Phoenix Rising

CHAPTER FIVE

Fort Rucker—Thursday, March 15

General Clifton von Cairns swiveled around in his chair and looked through the windows of his office out onto the parade ground. He was the commanding general of an Army base whose sole reason for existence was to train aviators and aircraft maintenance personnel—but, by order of the Department of the Army, all training had been suspended until further notice. In the meantime he had over twenty thousand soldiers wandering around on the base with no specific jobs.

Worse, he had aviators who weren’t able to fly, not even to maintain their minimums. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair for a moment; then he reached for the telephone, and dialed the direct line to the deputy chief of staff, U.S. Army, G1, at the Pentagon.

“This is General von Cairns. I would like to speak to General Roxbury,” he said when the phone was answered.

“Yes, General, what can I do for you?” General Roxbury said when he came on the line.

“Tell me, Bill, just when in the hell do you think we will be able to resume training?” von Cairns asked.

“We’ve been through all that, Clifton. Training will be resumed as soon as we can get reorganized. We have brought three hundred thousand troops back from overseas, the largest part of that number being Army personnel. That has put quite a strain on our military infrastructure as I’m sure you can understand. And right now, our first priority is reorganization.”

“Alright, I can see that, but why restrict our flying time? As you know, I am not only CG of Fort Rucker and the Army Aviation School; I am also chief of the Army Aviation Branch. These flight-time restrictions are Army-wide, and they are having a serious impact in allowing our aviators to maintain their minimums. And that, Bill, could have dire, and I mean dire, consequences.”

“I wish I could help you with that, Clifton, I really do. But that is out of my hands. The restriction of flight time isn’t just for the Army. It is for all branches of the service, and it comes direct from the secretary of defense.”

“Yes, someone who has never served one day in the military, who has never held a private-sector job, and who has never been in charge of anything larger than an office staff. Can’t you talk to him, Bill? Can the chief of staff talk to him? Hell, how about the chairman of the Joint Chiefs? He’s an Air Force man, a pilot; he ought to understand better than anyone what this is doing to training, to operational readiness, to say nothing of morale.”

“Believe me, he does understand. And he has talked with the secretary of defense as well as the president. But the flight limitations remain in effect.”

General von Cairns was quiet for a long moment.

“You still there, Clifton?”

“Yeah,” von Cairns said. “I’m here.”

“Look, I know what you are going through,” General Roxbury said. “And I’m doing—we are doing—all we can to get this situation resolved as quickly as we can. All I can say now is for you to just hang loose and keep your personnel ready to resume training at a moment’s notice. This can’t last forever.”

“No, it sure as hell can’t,” von Cairns said. “Good-bye, Bill, and give Connie my best.”

“Will do,” General Roxbury said. “I’m going to stay on this, Clifton, I promise.”

General von Cairns hung up the phone. Nearly one hundred soldiers were moving across the parade ground performing police call. But there was nothing left for them to pick up, because another group of one hundred had performed a police call earlier this morning. This useless waste of manpower was the result of junior officers and NCOs “making work,” for the men and women soldiers on the base. The lack of mission was having a serious impact on troop morale.

Von Cairns looked over at a shadow box on the wall. Inside the box was a Distinguished Service Cross, a medal of valor second only to the Medal of Honor.

The framed citation was right beside it.

Citation: Distinguished Service Cross

CLIFTON VON CAIRNS

The President of the United States takes great pride in presenting the Distinguished Service Cross to Clifton von Cairns, Major, U.S. Army, Avn, for his extraordinary heroism in military operations against an opposing armed force while serving as an Apache pilot with the Third Combat Aviation Brigade during Operation DESERT STORM on January 21, 1991. On that date, Major von Cairns was flying a search-and-destroy mission at a forward-operating location when he received tasking to look for another Apache crew that had been shot down the night before. For three hours of intensive searching deep inside enemy territory, he risked his life as he had to fly at absolute minimum altitude to pinpoint the survivors’ location. When an enemy truck appeared to be heading toward the downed crew, Major von Cairns engaged and destroyed it, thus enabling a Blackhawk helicopter to secure the rescue. Once the crew recovery was effected, Major von Cairns flew cover for the rescue helicopter, taking out two more enemy gun positions on the return flight. It was his superior airmanship and his masterful techniques at orchestration that made this rescue happen. Through his extraordinary heroism, superb airmanship, and aggressiveness in the face of the enemy, Major von Cairns reflects the highest credit upon himself and the United States Army.

The door to his office being open, Lieutenant Phil Patterson stepped through it, then called out, “General von Cairns?”

Von Cairns swiveled back around. “Yes, Lieutenant ?”

“You wanted the 1352 forms? The Matériel Readiness Reports?”

“Yes, what do we have?”

“Forty-two percent of our aircraft could be made flyable by reconnecting the fuel control lines.”

“What? Only forty-two percent? What’s the problem ? You would think with as little flying as we are doing that we could at least keep our aircraft operational.”

“Yes, sir, well, it isn’t the fault of maintenance, General. Fifty-one percent of the red-X aircraft are grounded for parts.”

“Fifty-one percent? What’s the holdup? Are the parts on order?”

“Yes, sir, and they are on AOG, which as you know is the highest priority,” Lieutenant Patterson said. “Evidently there is a hold on all resupply.”

“How much authority can AOG have now, anyway ?” General von Cairns asked. “Hell, all aircraft are on ground.”

“That’s true, General. But I suppose that is the best they can do.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” von Cairns agreed. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Patterson returned to his desk. He had welcomed the assignment to run down the 1352s. That had given him something to do other than sit at his desk and read paperback novels.

Opening the middle drawer on his desk, he picked up Death Town by Robert Varney. The other officers sometimes teased him about his “high literary tastes,” but he didn’t care. He enjoyed the thrillers, and the way things were going right now, he needed all the escape he could get.

JFK Airport, New York—Friday, March 16

Pan World America Flight 103, out of Frankfurt, Germany, was just entering New York airspace for landing at JFK. Rena Woodward, the chief flight attendant, took the mic from its holder.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has just turned on the seat-belt sign. Please make certain that all trays are stowed, your seats are in the upright position, and your seat belts are fastened. We thank you for flying PWA.”

Suddenly, from the aisle seat in row twenty-three, Abdullah Ibrahim Yamaninan stood up and, using a cigarette lighter, lit the hem of his shirt.

“Death to all infidels! Allah hu Akbar!”

The shirt flamed as suddenly and as brightly as a magnesium flare.

“He’s got a bomb!” someone shouted.

Mike Stewart, a former linebacker for Penn State, was a passenger one row behind. He grabbed the blanket off the woman who was seated next to him, then leaped up and wrapped it around Yamaninan, knocking him down as he did so.

“Get a fire extinguisher!” Stewart shouted as he tried to smother the flames with the blanket.

Yamaninan was screaming in pain from the severe burns all over his body. Reena arrived then with a foam fire extinguisher and she emptied it on Yamaninan and Stewart, whose clothes were, by now, also burning.

One of the other flight attendants called the flight deck to inform the pilot of what had just happened, and the pilot called JFK to declare an emergency.

“Pan World, what is the nature of your emergency ?”

“It appears we have a bomber on board.”

“Say again, Pan World. You have a bomb on board?”

“A bomber. Or a would-be bomber. Apparently he tried, but it did not explode.”

“Pan World America, you are cleared for immediate landing on runway 13R, winds north–northwest at twenty knots, altimeter two niner niner seven.”

“Pan World, 13R, roger.”

“All inbound aircraft to JFK, be advised there is an emergency in progress. Northwest on short final for 13R. Please expedite your landing, exit runway at first opportunity. All other aircraft in queue for 13R go around for reassignment.”

“Northwest, roger, expediting approach.”

“JFK, this is Pan World, we request emergency equipment on site.”

“Roger, Pan World, we will meet you with emergency equipment.”

Back in the cabin, the fire was out, and Rena was applying ointment to the burns on Mike Stewart’s chest and arms. Yamaninan lay in the aisle, untreated and moaning quietly. He was naked because most of his clothes had burned off, and his chest, abdomen, arms, and face were charred black.

“Cabin crew, we’re cleared for immediate landing. Prepare to deploy slide chutes,” the pilot’s voice said over the cabin loudspeakers.

The big 777 made a much steeper and faster landing approach than any of the passengers had ever experienced. The landing was hard, and immediately after touchdown the thrust reversers were engaged at full power, causing everyone to be thrown forward against their seat belts.

Once the plane turned off the active it proceeded but a short distance before coming to a stop. The cabin crew opened the doors fore and aft and deployed the sliding chutes. There was an orderly debarkation of all the passengers except Yamaninan, who was now being watched over by Mike Stewart and a male flight attendant.

Fire trucks, ambulances, and busses were already standing by.

Fort Rucker—Monday, March 19

Although Jake and Karin had each taken fifteen days’ leave, they used only five days, spending most of it in Philadelphia, before returning to duty. Coming back from his leave, Jake found that, if anything, the conditions in the Army in general, and on the base in particular, had gotten even worse. Captain Greenly had not returned from his leave, and Jake didn’t think he was going to. Captain Greenly and the three warrants who were assigned to EFT were all gone now, ostensibly on leave, though Jake had serious doubt that any of them would return. All four officers had completed their mandatory service and could leave the service simply by submitting their resignation papers, and Jake was reasonably certain they had either done so, or were going to.

That meant that Jake was not only chief of the environmental flight detachment, he was the only officer remaining. And now, in an effort to keep his men gainfully occupied, Jake was totally reorganizing Environmental Flight Tactics, the department he was responsible for. He was redoing the curriculum and rewriting all lesson plans, lesson objectives, and specific objectives, as well as reevaluating the course exams.

He went home late that night, planning to eat alone, primarily because Karin had night duty at the hospital.

After warming a can of chili, Jake took it and a can of root beer into the living room, where he turned on TV to watch the news.

President Ohmshidi announced today that, effective immediately, all banks in the nation with assets greater than twenty million dollars would be nationalized. CEOs and members of the Board of Directors of the affected banks will be asked to step down without any terminating compensation. The Federal Reserve will appoint government officials to run the banks, and any profits derived therefrom will accrue to the United States Government.

As a part of this proposal, all banking, savings, bond, and stock accounts are being inventoried, and a fair tax is being applied. An absolute limit of ten million dollars is being put on private wealth, and any amount of privately held funds greater than ten million dollars will be confiscated by the government. Persons with a net worth of between five and ten million dollars will be assessed a tax of seventy-five percent. Those people with a net worth of between one million and five million dollars are being assessed at a rate of fifty percent. There will be a twenty-five percent tax on all accounts between half a million and a million.

Those with a net value of from two hundred fifty to five hundred thousand will be taxed at ten percent and there will be no tax for those who have a net worth of less than two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

Anyone who has less than one hundred thousand dollars will come under the president’s new program of equalization. To those people, the government will be sending out checks within the week, totaling up to one hundred thousand dollars per check, the amount calculated to provide a baseline of at least one hundred thousand dollars for every American.

This is being done, the president says, to provide, fully and equitably, for all our citizens.

Jake did not have two hundred fifty thousand dollars, so he would not be subjected to a tax this year. He imagined there would be many people in the country who would welcome this tax relief, and many more who would welcome a government contribution that would elevate their net worth to one hundred thousand dollars. But Jake didn’t feel good about it at all. This could not bode well. Where would be the incentive of the more successful and entrepreneurial people to build businesses, which provided jobs?

Finishing his bowl of chili, Jake went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, then took out a block of cheese and carved off a thick slice. He grabbed a handful of crackers and another can of root beer, then returned to the living room to watch George Gregoire.

Hello, America.

I wish I weren’t doing this show today. I wish I did not have to say to you, what I am going to say.

But I told you when I started this program that I would always question with boldness and I will always tell you the truth.

Well, I’m going to tell you the truth now, and it is something that I never wanted to say, even though it is exactly what I have been suggesting for three months now—ever since Ohmshidi took office.

I believe, in all sincerity, that this nation is now on a path to utter destruction. We are on a luge course, sliding downhill at ninety miles per hour, with no brakes, and with no barriers to hold us back.

My advice to you is to dig in, and hold on. While there is still food available, and while money still has some value, though its value decreases each day, start stocking up. Buy packaged foods and canned foods, foods that have a long shelf life. Make a survival bunker in your basement; fill it with food, blankets, water, clothing, and yes, guns and ammunition.

We are going down. Prepare for a very rough landing.

Tuesday, March 20

When Jake went into his office the next morning, he saw a lot of smiles on the faces of the lower grades. Although no checks had yet been issued, they were already spending their money.

“I’m going to get a new Mustang,” one specialist was saying.

“Mustang, hell! I’m going to get new Caddy,” a sergeant replied.

“Not me. I’m investing my money,” a sergeant first class said.

“What makes you think you will be able to buy a Cadillac with one hundred thousand dollars?” Sergeant Major Clay Matthews asked. “Or for that matter, even a Mustang?”

“Cadillacs don’t cost no hundred thousand dollars,” the sergeant said.

“And for sure, Mustangs don’t cost that much,” the specialist put in. “I’m gettin’ me a red convertible with white leather seats.”

“Yeah,” the sergeant said. “You know what? That don’t sound half bad. Maybe I’ll get a Mustang my own self, and save the difference in the money between that and a Caddy. Only I want mine to be white, with black leather seats.”

“You’re both crazy spendin’ money like that. You ought to be like me, and invest it,” the sergeant first class insisted.

“No,” Clay Matthews said. “The truth is they have a better idea than you do. They are right about spending it as soon as they get it, because the way things are going, if you invest your money now, within six months it will be worth about half. If it takes that long.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t plan to speculate. I’ll probably buy mutual funds. They will spread it out, and be very conservative.”

“Jenkins, if you double your money in six months—say you run it up to two hundred thousand, or a quarter of a million, it won’t make any difference,” Clay said. “Two hundred fifty thousand dollars, six months from now, will be worth what fifty thousand is now. And fifty thousand now is worth what five thousand dollars was three months ago. My advice is to spend it as soon as you get it.”

“Yeah,” the other two said. “Come with us, we’ll all three buy new cars.”

“When is the last time you priced a new car?” Clay asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never had enough money to buy a new car before.”

“You don’t have enough money now, either. I have looked; the cheapest new car on the market today is one hundred twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“What? That ain’t right.”

“Go online, find your dream car, then tell me what it costs,” Clay invited.

“I’ll do it,” Jenkins said, sitting down at a nearby computer. He did an Internet search, found a car that the other two agreed they liked, then asked for the price.

“Holy shit! Two hundred and twenty thousand dollars?” the sergeant who had wanted the Cadillac said. “What’s going on here?”

“Inflation,” Clay replied. “Inflation like we’ve never had in this country before.”

“Sergeant Major Matthews,” Jake called. “Would you step into my office for moment?”

“Yes, sir,” Clay said.

“Look on there, see what the hell kind of car we can buy,” one of the men asked Jenkins as Clay went into Jake’s office.

“Close the door,” Jake asked. “And have a seat.”

Clay closed the door, then took the seat Jake offered him.

“How are the men holding up?” Jake asked.

“They’re gettin’ a little antsy, what with nothing real to do,” Clay answered. “Truth is I’m beginnin’ to get that way myself.”

“I know what you mean,” Jake said.

“Major, do you know something I don’t?” Clay asked.

“Like what?”

“I know that none of the officers are getting any flight time. None of the enlisted personnel who are on flight status are getting any flight time either. Are things ever going to get back to normal? Is the school going to reopen?”

“I don’t know the answer to either question,” Jake replied. “But if I had to guess, I would say no, things are never going to get back to the way they were, and no, I don’t believe we will be making any more new pilots.”

“Pardon my language, sir, but just what in the hell is going on? Does this new president have his head up his ass and locked so tight that he is going to be the ruin of us all?”

“I’m afraid that might be the case,” Jake answered.

It was obvious that Clay was not expecting that answer, and he blinked in surprise. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“I’m very serious,” Jake replied. He opened the middle drawer to his desk and pulled out a manila envelope. “This envelope is filled with signed requisition forms, DD-1195,” Jake said. “I want you to take as long as you need to get every requisition processed and filled.”

Clay pulled out some of the forms. “Whoa, twenty cases of MREs? Five cases of nine millimeter and five cases of .223 ammunition. Are we going on a field maneuver, Major?”

“As far as anyone else is concerned, we are.”

“Ten barrels of JP-four. Why do you want that? Doesn’t that normally come through the school?”

“I don’t want any of this to go through the school,” Jake said. “I don’t want anyone to know anything about this. And if you are unable to get anything on this list by requisition, then I want you to get it in any way you can. I seem to remember that you are an expert at scrounging.”

“And a water desalination device. A water desalination device? Major, you want to tell me what’s going on here?” Clay asked.

“All right,” Jake answered. “Clay, did you know that during the night, last night, the dollar was disconnected from the international money exchange?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the dollar is no longer the monetary standard for the rest of the world. Instead of saying that one dollar is equal to one and a half euros, the rate is now free to float. It might cost ten dollars for one euro, or one hundred, or ten thousand.”

“That’s not good, is it?”

“No, it isn’t. There is a possibility, and I think a strong possibility, that this republic is going to come crashing down around us. And if it does, it’s pretty much going to be every man for himself. Unless small groups get together for mutual benefit.”

“I see. Do you have a such a group in mind, Major?”

“Not yet,” Jake replied. “But when the time comes, I want you to be a part of it. If you are willing.”

Clay stood up, saluted, then stuck his hand across the desk. “I would be honored,” he said.

“Clay, until the time comes, this is between us,” Jake cautioned.

“Right, sir.” Clay put the forms back in the envelope. “I guess that, in addition to rounding up these items, I should also find a secure place to store them.”

“I think that would be a very good idea,” Jake said.

“I’ll get right on it,” Clay said.

The telephone rang and Jake picked it up. “Environmental, Major Lantz.”

“Jake, have you seen the news this morning?” Karin asked.

“No, what has happened now?”

“Ohmshidi has turned Yamaninan over to the Islamic Republic of Yazikistan.”

“What?”

“You have a TV in your office?”

“Yes.”

“Turn it on. Ohmshidi is speaking now.”

“All right, thanks.” Jake held his hand up to stop Clay from leaving.

“What’s up?” Clay asked.

“Wait. Before you go, you might want to see this,” Jake said. He picked up the remote and clicked on the TV that was mounted on a stand high in the corner of the room. The president was talking.

By extending our hand in peace, by proclaiming to the people and the leaders of the Islamic Republic of Yazikistan that we mean them no harm, I am taking the first step in building a bridge of understanding between our two cultures. It is a bridge that I am certain will pay incalculable dividends.

While some of you might consider Abdullah Ibrahim Yamaninan a terrorist, to the people of Yazikistan, this brave man is a hero who was willing to give his own life for the cause that is so dear to his country. All of us cannot help but admire someone who has the courage and dedication to give that last full measure of devotion to his country and to his cause.

It is my sincere belief that this incident, which resulted only in injury to Yamaninan, offers us the perfect opportunity to end the hostility between us. Therefore I am returning Yamaninan to his country, along with a note of admiration for his courage and dedication. For too long now, there has been enmity between us, an enmity created by conflicting religious views. Now is the time for religious mythology to be assigned to its proper place so that secular humanity can rule our activities.

Thank you, and good night.

Ohmshidi’s picture left the screen to be replaced by Carl Wilson, an anchorman for World Cable News.

This is Carl Wilson. We have just heard the president announce that Abdullah Ibrahim Yamaninan, the terrorist who tried to blow up an airliner over New York, will be returned to Yazikistan. In the studio with me now is Lawrence Prescott, former head of the Yazikistan office for the CIA. Mr. Prescott, your thoughts?

My thoughts ? I will be honest with you, Carl. If I shared my sincere thoughts with you, we would be taken off the air. If someone were to write a manual on what not to do when dealing with these people, this would be principle number one.

The Middle Easterner on the street sees negotiation of any kind as a sign of weakness. And this? Turning over a suicide bomber—or rather a would-be suicide bomber to the country that launched the attack, without any concessions? This isn’t negotiation. This is surrender.

And, where do you think this will lead?

It can only lead to catastrophe. Look, Yazikistan has let it be known that they want a nuclear weapon, and they are willing to pay any amount of money to get it. The country is wealthy in oil money, and unlike America, or any western nation, the oil money goes, not to private investors, but directly to the government. If it costs them ten billion dollars to acquire nuclear weapons, they would be willing to spend it.

But, where would they find someone willing to sell the weapons to them? Aren’t all the nuclear weapons closely guarded?

Are they guarded, Carl? There are some estimates that as many as one hundred nuclear weapons that once belonged to the Soviet Union are unaccounted for. Do not think for a moment that one or more of these weapons could not be bought if the price is right.

That is a frightening thought.

Carl Wilson looked at the camera.

Again, for those of you just tuning in, President Ohmshidi has just announced that Abdullah Ibrahim Yamaninan, the man who attempted to bring down Pan World America flight one zero three over New York City, is being returned to the Islamic Republic of Yazikistan, without any conditions.

We will keep you updated on the latest developments as they occur. And now, we return you to “Focus,” our regular morning show.

“Major, I know that man is our commander in chief, and I need to show the proper respect to him,” Clay said. “But he is a raving maniac.”

“You’d better get started, Sergeant Major. I don’t know how much time we have remaining,” Jake said.

“Yes, sir, I will get right on it,” Clay promised.