Rogue Forces

“If I had two more Losers out here, Colonel, I could maintain a twenty-four/seven watch on all of Iraq, southeast Turkey, and northwest Persia, and still have a ground spare,” Patrick said. He touched his secure earset. “Boomer, you copy that last?”

“Already setting it up, sir,” Hunter Noble responded. “The Loser we have airborne right now can track his flight inside Irbil province, but I assume you want eyes on the veep all the way from Baghdad, yes?”

“A-firm.”

“Thought so. We’ll have Loser number two on station in…about forty minutes.”

“Fast as you can, Boomer. Move the first Loser south to monitor the vice president’s flight, then place the second one in the surveillance track up north when it gets airborne.”

“Roger that.”

“So we’ll be able to watch his flight from Baghdad all the way to Irbil?” Wilhelm asked.

“No—we’ll be able to track and identify every aircraft and every vehicle that moves in seven Iraqi provinces, from Ramadi to Karbala and everywhere in between, in real time,” Patrick said. “We’ll be able to track and identify every vehicle that approaches the vice president’s plane before departure; we’ll be able to watch his plane taxi out and monitor every other aircraft and vehicle in his vicinity. If there’s any suspicious activity prior to departure or his arrival in Irbil, we can warn him and his security detail.”

“With two aircraft?”

“We can almost do it with one, but for the kind of precision we want, it’s better to split the coverage and go for the highest resolution we can get,” Patrick said.

“Pretty cool,” Wilhelm said, shaking his head. “Wish you guys had been around months ago: I missed my youngest daughter’s high school graduation last year. That’s the second time I’ve missed something big like that.”

“I’ve got a son getting ready to go into middle school, and I can’t remember the last time I saw him in a school play or soccer game,” Patrick said. “I know how you feel.”

“Excuse me, Colonel,” the Turkish liaison officer, Major Jabburi, interjected on the intercom. “I have been notified that the Aviation Transport Group of the Turkish air force is sending a Gulfstream Five VIP transport aircraft from Ankara to Irbil to participate in joint talks between the United States, Iraq, and my country starting tomorrow. The aircraft is airborne and will be within our coverage range in approximately sixty minutes.”

“Very well,” Wilhelm said. “Captain Cotter, let me know when you get the flight plan.”

“Got it now, sir,” Cotter, the regiment’s air traffic management officer, responded moments later. “Origin verified. I’ll contact the Iraqi Foreign Minister and verify its itinerary.”

“Put it up on the big board first, then make the call.” A blue line arced across the main large-screen monitor, direct from Ankara to Irbil Northwest International Airport, about eighty miles to the east, flying just to the east of Allied Air Base Nahla. Although the flight’s course was curved, not straight, the six-hundred-mile “great circle” routing was the most direct flight path from one point to another. “Looks good,” Wilhelm said. “Major Jabburi, make sure the IA has the flight plan, too, and make sure Colonel Jaffar is aware.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

“Well, at least the parties are talking to each other. Maybe this whole thing will blow over after all.”

Things quieted down considerably for the next twenty minutes, until: “Guppy Two-Four is airborne,” Patrick reported. “He’ll be on station in fifteen minutes.”

“That was quick,” Wilhelm remarked. “You guys don’t mess around getting those things airborne, do you, General?”

“It’s unmanned and already loaded and fueled; we just type in flight and sensor plans and let it go,” Patrick said.

“No latrines to empty, box lunches to fix, parachutes to rig, right?”

“Exactly.”

Wilhelm just shook his head in amazement.

They watched the progress of the Turkish VIP plane as it made its way toward the Iraqi border. Nothing at all unusual about the flight: flying at thirty-one thousand feet, normal airspeed, normal transponder codes. When the flight was about twelve minutes from crossing the border, Wilhelm ordered, “Major Jabburi, verify again that Iraqi air defenses are aware of the inbound flight from Turkey and are weapons tight.”

“Jabburi is off the net, sir,” Weatherly said.

“Find his ass and get him back here,” Wilhelm snapped, then Wilhelm clicked open his command-wide channel: “All Warhammer units, this is Alpha, inbound Turkish VIP aircraft ten minutes out, all air defense stations report weapons tight directly to me.”