Rogue Forces (5 page)

“I wanted to water your eyes, of course, Mr. President,” Jon replied. “What the directors and shareholders don’t know won’t hurt them. Besides, this XC-57 ‘Loser’ is unmanned.”

“‘Loser,’ huh?” Patrick McLanahan commented. “Not the coolest name you’ve come up with, Jon.”

“Why in the world do you call it that?” Martindale asked.

“Because it lost out in the Next Generation Bomber competition,” Jon explained. “They didn’t want an unmanned plane; they wanted it stealthier and faster. I was going for payload and range, and I knew I could arm it with hypersonic standoff weapons, so we didn’t need stealth.

“Besides, I’ve been designing and building unmanned aircraft for years—just because they weren’t comfortable with it doesn’t mean it couldn’t be considered. Isn’t the Next Generation Bomber
supposed
to be
next
generation? The design wasn’t even considered. Their loss. Then, to add insult to injury, I was prohibited from building the plane for ten years.”

“But you built it anyway?”

“It’s not a bomber, Mr. President—this is a multirole transport,” Jon said. “It’s not designed to drop anything; it’s designed to put stuff
into
it.”

Martindale shook his head woefully. “Tap-dancing around the law…who else do I know likes to do that?” Patrick said nothing. “So you use an unmanned aircraft—that’s
not
a bomber—for the test of a laser that’s
not
an offensive weapon, but then put
yourself
in the line of fire to test its effects on a human? Makes perfect sense to me,” Martindale said drily. “But you certainly did water my eyes.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You have how many of the Losers flying now, Jon?” Patrick asked.

“There are just two others—we built three for the NGB compe
tition but stopped work on the second and third when our design was rejected,” Jon replied. “It’s still a research-and-development program, so it was low priority…until you called, Mr. President. We’re considering putting our system on commercial planes as well as high-tech airframes.”

“Let’s have a closer look at it, Jon,” Martindale said.

“Yes, sir. I’ll have it fly over slowly so we can take a look, then I’ll bring it in for a landing. Watch this flyby—you won’t believe it.” He picked up his walkie-talkie and tried to call his control center, but the laser beam had fried it. “I forgot to take it out of my pocket before the test,” he said sheepishly, smiling at the others’ muffled chuckles. “I lose more phones that way. Boomer…?”

“I got it, boss,” Boomer said. “Low and slow?” Jon nodded, and Boomer winked and radioed the mobile control van.

Moments later the XC-57 appeared on final approach. It leveled off just fifty feet above ground, flying amazingly slow for such a large bird, as if it were a huge balsa-wood model drifting gently on a soft breeze.

“Like a pregnant stealth bomber with the engines on the outside,” Martindale commented. “It looks like it’s going to fall out of the sky at any moment. How do you do that?”

“It doesn’t use any normal flight controls or lifting devices—it flies using mission-adaptive technology,” Masters said. “Almost every square inch of the fuselage and wings can be either a lift or drag device. It can be flown manned or unmanned. About sixty-five thousand pounds of payload, and it can take up to four standard cargo pallets.

“But the Loser’s unique system is a completely integral cargo handling capability, including the ability to move containers around inside while in flight,” Masters went on. “That was Boomer’s first idea when he came on board, and we’ve been scrambling to refit all of the production aircraft to include it. Boomer?”

“Well, the problem I’ve always seen with cargo planes is that once the cargo’s inside you can’t do anything with the plane, the space, or
the cargo,” Boomer said. “They’re all wasted as soon as it’s loaded on board.”

“It’s cargo on a cargo plane, Boomer. What else are you going to do with it?” Martindale asked.

“Maybe it’s a cargo plane in one configuration, sir,” Boomer replied, “but move the cargo around and slip a modular container through an opening in the belly, and now the cargo plane becomes a tanker or a surveillance platform. It’s based on the same concept as the Navy’s Littoral Combat Ship that’s all the rage now—one ship that can do different missions depending on which hardware modules you put on board.”

“Plug and play? That simple?”

“It wasn’t easy to get the weight and balance, fuel system, and electrical systems to integrate,” Boomer admitted, “but we think we have the bugs worked out. We pump fuel around between the various tanks to maintain balance. Without the mission-adaptive system, I don’t think it would’ve been possible at all. The Loser can lift cargo or the mission modules inside through the cargo hatch or belly hatch—”

“Belly hatch?” Martindale interrupted him with a wink. “You mean the bomb bay?”

“It’s not a bomb bay, sir, it’s a
cargo access hatch
,” Jon retorted. “It
used
to have a bomb bay, and I didn’t think it was right to just seal it up—”

“So it became a ‘cargo access hatch,’” the former president said. “Got it, Doc.”

“Yes, sir,” Jon said, feigning exasperation at having to continually remind people of his point. “Boomer’s system automatically arranges the modules as necessary for the mission, plugs them in, and turns them on, all by remote control. It can do the same while in flight. When a module is needed or one is expended, the cargo handling system can replace it with another one.”

“What modules do you have available, Jon?” Martindale asked.

“We’re making up new ones every month, sir,” Jon said proudly. “Right now we have boom aerial refueling modules along with hose-and-drogue wingtip pods, which are installed on the ground
and can refuel probe-equipped planes. We also have laser radar modules for air and ground surveillance with satellite datalink; infrared and electro-optical surveillance modules; and the active self-defense module. We’re pretty close on a netrusion module and a Flighthawk control system—launching, directing, and perhaps even refueling and rearming FlightHawks from the Loser.”

“Of course, we would
want
to do attack modules, too, if we could get permission from the White House,” Boomer interjected. “We’re doing pretty well with the high-powered microwave and laser-directed energy technology, so that might happen sooner rather than later—if we can convince the White House to let us proceed.”

“Boomer is highly motivated to say the least,” Jon added. “He won’t be happy until he gets a Loser into space.”

Martindale and McLanahan looked at each other, each instantly reading the other’s thoughts; they then looked at the otherworldly sight of the massive Loser aircraft gliding down the runway in that flying-saucer slow-motion pace.

“Dr. Masters, Mr. Noble…” President Martindale began. Just then, the XC-57 Loser suddenly accelerated with a powerful roar of its engines, climbing out at an impossibly steep angle and disappearing from sight within moments. Martindale shook his head, amazed all over again. “Where can we go to talk, boys?”

O
FFICE OF THE
P
RESIDENT
, Ç
ANCAYA
, A
NKARA
, T
URKEY

T
HE NEXT MORNING

“Close the damn door before I start bawling like a damned baby,” Kurzat Hirsiz, president of the Republic of Turkey, said, wiping his eyes once again before putting away his handkerchief. He shook his head. “One of the dead was a two-year-old. Completely innocent. Probably couldn’t even pronounce ‘PKK.’”

Thin, oval-faced, and tall, Hirsiz was a lawyer, academic, and expert on macroeconomics as well as the chief executive of the Republic of Turkey. He’d served for many years as an executive director of the World Bank and lectured around the world on economic solutions for the developing world before being appointed prime minister. Popular throughout the world as well as in his homeland, he’d received the largest percentage of the vote of the members of the Grand National Assembly in the country’s history when he was elected president.

Hirsiz and his top advisers had just returned from a press conference in Çancaya, the presidential compound in Ankara. He had read the list of names of the dead that had been given to him a few moments before the televised briefing, and had then taken some questions. When he was told by a reporter that one of the dead was a toddler, he suddenly broke down, openly weeping, and abruptly ended the presser. “I want the names, phone numbers, and some details about all the victims. I will call them personally after this meeting,” Hirsiz’s aide picked up the phone to issue the orders. “I will attend each of the families’ services as well.”

“Don’t feel embarrassed breaking down like that, Kurzat,” Ayşe Akas, the prime minister, said. Her eyes were red as well, although she was known in Turkey for her personal and political toughness, something to which her two ex-husbands would certainly attest. “It shows you’re human.”

“I can just hear the PKK bastards laughing at the sight of me crying in front of a roomful of reporters,” Hirsiz said. “They win twice. They take advantage of both a lapse in security procedures and a lapse in control.”

“It just solidifies what we have been telling the entire world for almost three decades—the PKK is and always will be nothing but murderous slime,” General Orhan Sahin, secretary-general of the Turkish National Security Council, interjected. Sahin, an army general, coordinated all military and intelligence activities between Çancaya, the military headquarters at Baskanligi, and Turkey’s six major intelligence agencies. “It is the most devastating and dastardly PKK attack in many years, since the cross-border attacks of 2007, and by far the most daring. Fifteen dead, including six on the ground; fifty-one injured—including the commander of the Jandarma himself, General Ozek—and the tanker aircraft a complete loss.”

The president returned to his desk, loosened his tie, and lit a cigarette, the signal for everyone else in the office to do so as well. “What is the status of the investigation, General?” Hirsiz asked.

“Well under way, Mr. President,” Sahin said. “The initial reports are disturbing. One of the deputy heads of security for the airport
has not responded to orders to return to his post and cannot be located. I’m hoping he’s just on vacation and will check in soon after he hears the news, but I’m afraid we’ll find it was an inside job.”

“My God,” Hirsiz muttered. “The PKK infiltrates into our units and offices higher and higher every day.”

“I think it is a very good possibility that PKK agents have infiltrated into the very office of the Jandarma, the organization tasked with defending the country against those murderous bastards,” Sahin said. “My guess is that Ozek’s travel plans were leaked and the PKK targeted that plane specifically to kill him.”

“But you told me Ozek was going to Diyarbakir on a surprise inspection!” Hirsiz exclaimed. “Is it possible they’ve infiltrated so deeply and are organized so well that they can dispatch a kill squad with a shoulder-fired antiaircraft missile so quickly?”

“It has to be an inside job, but not just one man—that base must be infested with insurgents in deep cover, in highly trusted positions, ready to be activated and deployed within hours with specific attacks tasks.”

“It’s a level of sophistication we’ve dreaded but have been expecting, sir,” General Abdullah Guzlev, chief of staff of the Turkish military forces, said. “It’s time we reacted in kind. We can’t be content to just play defense, sir. We need to go after the leadership of the PKK and wipe them out once and for all.”

“In Iraq and Iran, I suppose, General?” Prime Minister Akas asked.

“That’s where they hide, Madam Prime Minister, like the cowards they are,” Guzlev snapped. “We’ll get an update from our undercover operatives, find a few nests with as many of the murderous bastards as possible in them, and eliminate them.”

“Exactly what will that accomplish, General,” Foreign Minister Mustafa Hamarat asked, “except further angering our neighbors, the world community, and our supporters in the United States and Europe?”

“Excuse me, Minister,” Guzlev said angrily, “but I’m not much
concerned about what someone on another continent thinks while innocent men, women, and children are being murdered by—”

Guzlev was interrupted by a ringing telephone, which was answered immediately by the president’s chief of staff. The aide looked dumbstruck as he put down the receiver. “Sir, General Ozek is in your outer office and wishes to speak to the national security staff!”

“
Ozek
! I thought he was in serious condition!” Hirsiz exclaimed. “Yes, yes, get him in here immediately, and bring a corpsman to monitor him at all times.”

It was almost painful to look at the man when he stepped into the office. His right shoulder and the right side of his head were heavily bandaged, several fingers on both hands were taped together, he walked with a limp, his eyes were puffy, and the parts of his face and neck that were visible were covered in cuts, burns, and bruises—but he was upright, and he refused any assistance from the Çancaya corpsman who arrived for him. Ozek stood at wobbly attention at the doorway and saluted. “Permission to speak to the president, sir,” he said, his voice hoarse from breathing burning jet fuel and aluminum.

“Of course, of course, General. Get off your feet and sit, man!” Hirsiz exclaimed.

The president led Ozek over to the sofa, but the Jandarma commander held up a hand. “I’m sorry, sir, but I must stand. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to get up again,” Ozek said.

“What are you doing here, General?” Prime Minister Akas asked.

“I felt it necessary to show the people of Turkey that I was alive and doing my duties,” Ozek said, “and I wanted the national security staff to know that I have formulated a plan for a retaliatory strike at the PKK leadership. Now is the time to act. We must not delay.”

“I am impressed by your dedication to our country and your mission, General,” the prime minister said, “but first we must—”

“I have a full brigade of
ozel tim
loaded and ready to deploy immediately.”
Ozel tim
, or Special Teams, was the unconventional war
fare branch of the Jandarma’s intelligence department, specially trained to operate close to or in many cases within Kurdish towns and villages to identify and neutralize insurgent leaders. They were some of the best-trained commandos in the world—and they had an equally notorious reputation for brutality.

“Very good, General,” Hirsiz said, “but have you discovered who is behind the attack? Who is the leader? Who pulled the trigger? Who ordered this attack?”

“Sir, that hardly matters,” Ozek said, his eyes widening in surprise that he had to answer such a question. His intense eyes and rather wild-looking features, along with his wounds, made him look anxious and excitable, almost savage, especially compared to the other politicians around him. “We have a long list of known PKK insurgents, bomb makers, smugglers, financiers, recruiters, and sympathizers. Internal security and the Border Defense Forces can pick up the usual suspects and conduct interrogations—let me and
ozel tim
go after the ringleaders.”

President Hirsiz averted his eyes from the fiery general. “Another attack inside Iraq…I don’t know, General,” he said, shaking his head. “This is something that needs to be discussed with the American and Iraqi governments. They must—”

“Pardon me for saying so, sir, but both governments are ineffectual and care nothing for Turkish security,” General Ozek said angrily. “Baghdad is perfectly willing to let the Kurds do whatever they please as long as the oil revenues flow south. The Americans are pulling out of Iraq as fast as they can. Besides, they have never lifted a finger to stop the PKK. Even though they rail on and on about the global war on terror and have labeled the PKK a terrorist outfit, except for occasionally tossing us a few photos or phone intercepts, they haven’t done a damn thing to help us.”

Hirsiz fell silent, worriedly puffing on his cigarette. “Besir is right, sir,” Guzlev, the military chief of staff, said. “This is the time we have been waiting for. Baghdad is clinging by its fingernails to keep its government intact; they don’t have the power to secure their own capital, much less the Kurdish frontier. America has stopped
replacing combat brigades in Iraq. There are just three brigades in the north of Iraq, centered on Irbil and Mosul—almost no one on the border.”

Guzlev paused, noting no opposition to his comments, then added, “But I suggest more than just Special Teams involvement, sir.” He looked at the defense minister, Hasan Cizek, and National Security Council secretary-general Sahin. “I propose a full-scale invasion of northern Iraq.”

“
What
?” President Hirsiz exclaimed. “Are you joking, General?”

“Out of the question, General,” Prime Minister Akas immediately added. “We would be condemned by our friends and the entire world!”

“To what end, General?” Foreign Minister Hamarat asked. “We send in thousands of troops to root out a few thousand PKK rebels? Do you propose we occupy Iraqi territory?”

“I propose a buffer zone, sir,” Guzlev said. “The Americans helped Israel set up a buffer zone in southern Lebanon that was effective in keeping Hezbollah fighters out of Israel. We should do the same.”

Hirsiz looked at his defense minister, silently hoping for another voice of opposition. “Hasan?”

“It’s possible, Mr. President,” the defense minister said, “but it would not be a secret and it would be hugely expensive. The operation would take a fourth of our entire military force, perhaps up to a third, and it would certainly entail calling up the reserve forces. It would take months. Our actions would be seen by all—first of all by the Americans. Whether we are successful depends on how the Americans react.”

“General Sahin?”

“The Americans are in the process of an extended drawdown of forces throughout Iraq,” the secretary-general of the Turkish National Security Council said. “Because it is relatively quiet and the Kurdish autonomous government is better organized than the central government in Baghdad, northern Iraq has perhaps twenty thousand American troops still in the region, assisting in guarding
oil pipelines and facilities. They are scheduled to go down to just two combat brigades within a year.”

“
Two combat brigades
—for
all
of northern Iraq? That doesn’t seem realistic.”

“The Stryker brigades are very potent weapon systems, sir, very fast and agile—they should not be underestimated,” Sahin warned. “However, sir, we expect the Americans to employ private contractors to supply most of the surveillance, security, and support services. This falls in line with President Joseph Gardner’s new policy of resting and restoring ground forces while he increases the size and power of their Navy.”

“Then it
is
possible, sir,” Defense Minister Cizek said. “The Iraqi Kurds’
peshmerga
forces have the equivalent of two infantry divisions and one mechanized division, centered on Mosul, Irbil, and the Kirkuk oil fields—a third of the size of our forces that are within marching distance of the border. Even if the PKK has the equivalent of a full infantry division, and the United States throws their entire ground forces against us, we are still at parity—and, as Suntzu wrote, if your forces are of equal strength: attack. We can do this, Mr. President.”

“We can mobilize our forces within three months, with
ozel tim
scouting enemy positions and preparing to disrupt the private contractors performing surveillance on the border region,” General Ozek added. “The mercenaries hired by the Americans are there only to earn money. If a fight is brewing, they will run for cover and hide behind regular military forces.”

“And what if the Americans stand and fight to help the Kurds?”

“We push south and crush the rebel camps and Kurdish opposition forces until the Americans threaten action, then pull back in contact and set up our buffer zone,” Ozek said. “We have no desire to fight the Americans, but we will not allow them to dictate the terms of our sovereignty and security.” He turned to Foreign Minister Hamarat. “We convince them a no-fly, no-drive buffer zone, patrolled by the United Nations, will enhance security for all parties.
Gardner doesn’t want a ground war, and he certainly doesn’t care about the Kurds. He’ll agree to anything as long as it stops the fighting.”

“That may be true, but Gardner will never admit that publicly,” Hamarat said. “He will openly condemn us and demand a full withdrawal from Iraq.”

“Then we stall for time while we root out all the PKK rat’s nests and wire the border region for sound,” Ozek said. “With six divisions in northern Iraq, we can scour the place clean in just a few months while we promise to leave. We can decimate the PKK enough so they’ll be ineffectual for a generation.”

“And we look like butchers.”

“I don’t care what others may call me as long as I don’t have to worry about my innocent sons or daughters being killed in a damned playground by an aircraft downed by the PKK,” Defense Minister Cizak said bitterly. “It is time to
act
.”