Oath of Office

The assistant Air Boss in the tower — known as the Mini Boss — ran the forward cats, but an officer in a yellow shirt — catapult officers were made famous from their exaggerated dancelike nonverbal communication movements to Kenny Loggins in the movie Top Gun—gave the go to launch. Each catapult worked independently, and Gramps’s plane was propelled down the deck next in a cloud of steam. All four F/A-18s in the division — Gramps, Swipe, Minion, and Frodo — would join up at an Air Force KC-135 at coordinates roughly a hundred miles off the Cameroonian coast, prior to going what Navy pilots referred to as “in country.” The bar attached to the nose gear of Jolivette’s airplane was already affixed to the shuttle that would take him down the cat-track. He was good to go. Martin-Baker of the UK offered a membership in the Ejection Tie Club, featuring a commemorative necktie to those elite souls whose lives were saved during an emergency ejection in one of its company’s seats. It was a cool tie, but not something Jolivette aspired to own. Still, he made certain the seat was armed.

He glanced left at the catapult officer, then performed a “wipeout” of the controls, to be certain the fly-by wire computer system and hydraulics that controlled the flight surfaces all functioned as they should. Satisfied, Lieutenant Jolivette turned to salute the catapult officer, who saluted him back, took one final look to make sure everything was good to go, and then dropped to one knee, pointing down the catapult.

Left hand on the throttle, Jolivette reached up with his right to grab the metal bar on the upper right side of the jet’s canopy. Six seconds later, the steam catapult worked in tandem with the aircraft’s engines, accelerating the jet from zero to 150 knots in roughly two seconds, flinging it off the end of CVN 77 and over the surface of the ocean. The tail dipped slightly as the onboard computer began flying the jet the moment it left the deck. Jolivette felt the sudden lack of acceleration. His right hand dropped from the bar on the canopy to the stick at the same moment he pushed the throttle forward with his left.

The flight deck crew could launch a plane every couple of minutes. Minion and Frodo would follow in seconds. Counting the time it took them to refuel, the four-person strike team would be doing their thing over Cameroonian airspace in less than ninety minutes.

32

President Ryan kept his tone conciliatory, caging his true feelings behind the knowledge of what was about to happen.

“The problem with the United States and our fights is most generally what we call ROE. Are you familiar with that term, François?”

“I am, Mr. President,” Njaya said. “Rules of Engagement.”

“Exactly,” Ryan said. “The rules under which our warfighters can unleash the devastating force at their fingertips get muddled. In our zest to be the world’s police force and protect the weak, we try very hard not to harm civilians, to use a measured response. Our airmen, soldiers, sailors, and Marines often go in with one hand figuratively tied behind their backs. They act as advisers, trainers, and whatnot — when they are in actuality trained very well to inflict maximum damage on the enemies of the United States.”

“Mr. President, I can assure you—”

“Hear me out,” Ryan said. “The United States tries to fight fair. You know that.” His words took on a foreboding timbre, resolute, unyielding. It was the voice he used when Jack Junior had taken the car without permission. The one each of Sally’s boyfriends had heard when he’d first met them. Cathy said it sounded like he’d been gargling rocks. “But here’s the deal, François, war with the United States will always be asymmetrical. When our men and women go in with clear objectives, they do not falter and they do not lose. Do you understand what I am saying, François?”

“I do, but you must understand—”

“Men loyal to you fired on a United States embassy,” Ryan continued. “They took innocent Americans hostage. I am sure you were not complicit in this travesty. And I will help you restore peace to your country. You can have the exact numbers later, but late last night, United States Marines arrived in Niger. About that same time, an additional company arrived in Chad. An undisclosed number of U.S. Special Forces personnel flew in last night as well. No less than eleven MQ-9 Reaper drones, each armed with Hellfire missiles, loiter over your skies. But I find the best way to deal with tyrants is through their pocketbook. Ten hours ago, I issued an executive order to what we call the Office of Foreign Assets Control to—”

“Mr. President, please—”