Tomahawk (33 page)

“Can we get a chase bird out of some other base?”

“No. It's got to have the tone generator, and that's down at Cold Lake.”

“Shit Okay, show me what to do.”

Geddes installed him at the fold-down Teletype keyboard. Dan read the conversation as far as it had gone. The last message read:

ALCM LAUNCH HAS BEEN SCRUBBED DUE TO BAD WEATHER OVER TRACKING STATIONS IN THE US. GLCM LAUNCHES SKED FOR ALTERNATE TIME WINDOWS IN N-S CORRIDOR WILL ALSO POSTPONE TILL STORM FRONT PASSES. HARRUP, SCMTT

“Hey, this is bullshit. They're shutting us down. You better get Steve up here. And the Canadian—Thompson.”

As Geddes dispatched the messenger, Dan asked him, “Who's sending this?” The deputy said SCMTT was combined Canadian-U.S. test team command. Harrup was the U.S. rep from SAC.

“Oh yeah, I met him. Hey.”

“What?”

“A light dawns It wouldn't look real good for the air-launched guys if they couldn't shoot and we could. Would it? Can I send on this thing?”

“Sure. Go ahead and type in what you want. Just remember this is an uncovered circuit.” But he was already hunting and pecking.

GLCM FLIGHT E IS READY TO LAUNCH ON SCHEDULE. DO NOT UNDERSTAND NATURE OF PROBLEM REQUIRING SCRUB—LCDR D LENSON USN JCM REP IN FIELD. PRIMROSE

NATURE OF PROBLEM IS THAT POSITIVE CONTROL IS REQUIRED FOR ALL CRUISE FLIGHTS OVER CANADIAN TERRITORY. CANADIAN-US TEST PROTOCOLS REQUIRE TWO CHASE PLANES WITH VFR HANDOFF. SCMTT

IS THIS REALISTIC REQUIREMENT CONSIDERING UNPOPULATED NATURE OF TEST CORRIDOR? DUGWAY

“Jeez, who else we got listening to this?” Dan asked Manhurin, who had just arrived and was reading over his shoulder. The flight commander said NORAD, SAC, Primrose, Dugway, CFB Edmonton, Bagotville, the AWACs bird, Cold Lake, Tinker, and Blytheville, Arkansas.

CONTRARY TO WHAT USAF SEEMS TO THINK, THERE ARE NATIVE POPULATIONS IN THE OVERFLIGHT AREA. EDMONTON

Dan typed:

UNDERSTAND THAT, BUT WE'VE BEEN FLYING TOMAHAWK OVER AREAS OF CALIFORNIA AND NEW MEXICO THAT ARE FAR MORE HEAVILY POPULATED THAN THE NORTHWEST TERRITORIES. ARE ANY CHASE AIRCRAFT AVAILABLE DOWNRANGE? JCM PRIMROSE

TWO F-15S ARE ASSIGNED FOR SEGMENTS A AND B OUT. OF ALASKA. NORAD

THIS SEEMS ADEQUATE. THE RISK OF IMPACTING ON TOP OF ANYTHING IN SPARSELY POPULATED AREA IS LOW. USAF FLIGHT ONE OF THE 868TH HAS COME A LONG WAY TO TEST THIS BIRD IN ADVERSE CONDITIONS. JCM

IS IT JCM'S OFFICIAL RECOMMENDATION THAT THE TEST CONTINUE AS SCHEDULED REGARDLESS OF AVAILABILITY OF FULL CHASE TEAM? SCMTT

He thought that one over, hands above the keys. Harrup was asking for his balls on the bartop. If by some horrendous mischance the missile did come through the snow-covered roof of some local's house, there'd be no question who was responsible. For a moment, he wondered if he should play it safe. Then he thought, Shit, my letter's in. He turned to Manhurin, who was still at his shoulder, then swung around to Thompson, the Canadian
liaison, who was listening, too. “You guys buy what I'm saying? Or should I leave you out of it?”

“Shit, yeah. Let the fat lady sing.”

“I'm gonna steal that one. K. T.?”

The Canadian hesitated, then shrugged. With a delicious sense of liberation, Dan typed:

JCM ACCEPTS LACK OF CHASE OVER PART OF FLIGHT PATH IN THE INTEREST OF A REALISTIC TEST UNDER WORST-CASE CONDITIONS. FLIGHT COMMANDER AND CF LIAISON ON SITE CONCUR. LET THE FAT LADY SING.

The print head remained motionless. “Come on, you twits, take the dare,” he muttered. Then it blurred into motion, chattering its way across the paper.

AT REQUEST OF JCM REP ON SITE, AND UNLESS OBJECTED TO BY NORAD AND NATIONAL DEFENCE HQ OTTAWA NOW BEING CONTACTED, GLCM 207 WILL LAUNCH ON SCHEDULE 1030Z. SCMTT

“Reveille. Breakfast in ten.”

He grunted, turned over, then remembered the launch this morning. And if it went wrong, his name would be pasted all over it. He got up and pulled his gear on again.

Outside it was still dark and the wind made it hard to stand. Someone had strung lines during the night, rope stretched on sticks between the tents and the other points in the dispersal area. Like the lines they'd rigged on
Ryan
when she'd fought an Arctic storm. Christ, why had he butted in last night? He didn't want to stand before an other military court. He tried to shove his misgivings aside as he followed other bent shadows to the mess tent. No MREs today, but eggs and toast and coffee. He ate fast, eager to get over to the LCC. But when he was outside again, halfway there, he reversed his direction and fought his way back along the line through the dark to the secondary control trailer, the one Steve Manhurin used as a command post.

The major was sitting in front of the console. Dan
stripped off his parka, noticing the test director, the launch crew, the maintenance guys, and the contractor reps. The air was clammy, both cold and humid, as if the van had been submerged a long time. A fax machine beeped, and he saw it was a weather map emerging. Yeah, the blizzard was coming right over them.

“Where are we, Steve?” he asked the Air Force officer's back.

“Looking at our launch window opening at ten-ten. We already got the execute message.”

“How's it look?”

“There was more discussion on scrubbing. I laid it on the line. Afraid I had to use your name in vain. Just between us, how much authority you got up there?”

“At JCM?”

“Yeah.”

“Enough to decide what pictures go on my desk,” said Dan. “But this is what my boss wants—to wring the system out. I think if it comes down to push and shove, he'll back me.”

“Anyway, they bought it. We just better not fall out of the sky on somebody's dog team.” Manhurin told Geddes, “Okay, take it away.”

The crew commander started through the checklist, person by person, asking if anything could go wrong. One of the techs expressed concern over a section of fiberoptic cable that had apparently been gnawed on by something at some point during the road march, but when pressed, he said it had tested okay, that all he was doing was surfacing the issue. They discussed whether the extreme cold would affect the elastomer seals and O-rings on the missiles. They came to no clear conclusion, but Dan added it as a point of concern in his wheelbook.

When it was Decker's turn, the security officer said, “We got only one possible showstopper. That's these two, three peaceniks loose in the woods. My guys are good, but we don't have wire, or any physical barrier, and the visibility's steadily going down.”

Manhurin said quietly, “You're in counterterrorist deployment, right?”

“Right. And I'll defend us, Steve. Make no mistake about that”

‘Then that's about all we can do, I guess. All right, missileers. Make or break time, and just to make it interesting, we got some major winter weather incoming. If we can launch in this, and get a guide to a hit, we're going to look golden. If we don't, the winged wonders will eat our lunch. Let's go out there and make it happen.”

Dawn broke as they went to their stations. Dan stood watching the tops of the aspens poking the gray sky. Still snowing. Then the cold grew too intense to stand, so he waded to the test van. The techs there treated him with a mixture of standoffishness and compassion. Of course, they'd listened in on the exchange at 0300. Well, soon he'd know if he was a hero or a leper.

At T minus five, with alignment and target download complete, he went outside again. He'd intended to watch the final checklist in the primary LCC, but now thought, I've seen countdowns before. So he just stood leaning into the wind, watching the shadowy form of the TEL off between the trees. The falling snow wavered between him and it. The launcher was erected, the single steel rod looking spindly and fragile under the bulk of the lifted container. The camo netting flapped wildly in the icy wind.

Decker seized his elbow. The security officer yelled into his ear, “You're inside the safety range. Get back, unless you want perforated.”

Dan nodded and followed him away between the trees till they reached a little tumbledown bunker with half its roof fallen in. Beside it lay the remains of a slit trench. He wondered what they'd tested here before, and how long ago…. A knot of observers and off-duty guys stood huddled against the flaking concrete, in the lee of the wind. The exposure masks made it tough to tell who they were, but he could make out Sparky's dark eyes, and Thompson's parka had a rocker that read CANADA. Decker handed him a little package: earplugs. He crimped the yellow foam and worked them under his hood. Now the world went silent. The trees were whipping violently, streamers of snow leaping and writhing along the ground
where the forest opened. Yet all took place in peace, save for the thudding of his heart.

He was glancing at his watch for about the tenth time, wondering if it had stopped in the cold, when they came out of the woods.

They came as low-bent shadows, crouching and rising as their ski poles rose and dipped. Like gray-white ghosts, slicing between the trees, in a cupped line.

He stared in disbelief. Then Decker was yelling into the radio, “Perimeter penetration. Perimeter penetration, one four zero! Pull in, close-in defense!” Breaking into a run, Decker drew his sidearm. Dan ran after him clumsily in the heavy suit and boots.

The line converged, sweeping inward around them as they stumbled out onto the field. Now, closer, he could see that their upper bodies were masked by white smocks or capes. Behind them more white-parkaed figures came into view out of the woods. The security force was moving fast on snowshoes, but not as fast as those they pursued could travel on the long cross-country skis.

Then blowing snow erased his vision, and he ran blindly, cursing, afraid every moment that the booster would fire. Decker was a few yards ahead, and Dan jerked the earplugs from his ears and yelled, “Cancel the firing! Hold the launch!” But either the security chief didn't hear him or didn't want to stop. Then he saw why.

Pointed at the sky, it must have been hard to miss. It loomed over the trees, above the white flurries that blew close along the ground.

The sweeping sickle of intruders was converging not on them but on the launcher.

He panted, trying to speed up, but he was losing his breath. It was rough going through the deep snow.

Decker halted. He had his sidearm cocked, angled up. He squinted into the tree line, talking into the radio. Dan caught up to him, sucking wind. He followed the troops with his eyes, then blinked. They were dropping to one knee, raising their weapons.

Decker said into the radio, “Lock and load, boys. Lock and load.” As his own weapon came down, steadied.

Dan yelled, “No!” and chopped the pistol out of the other man's hand. It spun away and vanished, swallowed by the snow. Dan looked back over his shoulder. Sakai was right behind him, and Thompson and the others who'd huddled by the bunker were coming up, strung out across the snow.

“Form a barrier,” he yelled as he swept his arm in front of the launcher, understanding as he did it that they were fouling the range, too, that now Decker's troops couldn't fire.

The skiers reached them before they were formed up. They came fast, folded low. Snow spurted from their poles. The only point in favor of the defenders was that the TEL was on a rise and the skiers lost momentum as they swept up it.

One cannonballed toward him, and he went to a lacrosse crouch, wishing he had a stick. His eyes locked with those of the oncoming figure—or would have if eyes had been visible. But all he met were dark-tinted ski goggles and a faceless balaclava. The skier head-faked, but Dan watched the skis instead and dove out in a body check.

They collided, hard. The other man left the skis and traveled a few feet through the air. Dan and Sakai were on top of him before he stopped rolling. Dan grabbed the mask and stripped it up and off in one brusque yank.

Shining blond hair, snapping blue eyes, and the collar of an Indian-figured sweater. It was one of the women who'd stood vigil at the gate. “Murderer,” she snarled. “How many children are you going to fry with this missile?”

“Wait a minute. You got it all wrong here.”

“Let go of me, you son of a bitch.” She twisted free and sat up. He started to get up, too, and released her arm.

Before he could react, she was up on all fours, knocking them both down, then scrambling past. He caught her boot and held it as she tried to kick his face in and nearly succeeded. Sparky piled on a second time, to the accompaniment of muffled punches and grunts. When she lay motionless again, all three were breathing hard. Dan sat up again, warier this time when she rolled over.

Her hand came out suddenly from under the parka, and he gasped at the slap of warm liquid in his face.

The Ziploc fell to the snow and lay there, leaking the last droplets. He looked down at himself, at the thick red running down his parka.

“That's what belongs on your uniform,” she said. “Fucking Nazi. You take money to kill—”

Without thinking, he grabbed a handful of snow and rubbed it hard into her face. Then he rocked back on his heels, shocked at the rage that had suddenly made him wish he'd just let them go, let Decker shoot them down.

“Nonviolent, huh?” Sakai said beside him. “Yeah … sure glad we didn't get one of the violent ones.”

Dan said roughly, “You got her now, Sparky?”

“I think so.”

“She's bigger than you. You sure?” But another airman joined them just then. Dan turned away from her accusing stare and jogged over to where the others lay and sat.

There were three of them, sitting in a battered group on the snow, and the security force was leading another out from the woods. Dan recognized Murdoch. He squatted there, cheek bruised, his arms twisted behind him.

Manhurin trotted across the field. The major stood staring down at the captives while he got a recap of the action. “Who's the leader?” he said.