Arctic Storm Rising Dale Brown (literature books to read TXT) đ
- Author: Dale Brown
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Neary frowned deeply.
âYou have a problem with the directorâs analysis, General?â Taylor asked.
âYes, sir, I do,â Neary said. âWhat if weâre wrong about this? What if Petrov didnât steal the PAK-DA bomber prototype at all? What if this is just an elaborate ruse orchestrated by Russian intelligence . . . and the aircraft that weâre supposedly buying is still sitting safely inside a hangar on some Russian air base?â
âJesus,â Taylor muttered. âThat would be . . . bad. Very bad.â
Neary nodded. âWeâd get caught paying billions of taxpayer dollars to Moscow for nothing. Not only would that inflict a lethalpolitical blow to the president and his administration, it would humiliate the entire U.S. national security establishmentas well. Weâd be the laughingstock of the whole world.â He shrugged. âSure, the video sent to Ms. Reynolds shows this guyPetrov in some kind of fancy cockpit. But none of us knows what the inside of the real PAK-DA bomber looks like. Nor are thereany shots of the outside. For all we really know, the whole thing could easily have been shot on a GRU- or SVR-built filmset.â
âThere is another problem, even if Petrovâs offer is genuine,â Rear Admiral Chao commented. âItâs pretty clear that heâs gettinga lot of help from someone we donât know anything about. If it turns out heâs in league with Russian organized crime, or druglords, or maybe even terrorists, the blowback from our funneling so much U.S. government money to them could be horrific.â
Taylor winced, obviously imagining how that would play out in Congress and the press. The defense secretary wasnât a Washingtoninsider by experience or inclination, but even a few short months on the job had taught him the savagery with which politicalwar was waged in the nationâs capital. He sighed. âOkay, it looks like whether or not we meet Colonel Petrovâs demands isa decision thatâs way above all our pay grades. Iâll brief the president as soon as I can, but my bet is that nobody in theWhite House is going to want to jump in with both feet on this. Not without a hell of a lot more information than we can givethem right now.â
âI do have one request, Mr. Secretary,â Miranda Reynolds said. âIâd like your permission to deploy the specialist go teamIâve organized to Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson in Alaska.â
âThe one with experts from the Air Forceâs Foreign Material squadron?â Taylor asked.
She nodded. âPlus CIA and Air Force security personnel.â She looked down the table toward Chao. âIf the rear admiral is correct,and Petrov has landed somewhere in northern Alaska or northern Canada, staging out of Elmendorf would put our team in positionto move fast if we spot the PAK-DA bomber on the ground. Or in case we do strike a deal.â
âGood thinking,â Taylor said simply. âYouâve got my blessing. Get your team on its way to Anchorage as soon as possible.â
Twenty-Two
Totem One, over Northern Alaska
The Next Day
Totem One, a four-engine HC-130J Super Hercules combat search-and-rescue aircraft assigned to the Alaska Air National Guardâs211th Rescue Squadron, rocked and jolted and bounced through the sky. It was flying through the upper fringes of a fiercewinter storm blanketing the whole state. Patches of night sky sprinkled with stars appeared and disappeared whenever the planecrossed into towering cloud banks that cut visibility to nil and then came back out into clear air.
âCripes,â Major Jack âRipperâ Ingalls muttered, gripping the steering yoke tight. âI think General Arcaro hates me.â
His copilot, Captain Laura âSkaterâ Van Horn, shook her head. âNo, he doesnât hate you, Rip.â
âHe doesnât?â
She smiled. âNope. His feelings toward you go way beyond simple hatred. In fact, Iâd say he despises you with all the passionof a thousand hot, flaming suns.â She nodded out the cockpit windows at the boiling sea of clouds. âI mean, why else assignus a âroutineâ night training flightâright in the middle of the first really big storm of this season?â
Ingalls laughed. âWell, the general said he thought itâd be a good way to keep our flying skills honed.â
Van Horn snorted. âUh-huh. And King David told Bathshebaâs husband, Uriah the Hittite, he wanted him to lead in battle because it was an honor.â
âYou know, your analysis of this situation isnât exactly making me feel better about myself, Skater,â Ingalls said. He kepthis eyes moving over the cockpitâs multifunction displays and gauges. âRemind me to have you read that Air Force pamphleton the importance of maintaining high crew morale once we get back to base.â
She pretended to sigh loudly. âWhat, again?â
âYes, again,â the HC-130 pilot said firmly, with a quick, sidelong smile.
âYou know, touchy-feely stuff like that is probably why Arcaro hates you so much,â Van Horn said with a grin of her own.
Ingalls shrugged. âA manâs gotta do what aââ A sudden alarm and a red caution and warning light cut him off short.
âNumber Two engine shutdown,â Van Horn said sharply. She toggled a switch. âFire handle pulled.â And then another. âEngineStart switch to stop. Fuel pump secured.â Swiftly, she scanned their ACAWSâAdvisory, Caution, and Warning Systemâmessage text.âGearbox Two, no oil pressure.â
Ingalls ran his eyes over his own display. âI confirm Gearbox Two, no oil pressure.â He glanced out the cockpit window attheir left wing. The six-bladed propeller on the inmost engine was stationary. âNumber Two is feathered. No signs of a fire.â
âFor small favors, let us be very, very grateful,â Van Horn said devoutly. She glanced at the pilot. âOkay, Rip, what now?â
âNow you take the aircraft,â he said, sounding perfectly calm and in control. âThus allowing me, as the august aircraft commander,to focus all my attention on managing this deplorable situation.â
She nodded, settling her hands firmly on the yoke in front of her and giving it a quick shake to verify that she did indeedhave her hands on the yoke. âYes, sir. I have the aircraft.â
âYou have the aircraft, Captain,â Ingalls confirmed formally, slightly relaxing his own grip.
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