve been some important developments I need to brief you on in person.”
“Of course, Abe. I appreciate that,” Dillon replied. “Now, you gentlemen have come a long way and it’s late. Please sit down. What can we get you to eat and drink?” She gestured at the sofa opposite where she’d been sitting.
MacWhite, the tall, rangy ex-Special Forces soldier, whose eccentric passion for sea buckthorn and ginger tea was well known, declined food and asked for his usual herbal tea. With some regret—it was going to be a long night and he could have murdered a Danish, but he did not want to be the only one with a mouth full of food while the others were talking strategy—Bear contented himself with strong black coffee.
“I understand you’ve been talking to SACEUR?” With the immediate needs of the men in her team satisfied, she was now all business.
“Yes, ma’am,” said MacWhite. “We’ve also got some satellite photos to show you.” He nodded at Bear, who unpacked his laptop, placed it on the table where Dillon could see it and switched it on. MacWhite then leaned forward to brief her on his recent Tandberg VTC conversation with Admiral Howard. The latter’s report had been devastating in its implications.
“Madam President, Admiral Howard was talking in his capacity as COM EUCOM… forgive me, ma’am.” MacWhite apologized for his free use of acronyms. “That’s Commander European Command. SACEUR is double-hatted as a national, as well as a NATO commander. He reports that USAFE, that’s US Air Force Europe, have managed to get a pair of F-16s out of Riga. They were the advance flight of the eight due to land last night, following your approval of the mission on Thursday. They took off from Lielvārde Air Base in Latvia as it was being attacked by Russian aircraft, as a prelude to what we must assume will be an airborne assault to seize the airfield.”
“What happened to the other F-16s we ordered to Latvia?” Dillon looked anxious, obviously expecting bad news.
“We turned them around in mid-air when we picked up the first intel reports of an imminent Russian attack. There was no point in risking them when any deterrent effect had already been lost.”
Dillon nodded.
“The F-16 flight commander, Major Bertinetti, was ordered to return to his base at Aviano to prevent the Russians capturing any US fast jets, but shortly after takeoff he destroyed two Russian aircraft, probably Su-25 Frogfoots. He was attacked as he was on the runway. So it was self-defense. But the really bad news is that we had around three hundred men from the Four-Thirty-Fifth Contingency Response Group on the ground at Lielvārde. We’ve lost contact with them and we have had to assume they’re either dead or prisoners.”
Dillon looked puzzled and MacWhite explained. “We had to send them there to set up the operating base before the F-16s could land.”
“But the F-16s are no longer there,” Dillon exclaimed in annoyance.
No one had thought to explain the logistical complexities of the operation to her and Bear guessed from her frown that she must have assumed the fighter planes could just fly in and bug out, as and when required.
“Exactly…”
Bear could see that MacWhite had decided to bludgeon through this issue as they had discussed in the helicopter. The President was the Commander-in-Chief and it was MacWhite’s duty to brief and advise her, but she also had to take some responsibility for learning the basics of the way things worked on the ground. This crisis was already developing a dynamic of its own; a dynamic that was speeding up, and MacWhite did not have the time to explain every detail of what was planned and the consequences. That way nothing would get done.
“We weren’t able to pull them out in time. They will inevitably have been involved in defending the air base alongside the Latvians. So it is highly probable that American military personnel have either been, or are currently, in ground combat with the Russians. There’s no way they would have been able to put up more than a token resistance, as they were only carrying their personal weapons. I guess we can expect to see the survivors paraded on Russian TV pretty soon.”
MacWhite paused to let the words sink in.
“So, on top of the US aircraft shot down over eastern Ukraine, we’ve now had US aircraft in combat and shooting down Russians, and US military personnel are on the ground in Latvia and probably also in combat with Russians.” Dillon had recovered her poise. “Sounds to me like we’re in it… like it or not.”
“Dead right, ma’am. But don’t forget one thing… in each case the Russians fired on us first. But it’s not only Latvia, ma’am,” continued MacWhite, as Bear brought up a different file of satellite pictures on his laptop. “The Russians have also attacked the international airports at Tallin in Estonia and Vilnius in Lithuania. As you will see, the intelligence picture we are building suggests that we may well be witnessing a full-scale invasion of the Baltic states. Put bluntly, it makes no strategic sense for Russia to bite off chunks of these small countries. The President has always made it plain that he wants the Baltics back and I fear that is what we’re seeing here.”