Rogue Forces

Hirsiz stood by his desk and looked out the window for a long moment; then he turned and was surprised to see his minister of national defense still in his office. “Hasan?”

“What are you doing, Kurzat?” Cizek asked. “A cease-fire: fine.

That will give us time to rearm, reinforce, and regroup. But a pullback all the way to the border, before we’ve had a chance to set up a buffer zone and eradicate the PKK?”

“I’m tired, Hasan,” Hirsiz said wearily. “We’ve lost too many men…”

“The soldiers died defending their country, Mr. President!” Cizek said. “If you pull back before the operation is finished, they will have died for nothing! You said so yourself!”

“We will have other opportunities, Hasan. We have the world’s attention now. They’ll know we’re serious when it comes to dealing with the PKK. Now give the orders.”

Cizek appeared as if he was going to continue to argue, but instead gave a curt nod and walked out.

ALLIED AIR BASE NAHLA, IRAQ

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.”

THE PINK PALACE, ÇANCAYA, ANKARA, REPUBLIC OF TURKEY

THAT 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.”