Part 4 of: The Lies We Told Each Other
Fandom: Top Gun (Movies), Thunderheart (1992)
INDEX: http://palabraspulsares.blogspot.com/p/the-lies-we-told-each-other-4-roots.html
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Chapter 8: Breathless
Summary:
There are family events that seem simple but require a lot of planning and details. The Kazansky-Mitchell-Seresin family is military, so family events are often difficult to plan and execute.
Example 1: Choosing a good engagement gift
At the University City house, Christmas dinner in 2010 is
incredibly emotional. Just three days earlier, on Wednesday, December
22, President Obama signed the DADT Repeal Act. Considering the year
they had with the Bradley accident and the prospect of radical changes
in his life with the upcoming realignment for the DoD, Ice carefully
pulled the strings so that he and Mav could be home. The family is
almost complete. Of course, Jake's absence is felt, but at least this
year, Sam and Sean soothe themselves by questioning Bradley, who spent a
semester with his brother at USNA.
Also, they know that Jake went to spend these weeks in Moapa
Valley with Hollywood and Wolf. It's the closest they've had in three
years. Ice is willing to count that as a victory.
The real surprise comes at bedtime. Mav comes out of the bathroom
with a towel tied around her waist. Ice is in bed, in his t-shirt and
boxers, leaning against a pile of pillows to read a little before
sleeping. Sarah sits next to him with tender eyes. She takes his glasses
away to give him a kiss.
"Merry Christmas, darling."
Tom looks at her affectionately. She is wearing a sky blue
deshabillé highlighting her generous curves, her hair arranged in two
thick braids - her usual hairstyle for sleeping - and a legal format
envelope in her hands?
His wife smiles and offers it to him.
"Your present." She turns to Mav. "More a present for both of you."
Pete approaches, curious, as Tom opens the envelope, intrigued.
Inside, there are a large number of forms. Iceman reads the headlines
and looks at his wife in disbelief.
"Divorce petition?"
"The fuck what?" -Mav snatches the papers and begins to review them.
Ice doesn't understand why Sarah looks so calm and proud of herself.
"Sarah, what the hell?"
She looks at them with amused eyes and bursts into laughter. She
laughs so hard that she falls back on the bed, clutching her stomach.
"I owe Slider money, dammit!" -she complains between hiccups.
"Is this a late April Fool's Day joke?" -Mav asks, bewildered.
Finally, she calms down enough to articulate more than three words together.
"It's not a joke, Mav, dear," he explains while wiping away tears
of laughter. "It's a gift. We knew that DADT would die before Christmas.
Chiper promised it. His next goal is to repeal DOMA, so we have to have
all the paperwork in order soon so you two can get married. Slider
warned me they wouldn't get it." -puts a hand on Ice's cheek- "I thought
you were a great strategist, love?"
But Tom doesn't smile. Instead, he looks at her with an embarrassed expression.
"I can't." -he turns to Mav- "Forgive me."
But his husband smiles at him understandingly.
"I know. It's okay, love."
She moves her eyes from one to the other, confused.
"You can't what?"
"I can't marry Mav. It would destroy my career. Well, his first, of course."
"Cain would nail us to the hull of a frigate with a pitchfork. And then he'd go after Bradley and Jake, of course."
"But…" -Sarah feels bitterness tightening her throat- "If it is the law..."
"When the law changes, it will still take time to permeate the
attitudes of the Admiralty and the Senate Committee that confirms
high-ranking promotions. If I come out of the closet, I will never
become an admiral. They might even force me into early retirement."
"It's not fair." She looks at Mav furiously. "And you are okay with this? Being a secret forever?"
Mav shrugs. A bitter smile appears and disappears from his face in a flash.
"I chose a long time ago, Sarah. I always knew Ice had ambitions
and decided I would do what a good military spouse does: not get in the
way of his promotion plans."
"Even if we didn't have those obstacles, I wouldn't want to get married."-Tom interrupts- "Not without Jake."
The mention of their absent son causes Sarah's anger to melt away under a wave of sadness.
"Oh darling."
She pushes the divorce papers off Ice's lap to hug him. He kisses her hair and breathes in her scent of wood and baby powder.
"You know what? This was a bad idea."
Sarah separates from her husband, takes the documents, and throws them in the trash with a dramatic gesture.
"On second thought," she climbs onto the bed and begins to crawl
over Ice's legs, "I have no reason to give up the advantages of being
Mrs. Kazansky." -she looks at her second husband with an arched eyebrow
and provocative eyes- "Hey, Mav, wanna play putting another baby aviator
in me?"
Although they cannot change their official status, the idea of
Sarah stays and takes root within Ice. What can he give his husband to
compensate for the fact that they must remain in the shadows even after
DADT is repealed? Back in Bahrain, reading about the legendary
Assassins, Ice realizes that the only thing that pays for one life is
another life. Pete has given his life for him. The least he can offer is
a human sacrifice. Thanks to the Kato leak, Ice knows what live to
offer: Koi Kahale, the man who organized the auction of Pete's virginity
in 1976. Satisfied, he starts to make plans to spend a few days in
Hawaii in October.
In July 2011, Ice is invited by the royal family of Bahrain to see
the premiere of "Captain America: The First Avenger." The romance
between Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes moves him to tears. It also makes
him understand that a gift is not valuable in itself but in its context.
He doesn't want Pete to believe that Kahale died by chance or that Ice
has some outdated idea about belated revenge. No, his tender Mav will
only be able to appreciate the offering if it coincides with a turning
point in their relationship.
That night, he called Vivian Cortell for advice on engagement rings.
* About the visit to Hawaii, read "When
Steve McGarrett saw an old photo of Pete Mitchell" https://palabraspulsares.blogspot.com/2023/10/five-times-plus-one-4.html
Example 2: Having a Netflix and chill night
The question comes in the locker room as they prepare for patrol.
"Hey, Hangman, you were Rooster's TA at the USNA five years ago, right?"
Jake glances briefly at the pilot. He is one of those who joined
the squad while he was in Top Gun. The patch on his chest says "Milken,"
but he can't remember his callsign. Well, it's not his fault. He
arrived two days ago and has been busy satisfying his longing for Brig.
He'll have time to learn his callsign if he deserves it. Jake doesn't
spend any space in his brain on mediocre pilots.
"AHA." -he replies without diverting attention from his flight suit.
He's a little curious about what ridiculous new theory is floating around about his brother.
"Is it true that he is like the Winter Soldier?" -Hangman turns
his head towards the pilot, raises an eyebrow questioningly, and the
other elaborates his question- "That his left arm is a high-tech
prosthesis that even allows him to feel the temperature."
He wants to burst out laughing but settles for pouting and
exchanging an amused look with Brig, whose locker is across the room. He
turns to Milken very seriously.
"Where do you get that from?"
"A friend of mine on the USS Bush says that his left hand has too wide a range of mobility and too much strength."
Jake grimaces. Yes, that's where the surgery team failed by
excess: Brad's new wrist allows him to bend his hand in all directions,
not just up or down. The strength of his arm is due to the new
generation materials with which they patched the bones of the shoulder,
arm, and hand. Of course, he won't tell Milken any of that.
He just rolls his eyes and answers over his shoulder.
"Bradshaw was born that way, man. I guess his arm is a little stronger because of all the screws it has."
"You suppose?"
Now, he looks straight at the impertinent.
"I don't know what you heard, Milken, but my work at USNA did not include letting myself be hugged by any professor."
He notices the awkward silence that has fallen in the locker room.
All the eyes of the squad are on him, but he does not give in to the
temptation to turn his face. He keeps his cold green eyes on Milken
until the guy shrugs his shoulders and looks away.
"Yes. Yes, of course. I didn't mean..." -he swallows dryly, clumsily grabs his helmet- "I'll see you in the air!"
After his footsteps fade into the hallway, Jake turns to the rest of the squad.
"Any other questions?"
He knows what they're thinking. Since the premiere of "Top Gun,"
everyone who has ever crossed paths with Squad 86 has to fend off
gossipers with a cane. It's like the game of six degrees of separation.
The problem is that the Navy is too small a community; nobody is more
than six degrees away from Iceman, Slider, Merlin, Sundown, Rooster, or
Maverick. The shift has been especially notable with Merlin, who has
worked at the USNA for years. Suddenly, every graduate remembers an
interaction with him.
It hasn't been unpleasant for everyone. Brig's parents have
benefited from the surge in sales of his book. Tom Cruise invited them
to the film's promotional tour in Europe. In Washington DC, Uncle
Chipper has taken every possible political advantage, posing with Milo
Ventimiglia, who plays him in the film. Everyone knows Milo. He is the
intellectual boyfriend of Rory Gilmore or the mutant Peter Petrelli. It
helps that he's from Massachusetts, and there's no history of prior
opposition to his senator. Chipper's popularity has exploded among men
with ties to the military, middle-aged women, and voters aged 18 to 25.
Last night, after much insistence, Brig confessed that these six
weeks have been somewhat uncomfortable. After the premiere of "Top Gun,"
some of the coverage focused on the book's author, the detail that
Harvard is Leonard "Wolfman" Wolfe's nephew, returned with a vengeance.
Suddenly, half the ship wanted to sit next to him in the mess. Although
most of the interactions were innocuous, there were a couple of
homophobic slurs. The commander of the Vigilantes decided to stop it and
set up a system of guards to protect him. It's nice to know that even
if they're not together, someone has Harvard's back.
Jake is torn between anger and relief at having gone to Top Gun
right before the film's release. On the one hand, he would have liked to
be on the USS John C. Stennis to stare to dead at those who tried to
bother Brig. He might even have knocked someone down and gotten away
with it if he handled the situation well; who knows?
He really wants to punch someone.
That they sent him to Fallon was unexpectedly timely.
The spectacular coming out of Pete "Maverick" Mitchell is the main
talk of the entire DoD. It impacts much more than Hollywood and
Wolfman, who retired twenty years ago. Mitchell is active, a decorated
combat aviator and test pilot. Since he supposedly had no part in the
matter, no one was shy about sharing their speculations in front of
Jake. Suddenly, the slightest interactions with the famous Maverick, his
casual comments, or inconsequential preferences were enough for hours
of discussion. Jake listened to all this with increasing discomfort. He
could not express his frustration without looking like a hypocrite who
didn't want to talk about a superior's personal life or, worse!, like a
homophobe.
He channeled his fury into studies and flying. He won the Top Gun
Spring 2016 Cup ten points ahead of second place, the team of Phoenix
and Bob. He knows Natasha will talk horrible things about him when she
meets Bradley on the USS Bush, but he doesn't care.
He has returned just as the debate dies down because there is a
limit to the amount of attention a community can devote to a topic.
Also, he is sure that he will not hurt Brig because his fury has
diminished in intensity. The careful lies woven into the "Top Gun"
mythology are just another link in the chain of grievances his father
and Kazansky have inflicted on him.
He still wants to punch someone.
"Don't get too eager, Hangman." -the commander snaps with an
exasperated gesture- "The only celebrity here in his own right is
Harvard, and they're already bored of asking him for selfies."
If only he knew… But Jake nods and exhales sharply. The tension in
the locker room decreases, and everyone returns to business. Jake isn't
quite sure what to do. He grabs his helmet and stares at the inside of
his locker. It's a relief when Brig taps him on the shoulder, and they
walk together toward the hangar.
"Tonight, I think we should stay in the cabin," he says.
"Yeah." -Jake smiles easily at the idea- "Netflix night under the blanket?"
"Perfect." -and he goes to do the pre-flight check of his plane.
Today's mission is routine. Patrol an area of steep cliffs for
signs of Taliban movement or refugees attempting to cross the mountains
into Pakistan.
They exchange a few jokes as they cross Pakistani airspace, but
all unnecessary conversations cease when they enter Afghanistan. The
Taliban have anti-aircraft rockets, good scout teams, and an insatiable
taste for executing American soldiers live on YouTube. Nobody wants to
end up like that.
Jake knows it won't touch him, but he doesn't want to lose anyone that way.
The order comes when they are about to finish the round with nothing new to report.
"Vigilantes," Meka's voice sounds surprised even through the static, "we receive orders to move west."
Jake purses his lips but says nothing. He just returned with the
trophy. Any complaint will be interpreted as conceit. No need. Rabbit
lives up to his callsign and gives voice to the concern of the entire
group.
"Boss, we already have two hundred kilometers of flight."
And the F-18 has only 750 kilometers of range.
"Don't I know how to count, Bowell?" -Meka sounds annoyed- "We are
the closest squad. We have to cover Maki until the Black Aces arrive."
Jake feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Meka is a
good commander, but he doesn't know how to handle his feelings well like
many men. He only gets angry when afraid because he believes he should
not feel afraid. That answer, to Jake, is like an affidavit. Whatever
the USS John C. Stennis reported to the commander is not good.
"Cruise formation," Meka orders.
Jake slides in next to Brig as he reviews the facts: Maki is a
triangular-shaped district where Pakistan separates Iran and Afghanistan
like a wedge. There is a point in the middle of the mountains where the
borders of the three countries meet. It looks nice on the map, but it's
a diplomatic nightmare for Tehran and Karachi. The Taliban don't deal
with that, of course. It is a high and arid territory, with hardly any
population from any of the three countries. That makes it an ideal space
for raids of all kinds.
Jake makes a discreet sign with his hand. Brig nods.
"Commander," he asks in a relaxed voice, "what awaits us in Maki?"
"Nothing special, Harvard." -but Jake notices the short pause
before the commander completes his answer- "Just a couple of Iranian
pilots lost."
"Oh, that," the relief in Rabbit's voice is unmistakable.
This is not the first time that Iranian air patrols have entered
Pakistani territory by mistake. The Islamic Republic also despises the
Taliban and harasses them whenever they can. Over the mountains, it is
easy to cross into other people's airspace. Of course, as a matter of
principle, the Iranian Air Force does not withdraw immediately but waits
to see who responds. If a Pakistani F-16 shows up, they just do some
pirouettes and return to their side of the line. If the US F-18s arrive,
there will be some combat maneuvers before everyone goes their own way.
The next day, the Iranian state media will inform they had a
skirmish with the imperialists and some other chauvinist propaganda
crap. Nothing more than poses on both sides. However…
Jake has learned to trust his instincts. After meeting Ray
Seresin, he knows that "the force" is not just a delusion of George
Lucas's marijuana brain. It is the unreserved use of that instinct that
explains his effectiveness rates. Right now, instinct tells him this
afternoon will not be like others.
There are only three years left of the time predicted by his
uncle. He just returned from Top Gun. He is, so to speak, at the prime
of his might.
He makes another personal signal to Brig. His friend returns the gesture, confirming that he received the message.
They don't see them until Pakistani territory is about fifty
kilometers wide. No one can contain their shock when they ascend from a
gorge in perfect formation.
"Boss, that's not two lost planes," moans Rabbit.
Jake doesn't allow himself to roll his eyes. He can't afford to
lose eye contact now, but Bowell's penchant for stating the obvious is
annoying. No, it is not a pair of old reconnaissance F-4s in front of
them but five elegant Chengdu F-7s, the Chinese version of the MiG-21.
"Shut up, Rabbit. Five F-7s versus eight F-18s. Besides, we all
know what will happen: the Ayatollah needs a note the value of his
pilots in the press. We are happy to help."
But as Meka speaks, Jake notices one of the Iranians rising above
his squad. He mimics the movement, blocking any possibility of it
suddenly descending behind the group.
"Stay still Seresin," the commander orders, but Jake is no longer paying attention.
The Iranian pilot has removed his oxygen mask and lets him see his
face: there is a disturbing expression of resigned pain. Suddenly, he
knows this man has come to die. He activates weapons.
"Knife in the mouth! Knife in the mouth!" -is all he has time to
say before the F-7 does a pirouette to sneak between Jake and the rest
of his squadron.
"Oh God!" -Rabbit screams before firing and breaking left.
Jake turns right and looks for altitude. Around him, the F-7s move
like small killer pigeons. They are old planes from the sixties but
with undeniable maneuverability. However, he quickly notices that they
are not acting as expected. They are skilled at dodging F-18s: Meka and
himself have fired several times without hitting a target. That is why
the clumsiness with which they try to take down the Vigilantes is almost
ridiculous, they shoot before locking the target, they deviate at the
last minute as if a magical wind was stirring them. But if they don't
want a real confrontation, why...?
"It's in my tale! I can't lose it!"
Brig's desperate tone stops Jake from wondering why. The pilot who
came to die follows Brig, and a burning rage engulfs him. Brig is good.
It spins and twists in the air, preventing the F-7 from locking the
target. The suicide pilot is also good and doesn't give up. It doesn't
fire, but it stays on the tail. Jake is better than both of them. He
twists and gets behind the F-7. They are so close that some of his
projectiles will go to his friend's F-18 if he fires.
"Brig, listen to me."
"Jake? I can't get rid of it!"
"Shut up and listen! When I count three, you're going to break right."
"Seresin, you have another one on your tail," the commander warns.
But Jake has one advantage over everyone in this fight: he knows he will survive.
"Don't worry, boss. I'm going to leave it hanging. Brig, you with me?"
"Yeah. Always."
The tone of the aircraft's targeting system alerts him that the F-7 is in range.
"One." -put the finger on the trigger- "Two." -inhale and exhale gently- "Three!"
The F-7 explodes in a fireball, from which Brig escapes with a fierce right turn.
"Harvard, you okay?" -Meka asks without worrying about hiding his fear.
"Yes, there is no damage to the plane."
"The Iranians are leaving!" -Rabbit announces.
Jake moves sideways so he can watch the four remaining planes
retreat. One of the F-7s pairs with him for a few seconds. The pilot
turns towards him and touches the front of his helmet with his hand
twice. He knows that sign, it's a statement of respect.
Ah! So it was an assisted suicide. What could that pilot have done
to force him to do this? The commander's voice brings him back to more
pressing matters.
"Vigilantes, we have already traveled three hundred kilometers.
Cruise formation towards Ormara. Harvard, Hangman, center back. You will
be the first to touch the ship. Understood?"
After the "Yes" and "Yes, commander," the trip passes in silence.
The entire group is shocked by what happened. The need to focus on
pushing fuel beyond known limits is as good an excuse as any to avoid
thinking about what you just experienced.
When they finally reach the ship, Jake leaves his plane on shaky legs and walks toward the first plane that touched the runway.
"Brig." -he gasps and squeezes his face in his hands- "Are you okay?"
The brunette smiles. He's pale. It smells like sweat and urine. Jake has never loved those smells of life more.
"Yes, I'm fine. You saved me, Jake."
"Yeah. I did it."
He lets go of his face and puts one hand on his shoulder and the
other on his own waist. He gives him a shaky smile. Leans his torso
forward, pukes, and faints.
The following week is quite confusing for Jake "Hangman" Seresin.
He goes in and out of the ship's infirmary.
He goes in and out of offices, where he repeats what happened.
He goes in and out of nightmares where he relives what happened.
He goes in and out of the mess, where everything tastes like ashes.
He goes in and out of the bathroom to throw up the little ash-tasting ranch he swallowed earlier.
There is one stable thing: Brig. Well, not exactly. Brig's
presence is stable, but his face changes: he is increasingly distressed
and gray. Maybe he's tired of Jake? Since the "Maki Incident" - as the
senior officers who interrogated them to exhaustion called it - he
cannot be separated from him. Jake fears that Brig will disappear if he
loses sight of him. It's a fear that consumes him entirely and leaves no
room for something as superficial as discretion. He follows him with
his eyes when he goes to get them the ash-flavored ranch in the mess. He
holds his hand in public. He asked him to sleep together.
It must be embarrassing for Brig to have such a weak partner, unable to control his instincts.
Jake doesn't care. He knows he should care, but he can't feel the
slightest interest in the decorum that befits a Navy officer and the
rules of behavior that this demands. Anyway. Now, he is much more than
an aviator, right?
He is a murderer.
Like his father.
Like Kazansky.
"Jake, sweetheart," Brig whispers, "Come on, it's time."
He slowly gets out of bed and moves forward, leaning against the
wall. Brig has his personal backpack in one hand and another slung over
his shoulder. He extends his free arm toward Jake.
"Lean on me."
They leave the cabin and walk through the long corridors in silence. Every time they meet someone, they give way to them.
"Are they going to give a dishonorable discharge?
Brig stops abruptly and looks at him in surprise.
"Where do you get that idea from?"
"You packed all of my stuff. We go to the Command Center. The
looks of pity from everyone. Above all, my weakness. I'm no longer
useful. In the end, Kazansky…"
Brig silences him with a finger.
"Nothing of that. We are going to collect your medical leave
papers. You have post-traumatic stress, nothing to be ashamed of. And
people don't look at you with pity but with admiration. You are the
first aviator with an air kill since 1986."
Jake grunts and fights back nausea. He can't think about his father now! Brig gets them moving again.
"They will drop us at the San Diego Naval Base. Sarah is waiting
for us there." -the blonde makes a noise of protest- "Ey! You called
her."
"I did?"
"Yes, the second night. You hadn't wanted to talk to Bradley, Javier, or Sam, but you called your mother."
"Because I'm weak."
"No, because you love her and know she loves you."
Does she? Why would she love him? Jake turned his back on her. Leave her behind like the rest of his family. Brig keeps talking.
"It will be as you asked: one night in San Diego. Only her. Then
we will go to Moapa Valley. My parents are there. You can talk to them.
They… They understand what's happening to you, Jake. I'll tinker on the
engine of one of the planes, and you'll watch me from the sofa in the
hangar. Is it not a good idea?"
"I owe you a Netflix night," Jake suddenly remembers with strange clarity.
"Yes," -Brig gives him a soft and somewhat melancholic smile- "And we have three months of leave."
With a lot of effort, Jake manages to get some sarcasm out of him.
"Netflix and chill, then? Or is this too pedestrian for you, Harvard?
"It's a date, Hangman."
* About "Top Gun" in this universe: https://palabraspulsares.blogspot.com/2023/12/various-documents-2.html
Example 3: Schedule a family reunion
White House Crisis Room, Washington DC, Tuesday, October 15, 2019
Tom sits on the table, rests his elbows, rubs his face with his
hands, and grunts. Despite their shared fatigue, his assistant remains
standing behind him.
"You can sit."
Percy slides the folder over to his left side and takes his place against the wall, along with the rest of the support staff.
"You have him well trained," congratulates the Joint Chiefs of Staff Chief while sitting to his left.
"Thank you, General Dunford," he forces himself to say because we must not forget hierarchies. Ever.
The old marine looks at him sympathetically.
"Long trip?"
"We left Honolulu twelve hours ago, four in the afternoon. So I worked on the plane because I can't sleep while flying."
"Ah, yes, the feeling of lack of control in the air is a pain on
night flights," comments General Ray, also a former pilot, while sitting
to his right with a coffee.
Tom nods.
"So my body thinks it's six in the morning, and I was awake all
night. But I'm fifty-nine years old, not twenty-nine," he concludes with
a bitter smile.
"Ah, are we remembering our youth?" -asks Ellen Hill, who comes to
sit on the other side of the table with a thermos of coffee and a bulky
folder.
Tom looks with envy at the National Security Advisor's drink.
"I no longer remember that stage of my life, Admiral Hill,"
Timothy responds with a lopsided smile. He turns to Tom. "What was in
fashion when we went to parties?"
Tom gives him a surprised look. Then he remembers that he is only
four years older than Timothy Ray and probably sees him as a
contemporary. But he is exhausted. He does not have the energy to
remember which lie fits that stage of his life. He is saved by General
Dunford's sarcastic laugh.
"Iceman at a party while he was in the USNA? Come on, General Ray,
you know that Admiral Kazansky is one of our most successful genetics
projects, but he is a product of the sixties. They had to sacrifice some
things."
"That's a good one, Joseph," Ellen laughs, pointing her pen at
him. "Just don't say it at a White House party where the press can hear
you."
The old man makes a gesture of closing his lips with a zipper. At the same time, Percy puts a cup of coffee in front of Tom.
"What did I tell you?" -The general indicates to the young
lieutenant, who is already returning to his post. "He selects them,
trains them, and then sends them out into the world to embarrass the
rest of the DoD support personnel.
The Chief of Staff looks imperiously at his assistant, who runs to get him a coffee.
After the first shot of caffeine, Ice feels a heavenly warmth spread through his body. His mood improves immediately.
"Yes, I am an excellent clone. I never intended to leave the lab
and go down to town to mingle with the local population," gives Timothy a
crooked smile. "I'm sorry I can't be of help, General Ray."
They chuckle, ignoring the uncomfortable looks from the rest of
the room. They are in the White House Crisis Room, where you are never
summoned for good reasons. Furthermore, they are soldiers. They know the
time for happiness is always short, so they must take advantage of the
little things.
"Commander in Chief in the room!" -announces a guard, and everyone rushes to get up.
"Good morning," greets the president, who arrives with a quick step followed by her Chief of Staff.
Ephraim Ware, Director of National Intelligence, takes the floor as soon as she settles down.
"Madam President, we have good intelligence that the Sakha Republic is
developing a unique uranium enrichment facility in the heart of Siberia.
We believe it will be operational in five or six weeks.
Plans for an underground facility and photos of its location in a narrow canyon between the mountains appear on the screen.
"This is a joke?" -Tom utters before he can contain himself.
All eyes turn in his direction. Director Ware raises an eyebrow, looking confused.
"Excuse me?"
Tom doesn't allow himself to blush or blink. This is one of those moments where he proves he is an Iceman.
"It is an underground variation of the Death Star. Don't you see
it? The structure is dome-shaped, with a cylindrical exit to the surface
just at the end of a narrow valley."
The Director looks at him amazed. Dunford allows himself a minimal smile.
"Our best clone," he whispers, slapping his thigh under the table.
"Well done, Admiral Kazansky," Ware admits and turns to the
president again. "It is precisely the cylindrical structure that is most
troubling, according to our technicians' analysis, that is the exit for
a nuclear missile. That plant is not only for enriching uranium, which
would be problematic enough, but it is also a nuclear weapons production
and launching station."
A tremor spreads through the room.
The Sakha-Yakutia Republic has been a headache for Russia and the United States since its secession at the beginning of the 21st century. It was formed when a radical nationalist theocratic alliance won the election and took control of the then-federal government. It took them less than a year to capitalize on the population's historical resentments with the central government in Moscow. It is one of the most depopulated and poorest regions on the planet, and the economy of its eight million inhabitants depends heavily on the traffic of goods and people between Siberia, Japan, and Alaska. To make matters worse, the Yakutsk authorities kept the five nuclear warheads that Moscow had in that area - aiming at the North American Pacific - and they soon allied themselves with Iran and North Korea to continue developing those resources.
"What do you propose to do?" -asks the president.
"We must destroy it, of course," the CIA director intervenes.
"I asked Director Ware," she answers without even turning her face.
Haymond sinks into his seat. Ephrain Ware doesn't even flinch.
"It is the official opinion of the DNI Nuclear Threats Committee,
the CIA's Russia Bureau, the Navy's Office of Naval Intelligence, and
the Sixteenth Air Force that we must destroy that facility with a
surgical aerial strike. That's why we invited General Ray, Air Force
Global Strike Commander, and Admiral Kazansky, Commander, Pacific
Fleet."
All faces were towards the two of them. Timothy and Tom exchange awkward glances. Each one knows what the other will say.
"That is not within the reach of Global Strike Command," explains
General Ray. "We would have to fly from Alaska, which is impossible at
this time of year, and their radars would detect our bombers in time to
put their own defense in the air."
He turns to his Navy colleague. Tom has barely heard it. His mind
is focused on the images. A plan is forming in his head. It can not be
true?
"Admiral Kazansky?" -the president calls him.
"Excuse me. Can I get closer to the screen?"
She nods. Ice walks to the end of the room.
"Can someone put up a map of the area between the base and the
Pacific Ocean?" -Tom traces some patterns with his finger when the
officer in charge uploads the image. If they could... Ah! It looks like
Jake is finally coming home... or not. He turns towards the living room.
"In theory, we can do it with an F-18 squadron from an aircraft
carrier near the Sea of Okhotsk, a previous missile strike, and a lot of
luck."
"Very well, how much time would you need to organize the operation?" -inquires the President's Chief of Staff.
"That's more complicated, Mr. Whitman," Tom admits as he returns
to his seat. "First, we do not have aviators with the necessary
training."
"What?!" -The Secretary of Defense does not try to hide his
displeasure, but Ice has not trembled for years due to the displeasure
of his superiors. This is one of those moments when he demonstrates his
ability as a strategist.
"Fifteen years ago, I would have called Henry McCord and a dozen
other aviators. They would know what to do and only need two weeks to
learn how to do it as a team. Thirty years ago, the Admiralty would have
sent my squadron, and Senator Piper would have been on the ship as a
reserve squadron leader. But in the last fifteen years, Madam President,
pilots have been trained for other missions, mainly dropping bombs from
high altitudes, aerial surveillance, and flying in hostile weather
conditions. Covert movement on the ground and dogfights are the stuff of
dinosaurs like General Ray and me. We will have to look for the best of
the best and teach them a dead language."
She leans over the table and rests one hand with her fingers extended in his direction.
"Then I understand that I would need what? Four or five weeks to prepare them?"
"I believe that Director Haymond would have something to say there."
The president blinks in confusion but turns to the CIA director.
Hugh Haymond recovers quickly from the surprise. It is not usual for the
famous Iceman to give you a hand. He knows he will have to repay that
favor soon.
"The admiral is referring to the covert side of the operation," he
explains. "We can't round up a dozen aviators and have them play war
games for a month without the Russians or Iranians finding out. I estimate that
three weeks is the longest we could keep the secret."
"I agree," Ware says.
"Well, I don't see any problem," says Jay Whitman. "The facility
will be operational in five weeks, according to the DNI estimate. Enough
time." he motions as if to end the discussion.
"Not yet," Tom stops him. "We still don't have the evacuation plan for the nuclear plant."
"The evacuation plan for the nuclear power plant?" -Whitman repeats, confused. "We are going to bomb it!"
"I will not send my aviators to bomb innocent civilians, Mr. Whitman," Kazansky responds in a definitive tone.
The president falls back in her seat, looking at Iceman with a mix of surprise and admiration.
"What is this man talking about?" -Whitman demands, looking around
the room. Several members of the National Security Council avoid his
gaze, embarrassed. Finally, Gordon Decker chooses to speak.
"Considering the isolation of the facility and its nature, there
is a high probability that all technical personnel were moved with their
families to residences in the area. They become hostages and
motivators. This is nuclear energy, so the government ensures that no
one will take the facility's safety lightly."
Jay squeezes his pen convulsively.
"What type of families are we referring to?"
"We suspect that Vasili Yakolev is in charge of the launch
calculation team," Ware admits in a defeated tone. "His youngest
daughter is..." -he turns to his assistant- "eight years old?"
The agent types furiously on her tablet. She grimaces.
"She will be nine in a week."
"We cannot proceed if the scientists' families are there. We have
to get them out before neutralizing the facility," -concludes the
president. "Admiral Kazansky is not willing to order the bombing of
civilians. I will not give such an order knowingly. Ephraim, I want a
plan to vacate all the civilian population of the area and the
non-essential personnel from the base at least three days before the
attack. If it is not possible, I prefer to go to the UN."
"Yes, Madam President."
"Admiral Kazansky, please submit your personnel proposals for the
mission to the Secretary of the Navy as soon as possible so we can
greenlight the special assignment as soon as the evacuation plan is
feasible."
"Yes, Madam President."
"Thank you very much for your ideas," she says in farewell.
INDEX: http://palabraspulsares.blogspot.com/p/the-lies-we-told-each-other-4-roots.html
