Night of the Hawk

Epilogue

“I never thought I’d be thankful for a nuclear detonation,” General Dominikas Palcikas said with a wry smile, “but this is an exception.”

He and his executive officer were sitting in the Minister of Defense’s office in the Parliament Building. Normally the Minister of Defense’s office was at the Breda Palace, which housed the residence of Lithuanian president Gintarus Kapocius and the offices of the executive branch of government. But in the current nationwide power emergency, necessary government functions had been consolidated into one building to save energy. Palcikas had to smile at the bank of no less than ten old-style field telephones piled up on the Minister of Defense’s desk — because the effects of an electromagnetic pulse can last several days, they had been forced to use the crank-type telephone to communicate within the building. After three days, however, the effects of the low-yield nuclear blast over northern Byelorussia had subsided, and portable radios were being used until the main phone circuits could be rebuilt.

The Minister of Defense, Dr. Algimantas Virkutis, a sixty-nine-year-old full-time physician as well as civilian administrator of the Lithuanian Self-Defense Force, was doing a very unpolitical task — he was busily examining Palcikas’ wounded leg. “I must agree with you, Dominikas,” Virkutis said. “They used to say an army runs on its stomach — these days I believe an army runs on electronics and microchips. The blast over Byelorussia stopped everyone in their tracks very effectively. You tried walking on that leg yet?”

Palcikas nodded his head but wore a pained expression as he replied, “Yes, but it hurts like hell …”

“I told you not to walk on it, General,” Virkutis admonished. He gave the leg a friendly little slap, which predictably caused Palcikas to grimace in pain. “Jesus, Dominikas, when are you ever going to listen? You’ll extend your recuperation a week for every hour you put pressure on that leg. Follow me?”

“Yes, Minister.”

“And I told you to call me Algy here in the office. You still don’t listen.” He stripped off a layer of dressings and examined the wound, causing another surge of pain.

Palcikas was ready to cold-cock the old fart.

“Holy Mother of God, but that must’ve been a real stinger when that baby went into your leg.”

“Sort of like it feels right now, Algy,” Palcikas said. “Do you mind …?”

“Stop being such a crybaby, Dominikas.” He examined the wound carefully, nodded his approval, and reapplied sterile dressings from a medical bag beside his desk. “Those field medics did a bang-up job debriding your leg — in the dark, in the rain, and considering you mucked it up pretty good slapping that mud into it, they did a fine job.”

“It was either that or bleed to death.”

“Next time don’t lose your first-aid kit,” Virkutis said.

He had an annoying habit, Palcikas thought, of making one feel tremendously guilty for even the slightest error. “I thought we had business to discuss, Algy,” Palcikas said.

“Oh yeah, business,” Virkutis said. “Good news: we think we’ve got a cease-fire agreement put together with Byelorussia.”

“That’s great,” Palcikas said. “Under what terms?”

“The United States has agreed to head up a United Nations peacekeeping force in Byelorussia,” Virkutis said. “All Byelorussian and Commonwealth troops out of Lithuania and Kalinin, and all Russian and Commonwealth troops out of Byelorussia; supervised destruction of all nuclear weapons and inspection of weapon-storage sites, military bases, and government facilities; and unlimited reconnaissance aircraft overflights of all Baltic and Commonwealth countries. We’ve also agreed to more-favorable terms for transporting goods across Lithuania to Byelorussia.

“What about the Byelorussian Army?” Palcikas asked. “They’ll still have hundreds of thousands of troops and a sizable ground force — they can threaten us with retaliation at any time.”

“I think, with reactionaries like Voshchanka gone, the threat will be greatly diminished,” Virkutis said. “In any case, world attention has focused on the problems we face around these parts. I think people are starting to realize that just because the old Soviet Union is dead, aggression isn’t.” He slapped Palcikas’ leg again, stood up, and returned to his desk. “Plus it means we’re still in the prepare-for-war business, my friend. That is, if you still want to be.”

“Of course!” Palcikas said. “This little scratch won’t keep me from performing my duties.

“Well, you won’t be rappelling out of any helicopters for a while.” Virkutis chucked. “But no, I don’t see any medical reason to exclude you from active duty. But you’ve been battered around a bit, Dominikas— some might say a little too much.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that people — and I mean those in government, in business, and prominent citizens in this country — think you’ve done a terrific job as leader of the Self-Defense Force, but you’ve got a fire in your belly now that perhaps isn’t appropriate for what we need to accomplish.”

“Are you asking for my resignation, Minister?” Palcikas asked angrily. “Are you?”

“No, I’m not, Dominikas,” Virkutis replied. “But I want you to think about it, is all. You’ve always been a forward-thinking man, Dominikas, but with all you’ve been through, perhaps your outlook may be a bit clouded.”

“I don’t believe this, Minister!” Palcikas said angrily. “My career, my whole life, is the defense of my home and my country — now you’re telling me that I can’t do that effectively and objectively?”

“I’m telling you to think it over, Dominikas,” Virkutis said. “I know you aren’t good at listening to me, you young buck, but listen to this: I’m telling you that you’ve built a strong, proud country here, and now it may be time to step out of the trenches and smell the flowers in the fields instead of rolling tanks or landing helicopters on them. You understand, Dominikas? And stop calling me Minister or I’ll stop assigning pretty nurses to you and start assigning some big, hairy-armed medics to look after you.”

Palcikas couldn’t help but smile at Virkutis’s words. He nodded. “All right, all right. Maybe in a year or two I’ll think about retirement. But right now all I want is to get my headquarters organized again. If there’s nothing else, I’ll get back to Trakai.”

“Yes, there is something else.” Virkutis pushed Palcikas’ aide aside and took the handles of his wheelchair. He pushed it out into the hallway, down the elevator, down the main hallway of the Parliament building, and took a right turn toward a set of ornately decorated double doors. Two armed soldiers opened them.

“What in hell is this, Algy?” Palcikas asked when he realized where they were going.

“Call me Minister, General,” Virkutis said. “Christ, won’t you ever listen?”

Over two hundred men and women, the members of the Lithuanian Parliament, rose to their feet when Palcikas and Virkutis entered the Parliament chambers. Ceremonial trumpets sounded, and the sergeant-at-arms announced in a loud voice, “Mr. President, members of Parliament, distinguished guests and fellow citizens: the Chief of Staff of the Self-Defense Force, General Dominikas Palcikas!”

Thunderous applause erupted in the Parliament chambers, hands slapped his shoulders, and photographers snapped away as Virkutis wheeled Palcikas to the podium. The Lord High Minister of the Parliament raised his pommel staff for silence, but it was ignored for several long minutes as the applause continued.

“The chair recognizes the President of the Republic, the honorable Gintarus Kapocius,” the Lord High Minister announced. Kapocius himself moved down from his chair beside the Lord High Minister and stood beside Palcikas.

“Lord High Minister, members of Parliament, guests and fellow citizens. I know this is not yet a time for celebration. Enemy forces are still on Lithuanian soil. Our country is still suffering the effects of the nuclear explosion, and it will take many days to assess the damage to our population and our nation.

“But we are here today to honor the man who by his courage and his leadership helped to save our nation from certain disaster. In the face of vastly superior forces, he led a small force in ambush raids and carefully planned and perfectly executed guerrilla-style attacks on the invading Byelorussian forces. He is a genuine hero to us all, and an inspiration for Lithuanians and free people all over the world.”

The applause again lasted for several minutes until Kapocius finally quieted them down. “There is one more act of recognition I am obliged to perform. As a sign of his fidelity to the government and to the people, General Palcikas surrendered two very valuable things to a member of this Parliament. It is my happy duty to return these things to him as a token of our respect and pride in him and what he has done for our country. Miss Kulikauskas?”

From a side chamber, Anna Kulikauskas and Corporal Georgi Manatis walked to the podium. With the corporal holding the item, Anna unwrapped the Lithuanian flag that covered the Lithuanian Sword of State, and carefully presented it to Dominikas Palcikas once again. To the deafening applause of the members of Parliament, Palcikas held the Sword of State aloft for all to see.

But amidst the applause and adulation, Palcikas could see only one person: Anna. Her eyes were locked with his, and he knew in that instant that the growing love between them was unbroken and getting stronger each day. Perhaps there was something more important than fighting for one’s country, Palcikas thought: perhaps one did not fight for a flag or a sword, but for the people and the loved ones that were family, friends, and fellow countrymen. And when the fighting was done, perhaps it was time for the older, more battle-weary soldiers to step aside and let the younger lions take their place. How else were they to learn the value of defending their homes, their people, and their way of life?

Palcikas saw that Alexei Kolginov’s identification bracelet was still firmly locked on to the cross-hilt of the Sword. He touched it, a silent remembrance of his friend, but left it there as a symbol of the old and the new. He turned to Manatis and gave him the Sword. “Take good care of this, George.” The young corporal was stunned, but Palcikas only smiled and offered no other explanation or orders. He motioned for Anna to move closer, and as she did, he kissed her cheek.

“Come with me, Anna,” he told her over the cheers and applause of the Parliament. “Be with me.”

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes, then returned his kiss. Firmly but politely, she pushed the Minister of Defense away from the handlebars of the wheelchair and pushed Palcikas out of the Parliament chamber and into the warm Lithuanian spring sunshine.

“I think,” Dr. Virkutis said to President Kapocius over the whistles and cheering of the members of Parliament, “that boy finally decided to listen to me.”

“This really sucks,” Hal Briggs said bitterly.

Briggs, along with Brad Elliott, John Ormack, Patrick McLanahan, Wendy Tork, Angelina Pereira, Paul White, Kelvin Carter, and other senior officers and engineers at the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center research center and the Intelligence Support Agency group MADCAP MAGICIAN were standing outside of the small base-operations building on the flight line one cold, overcast morning — even Lieutenant Fryderyk Litwy, the young Lithuanian security officer MADCAP MAGICIAN had rescued months before, was there.

Parked in front of the building was a C-22B transport plane — a modified Boeing 727 commercial jetliner with all of its Air Force markings erased, it looked like any other commercial or corporate jet ready to depart.

Deputy Director John Markwright, chief investigations officer for the U.S. Defense Intelligence Agency, turned with an angry glance toward Briggs and said, “What was that, Captain Briggs?”

“I said, this sucks, man!”

“Listen, you—”

“That’s enough, both of you,” Elliott said. “Hal, keep it buttoned.”

Briggs turned and walked a few paces away, muttering something under this breath.

“You know, part of the problem around here,” Markwright said with aggravation, “is a noticeable lack of discipline, General. I’m a deputy director of the National Security Agency and a direct Presidential appointee, and ever since I’ve arrived I’ve been treated like shit by your snot-nosed officers.”

“Maybe we don’t like what you’re doing,” McLanahan said evenly. “Maybe what we think you’re doing is wrong.”

“The President disagrees with you, Colonel,” Markwright said dismissively. “I’m doing this under his authority.”

“But as part of your recommendations,” Ormack added. “I don’t think you considered one goddamn proposal of ours or of the Pentagon for dealing with Dave Luger.”

“My staff and I read and reviewed every recommendation on dealing with this situation, including your half-baked ideas about leaving him here,” Markwright said. “The consensus was to get him out of the country and into isolative custody until the security review has been completed and the Old Dog mission has been fully declassified — and until my investigations have been concluded.” He affixed every one of them with a cold stare. “And while I’m conducting my investigation, it would behoove all of you to cooperate instead of jerking me around with all your damned clearances and security checks. I’m sick of it. I’ve got clearance to see and ask anything around here, and the sooner you all realize that, the better it’ll be for all of us.” He lowered his voice slightly and said to Elliott, “And if I get full cooperation from you, General—full cooperation — it might make Lieutenant Luger’s life a bit more bearable as well. Where he’s going, he could be a bit uncomfortable.”

“Get away from me, you arrogant son of a bitch,” Elliott snapped. “And if I find out that you’ve mistreated Major Luger, after all this group has been through, I’ll personally wring your scrawny little neck.”

Markwright stepped away from Elliott as if the three-star general had kicked him in the groin; then a mischievous grin spread across his face. “Where he’s going, General, you won’t hear or find out diddly,” Markwright said smugly. “Luger belongs to me now, got that? And if you think he had it tough at the Fisikous Institute, you haven’t seen anything yet. Whatever we need to find out from Luger, we will find out.”

Elliott shoved Markwright away from him, but Markwright only straightened his suit jacket, smiled, and walked briskly away from the group toward the C-22B.

“I don’t understand, General,” Wendy Tork told Elliott. “We’re all here, and we’ve got full freedom to move around — why does Dave have to be taken into isolative custody?”

“I’m not sure, Wendy,” Elliott replied. “He’s under investigation, and I think they’re afraid of the brainwashing he’s undergone. There’s a very real possibility that he’s been turned into a double agent. The difference, of course, is that we pronounced him dead after the Old Dog mission was over. We can’t explain his reappearance without revealing everything— the Old Dog mission, everything about what we do here at HAWC, and everything we did over in Lithuania.”

“But we have the capability to keep him isolated and secure here at Dreamland,” Angelina Pereira argued. “We’ve had Russian defectors and Chinese scientists here for years without anyone knowing about it. Why not the same for Dave?”

“Because Markwright can see a career-enhancing step in this investigation,” Ormack said angrily. “That geek is going to push his way to NSA director on the back of Dave Luger.”

At that moment an ambulance drove up to the base operations building. The rear doors opened up and two plainclothes security guards stepped outside and stationed themselves nearby. A physician from HAWC’s medical staff remained in the back of the ambulance, sitting on a long, wide, enclosed cargo bench that doubled as storage space for rescue equipment. He looked restless and wary, as if unsure about some action that he’d been asked to perform. He visually sought out Brad Elliott, but he said nothing to the three-star general when they locked eyes.

Dave Luger, wearing a plain white shirt, blue jeans, and tennis shoes, stepped onto the back step of the ambulance. The group of well-wishers pushed forward. The security officers told everyone to step back away from the ambulance, but they realized the group’s emotions at the moment were very intense, so they weren’t too insistent. Finally they decided to wait in the front of the ambulance to at least let them say their good-byes in private.

“I guess this is it,” Luger said. Angelina and Wendy were the first ones to embrace him. “I never thought I’d ever see you guys again,” Luger said. “I’m glad I could.”

“You’ll be okay, Dave,” Wendy reassured him. “They’ll take good care of you — we’ll see to that.”

“We’ll never forget you, Dave,” Angelina said, tears welling up in her eyes. “We still owe you a party. When you come back, we’ll throw you a real doozy.”

“I can’t wait,” Luger smiled halfheartedly. “But seeing you two again is the best celebration I could have.”

General Elliott was the next one in line. “Hey, thanks for the promotion, sir,” Dave said.

“You deserved it, Major, and much more,” Elliott replied. “God, I’m going to miss you. I’m glad you’re ad right.”

“What are you going to do with the Fisikous-170?”

“Everyone’s denying the thing ever existed;” Elliott said. “The Russians don’t want it, the Lithuanians don’t want it, so I’ll keep it. When you come back, you can have it.”

“No way,” Dave said. “I’m sorry I ever had anything to do with it. I’m just glad we were the ones to use it.”

They shook hands, then embraced one last time. “I’ll be seeing you, sir,” Luger said.

“Soon. Very soon,” Elliott said confidently. “The security review will be over before you know it. And I’ll be looking out for you. Don’t let Markwright give you any shit.”

“I’ve taken shit from the best,” Luger smiled. “He won’t be a problem.”

Paul White, Kelvin Carter, the Lithuanian officer Fryderyk Litwy, Gunny Lobato, and some of the other officers and engineers came forward to say their good-byes. The press of well-wishers was so great that the ambulance was nearly surrounded, and after a moment the guards finally warned the crowd to step back. They did so reluctantly. Ormack, Briggs, and McLanahan were the last ones to step forward. “I can never repay you guys for saving my life,” Dave said. “It’s still like a dream — an incredible dream.”

“We’ll push for an early release, and visitation rights, and correspondence rights,” Ormack said. “We’ll make those bastards in Washington believe you’re a hero, don’t worry.”

“Even if it means going out there and standing on some desks,” Briggs said. “I’m so pissed I could take on the Prez himself.”

“With guys like you behind me”—Luger grinned—”I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Finally it was just Luger and McLanahan. The two looked at each other, then gave tight, strong hugs. “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened,” McLanahan said. “We lost you, then found you, and now we’ve lost you again … Shit.”

“You haven’t lost me,” Luger said. He was determined not to get teary-eyed, so he smiled. “Remember when you suckered me into coming to this place, Patrick? You said this was an opportunity I’d never forget. Well, you were right.”

“Jesus, I’ve gotten you into a lot of scrapes, haven’t I?” McLanahan asked. “The Old Dog, then Tuman … boy, what’s next?”

“Whatever it is, I’m looking forward to it,” Luger said. He paused, then glanced at the guards, who were now back and ready to close the ambulance doors. “Whatever they’ve got in mind”—Luger sighed—”I know it’ll be an adventure. Good-bye, Patrick. I’ll see you… whenever.” Luger stepped back into the ambulance.

Patrick tried to climb in with him, but the guards pushed him away. “Let me ride with him to the plane, at least!”

“No one goes with him except for the doc,” one of the guards snapped.

“Oh, fuck you!” exploded McLanahan, as Luger lay down on a gurney and the HAWC physician began attending to him. McLanahan shoved the guard aside and tried to climb into the back of the ambulance.

The guard firmly pulled him back. “Stay back, Colonel, or we’ll place you under arrest. And I’d hate to do that.”

“I can’t even ride with him to the plane? What kind of shit is this, you motherfucker?”

“Orders,” said another guard, now holding McLanahan from the other side.

McLanahan glanced at Luger, who was shaking his head. “Don’t, Patrick. We’ll see each other again. It’s not worth an arrest.” Luger smiled and gave a gentle wave to the crowd gathered around the ambulance, then lay back on the gurney for the short ride.

The doors were shut and the ambulance finally roared off down the tarmac. The guards held McLanahan until the ambulance was at the C-22 and Luger was being carried into the plane through the rear boarding stairway. He noticed that a white sheet had been pulled over Luger’s face, completely shielding him from view.

“I can’t fucking believe this!” raged McLanahan.

“He’ll be all right, Patrick,” Elliott said. He motioned for the guards to release McLanahan; they did so after seeing that Luger was safely on board the plane and the aft airstair was retracted. The guards scanned the faces that were still assembled near the base operations building. A few people had departed, including the one young officer with the foreign uniform that they had noticed earlier.

But something did not quite feel right …

“Baker, this is Markwright,” a message suddenly announced. One of the guards pulled a small transceiver from a coat pocket. “What’s your status?”

“Baker here. Slight difficulty with one of the officers — guy named McLanahan.”

“Everything under control?” Markwright asked from the plane.

The guard hesitated, still wondering about the faces he didn’t see, but replied, “Yeah, everything secure.”

“We’re ready for departure. Close it up and let’s move. Out.”

“Baker roger.” The two guards trotted toward the plane, glad to be away from that hostile group.

“We’ll be monitoring him, Patrick,” Elliott was saying. “Don’t worry. He’ll be taken care of, I promise.”

“Do you know where he’s going? Did you bug the plane?”

“We thought of that,” Briggs admitted. “We tried NIRTSats to track the plane, we tried micro-transmitters implanted in his intestines, we tried bribing someone at the NSA. Nothing. He’s going to be clamped down on, hard, until the security review is completed.”

“That’ll take years — at least six years before the board can meet — and who knows how many years after that?”

“Well, you’ll be the General by then,” Elliott said, “and maybe you’ll even be the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs or even the President. Then you can decide.”

“Dave thought that someone might try to do away with him, do away with us, “McLanahan said. “He was afraid that he knew too much, that he wouldn’t be safe anywhere. Brad, we’ve got to do something-”

“There’s nothing we can do, Patrick,” Elliott said. “Just be patient.”

They watched as the airstair was closed, the engines started, and the C-22 taxied and launched several minutes later. The group slowly departed as the C-22 was lost from view. Wendy Tork took Patrick’s hand, and together they left the flight line and headed back to their cars.

Paul White, Gunnery Sergeant Lobato, and Brad Elliott were the last ones remaining on the tarmac. After a few long moments of silence, Elliott said, “Paul, Jose, I want to thank you for all you’ve done. I’ll never forget your service to me and my unit.”

“We were glad to help, General,” Paul White said. He clasped Lobato on the shoulder and said with a smile, “It was one hell of a ride, wasn’t it?”

“It certainly was, sir. It certainly was.” Lobato walked to the car, leaving White with Elliott.

After a few moments, when everyone was out of earshot, Elliott asked White, “So. Do you know where they’re heading yet?”

“Not yet,” White said. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll find out.”

“Okay.” Elliott paused a bit. They watched the HAWC ambulance slowly return to the base operations building: it eased up to them, then passed without stopping. The HAWC flight surgeon in the front passenger seat nodded to Elliott, who then remarked to Paul White, “That Lieutenant Litwy is a hell of a nice guy, isn’t he?”

“He certainly is,” White agreed. “He certainly is.”

It was the last staff meeting of the day before the President’s evening meal, and as usual the topic of conversation, as it had been for the past several days, was the press’s treatment of the events in Lithuania and Byelorussia.

“You can say ‘don’t worry’ all you want, Case,” the President said to his Chief of Staff, “but I get hounded everywhere I go. The press has locked on to the story that we launched bombers in support of the Lithuanian attacks in Byelorussia. What am I supposed to do? Just keep denying it? If they ever find out, I’ll look like a total jack-ass.

“I’m telling you, sir, the report will fizzle away,” Case Simmons said reassuringly. “The story appeared two days ago, and it hasn’t been confirmed by anyone. We admitted we had Marines and Special Forces troops in Lithuania, but they’ll never find out about the EB-52s. Some reports are saying they were Americans, others say they were Ukrainians, and others say it was a Russian stealth bomber … they don’t know shit-sir. It’ll blow over.”

“I damned well hope so.” The President groaned. “I’m sick of this. Jesus, I want to get on with relations in Europe, and I can’t function with the press hounding me on the bomber attack.” He smiled, then added, “Although I do have to hand it to Elliott — the old war horse came through. Again.”

“That he did,” agreed the Chief of Staff with a wry smile.

There was a knock on the Oval Office door, and National Security Advisor George Russell was admitted. He strode right over to the President’s desk, looking almost apoplectic.

“George, what’s the matter?” asked the President, concerned.

“That bastard Elliott!” exploded Russell. “He’s done it again! lie’s … he’s, oh, fuck it. I’m going to kill him!”

The President and his Chief of Staff were staring at Russell. “George,” the President said, hoping he would calm down. “What exactly has Elliott done?”

Russell gritted his teeth. “That crazy sonofabitch swapped prisoners on us! Sometime when David Luger was being transported to his plane, Fryderyk Litwy, the Lithuanian defector we picked up last October, was switched in his place. That fucking doctor must have been in on it, too, goddamn it!”

“What doctor?”

Russell scowled. “Oh, one of Elliott’s staff physicians. They must have snuck Litwy in the cargo bench storage area in the ambulance, then made the switch on the way to the plane. Dammit, when I get my hands on Brad Elliott…! This time he’s gone too far. He thinks he can do anything he wants and I’ve had it. Sir, I want him court-martialed. I want his head on a platter! I want—”

The President was now laughing so hard that Russell looked as if he were ready to pull his hair out in frustration.

“Sir, I fail to see the humor—”

The President was laughing even harder now, tears welling up in his eyes. “Never mind, George. Never mind. Just forget about it.”

“What? But, sir, Elliott—”

“—will take good care of Luger, and he’ll see that he stays out of the public eye until the security review is completed. He knows what’s best for his people, George. He always did. He’s a sonofabitch, all right … but at least he’s our sonofabitch!”