David Luger turned-and looked into the face of Hell.
“General, this is my good friend, Colonel …” But Annie’s introduction was cut short when Luger suddenly turned and strode quickly away. “David!” she called after him. But he was quickly lost in the crowd that had come to see the big Ukrainian bombers up close.
Annie turned back to Smoliy. “I am so sorry, General. I don’t know what … “But when she looked at the big Ukrainian pilot, he was staring at the spot where Luger had been standing, with an odd expression on his face. “General Smoliy? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Harniy,” he replied absently, using his pet name for her, “Beautiful.” “It is nothing. I thought I saw … but it is impossible.” He shook off the image, took Annie’s hand, and kissed it. “He is special to you, no?”
“He is special to me, yes.”
“Good for you,” Smoliy said. “Very good. Take care of him.” Annie tried but couldn’t read anything else in the big general’s eyes to give her a clue about what was going on.
A few hours later, after the welcoming celebrations and brief meetings with the commander of the Air Warfare Center and the wing commander, the Ukrainian and Turkish commanders were escorted to their quarters, and General Peterson walked over to his secure battle staff room inside the base command post. Two officers were there waiting for them. “Well, well, so they do let you out of the sandbox once in a while, eh, Earthmover?” he said to one of the men waiting for him.
“Only on special occasions, Laser,” Lieutenant-General Terrill Samson, commander of the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center, responded with a smile. The big three-star black general extended a huge hand to Peterson. “You remember my deputy, Patrick McLanahan?”
“Sure do,” Peterson said, shaking hands with McLanahan. “That job at the Fifty-seventh Wing is still yours for the asking, Muck. Even though you’re a bomber puke, you’re still the best man for the job. Put your name in the bucket, and you’re in the pipeline. I’ll pick up that phone and set aside an Air War College slot for you right now. Just say the word.”
“Thanks, General,” Patrick said, “but I’m very good right now.” In his mid-forties, solidly built and unassuming, his blond hair slowly but surely turning gray, McLanahan looked more at home as a policeman or a high school wrestling coach, but in fact he had spent most of his professional life designing and testing exotic high-tech warplanes for the U.S. Air Force. He had never really aspired to be a wing commander. What he’d really wanted was what he’d just received — recognition of his talents from his superiors. More than anything else, that made his career complete.
“I’ll bet you are,” Peterson said, smiling and giving Samson a wink. He invited the two to sit down, then offered them cigars. “Heck, we don’t use the battle staff room for anything these days except when you jokers from Dreamland come wandering back to the real world,” he said, “so I turned it back into a smoking-okay room. I know it doesn’t jibe with the smoke-free Air Force, but what the hell.” At that, both Samson and McLanahan lit up. “So you want to take a look at the Backfire, huh? You guys going to start flying them up there in Dreamland now?”
“Maybe,” Samson replied. “They might be the only long-range intercontinental bombers in NATO pretty soon.”
“What are you talking about, Earth—?” Peterson stopped, his jaw dropping open and a curl of smoke escaping. “Holy shit. The rumors are true? The United States will leave NATO? Leave Europe?” Samson nodded. “Do you have details?”
“Not many I can share with you right now,” Samson replied. “American units will leave European bases by attrition, which means that units will slowly draw down over time until they become non-mission effective, at which time they’ll close down. A few units, especially those involved in treaty obligation duties, will be replaced with Reserve and National Guard units until the treaties can be renegotiated.”
“This is incredible!” General Peterson shouted. “The United States will simply leave Europe? Ignore sixty years of partnership in maintaining the peace and simply go home?”
“Afraid so,” Samson said. “There are already bills before Congress authorizing our withdrawal from NATO, but the President has said he will cut off nonessential funding for overseas units. When they run out of money and can’t fulfill their missions, they’ll go back to the States. Funding for NATO itself will draw down over five years.”
“Wow” was all Peterson could say. He shook his head. “What about the other rumors? The Army …?”
“Slash and bum,” Samson said.
“No troops stationed overseas?”
“How about no active duty Army combat troops … anywhere,” Samson said. “None. The only active duty Army will be administrative, support, research, training, and special operations. The rest will be Army Reserve and National Guard only, with no overseas bases on non-U.S.-owned territory. If the country needs an army, the President will have to go before Congress and ask for it, and Congress will have to come up with the money. The only forward-deployed infantry troops will be Marine Corps expeditionary forces serving afloat, and Guard and Reserve forces on training days.”
“My God. What is Thorn smoking? Is he crazy? The American people will revolt against him. Europe will be ripe for the picking.”
“That remains to be seen,” Samson said. “Anyway, we start gearing up for more long-range missions. We’re going to start seeing a lot more foreign air forces here at Nellis training with our guys, because now they have to be responsible for defending their own territories as not only the frontline force, but the sustaining force until the U.S. gears up and deploys the Reserves. HAWC is interested in the tactical and strategic bombers, and right now, that’s the Backfires and any other forces that can carry standoff weapons. We want to see how the Ukraine stacks up against the Turkish Air Force.”
“Judging by Smoliy’s and Sivarek’s personal relationship, I’d say we’re going to have a wild time in the ranges in the next few weeks,” Peterson said. He studied Samson for a moment over his cigar, then turned to Patrick and asked, “You going to be playing along with them? Get some of your supersecret toys up there? Mix it up a little with them?”
“What supersecret toys are you referring to, sir?” Patrick asked, then masked his smile with a cloud of aromatic cigar smoke.
“Ah, don’t give me that brainwashed bullshit, Muck,” Peterson said, with a laugh. “All I ask is that if you want to play on my ranges, brief the crews as much as possible on the performance parameters of whatever you’ll put up against them. You don’t have to give away any secrets — just a heads-up so no one gets hurt. This is still a training environment. I don’t want these guys thinking we’re chasing them across the sky with UFOs or something.”
“Deal,” Patrick said.
Peterson shook his head again, then took a deep drag from his cigar. “No Army. The cockroaches are going to be taking over the kitchen now for sure.”
Later that evening, several Nellis Security Force officers escorted two U.S. Air Force officers into the isolated revetment area on the east side of Nellis Air Force Base, away from the main parking ramp, where the two Ukrainian Tu-22M Backfire bombers were parked. Already there beside one of the bombers was General Roman Smoliy. He was puffing away on a cigar impatiently as the two officers approached.