The Enemy Within

CHAPTER 15 REACTION TIME

Officers from three separate services and several different units filled the JSOC’s main conference room. Delta Force officers mingled with their counterparts from the Navy’s SEAL Team Six, the Air Force’s air commando units, the Army’s Ranger forces, and the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, the Night Stalkers. While they waited for Major General Sam Farrell to appear, they chatted quietly among themselves, exchanging theories about why they had been summoned on such short notice.

Colonel Peter Thorn finished talking to Bill Henderson, his successor at Delta’s A Squadron, and moved off toward the water cooler. His throat still hurt from the kerosene he’d swallowed in the Potomac, but the Pentagon doctors had cleared him for continued duty, with the sternly worded proviso that he significantly increase his fluid intake for the next seventy-two hours.

“Attention.”

The single, crisp order cut off every conversation in midsentence. Every man turned toward the entrance to the conference room and came to attention.

The commander of the JSOC appeared there suddenly, flanked by his top operations officer, Colonel Raymond Ziegler. The general had a grim, set expression on his face. Ziegler’s face was studiously blank.

Farrell waved them into the chairs surrounding a long, rectangular conference table. “Please take your seats, gentlemen. We have a lot of ground to cover this afternoon.”

The general strode to the head of the table while Thorn and the other officers found their assigned places. He didn’t waste any time on the regular briefing platitudes. “I just got off the phone with the Joint Chiefs. As of 1500 hours today, all elements of this command are on full alert. All leaves have been canceled, and my staff is already issuing an immediate recall order to all affected personnel.”

Despite the earlier speculation, Thorn was surprised. Before he’d flown down to Pope Air Force Base earlier that morning he’d seen no signs of unusual activity at the Pentagon that might explain this sudden order. Washington’s policy makers, the FBI, and the American people were still in a state of shock over the twin disasters at Dallas/Fort Worth and National Airport. Had someone stumbled across the headquarters of a terrorist cell big enough to warrant all this military attention?

Farrell’s next words dashed that faint hope. “Gentlemen, the President has authorized a number of emergency measures in a coordinated effort to safeguard air travel over the capital and this country’s other major cities. This operation has been designated SAFE SKIES.”

The general was careful to keep his tone neutral, but Thorn could sense that he disagreed with aspects of the plan he was busy laying before them. He’d known Sam Farrell for too long to be taken in by his poker face. “As approved by the White House this morning, Operation SAFE SKIES has several key provisions.

“First, effective immediately, the FAA has prohibited all private flights into and out of the Washington, D.C., area.

“Second, the government is exerting pressure on the airlines to sharply curtail the number of commercial flights in and out of both National and Dulles. Similar measures will be applied to all airports of significant size across the United States.”

Thorn and several other officers around the table whistled softly in amazement. Disrupting the normal flow of civilian air traffic to that extent for any length of time would seriously affect the national economy. Certainly, it would cost the airlines, commercial freight companies, and a host of other businesses dearly in lost revenue and efficiency.

“Third, the Air Force will begin an around-the-clock program to retrofit commercial jetliners with the jammer and flare dispenser systems already used by our military transport aircraft.”

That, too, was astounding. On a per-plane basis, the costs of such modifications were not exorbitant, Thorn knew, but the total cost of such a program would be enormous. The U.S. airlines alone operated around five thousand passenger jets.

Farrell paused to let the magnitude of the planned federal effort sink in before continuing. If anything, the expression on his face grew even more dour. “These measures are designed to make our job in this operation more manageable.”

Thorn shifted closer to the edge of his seat. What role could the military’s special forces possibly play in this expensive extravaganza? The steps the administration planned were reactive not proactive.

“The President signed a special National Security Action Directive this morning, gentlemen,” Farrell said with emphasis. “And authorises the use of the armed forces within the continental United States to carry out the objectives of Operation SAFE SKIES. Under that directive, we have been ordered to deploy units of Delta Force, SEAL Team Six, and the Night Stalkers to northern Virginia, Maryland, and the Washington metropolitan region.”

Thorn glanced to the left and right. The faces of the officers in view all mirrored his own confusion. What the hell did the White House have in mind?

Farrell answered their unspoken questions in a flat, official voice.

“Using ground surveillance teams, helicopter sweeps, and quick-reaction forces, we will be responsible for securing designated air corridors into both Dulles and National airports.” He held up a hand to still the sudden buzz. “Units of the 101st Air Assault Division and the Army and Air National Guard will conduct similar security sweeps around all the other major airports Dallas/Fort Worth, Chicago’s O’Hare, LAX, and the rest.

“That’s the short and sweet of it, gentlemen.” The general nodded to his chief operations officer. “Colonel Ziegler will brief you on the details in a moment. But before he begins, does anyone have any preliminary questions or comments?”

“I do, sir.” Thorn spoke up first. Unlike the other men in the room, he didn’t hold a field command not at the moment at least. He had less of immediate value to lose by speaking bluntly. “May I speak frankly?”

Farrell nodded. “Always, Pete.”

“Well, sir, first of all, this is not the right mission for our troops. Delta and the SEALs are trained as hard-hitting assault forces, not as glorified military police outfits. Using them this way does not make good military sense.”

The general’s face was impassive. “Anything else, Colonel Thorn?”

“Yes, sir. You know what the areas near most of those airports are like. Christ, around D.C., it’s a mix of heavily wooded countryside and heavily congested population centers.” Thorn shook his head decisively.

“Under those conditions, there’s no conceivable way that a few hundred soldiers and a few dozen helicopters can adequately secure enough ground against terrorists equipped with handheld SAMs. All we’ll succeed in doing is dispersing a large part of the troops and equipment we may need later somewhere else.”

There were mummurs of agreement from around the table.

“What’s worse, sir, is that I’m convinced this whole operation is way too late,” Thorn said flatly. “From what we’ve seen so far, the terrorists conducting these attacks are too damned good to risk sticking their necks into a highly publicized buzz saw. They’ll move on to safer targets instead. I’m afraid we’re going to wind up guarding the team door while these bastards are burning down the farmhouse!” Farrell said nothing for several seconds, leaving Thorn to wonder briefly whether he had finally gone too far. Delta and the other special forces units operated with a high degree of informality away from outsiders and behind closed doors, but a two-star was a two-star was a two-star.

At last, the general simply shook his head. “I understand your concerns, Pete. I know for a fact that some of them have been raised at higher levels. But I also know what’s politically possible and what’s not in this situation. Right now, the President wants action ASAP and he wants it from us. And the Chiefs aren’t going to get in his way to let us off the hook. So we’re all just going to have to shut up and soldier and pray for the chance to do things the right way when it counts. Is that clear?”

Thorn knew the only possible answer to that. “Yes, sir. Perfectly clear.”

A C-141 transport touched down on the main runway at Andrews Air Force Base and taxied slowly toward the four other Starlifters already parked on the tarmac. Dozens of reporters and cameramen were on hand to record the first military movements in the administration’s highly choreographed and scripted Operation SAFE SKIES.

Soldiers in black coveralls, Kevlar helmets, and body armor trotted out of two of the C-141s, forming up facing away from the reporters with the easy grace of disciplined troops. Even in the full glare of publicity guaranteed by their dramatic arrival, the officers and men of Delta Force’s B Squadron wanted to keep their faces off television.

Air Force and Army crewmen swarmed near the open rear cargo ramps of the other Starlifters, readying for flight the twelve small helicopters they had ferried in, the MH-6 transports and AH-6 attack craft belonging to Delta’s own aviation company. More helicopters belonging to the 160th Aviation Regiment were scheduled to arrive on transports throughout the night.