Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 10 (54 page)

 
          
With
no air defenses detected, Tanaka and Wickland were able to orbit the area,
taking LADAR snapshots of the base, looking for targets to direct the
Wolverines, releasing the cruise missiles one every three to five minutes so each
had plenty of time to find new targets that might present themselves. Aircraft
parking areas, helipads, large vehicle parking areas, fuel storage areas, and
weapon storage bunkers were favorite targets for the Wolverines’ cluster
munitions and sensor-fuzed weapons.

 
          
Wickland
picked out buildings that looked like headquarters buildings, barracks,
security buildings, and hangars for the terminal targets—but what he was really
looking for were the rocket storage sheds, or even some surface-to-surface rockets
themselves. According to the soldiers who joined Sanusi’s Sandstorm warriors,
the rockets at Al-Jawf were housed in long half-underground sheds. When it was
time for deployment, trucks would hook up to the rocket
transporter-erector-launchers and tow them to presurveyed launch points. They
could be moved in a matter of minutes, and readied for launch in about a half
hour after arriving at the launch point.

 
          
But
twenty minutes after starting the attack, Wickland was disappointed. “Not one
rocket anywhere,” he said. “I didn’t even see the storage sheds. Maybe they
were one of the other buildings I attacked, but I didn’t see anything that
looked like it housed a Scud-sized rocket.”

 
          
Tanaka
checked the fuel readouts and the strategic planning chart on one of his
multifunction displays. The display showed the position and fuel status of
their support aircraft, the Sky Masters Inc. DC-10, proceeding from
Scotland
to the reftieling anchor over the
Mediterranean Sea
. The fuel status of both the tanker and the
Megafortress were represented as large circles—as long as the circles
overlapped, they could rendezvous. But the edges of the circles were getting
closer and closer—they couldn’t wait any longer. “Castor, this is Headbanger.”

 
          
“I
see it, guys,” Patrick McLanahan said. He was able via datalink to look at the
same strategic chart as the flight crew—and in fact he had been looking at that
very display. “You’re about fifteen minutes to bingo with the tanker.” “Sorry
we couldn’t get those rockets for you.”

           
“Maybe you did get them—we won’t
know until we go in there and check. You did a good job, guys. Have a good trip
home.”

 
          
“Roger
that. Good luck down there. Headbanger out.”

 
         
Patrick
met the Mi-24 attack helicopter as it settled in for a landing at one of the
many helipads at the airfield near Jaghbub. He removed his helmet as Muhammad
as-Sanusi climbed out of the helicopter and approached him. “It is good to see
you, my friend,” Sanusi said, embracing him warmly. “And it is good to see this
place still in one piece.”

           
“Two bombers got in, but they
dropped well short of the airfield,” Patrick explained. “No damage, no
casualties on our side.”

           
“And your bomber is heading home?”

 
          
“He
is a few minutes from rendezvousing with a tanker aircraft as we speak.”

 
          
“Too
bad. I would have liked to learn more about that plane’s capabilities.”

 
          
“We
struck targets in Zillah and Al-Jawf,” Patrick said. “The runway appears to
have been cratered nicely, so the bombers and fighters there should’ve had to
move to Surt Air Base. We struck several targets at Al-Jawf, but we can’t be
sure we hit any rockets. I’m afraid that threat still exists.”

 
          
“But
you have given us precious time to finish capturing the weapons stored here,”
Sanusi said. “By tomorrow afternoon, we should be long gone, with several
million dollars’ worth of weapons—enough to keep our little army going another
few months. Thanks to you, my friend.”

 
          
They
heard the sounds of an approaching heavy helicopter, and a few moments later a
CV-22 Pave Hammer tilt- rotor aircraft settled in for a landing. Patrick
extended his hand, and Sanusi took it. “I wish you luck, Your Highness,” he
said. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I was glad to be on your side.”

 
          
“You
are a good man and a fine leader, Mr. McLanahan,” Sanusi said. “I am sorry
about your wife; I hope God protects her. You will go home now to see your son,
I presume?”

 
          
“Yes.
But I have a little unfinished business in
Alexandria
first.”

 
          
“You
do not seem to be the vengeful type to me.”

 
          
“I
really don’t know who or what I am anymore, Your Highness.”

 
          
“I
think I do—and I like what I see. I hope your superiors see it the same as I.”
Sanusi looked carefully at Patrick, then said with a faint smile, “I have a
feeling we’ll be seeing each other again, sir. I hope it is in happier times.”

           
“I hope you’re right, Your
Highness,” Patrick said. “But I don’t think so.”

 
          
ABU
QIR
,
ALEXANDRIA
,
EGYPT
 
THAT SAME TIME

           
From the seventeenth-floor high-rise
apartment, one of the best high-rise condominiums in all of
Egypt
, Susan Bailey Salaam had an extraordinary
view of
Alexandria
. From her living-room balcony she could see
west all the way to the Comiche and
Fort
Qayt
Bay
, built on the site of the Pharos, the
four-hundred-foot-tall lighthouse that was one of the seven wonders of the
ancient world. From her bedroom, she could see all the way down
Abu Qir
Bay
, the mouth of the
Nile
, and at night even see the glow of
Cairo
far on the southern horizon.

 
          
That
evening, Susan was standing on the living-room balcony, smoking a cigarette and
letting the cool Mediterranean breezes wash over her. Inside, General Ahmad
Baris was inside, sorting and organizing sheaves of documents. He was having a
difficult time keeping her attention.

 
          
“The
death toll at Mersa Matruh is... is enormous, Sekhmet,” Baris said tonelessly
when he joined Susan on the balcony a few minutes later. “They fear over eleven
thousand perished in the attack. The entire Ramses Corps has been destroyed,
and the Amun Fleet lost almost fifty percent of its men and ships, with the
fatalities increasing by the hour.”

 
          
“Bastards,”
she replied woodenly. “How dare they lay waste to our nation like this?”

 
          
“The
weapon that detonated at Mersa Matruh was an enhanced-radiation thermonuclear
device with an estimated yield of one to two kilotons, or one to two thousand
tons
of TNT. Everything within two
kilometers was hit with a massive dose of radiation that killed them within a
few hours, slowly and painfully. I’m sorry.

 
          
“In
addition, Libyan and Sudanese ground forces have crossed our southern border
and have surrounded the entire Salimah complex,” Baris went on. “They are
obviously ready to stage an attack on the Salimah oil fields, probably within
the next few days.”

 
          
“Why
haven’t we searched for survivors at Mersa Matruh yet?” Susan asked. “Maybe
Patrick is alive.”

 
          
Aha,
Ahmad Baris thought, it was Patrick McLanahan and his commandos that were
occupying her mind. Could he be occupying her heart as well... ? “Are you all
right, Sekhmet?”

 
          
“Fine
.. . just fine.” She went over and sat down on the sofa.

 
          
Captain
Shafik answered the phone in Susan Bailey Salaam’s home office. Her eyes grew
wide with surprise, and she gave the phone to General Ahmad Baris—and moments
later, his eyes grew wide with shock as well. “What is it, General?” Susan
asked, returning to the living room.

 
          
“I
just heard from my sources in the Ministry of Defense. Two bases in
Libya
have just been struck from the air.”

 
          
“What?
Which ones? Which bases?”

 
          
“Zillah
and Al-Jawf. Reports say that a number of Libyan aircraft were also shot down,”
Baris went on.

 
          
“The
Americans ... ?”

 
          
“Dr.
Kalir has been in contact with the American embassy, and they insist that no
American forces are involved.”

 
          
“Could
it have been some of our air forces?”

 
          
“All
Egyptian military air forces have been dispersed and brought in toward
Cairo
to protect the capital,” Baris said. “But
in any case, we don’t have that kind of firepower, unless we massed every
aircraft in our entire arsenal. Planning an operation of that magnitude would
take weeks.”

 
          
It
was Patrick, she thought. It had to be. He must be alive! But where did he get
the support? Where were his air forces? They couldn’t possibly be in
Egypt
—Baris would have known about that.
Certainly not in
Libya
.
Israel
? Offshore in the
Mediterranean Sea
somewhere? He might be able to sneak in one large “baby” aircraft
carrier into the area without anyone knowing, but would that carry enough
firepower to destroy
two
Libyan
military bases? Impossible ... or was it?

 
          
“Could
it have been McLanahan and his men, General?”

           
“They must have died in the nuclear
explosion,” Baris replied. “The bunker they were based in was guarded by troops
day and night, and all of those troops were killed by the radiation.”

           
“But they were underground. .. .”

           
“The radiation kills humans even in
bomb shelters,” Baris explained. “Besides, they were just high-tech infantry
forces—even with their fancy suits of armor, they could not have destroyed two
Libyan military bases in one night. Only a few nations have that kind of
firepower—the
United States
,
Russia
, maybe
Germany
, perhaps
Israel
. But we certainly should have known
something was going to happen. It had to be in retaliation for the explosion at
Mersa Matruh—but who could have done it, and why would they not have consulted
us?” Susan did not answer. Her eyes were darting back and forth, as if
examining the scene of a terrible traffic accident just moments after the
crash.

 
          
“What
are you thinking about, child?”

           
“Nothing... nothing,” Susan Bailey
Salaam said absently. “Thank you for the information. I need some rest now. Is
there anything else?”

 
          
“Only
to ask you once again—what do you want to do, here, in
Egypt
?” Baris asked, stepping over and standing
beside her. “We are officially in protective custody, by order of the Supreme
Judiciary, but I assure you, we can leave anytime we please—my friends in the
Ministry of Defense and the Intelligence Bureau will see to that. The security
forces of the Supreme Judiciary are nothing more than Khalid al-Khan’s hired
goons, easily brushed aside. I have access to aircraft, safe houses, visas, and
many friends overseas, especially in the
United States
.”