Authors: Dale Brown
A
LLIED
A
IR
B
ASE
N
AHLA
, I
RAQ
A
SHORT TIME LATER
“I suppose it could’ve been a
lot
worse for us,” Colonel Jack Wilhelm said. He was once again standing in their makeshift morgue in the large aircraft hangar, overseeing the preparation of the remains of the soldiers killed in action the night before. “Twenty-one soldiers killed in the Triple-C, including my ops officer, plus another thirty-two in action against the Turks, along with over two hundred injured, two dozen critical.” He turned to Patrick McLanahan. “Sorry about Martinez, General. I heard he died a little while ago.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Your guys and your gadgets did great, General. You really came through.”
“Not for our client, unfortunately,” Patrick said. “The Iraqis lost over two hundred and fifty.”
“But Jaffar and his men fought like wildcats,” Wilhelm said. “I always thought the guy was all bluff and bluster. He turned out to be a good field commander and a hard charger.” His radio beeped, and he listened in his earpiece, responded, and signed off. “The Turkish prime minister has announced a cease-fire and said that Turkish troops are pulling back to the border,” he said. “It looks like it’s over. What in hell were the Turks thinking? Why did they start this?”
“Frustration, anger, vengeance: dozens of reasons,” Patrick said. “Turkey is one of those countries that just doesn’t get any respect. They’re not European, not Asian, not the Caucasus, not Middle Eastern; they’re Muslim but secular. They control major land and sea routes, have one of the largest economies and armies in the world, powerful enough to have a seat on the United Nations Security Council, but they still aren’t allowed into the European Union and they’re treated like the red-haired stepchild in NATO. I think I’d be frustrated, too.”
“They may deserve respect, but they also deserve to get their butts kicked,” Wilhelm said. “So, I assume your contract is over…or is it? Maybe the Iraqis need you more than ever now?”
“We’ll stay for now,” Patrick said. “I’ll recommend we monitor the Turkish cease-fire and pullback, and we’ll probably be around awhile longer until the Iraqis get their own surveillance force built up. They have a small fleet of Cessna Caravans that have been modified for ground surveillance and communications relay, and there’s talk of them leasing some UAVs.”
“So you may be out of a job soon?”
“I think so.” Patrick took a deep breath, one so deep that Wilhelm noticed. “This is a good job and a good bunch of guys and girls, but I’ve been away from home too long.”
“To tell you the truth, it felt good to get out of the Tank and lead a bunch of troops into battle again,” Wilhelm said. “I’ve been watching my guys do it on video screens and computer monitors for far too long.” He gave McLanahan a slight smile. “But it
is
a young man’s game, right, General?”
“I didn’t say that.” Patrick nodded to the tables of body bags once again lined up in the hangar. “But I’ve been around this too long.”
“You flyboys see war completely different from the soldiers on the ground,” Wilhelm said. “To you, combat is computers and satellites and UAVs.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I know you’ve done a lot and seen a lot, General, but this is different,” Wilhelm went on. “You manage systems and sensors and machines. We manage fighting men. I don’t see dead men and women here, General—I see soldiers that put on a uniform, picked up a rifle, followed me, and who fell in battle. I’m not sad for them. I’m sad for their families and loved ones, but I’m proud of
them
.”
T
HE
P
INK
P
ALACE
, Ç
ANCAYA
, A
NKARA
, R
EPUBLIC OF
T
URKEY
T
HAT EVENING
The phone on the president’s desk rang. “Uh…Mr. President, Minister Cizek and General Guzlev to see you,” the president’s aide stammered.
President Kurzat Hirsiz looked at his watch, then at the calendar on his computer. “Did we have a meeting scheduled, Nazim?”
“No, sir. They…they say it’s urgent. Very urgent.”
Hirsiz sighed. “Very well. Tell my wife I’ll be a little late.” He started to straighten up the papers on his desk, prioritizing the next day’s activities, when he heard the door to his office open. “Come on in, gentlemen,” he said distractedly as he worked, “but can we make this quick? I promised my wife I’d—”
When he looked up, he saw Minister of National Defense Hasan Cizek and military chief of staff General Abdullah Guzlev standing in the middle of the office, waiting patiently for him—and both men were dressed in green camouflage battle-dress uniforms and glossy paratrooper boots, and both wore American-made M1911 .45-caliber sidearms in polished black leather holsters.
“What in hell is going on here?” Hirsiz asked incredulously. “Why are you in a military uniform, Hasan, and why are you carrying weapons in the Pink Palace?”
“Good evening, Kurzat,” Cizek said. He motioned over his right shoulder, and several members of the Presidential Guard rushed in, with Hirsiz’s outer office secretary bound in plastic handcuffs. The guards grabbed Hirsiz and bound his wrists in plastic handcuffs as well.
“
What in hell is this
?” Hirsiz shouted. “What are you doing? I am the president of the Republic of Turkey!”
“You are no longer president of Turkey, Kurzat,” Cizek said. “I met with General Guzlev, the chiefs of staff, and the Ministry of the
Interior, and we have decided that you are not competent to give orders anymore. You said so yourself, Kurzat: you’re tired. Well, your weariness is a danger to the brave men and women in the field who are risking their lives on the president’s word. We feel you cannot be trusted to give any more orders under a state of emergency. Prime Minister Akas, of course, is in no better shape. So we have decided to take over for you.”
“
What
? What are you saying? What in
hell
are you doing?”
“You know what’s happening here, Hirsiz,” Cizek said. “The only question is, what will
you
do? Will you play the befuddled and embattled president, or will you take responsibility for your failures and do the responsible thing?”
“What on earth are you talking about? You…you are going to stage a coup d’état?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Cizek said. “Under a state of emergency, you can appoint anyone to be commander in chief of the armed forces. You appoint me and get some well-deserved rest for a few years until you are well enough to resume your duties; I rescind the order for the stage two pullback, and we consolidate our gains in Iraq.”
“This is insanity! I will not comply! I will
never
relinquish my office! I am the president of Turkey! I was elected by the Grand National Assembly…!”
“You swore an oath to protect the people of Turkey, but instead you stand by and do nothing but moan and drool while thousands of soldiers are killed by the Iraqis and Americans,” Cizek shouted. “I will stand for it no longer. The only proper response is a military one, not a political one, and so the army must be free to end this crisis. You are afraid to unleash the army and the Jandarma: I am not. Which will it be, Mr. President? Take your orders from me, and you and your family will be allowed to stay in a very comfortable residence in Tarsus or maybe even Dipkarpaz, under very careful security and seclusion—”
“As your puppet?”
“As president of the republic, Hirsiz, taking sound and urgent
advice from your military advisers to end the attacks against our country,” Cizek said. “If you do not agree to this, you will suffer a terrible heart attack, and we will remove you and your family from Ankara forever.”
“You cannot do this!” Hirsiz protested. “I have done nothing wrong! You have no authority…!”
“I swore an oath to protect this country, Hirsiz,” Cizek shouted, “and I will not sit idly by while you erase all the gains our brave soldiers have made for this country. You leave me absolutely no choice!”
Hirsiz hesitated again, and Guzlev pulled out his .45 and pointed it at the president. “I told you he wouldn’t do it, Hasan…!” he said.
Hirsiz’s eyes bulged, his arms and shoulders went limp, and his knees wobbled—it was as if all of the fluids in his body left him. “No, please,” he whimpered. “I don’t want to die. Tell me what to do.”
“Good call, Hirsiz,” Cizek threw some papers on the desk. “Sign these papers.” Hirsiz signed them without reading them or even raising his head except to find the signature line. “We will escort you to the national communications center, where you will personally address the people of the republic.” A sheaf of papers was placed in his hands. “Here is what you will say. It is important for you to address the people of Turkey as soon as possible.”
“When can I see my wife, my family…?”
“Business first, Hirsiz,” Cizek said. He nodded to an officer of the Presidential Guard. “Take him away.” Hirsiz mumbled something as he and his aide were led out of the office under heavy military guard.
Guzlev holstered his .45 with an exasperated shove. “Balls, I thought I was going to have to shoot the fucking bastard after all, Cizek,” he cursed. “He’s going to look like shit on television.”
“All the better,” Cizek said. “If he can’t or won’t do it, I’ll read it myself.” He stepped toward Guzlev. “Rescind that phase one and two withdrawal order and be prepared to march on Irbil. If one
peshmerga
fighter, Iraqi soldier, or American—especially those robots and Tin Man creations—pops his head out just a centimeter, I want a squadron of jets to blow them all straight to Hell.” He thought for a moment, then said, “No, I’m not going to wait for those robots and the Tin Men to come after us. I want Nahla Air Base shut down. They think they can kill a thousand Turks and just march away? I want the place leveled, do you understand me? Leveled!”
“With pleasure, Hasan…I mean, Mr. President,” Guzlev said. “With pleasure.”
A
LLIED
A
IR
B
ASE
N
AHLA
, I
RAQ
T
HE NEXT MORNING
Following the memorial service for the fallen soldiers from Second Regiment, Patrick McLanahan, Jack Wilhelm, Jon Masters, and chief of security Kris Thompson escorted Vice President Ken Phoenix to the flight line, where a newly arrived CV-22 Osprey tilt-rotor aircraft was waiting to fly him to Bahrain.
The vice president shook hands with Wilhelm. “You did an outstanding job out there last night, Colonel,” Phoenix said. “I’m sorry for your losses.”
“Thank you, sir,” Wilhelm said. “I wish we hadn’t gotten sucker-punched like that, but I’m glad the Turks decided to call the cease-fire, pull back, and start negotiations. It’ll give us a chance to fly our boys home.”
“I’ll feel better when you’re all home, safe and secure,” Phoenix said. “Thank you for leading these men and women so well.”
“Thank you, sir,” Wilhelm said, saluting.
Phoenix returned the salute. “I’m not in your chain of command, Colonel,” Phoenix said. “I don’t rate a salute.”
“You stood with my troops, you took enemy fire, and you didn’t start crying, whining, ordering us around, or getting in the way,” Wilhelm said. “You earned it, sir. If I may say so, you looked very…presidential.”
“Why, thank you, Colonel,” Phoenix said. “Coming from you, that’s high praise. Lousy politics, but high praise.”
“Good thing I don’t do politics, sir,” Wilhelm said. “Have a good trip.”
“Thank you, Colonel.” Phoenix turned to Patrick and shook his hand. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again, Patrick,” he said, “but I think you and your team did an extraordinary job out there last night.”
Thank you, sir,” Patrick said. “Unfortunately I still don’t think it’s over, but a cease-fire and a pullback is definitely good news.”
“I read your plan for action against Diyarbakir,” Phoenix said. “I don’t think there’s any chance the president will approve it, especially when he learns it comes from you. But I’ll talk to him about it.”
“We can put it into action in less than a day, and at the very least it would send a message that we’re serious.”
“That it does,” Phoenix agreed. “I’d also like to talk to you about this company of yours and your incredible weapon systems like the CID, the Tin Man, and those electromagnetic rail guns. I don’t know why we’re not fielding thousands of them.” He looked at Patrick with a puzzled expression, then added, “And I’d like to know why
you
have them, and not the U.S. Army.”
“I’ll explain everything, sir,” Patrick said.
“I doubt it,” Phoenix said with a wry smile, “but I still want to talk to you about them. Good-bye, General.”
“Have a safe trip, sir.” The vice president nodded, loaded aboard the CV-22, and the big twin rotors were turning moments later.
It was hard for Patrick to hear at first over the roar of the Osprey’s twin rotors in full vertical takeoff power, but he did, and he opened his radio. Wilhelm was doing the same at that very moment. “Go ahead, Boomer,” he said.
“
Bandits
!” Hunter Noble shouted. At that moment the air raid sirens sounded. “Two formations of ten bombers, supersonic, just crossed the Turkey-Iraq border, headed this way,
five minutes out
!”
“
Get the Osprey out of here
!” Patrick shouted. He waved at Jon Masters and Kris Thompson to follow him. “Get him the hell away from the base!”
Wilhelm was shouting into his radio as well: “
Shelters, shelters, shelters
!” he cried. “Everyone into air raid shelters,
now
!”
As they ran for open ground, they could still see the CV-22 as it took off and headed south. At first its flight path looked totally normal—standard climb-out, gradual acceleration, smooth transition from vertical to turboprop flight. But moments later the Osprey
banked hard left and dove for the ground, and they could hear the engines whine in protest as the big transport changed from turboprop to helicopter mode. It dodged left and right and made a low approach to a group of buildings in Tall Kayf, hoping to hide in the radar ground clutter.
But it was too late—the Turkish missiles were already in the air. The Turkish F-15Es had already locked up the CV-22 over a hundred miles away and had launched two Turkish-modified AIM-54 missiles—ironically nicknamed “Phoenix”—at the Osprey. Formerly serving with the U.S. Navy to provide long-range defense of an aircraft carrier battle group, the AIM-54 had been the mainstay of the U.S. Navy’s carrier-based air wings, capable of destroying massive formations of Russian bombers before they could get within range to launch antiship cruise missiles. After it was retired in 2004, the U.S. military’s inventory of its longest-range, hardest-hitting air-to-air missiles was put up for auction, and the Turkish air force snapped them up.
After launch, the Phoenix missiles climbed to an altitude of eighty thousand feet at a speed of almost five times the speed of sound and then began a dive toward the target area, guided by the Turkish F-15E’s powerful radar. Within a few seconds of impact, the AIM-54 activated its own terminal guidance radar to close in for the kill. One missile malfunctioned and self-destructed, but the second missile hit the CV-22 Osprey’s right rotor disk as the aircraft was maneuvering to land in a parking lot. The right engine exploded, sending the aircraft into a violent left spin for a few seconds before crashing to the ground, then flipping upside down from the force of the explosion.
Back at Nahla, the scene was complete mayhem. With the Command and Control Center already destroyed, the main targets for the Turkish bombers were the flight line and barracks. Every hangar, including the XC-57 Loser’s storage hangar and the makeshift morgue containing the remains of the fallen American and Iraqi soldiers, was hit by at least one two-thousand-pound Joint Direct Attack Munitions bomb, a satellite-guided upgrade to a conven
tional radar-delivered gravity bomb. The parking ramps and taxiways that had not been hit before by the Turks in their initial invasion were hit this time.
The soldiers at Nahla were on edge and ready for anything following their battle the night before, so when the air-raid siren went off, the men were out the barracks doors immediately and headed to shelters. A few soldiers stayed behind too long to collect weapons or personal items and were killed by the bombs, and a few other soldiers helping the wounded evacuate the building were caught in the open. Overall, casualties were light.
But the devastation was complete. Within minutes, most of Allied Air Base Nahla was destroyed.