Plan of Attack pm-12 Read online

  “Have Griffin contact me as soon as he’s briefed, General,” Thorn said. “What about civil defense and securing the blast sites?”

  “The governors of each affected state and several of the neighboring states have activated their national guards,” Secretary Goff responded, “and we’re working with the Federal Emergency Management Agency and U.S. Northern Command to secure the impact sites and provide relief services. It’s too early to tell the extent of contamination — the weapons were detonated underground but were extremely small, so the hazard of radioactive fallout might be minimal.”

  “Thank God,” the president murmured. He rubbed his eyes wearily. “All right, everyone, my first order of business is to find out what we lost and what we have left. I can’t say much of anything to the American people or to the world right now, except that I’m alive and our capital and government are still functioning. But very soon everyone’s going to wonder what our first move will be. That’s what I need to figure out. We’ll talk again in one hour, or sooner if conditions warrant.” And the connection was broken.

  Battle Mountain Air Reserve Base

  A short time later

  Nice to see you again, Tagger,” Patrick McLanahan said. He was in the Battle Management area of the command center, speaking to Colonel Trevor Griffin at Air Intelligence Agency headquarters via a secure video teleconference. Patrick McLanahan was busily checking the streams of data being fed to Battle Mountain from the Seventieth Intelligence Wing, Fort Meade, Maryland, which had several technicians and experts poring over intelligence-satellite imagery recently received from space. “Glad to have you running the show there now.”

  “I just wish it hadn’t happened because of a damned Russian sneak attack,” Griffin said.

  “We’ll take care of that problem shortly, Tagger,” Patrick said. “I damned well guarantee it.” There was then a brief moment of silence as they thought about the devastation that had come down on Offutt, Minot, Ellsworth, Whiteman, and all the other targets of Russian cruise missiles. America had suffered its worst-ever attack on its own soil — and now it was their job to find a way to give the president of the United States some options other than initiating a nuclear response.

  “The data feed is looking good,” Patrick said to break the reverie.

  “This stuff is hot off the presses,” Trevor Griffin said. “The last NIRTSat overflight was just five minutes ago. Man, you guys have the best toys.”

  They did indeed, Patrick thought. The four-satellite NIRTSat—“Need It Right This Second” satellite — constellation launched just a few hours ago by Jon Masters was speeding over southern Siberia, photographing hundreds of thousands of square miles of territory with ultrabroadband radar and high-resolution imaging infrared cameras every twenty minutes, then instantly beaming any returns back to Battle Mountain. The images were analyzed by comparing their size, density, and heat signatures to a catalog of known military objects.

  “Okay, guys, here’s what we got,” Tagger began. “Let’s start with the bombers. The Russians took some serious hits with their bomber fleet on their attack, but they were very effective and bit a big chunk out of our asses. They easily have over a hundred and fifty or so planes left, spread out across ten bases. They lost about a quarter of their fleet in the initial attack, but it’s not slowing them down one bit. It definitely looks like they’re reloading and rearming and getting ready for another swipe — and this time they’ll have an easier time of it. Their next attack could well reach every base and every government office in North America.

  “Their tanker tactics are very impressive — they’re using a level of organization and sophistication that equals ours,” Tagger observed. “They launch the bombers with maximum ordnance and minimal fuel, refuel them with unit tankers as they cruise-climb to altitude, then top them off with task-force tankers from Yakutsk before they begin their launch run. They’re tanking all the way to feet-dry, and they have a huge reserve. By the time the bombers return to Siberia, the tankers have loaded up at Yakutsk, and they go out and meet the bombers and just repeat the whole process back to landing. Questions?”

  Patrick said nothing, but he nodded slowly as he studied the satellite imagery of the bases Griffin had just briefed.

  “Let’s take a look at the Russian land-based missiles now,” Tagger went on. “The SS-18s at Aleysk and Uzhur are definitely warmed up and ready to go. Uzhur has the largest deployment, with four launch-control centers each controlling twelve silos. Aleysk has just two launch-control centers.

  “Patrick, you asked about the composition of the launch-control centers. The Russians did away with modernizing their SS-18 LCCs in favor of improving their mobile-missile survivability. They assumed we were going to smack their LCCs hard, so they emphasized fast-reaction silo launches versus the idea of riding out an attack and then launching. So the answer is, yes, a weapon like a Longhorn with bunker-busting technology — a hardened penetrating nose cap, delayed fuze, and booster motor — along with an enhanced-yield but nonnuclear payload such as a thermium-nitrate warhead can, we believe, take out a SS-18 launch-control center. We just have to be sure that we get to them before they launch.

  “The real trick has been the SS-25s,” Trevor Griffin went on. “Those bastards are road-mobile, and they’ve had plenty of time to deploy. We took a chance and started checking out every known garrison location for the SS-25s, and I think we’ve hit pay dirt.

  “The largest missile wing, Kansk, has forty-six units, but all of them relocated to their garrisons. Although they can still launch from a garrisoned position, we’re hoping that’s a sign of either equipment malfunctions or crew disillusionment. The smallest wing, Drovyanaya, hasn’t even moved their missiles off the base yet — they’re all in their security garages. Both of these wings are the most geographically isolated, so I think without a lot of adult supervision, the local commanders decide on their own whether to deploy their rovers or not. Looks like in these two cases they decided on very limited deployments.

  “The other three missile wings are more difficult to surveille,” Tagger admitted. “They dispersed their units quickly, and they’re not using their garrisons as much — perhaps only a quarter of the units are in garrison locations. Barnaul, Novosibirsk, and Irkutsk’s missiles are likely to escape. We can get the ones in the garrisons, but that still leaves over seventy units unaccounted for.”

  “We’ll target the ones in the garrisons and hope we catch a break on the rest,” Patrick said.

  “We’ve got the garrisons covered,” David said. “The SS-25s may be mobile, but in their garrisons they’re detectable and stoppable, and out in the open they’re still detectable and as vulnerable as a tree. StealthHawks fitted with ultrawideband sensors can look inside the garrison shelters easily, and millimeter-wave radar and imaging infrared sensors can spot transporter-erector-launchers under foliage and hidden by camouflage.”

  “We definitely got a surprise here,” Tagger went on. “We weren’t looking for them, but they popped up on our overflights anyway: activity at the old SS-24 garrisons at Krasnoyarsk.”

  “What?” Patrick remarked. “SS-24s on the move?” The SS-24 “Scalpel” rail-mobile intercontinental ballistic missile was the weapon that changed the course of arms-limitation-treaty talks in the 1990s. The SS-24 was a copy of the American Peacekeeper ICBM, a long-range missile designed to carry ten independently targeted nuclear warheads to ranges out to ten thousand miles. Like the original Peacekeeper missile, the SS-24 was designed from the outset to travel on the national railway system, mixing in with Russia’s substantial train population and making targeting virtually impossible. At the beginning of the 1990s, Russia had 150 three-missile units deployed throughout the country. They could be launched anywhere with just a few minutes’ warning time, and the warheads they carried were the most accurate carried by any Russian ballistic missile.

  The second Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty signed between the United States and Russia was sup
posed to eliminate the long-range rail-mobile SS-24 and Peacekeeper missiles, and to make all land-based ICBMs carry only single rather than multiple warheads. The United States deactivated its last Peacekeeper missile in 2002 and destroyed its silos; the Russians were supposed to transfer the rail-mobile SS-24s to older SS-18 silos and make them carry single warheads only.

  “Obviously the Russians have been cheating on START II,” Tagger summarized. “I think we might have as many as twelve SS-24s on the move.”

  “Dave?”

  “The SS-24s are the biggest threats,” Luger said. “They have the longest range, carry more warheads, and are more accurate than anything else the Russians have.” He sat back in his seat and finally shook his head. “It’s not going to work, Muck,” he said. “Even before we found the SS-24s, we were pushing it — now I don’t think we have a chance. Even if we gain all of the Air Force’s surviving bombers, we just can’t surge enough airframes to drive ten thousand miles and take all these locations at once. Some will leak through.”

  Patrick remained silent for a few more moments, then turned to Luger. “I know how to surge our planes,” he said. “I need Rebecca, Daren, Hal, and the entire staff ready to do some planning — but I think I know how we can do it. I’ll need to speak with General Venti in about an hour.” He nodded his thanks to Trevor Griffin, then asked, “Anything else, Tagger?”

  “Sure,” Griffin said matter-of-factly. His face broke out with a sly, boyish smile. “Want to know where Anatoliy Gryzlov is now?”

  “What? You know where Gryzlov is?”

  “Air Intelligence Agency routinely tracks his command posts and monitors radio and data traffic from Russia’s forty-seven various alternate military command centers scattered around the country,” Tagger said. “Gryzlov is crafty. He launched two sets of airborne military command posts before the attacks began, and there’s a lot of confusing and conflicting radio traffic, meant as diversions. But I think we’ve pinpointed his actual location: Ryazan’, at an underground military facility next to a deactivated military base, about a hundred forty miles southeast of Moscow. We noticed shortly after the base closed that a substantial amount of work was being done on Oksky Reserve, a game and forest preserve adjacent to the old military base; when we saw a lot of dirt being moved but didn’t see any structures being built aboveground, we suspected the Russians of building either an underground weapon-storage facility or a command center. Gryzlov also happens to be from Ryazan’ Oblast.”

  “How certain are you that he’s there?”

  “As certain as we can be, boss.”

  “Which is…?”

  Tagger shrugged. “Sixty percent sure,” he admitted.

  Patrick nodded, thankful for Griffin’s honesty. “Thanks for the info, Tagger,” he said. “Let’s concentrate on nailing those ICBMs, and then maybe we’ll get a shot at the general himself. But I want those missiles — especially the SS-24s.”

  Aboard the E-4B National Airborne

  Operations Center Aircraft

  Hours later

  McLanahan is on a secure link, sir,” General Richard Venti said to the secretary of defense, Robert Goff. Along with them were members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff or their designees — all of the chiefs did not make it on board the NAOC before it departed Washington.

  “Oh, brother!” Goff exclaimed. “Wonder what in hell he wants? Where is he?”

  “Battle Mountain, sir.”

  “I should have known,” Goff said. He wearily massaged his temples, but nodded. Venti pointed to the communications technician, and moments later Patrick McLanahan appeared on the video-teleconference monitor, wearing a flight suit. Goff recognized most of the officers seated with him: David Luger, the new commander of McLanahan’s old unit; Rebecca Furness, the commander of the high-tech bomber wing at Battle Mountain Air Reserve Base; her ops officer, Daren Mace; and one of Furness’s squadron commanders, the one in charge of the modified B-52 bombers, Nancy Cheshire. “I see you are alive and well, General,” Goff said.

  “That’s correct, sir,” Patrick replied.

  “I also see you’re in flight gear. I hope it’s just for convenience’s sake, General. I believe you’re no longer on flight status, pending the outcome of your court-martial.”

  Rebecca Furness looked at McLanahan in some surprise — obviously she hadn’t heard this development. “I’ll fly only if I’m ordered to do so, sir,” McLanahan responded.

  “That would be a first,” Goff said dryly. “I don’t have much time, General. What’s on your mind?”

  “Upon General Luger’s authority, our attack and support forces are holding in secure survival orbits off the West Coast until we can determine what the Russians intend to do,” Patrick replied. “We have a total of eight strike and six support aircraft airborne, plus five more strike aircraft and two support aircraft safe on the ground, operational and ready to go.”

  “That’s good news, General,” Goff said, “because right now you represent about one-third of America’s surviving bomber force.”

  Luger’s and Furness’s faces turned blank in surprise, but Patrick’s was as unflinching and stoic as ever. “We count two B-2As, two B-52Hs, and four B-1B bombers that survived the attacks on Whiteman, Minot, and Ellsworth,” he said.

  “How do you know that so quickly, General? We don’t even have that information yet.”

  “The Air Battle Force routinely monitors all military aircraft movement, sir, especially the heavy bombers and tankers,” Dave Luger said. “We keep up with where every aircraft is, even those that aren’t active — in fact, we keep track of where every aircraft component and part is, right down to the tires. We build a lot of equipment from off-the-shelf parts and non-mission-ready airframes.”

  “Impressive,” Goff muttered. “So what’s the purpose of the call, General McLanahan?”

  “Sir, I’m ready to take command of Eighth Air Force and begin a counteroffensive against the Russian Federation,” Patrick said.

  “I’m not in the mood for jokes, McLanahan,” Goff said. “I’ve already picked officers to replace the men we lost in the attack. Besides, you’re not in line to take command of anything.”

  “That’s…not exactly true, sir,” General Venti said.

  “What are you talking about, General?”

  “Sir, Patrick McLanahan was the senior wing commander of Air Intelligence Agency,” Venti explained. “Upon the death of General Houser, Patrick assumes command of Air Intelligence Agency—”

  “What?”

  “—and he also becomes the deputy commander in charge of intelligence of several units and agencies, including Air Combat Command, Space Command, the Air Force, and U.S. Strategic Command, and even reports to the National Security Council, the Joint Chiefs, and the White House.”

  “Not unless I say so!” Goff snapped. “I’ll put someone else in that position — someone who’s not about to be court-martialed!”

  “As commander of Air Intelligence Agency, General McLanahan is an ex officio deputy commander of Eighth Air Force, in charge of intelligence operations,” Venti went on. “And since there was no vice commander, the senior ranking deputy commander takes charge.”

  “McLanahan.”

  “Yes, sir. And as commander of Eighth Air Force, McLanahan also becomes a deputy commander in charge of bomber forces for U.S. Strategic Command.”

  “Wait a minute — are you saying that McLanahan is going to advise the STRATCOM commander on the bomber force — or what’s left of it?” Admiral Andover asked. “With all due respect, sir, you can’t allow that to happen. No one in the Navy trusts McLanahan. Sir, McLanahan is the last guy you should choose to represent the Air Force or the bomber force in STRATCOM.”

  Goff was thunderstruck — but not for long. He thought for a moment, then waved a hand at Andover. “I don’t trust him either, Admiral. But he saw the signs and called this conflict a long time ago, and he was frighteningly accurate.” He paused, then turned to General V
enti. “Dick, you know I can make all this hocus-pocus chain-of-command shit go away like that. What are your thoughts on this?”

  “Technically, McLanahan should take command because of his rank, but General Zoltrane does have more command and headquarters experience than McLanahan, and I think he knows the force better,” Venti admitted. “Charlie Zoltrane would definitely be the better choice. We’re at war here, sir — we need someone with true command experience to take charge of the strategic nuclear air fleet.”

  Goff thought for a moment, then nodded. “I agree. Dick, direct General Kuzner to order Zoltrane to take command of Eighth Air Force, and have him report to us via secure video teleconference as soon as possible,” Goff ordered. “He’ll have to reorganize his staff and line units on the fly. Then have Kuzner direct Colonel Griffin to take command of Air Intelligence Agency, and have him prepare to brief the leadership by video teleconference.”

  “Sir, I have a way to downgrade or perhaps even effectively neutralize Russia’s strategic nuclear forces that might threaten North America,” McLanahan interjected. Robert Goff paused and swallowed, but he was going to repeat his order to upchannel his plan through the proper chain of command, when McLanahan added, “I can set it in motion in less than thirty-six hours — and I can do it without using nuclear weapons.”

  “I’m going to be perfectly honest with you, General McLanahan: No one, including myself, trusts you,” Robert Goff said seriously, ignoring McLanahan’s words. “You have certainly set a record for how many times a line officer can be busted, driven out of office, demoted, and charged with insubordination, refusing to follow orders, and conduct unbecoming. I think you have even managed at your young age to eclipse Bradley James Elliott as the biggest uniformed pain in the ass in U.S. history.”