Rogue Forces

There was no time to pick and choose different warheads for the missiles, so they all sported the same one-thousand-pound blast fragmentation warheads, but some were fuzed to explode on impact, while others were set to explode in the air after reaching their target coordinates. The air-burst missiles were sent over aircraft parking areas, where the massive explosions destroyed anything and anyone for two hundred yards in all directions, while the impact missiles were targeted against buildings, weapon storage areas, fuel depots, and hangars. The OSOs could refine the missile’s target using their real-time imaging infrared datalink, which gave the crews a picture of the target and allowed them to steer the missile precisely on target.

“Genesis, this is Fracture, clean sweep,” Cazzotto radioed. “All weapons expended. How’d we do?”

“We’ll get the next NIRTSat downloads in about an hour,” Patrick replied, “but judging by the images I got from the JASSMs, you did outstanding. All Patriot radars are down; I show you clear to climb and RTB. Good show.”

“See you…well, sometime, Genesis,” Gia said.

“Looking forward to it, Fracture,” Patrick said. And he really meant it.

EPILOGUE

Get mad. Then get over it.

—COLIN POWELL

THE OVAL OFFICE, THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C.

THE NEXT MORNING

“What in hell do you mean, the United States attacked Turkey last night?” President Joseph Gardner shouted. In the Oval Office with him was his chief of staff, Walter Kordus; National Security Adviser Conrad Carlyle; and Secretary of Defense Miller Turner. “I didn’t order an attack! Who? Where…?”

“The target was Diyarbakir, the main air base Turkey was using to launch air strikes into Iraq,” Turner said. “Six B-1B Lancer bombers launched from the United Arab Emirates—”

“On whose authority?” the president thundered. “Who gave them the order?”

“We’re not sure, sir…”

“Not sure? Six supersonic heavy bombers loaded with bombs takes off from a base in the Middle East and bombs an air base in Turkey, and no one knows who authorized it? Who was the commander?”

“Her name is Cazzotto.”

“Her? A woman bomber-wing commander?”

“It apparently is an engineering squadron, sir,” Turner said. “They take planes out of mothballs and make them operational again. They were tasked with providing air support for operations in Afghanistan and Iraq.”

“And they just blasted off and bombed Turkey? How is this even possible? Who ordered them to do it?”

“Colonel Cazzotto refuses to talk, except to say that the person that expedited the mission will make contact,” Turner said.

“This is unacceptable, Miller,” the president said. “Find that person and throw him in prison! This is insanity! I’m not going to allow six B-1 bombers to fly around anytime someone feels like taking out some buildings.” He accepted a note from Kordus, read it, then crumpled it up and threw it on his desk. “So what did they hit?”

“They destroyed two Patriot radar sites on their way in,” Turner said, “then they hit a variety of military targets at Diyarbakir, including parked and taxiing aircraft, hangars, fuel depots, and command and control centers. Very effective target selection. They used Joint Air to Surface Strike Missiles, which are high-precision subsonic conventionally armed cruise missiles. All the planes came back safely.”

“And put in the stockade, I hope!”

“Yes, sir. It appears that the Turks were gearing up for a major air raid into Iraq. They had over a hundred tactical planes ready for takeoff at Diyarbakir. Looks like they were trying to get some licks in before we set up the no-fly zone in northern Iraq.”

This somewhat mollified the president’s rage, but he shook his head. “I want some answers, Miller, and I want some butts!” he shouted. Kordus answered the flashing phone, looked at the president until he looked back, then nodded toward the door to the president’s private office, adjacent to the Oval Office. “Christ, just what I need when the shit starts flying—a VIP visitor.”

“Who is it?” Carlyle asked.

“President Kevin Martindale.”

“Martindale? What does he want?”

“Beats me, but he’s been waiting for an hour,” Gardner said. “I’ll get rid of him. Get me some answers, Miller!” He entered his private study and closed the door. “I’m sorry, Mr. President,” he said. “Something urgent came up.”

“That happens a lot in this business, Mr. President,” Kevin Martindale said, standing and shaking hands with his former secretary of defense. “I’m sorry for the unexpected visit, but there’s something I had to run past you.”

“Can it wait for lunch, Kevin?” Gardner asked. “You know, the whole Turkey thing is threatening to come off the hinges—”

“It has to do with Turkey,” Martindale said.

“Oh? What about it?”

“The air strike on Diyarbakir last night.”