Rogue Forces

Hirsiz took a nervous sip of water from an off-camera glass, his hand visibly trembling, his eyes never looking at the camera. “I sincerely apologize to the people of Turkey for being forced to take these actions,” he went on after a long, uncomfortable pause, “but I feel I have no choice, and I beg for your prayers, patience, and cooperation. My government will work tirelessly to stop the terrorists, restore security and order, and return our nation to normalcy. I ask the citizens of Turkey to be vigilant, helpful to government officials and law enforcement, and to be strong and brave. Our nation has been through this before, and we have always emerged stronger and wiser. We shall do so again. Thank you.”

Hirsiz threw his statement pages away as Prime Minister Ays¸e Akas came up to him. “That’s the hardest speech I’ve ever given,” Hirsiz said.

“I hoped you would change your mind, Kurzat,” she said. “It’s not too late, even now.”

“I have to do this, Ays¸e,” Hirsiz said. “It’s far too late to change course now.”

“No, it’s not. Let me help you do it. Please.” An aide passed a note to Akas. “Perhaps this will help: the American embassy is requesting a high-level meeting in Irbil. The vice president, Phoenix, is in Baghdad and wants to attend, along with the secretary of state.”

“Impossible,” Hirsiz said. “We can’t stop this now.” He thought for a moment. “We can’t meet with them: the country is under a state of emergency. We can’t guarantee the safety of the president or of our ministers in Iraq.”

“But if you did attend, I’m sure they’ll offer substantial military, technical, and economic assistance if they meet with us—they rarely come empty-handed,” Akas said. “The American ambassador has already sent a message to the foreign ministry about compensation for the Patriot missile launches.”

“Compensation? For what? What did they say?”

“The ambassador, speaking on behalf of Secretary of State Barbeau, said an unarmed reconnaissance plane run by a private firm contracted to provide surveillance of the northern Iraq border area inadvertently emitted what they called ‘accidental electronic interference’ that caused us to fire those Patriot missiles. The ambassador was very apologetic and said he was authorized to offer substantial compensation or replacement of the missiles, and also offered assistance in providing information on any unknown vehicles or persons crossing the border into Turkey.” Hirsiz nodded. “This is a great opportunity, Kurzat. You can have the meeting, then cancel the state of emergency after the American vice president makes an agreement. You save face, and there’s no war.”

“Saved by the Americans again, eh, Ays¸e?” Hirsiz said emotionlessly. “You’re so sure they’ll want to help?” He motioned to an aide, who handed him a secure cellular telephone. “The timetable’s been moved up, General,” he said after speed-dialing a number. “Get your forces moving and the planes in the air, now!”

COMMAND AND CONTROL CENTER, ALLIED AIR BASE NAHLA, IRAQ

THAT EVENING

“Looks like the wheels are getting ready to come off the wagon up in Turkey, doesn’t it?” Kris Thompson said. He was sitting at the security director’s console in the Tank, watching news reports of the security crackdowns taking place in the Republic of Turkey on one of the big screens at the front of the Tank that was always tuned to an American all-news channel. The reports showed police and military forces clashing with protesters in the streets of Istanbul and Ankara. “Hirsiz is crazy. A state of emergency? Sounds like a military coup to me. I wonder if he’s still in charge.”

“Keep the chatter down, Thompson,” Jack Wilhelm said, sitting at his console nearby. “We can all see what’s going on. Put Sensor Eight up front and zoom ten-X.” He studied an image of three delivery trucks driving down a road, the cargo sections swaying noticeably in the turns. “They’re moving pretty fast, wouldn’t you say? Zoom fifteen-X, get a description, pass it along to the IA. Who do they have in the area, Major Jabburi?” The Turkish liaison officer spread out his charts and logbooks, then picked up his telephone. “C’mon, Major, we don’t have all damned day.”

“There is a border patrol unit heading in the opposite direction, about ten miles away, sir,” Major Hamid Jabburi, the Turkish army deputy liaison officer, responded, after a long delay. “They have been notified to investigate the vehicles. They requested we continue monitoring and advise if they turn.”

“Of course—what else do we have to do around here except cater to the IA?” Wilhelm grumbled. “A monkey can do this job.” At that moment Patrick McLanahan walked up to the brigade commander. “Speak of the devil. I gotta admit, General, your pregnant stealth bomber is killer. We’re getting the same amount of looks all over the sector with a fourth of the airframes; we’re saving network bandwidth, fuel, and personnel; and the ramp and the airspace are less congested.”