War with Russia

While some of his predecessors had found the pressure too much and been quietly “returned to unit,” Bear flourished on the challenge. A tank commander by background, he had been noticed not only as an inspirational leader in combat, but also as a highly capable staff officer, a rare combination in any army. He had spent much of the previous decade fighting America’s wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Indeed, on his left wrist he wore a silver bracelet with the names of the soldiers killed in action under his command, an ever-present reminder of the human consequences of war.

As an African American, Bear had had his own mountain to climb in the US Army. A native of Atlanta, Georgia, he may have grown up after the segregation era, but he had never forgotten the humiliation of waiting for the white boys to finish on the fairground rides before the black boys were allowed their turn. He might be a “bird” colonel, who wore a Silver Star for valor proudly on his chest, but when he went to visit his mother in her care home in Atlanta, the few whites he saw in the area looked as if they still expected to push in front of him to get to the fairground rides. There might have been a black president for the previous eight years, but sometimes it still felt as if he was back in Atlanta in the 1970s. The secret to success, he had discovered, was never to let anyone see the hurt it inflicted.

Suddenly he focused on the voice in his earpiece: “We are just picking up news from the BBC’s correspondent in Ukraine of an attack on a primary school in Donetsk, capital of the separatist republic in eastern Ukraine… It appears that over eighty children have been killed in a rocket attack, which the Kremlin is claiming was fired by the Ukrainians. The Russians are saying that this is a direct attack on their people and must be punished. This places the ceasefire in Ukraine in serious jeopardy…”

Bear did not need to hear more. First he slowed to a gentle jog, getting his breath back as he did so. It was never a good move to sound anything but measured and in control when he spoke to his boss. Next he punched a name in the Favorites list on his phone.

Moments later, Abe MacWhite, the President’s National Security Adviser, answered. “Got it, Bear,” was his drawled response. “I’ve heard the news from Ukraine. I’ll be in the office by 0600 hours. I’ll want to see the CIA and NSA reports and who they think is responsible when I get in.”

“Roger, Sir,” said Bear. As he started to run back home, he called the duty officers in America’s two principal overseas intelligence agencies, the Central Intelligence Agency and National Security Agency, followed by the White House car pool. Calls finished, he accelerated into a sprint, relishing the pain in his legs and the burning in his lungs. If this incident in Ukraine developed as he thought it might, it could well be many days before he next had the luxury of an early morning run.

Forty-five minutes later, after a quick shower and a change into his day uniform, crisply pressed by him the night before, a hurried farewell kiss to his wife Tonia, still drowsy in bed, a look at his still-sleeping children and a rapid dash by car into the White House, Bear was at his desk in the West Wing with his first coffee of the day. As he sipped it, he studied the CIA and NSA reports on the attack on the school in Donetsk, conscious that the time for quiet reflection would end the moment his boss arrived.

Then General Abe MacWhite walked into the outer office where Bear was sitting. A four-star general and Commander-in-Chief, Special Operations Command before retiring from active military duty and in his younger days, a feared Delta Force operative, MacWhite was well over six foot tall, as rangy as a Wyoming cowboy.

Bear braced to attention, as the man described by Secretary of Defense Robert Gates as “perhaps the finest warrior and leader of men in combat I ever met” nodded a good morning, but said nothing. He knew the man would have already run ten miles before dawn and would eat but one vegan meal later in the day. Bear was in awe of him but, he acknowledged, he had no desire to be anything like him.

MacWhite picked up the CIA and NSA reports and scanned them. Only when he had finished did he speak.

“Morning, Bear.” The tone was quiet, laconic and full of authority. “How was your run?” There was a glint of amusement in MacWhite’s eyes and Bear grinned back. “A bit more of a sprint than usual, Sir… and yours?”

“Something doesn’t add up here.” MacWhite was scanning the CIA report again and his mind was obviously now in the grim suburb of Donetsk. He looked at the satellite photo of the shattered ruins of the primary school destroyed by a series of devastating salvos from a BM-30 “Smerch” heavy multiple rocket launcher, capable of firing twelve, 300-millimeter caliber rockets in thirty-eight seconds.