Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 03 (85 page)

           
“Good answer,” Mikaso said. He took
a deep breath, expelled it, and said, “I have decided to advise the Parliament
tomorrow morning that I will step down as President and that you serve out the
remainder of my term. What do you think of that, Jose?”

           
Without eyebrows, it was hard to
tell if
Samar
reacted at all to the announcement with
anything that might be considered surprise. With characteristic calm, he nodded
at Mikaso and said with just a hint of a smile, “I approve of your decision,
Mr. President.”

The White House Rose Garden

Wednesday, 2 November 1994,
1007 hours ET

           
“Attention to orders,” Colonel
Michael Krieg, General Richard “Rat Killer” Stone’s aide, began. “Citation to
accompany the award of the Air Force Distinguished Flying Cross to Patrick S.
McLanahan.”

           
General Stone stood in front of
Patrick McLanahan in the Rose Garden of the White House. Just a few steps away
was the President of the
United States
, the Vice President, and just about every
other Cabinet member, important Congressmen, and a host of other dignitaries.
Aligned along the front steps of the White House were twelve crew members— one
B-52 crew from Fairchild AFB in Washington state, one B-l crew from Dyess AFB
in Texas, and Cobb and McLanahan—selected to receive the prestigious DFC in a
White House ceremony. All members of the Air Battle Force had received Joint
Service Commendation Medals, and many had received Bronze Stars for their roles
in the Philippine conflict.

           
“Lieutenant Colonel Patrick S.
McLanahan distinguished himself by meritorious service as Mission Commander,
B-2 A, from
1 October 1994
to
2 November 1994
. During this period, the outstanding
professional skill, exceptional leadership, and selfless efforts of Lieutenant
Colonel McLanahan aided significantly in the successful battle against invading
People’s Republic of
China
forces in the Republic of the
Philippines
.”

           
Anyone who knew about individual citations,
as Patrick did, would know that the unit designation had been purposely omitted
from his award citation—even though this award was unclassified (he had
received the Air Force Cross, the highest Air Force award except for the Medal
of Honor, after the Old Dog mission, but was prohibited from wearing the
ribbon), the citation still had to be doctored to keep secret the fact that
Patrick worked at a secret flight-test facility.

           
“Lieutenant Colonel McLanahan flew
in two combat sorties during the Philippine campaign: the first, while unarmed
and carrying only reconnaissance equipment, Lieutenant Colonel McLanahan flew
his B-2 bomber over heavily defended airspace close to enemy warships to gather
intelligence data vital to the successful execution of the campaign. The second
mission, flown only twenty-four hours later, Lieutenant Colonel McLanahan
destroyed several enemy warships and a key air-defense radar site in enemy-held
territory, was hit by enemy fire several times, yet helped his aircraft commander
to bring their crippled aircraft back and landed safely. The distinctive
accomplishments of Lieutenant Colonel McLanahan reflect great credit upon
himself and the United States Air Force.”

           
General Stone pinned the medal onto
Patrick’s uniform, stepped back, and saluted; Patrick returned the salute, then
shook hands. “Thank you, sir,” Patrick said.

           
“I think it’s time for you to get
out of Dreamland, Patrick,” Stone said. “There’s a job at SAC headquarters
waiting for you. Just say the word.”

           
“I appreciate that,” Patrick
replied, “but as long as General Elliott is at HAWC, that’s where I want to
be.”

           
Stone smiled knowingly and gave a
short laugh. “Yep, he does have that effect on people. Good luck, Patrick.”

           
A short reception was held in the
West Wing afterward, and it was then that Patrick noticed that Jon Masters had
disappeared. After inquiring with one of Paul Cesare’s secretaries, he was
escorted by a Secret Service agent downstairs to the White House Situation
Room, where he found Jon Masters and Brad Elliott watching a newly installed
PACER SKY satellite terminal from the Situation Room conference table.

           
Patrick was not surprised to see
that the screen was focused on the south
Philippines
near Zamboanga. “What’s going on?” he
asked. “Something happening out there ... ?”

           
“No, it’s going along pretty
smoothly,” Elliott replied. “Looks like PACAF air patrols are flying out of
Zamboanga already. We’ve got the
Wisconsin
battle group in the
Sulu Sea
, too.”

           
“It was pretty hairy out there,”
Patrick admitted. “I’m glad the thing defused so quickly. But why are you guys
down here?”

           
“Jon wanted to take a look . . .”

           
“At your satellite terminal?”

           
“No,” Masters said. “At the
Philippines
; at the planes.” He paused for a few
moments, then added: “You know something, Patrick: I’ll never look at this
stuff the same way again.”

           
“What do you mean?”

           
“Well, I always used to see icons
... pictures ... nothing but computer-processed data on those screens,” Jon
said. “I worried more about the quality of the image, how long it’s been since
the data was updated, the readability—and the profits. You know, the usual. . .

           
“But now ... I see the pilots, crew
chiefs, sailors, husbands and fathers out there. I think of how far they are
from home. I wonder if they’ve got enough water, or if they’ve been up for a
long time, or if they’ve been able to call home or gotten a letter from
home—and I worry. I don’t think I’ve worried about
anything
or
anybody
in
ten years. I think about how dangerous it is to be flying at night—hell, I
never used to know, or care, about what time of day it was out there. I never
used to think about those icons, never realized that each symbol represented so
many Americans fighting and dying in a strange land.”

           
He looked at the screen, then at
McLanahan and Elliott with a faint smile and said, “It’s like what you said
back at the Arc Light Memorial on Guam, General, looking at that old B-52:1
only saw the machine out there, but you saw the men. I didn’t understand you
then, but I think I understand now.”

           
“I think you do too, Jon,” Brad
Elliott said. “And you know what? I don’t think you’ll ever be the same.”
Masters nodded, knowing Elliott was right.

           
McLanahan knew it, too. . . .