Steve Wilson's Blog, page 2
April 6, 2015
The Grittier Side of Michael Neill
Eye of Charybdis, book four, is progressing nicely. Not as quickly as I'd like (I've mentioned in past blogs that I am a monumentally slow writer), but this is one story that I am very interested in getting right.
In the first three books, Michael Neill has overcome many of his difficulties through prayer and the support of his colleagues. Eye of Charybdis takes a somewhat different turn; in this story, the past has begun to wear on the Captain. He's suffered personal losses; the deaths of two close friends, and he's reminded of the tragic demise of his parents (more of the details surrounding Neill's dad's death are still being unfolded). His life has been threatened on several occasions (shot by Chinese troops, nearly drowned, and on the wrong end of a rocket torpedo--all in the space of just a few hours), and in Trinity Icon, the enemies of America have targeted those closest to him.
The circle tightens further in book four, and Charybdis will reflect the real-life challenges of those serving around the world. In Trinity Icon, an assassin's bullet shatters some of Neill's confidence. He feels regret, and is forced to live with the realization that death is ever-present. His own harried experiences have left scars, obscuring his focus. The specter of post-traumatic stress rears its ugly head, not just for Neill, but for those who have shared the Captain's adventures. How they deal with these pressures is a commentary for everyday life.
But the book isn't just about challenges. There's more romance. More action. More behind the scenes political machinations. Things ramp up considerably in the new first chapter. There will be a deeper emphasis on Neill's spiritual side, and the choices he makes to safeguard the legacy left to him by his earthly father.
Just as more pressure comes to bear on the characters, opportunities for the future present themselves too. Sooner or later, this series will turn a corner, and commitments and alliances will be forced on Neill and his friends. More on that later.
I guess what I'm trying to convey is that we all face peaks and valleys, and it's no less so for those I write about. I have taken these characters into my soul, and I try to breathe life into them every chance I get. Their dynamics change. Our existence is always fluid, and not always to our liking. I've been thinking about this for some time. The world of Michael Neill is about to become grittier and more complicated, and should cause readers of the series to find common ground with protagonist and antagonist alike.
In the first three books, Michael Neill has overcome many of his difficulties through prayer and the support of his colleagues. Eye of Charybdis takes a somewhat different turn; in this story, the past has begun to wear on the Captain. He's suffered personal losses; the deaths of two close friends, and he's reminded of the tragic demise of his parents (more of the details surrounding Neill's dad's death are still being unfolded). His life has been threatened on several occasions (shot by Chinese troops, nearly drowned, and on the wrong end of a rocket torpedo--all in the space of just a few hours), and in Trinity Icon, the enemies of America have targeted those closest to him.
The circle tightens further in book four, and Charybdis will reflect the real-life challenges of those serving around the world. In Trinity Icon, an assassin's bullet shatters some of Neill's confidence. He feels regret, and is forced to live with the realization that death is ever-present. His own harried experiences have left scars, obscuring his focus. The specter of post-traumatic stress rears its ugly head, not just for Neill, but for those who have shared the Captain's adventures. How they deal with these pressures is a commentary for everyday life.
But the book isn't just about challenges. There's more romance. More action. More behind the scenes political machinations. Things ramp up considerably in the new first chapter. There will be a deeper emphasis on Neill's spiritual side, and the choices he makes to safeguard the legacy left to him by his earthly father.
Just as more pressure comes to bear on the characters, opportunities for the future present themselves too. Sooner or later, this series will turn a corner, and commitments and alliances will be forced on Neill and his friends. More on that later.
I guess what I'm trying to convey is that we all face peaks and valleys, and it's no less so for those I write about. I have taken these characters into my soul, and I try to breathe life into them every chance I get. Their dynamics change. Our existence is always fluid, and not always to our liking. I've been thinking about this for some time. The world of Michael Neill is about to become grittier and more complicated, and should cause readers of the series to find common ground with protagonist and antagonist alike.
March 23, 2015
Excerpt from 'Tempest of Fire'
From Chapter Two; National Security Advisor Willis Avery briefs his British counterpart on a new threat in the Pacific
Avery had opened the folder and pulled out a photograph. “We knew we had something when MI: 6 contacted our intelligence services.” He was referring to Her Majesty’s Secret Service, the branch focused on foreign threats. “Especially when we discovered the location of what you’d found." He studied the photo in his hand. “Is this your asset in the Pacific?”
Aultman craned his neck and got a glimpse of the black and white glossy.
Weston nodded. “She’s the HMS Bradford, an Astute class attack boat. Presently on station off the coast of southern China.” Another grin. “Well off the coast, in international waters,” he was quick to add.
“Nice place to be this time of year,” Avery noted.
“Yes, quite,” the Major replied. “She’s been nosing about there for the past three weeks.”
“And we appreciate it,” Avery said. What the Major didn’t know was that the Bradford had sailed to the Pacific at the request of the U.S. Navy—America had intentionally kept her vessels out of the area, hoping the absence of U.S. ships might cause the Chinese military to act a little more freely—and possibly reveal their hand. “Turn up anything interesting?”
Weston leaned forward slightly. “Six days ago the Bradford’s sonar acquired an unusual submerged contact.”
“Submarine?”
The Major nodded. “A very evasive one, too, it would seem. Our boat tracked her for some time. They lost contact with it only yesterday.”
Avery pursed his lips, deep in thought. The Mercedes turned right onto Regent Street, and Piccadilly Circus lay just ahead. “Any idea whose sub it was?” he finally asked.
“Her Majesty’s ships are all accounted for,” the Major answered, and then a sly grin spread across his face. “And we’re reasonably sure where you chaps have yours. That narrows it down a bit.”
“Leaving who?”
“The Bradford’s skipper believes she’s an old Soviet Oscar class boat,” Weston continued. “But we don’t think she’s flying the Russian flag.”
“Then whose sub is it?” Avery asked. Aultman had an odd feeling his boss already knew the answer to that question.
“At first we weren’t sure,” Weston replied. “Years ago, the Russians sold a number of Oscars. Some of their clients were less than reputable—Iran, Iraq. And China.” Weston enunciated the last nation slowly and deliberately. “And now you mention that you have your own suspicions regarding the People’s Republic.”
“Yes.” Avery said simply. “We keep coming back to our friends in the East, don’t we?”
The operation tasked with keeping up with the submarines of hostile nations was code-named SHELL GAME. Since the end of the Cold War, it had given a great deal of job security to the American intelligence community.
The Major moved on. “In any case, British security services got involved, and this morning—” he reached into the leather satchel, producing two more photos, “—they gave us this to chew on.”
Avery looked them over and grunted in satisfaction. “Satellite imagery,” he muttered aloud. Squinting at the pictures, he studied every detail. The high resolution photos pinpointed an area that looked familiar, but Avery couldn’t quite place it. “Where is this?”
Weston leaned in again, tracing a finger down the middle of one of the shots. “This is the Chinese coastline. These—” he pointed to three specks of land, about one hundred kilometers due south, “—are the islands of Huo Shan.”
“What’s so special about them?” Aultman asked.
“Next photo,” Weston answered. “A much closer shot.”
Avery shifted his focus to the second image. “Appears to be some construction on the southern tip of the largest island,” he said. “Right on the water; probably a small naval facility. A helipad, fuel depot here on the left, and this—”
“A pier, nestled in that small inlet,” Weston finished for him. “Enclosed, at that.”
Smiling now, Avery looked up. “That’s a submarine pen.”
The Major nodded. “Our assessment as well,” he said.
Aultman was catching on. “You think the mystery sub is based there? Does it belong to the Chinese Navy?”
Weston frowned. “That’s a bit tricky. Huo Shan is supposed to be uninhabited. China has laid claim to the islands, but for some reason they’ve been ignored by Beijing. And if the Chinese are operating an Oscar in these waters, why base the submarine there, when they have numerous ports along their coastline?” He shook his head. “And if that wasn’t enough, there’s another mystery; her acoustic signature reads like a diesel boat.”
“I thought Oscars were nuclear powered.”
“Quite right. We don’t know if the sub belongs to China or not, but given our current intelligence, that is the most likely conclusion. The Bradford tracked the boat for days, and she never strayed far from this island chain.” He leaned back in his seat. “When they lost contact, that’s where the sub was headed.”
“What about the possibility it’s an Iranian boat?” Avery asked. “Or maybe someone else’s?”
“Iran has two Oscars at present.” The Major replied. “Both are in the Persian Gulf. Syria has one, somewhere in the Indian Ocean. And we know where all of Russia’s submarines are.”
Avery sighed at the mention of those three countries. Each had been a thorn in his side over the past few years, with Iran and Russia drawing most of his ire. He was about to editorialize when Aultman chimed in.
“What if it’s something else?” Richard asked slowly. “Suppose this boat doesn’t belong to the Chinese Navy at all, but a faction of their military that’s under the radar. Maybe some ultra-nationalist group.” He reached across and took one of the photos. “This naval base suddenly appears on an uninhabited island; the very nature of it seems secretive. It’s possible the Chinese high command doesn’t even know it’s there.”
Weston was thoughtful. “Those islands are well outside of their normal patrol routes; if someone wanted to hide their activities, Huo Shan would be the perfect place.” Another thought came to mind, but he kept it to himself. “Rather puts us back at square one, doesn’t it?”
The three men were quiet for a moment as the cars passed Trafalgar Square, then crossed the river Thames. Finally Weston broke the silence.
“What piqued your interest in Chinese naval activity? You mentioned earlier that something was afoot there; could you elaborate?”
Avery looked up and nodded. “You’ve been more than forthcoming, Major. I guess it’s time we returned the favor.” He looked out on the city. The Tower of London appeared in the distance as the traffic began to slow their pace.
“Six months ago, our underwater listening nets in the Philippines picked up something we’ve never seen—or heard—before.” There was still quite a bit he hadn’t told Weston. “As a result, we’ve stepped up the alert status of our fleet around the world. Our consulates and embassies are keeping their eyes open, too. Additionally, we’ve deployed the Victory to Pearl Harbor, along with her control ship.”
Weston’s eyes widened. The Victory was America’s newest class of warship, an unmanned, frigate-sized vessel armed to the teeth with cruise missiles and controlled remotely by another ship from miles away. She was designated as an arsenal ship; an upgrade to the battle wagons the U.S. Navy currently had sailing the world’s oceans. Sending the Victory to the Pacific—and possibly farther—meant two things to Weston. The first was that the United States intended to send Beijing a message. The second—combat action against the Chinese was unthinkable. Clearly tensions in the region must have escalated for the Americans to consider such a move.
“Do you think she might actually be needed there?” the Major asked.
Avery reached into his briefcase and produced several photos of his own, then handed them over to the British officer. The Major studied them before offering a comment.
“Debris field? Where were these taken?”
“South China Sea, in about eight hundred feet of water.” Avery answered. “We believe that’s what’s left of China’s most advanced submarine.”
Weston’s frown returned. “Accident?”
“Not according to the experts.”
“Then what?”
Avery sat back in his seat, and for the first time in the conversation, he had no answer. The silence that followed left Weston chilled.
Avery had opened the folder and pulled out a photograph. “We knew we had something when MI: 6 contacted our intelligence services.” He was referring to Her Majesty’s Secret Service, the branch focused on foreign threats. “Especially when we discovered the location of what you’d found." He studied the photo in his hand. “Is this your asset in the Pacific?”
Aultman craned his neck and got a glimpse of the black and white glossy.
Weston nodded. “She’s the HMS Bradford, an Astute class attack boat. Presently on station off the coast of southern China.” Another grin. “Well off the coast, in international waters,” he was quick to add.
“Nice place to be this time of year,” Avery noted.
“Yes, quite,” the Major replied. “She’s been nosing about there for the past three weeks.”
“And we appreciate it,” Avery said. What the Major didn’t know was that the Bradford had sailed to the Pacific at the request of the U.S. Navy—America had intentionally kept her vessels out of the area, hoping the absence of U.S. ships might cause the Chinese military to act a little more freely—and possibly reveal their hand. “Turn up anything interesting?”
Weston leaned forward slightly. “Six days ago the Bradford’s sonar acquired an unusual submerged contact.”
“Submarine?”
The Major nodded. “A very evasive one, too, it would seem. Our boat tracked her for some time. They lost contact with it only yesterday.”
Avery pursed his lips, deep in thought. The Mercedes turned right onto Regent Street, and Piccadilly Circus lay just ahead. “Any idea whose sub it was?” he finally asked.
“Her Majesty’s ships are all accounted for,” the Major answered, and then a sly grin spread across his face. “And we’re reasonably sure where you chaps have yours. That narrows it down a bit.”
“Leaving who?”
“The Bradford’s skipper believes she’s an old Soviet Oscar class boat,” Weston continued. “But we don’t think she’s flying the Russian flag.”
“Then whose sub is it?” Avery asked. Aultman had an odd feeling his boss already knew the answer to that question.
“At first we weren’t sure,” Weston replied. “Years ago, the Russians sold a number of Oscars. Some of their clients were less than reputable—Iran, Iraq. And China.” Weston enunciated the last nation slowly and deliberately. “And now you mention that you have your own suspicions regarding the People’s Republic.”
“Yes.” Avery said simply. “We keep coming back to our friends in the East, don’t we?”
The operation tasked with keeping up with the submarines of hostile nations was code-named SHELL GAME. Since the end of the Cold War, it had given a great deal of job security to the American intelligence community.
The Major moved on. “In any case, British security services got involved, and this morning—” he reached into the leather satchel, producing two more photos, “—they gave us this to chew on.”
Avery looked them over and grunted in satisfaction. “Satellite imagery,” he muttered aloud. Squinting at the pictures, he studied every detail. The high resolution photos pinpointed an area that looked familiar, but Avery couldn’t quite place it. “Where is this?”
Weston leaned in again, tracing a finger down the middle of one of the shots. “This is the Chinese coastline. These—” he pointed to three specks of land, about one hundred kilometers due south, “—are the islands of Huo Shan.”
“What’s so special about them?” Aultman asked.
“Next photo,” Weston answered. “A much closer shot.”
Avery shifted his focus to the second image. “Appears to be some construction on the southern tip of the largest island,” he said. “Right on the water; probably a small naval facility. A helipad, fuel depot here on the left, and this—”
“A pier, nestled in that small inlet,” Weston finished for him. “Enclosed, at that.”
Smiling now, Avery looked up. “That’s a submarine pen.”
The Major nodded. “Our assessment as well,” he said.
Aultman was catching on. “You think the mystery sub is based there? Does it belong to the Chinese Navy?”
Weston frowned. “That’s a bit tricky. Huo Shan is supposed to be uninhabited. China has laid claim to the islands, but for some reason they’ve been ignored by Beijing. And if the Chinese are operating an Oscar in these waters, why base the submarine there, when they have numerous ports along their coastline?” He shook his head. “And if that wasn’t enough, there’s another mystery; her acoustic signature reads like a diesel boat.”
“I thought Oscars were nuclear powered.”
“Quite right. We don’t know if the sub belongs to China or not, but given our current intelligence, that is the most likely conclusion. The Bradford tracked the boat for days, and she never strayed far from this island chain.” He leaned back in his seat. “When they lost contact, that’s where the sub was headed.”
“What about the possibility it’s an Iranian boat?” Avery asked. “Or maybe someone else’s?”
“Iran has two Oscars at present.” The Major replied. “Both are in the Persian Gulf. Syria has one, somewhere in the Indian Ocean. And we know where all of Russia’s submarines are.”
Avery sighed at the mention of those three countries. Each had been a thorn in his side over the past few years, with Iran and Russia drawing most of his ire. He was about to editorialize when Aultman chimed in.
“What if it’s something else?” Richard asked slowly. “Suppose this boat doesn’t belong to the Chinese Navy at all, but a faction of their military that’s under the radar. Maybe some ultra-nationalist group.” He reached across and took one of the photos. “This naval base suddenly appears on an uninhabited island; the very nature of it seems secretive. It’s possible the Chinese high command doesn’t even know it’s there.”
Weston was thoughtful. “Those islands are well outside of their normal patrol routes; if someone wanted to hide their activities, Huo Shan would be the perfect place.” Another thought came to mind, but he kept it to himself. “Rather puts us back at square one, doesn’t it?”
The three men were quiet for a moment as the cars passed Trafalgar Square, then crossed the river Thames. Finally Weston broke the silence.
“What piqued your interest in Chinese naval activity? You mentioned earlier that something was afoot there; could you elaborate?”
Avery looked up and nodded. “You’ve been more than forthcoming, Major. I guess it’s time we returned the favor.” He looked out on the city. The Tower of London appeared in the distance as the traffic began to slow their pace.
“Six months ago, our underwater listening nets in the Philippines picked up something we’ve never seen—or heard—before.” There was still quite a bit he hadn’t told Weston. “As a result, we’ve stepped up the alert status of our fleet around the world. Our consulates and embassies are keeping their eyes open, too. Additionally, we’ve deployed the Victory to Pearl Harbor, along with her control ship.”
Weston’s eyes widened. The Victory was America’s newest class of warship, an unmanned, frigate-sized vessel armed to the teeth with cruise missiles and controlled remotely by another ship from miles away. She was designated as an arsenal ship; an upgrade to the battle wagons the U.S. Navy currently had sailing the world’s oceans. Sending the Victory to the Pacific—and possibly farther—meant two things to Weston. The first was that the United States intended to send Beijing a message. The second—combat action against the Chinese was unthinkable. Clearly tensions in the region must have escalated for the Americans to consider such a move.
“Do you think she might actually be needed there?” the Major asked.
Avery reached into his briefcase and produced several photos of his own, then handed them over to the British officer. The Major studied them before offering a comment.
“Debris field? Where were these taken?”
“South China Sea, in about eight hundred feet of water.” Avery answered. “We believe that’s what’s left of China’s most advanced submarine.”
Weston’s frown returned. “Accident?”
“Not according to the experts.”
“Then what?”
Avery sat back in his seat, and for the first time in the conversation, he had no answer. The silence that followed left Weston chilled.
March 15, 2015
Excerpt from 'Red Sky at Morning'
The White House
Step One was easy.
Gathering the available information was the first part of his job. This morning there was plenty of that. The most reliable sources came in from various intelligence agencies, including the CIA. News from the television and cable networks was useful, as well as the internet, but the newspapers were not: the story had broken too late to make the morning editions.
Willis Avery sat in his plushly carpeted, mahogany-lined office down the hall from the President of the United States and concentrated on Step Two: fitting all the information together to form an overall picture. While that was a little trickier, it was the third step that was the toughest: advising the President and the Joint Chiefs of Staff on an appropriate course of action.
The small, wall-mounted sign outside the door identified Avery as the National Security Advisor to the President. Like most other offices in the White House, his was very busy this morning. Avery had gotten the call at 3 a.m. advising him of the incident in the Sea of Japan. By 4:30 he was at his desk. Now, at 8:45, he was gulping a second cup of coffee and fighting a losing battle with fatigue.
Richard Aultman, Special Assistant to the National Security Advisor, entered the room holding a thin file folder that contained additional information. He stopped in his tracks long enough to take in the scene before him.
Avery was a big man with a larger than life presence and a no-nonsense, squared-away reputation, but today’s events had already taken their toll on his appearance. It amused Aultman to see his boss this way until he remembered that Avery had been up half the night and seen the sunrise from his office.
Avery looked up from his reports and saw the file in Aultman’s hand. “Naval intelligence?” he asked.
“Naval intelligence,” Aultman nodded. “Just came in. Photos from the plane’s tailfin camera are right on top.”
Avery took the file. “Did you look at them?”
“Mr. Avery, that’s a top secret file,” Aultman frowned, pretending to be offended.
“You looked at them,” Avery said. “No matter. You’re cleared for it.” He opened the folder and pulled out three black and white photos, spread them out on his desk and whistled softly.
“The pilot was right,” he said. “This is definitely in the Red Sky category. Who do we have in the field that can check on this further?”
Aultman sat down in a chair across from Avery. “That’s the problem. There aren’t any field personnel in that area. For some time now we’ve suspected the Russians were up to something near Vladivostok, but security’s tighter than a drum. Nobody can get close.”
Avery winced. “Tell that to you-know-who.” He stood and straightened his tie, then picked up the photos. “All right. I’ll give these to the President. He’s meeting with the Russian ambassador at 9:30 so I’d better get over there. Anything else?”
Aultman shrugged. “Not really. We got a message from Wesley Cobb yesterday, but it can wait.”
“Cobb? Our ambassador to Ukraine? What’s up?”
“Seems there’s been a shake-up at the weapons dismantling station in Odessa.”
“Oh? What kind of a shake-up?” Avery walked into the small bathroom adjoining his office and looked at himself in the mirror. The tussled mass of gray hair on top of his head was a mess. Stroking his chin, he realized he could use a shave, too.
“Command level type.” Aultman’s voice rose so he could be heard. “The station commander was replaced, a Major named Mayakovsky.”
Avery pulled a cordless razor out of a drawer. “Any idea why?”
“No. Cobb didn’t say, so I’m assuming he doesn’t know either.” He heard a buzzing sound as Avery began to shave. “Kind of odd, don’t you think?”
“Very odd. Did Cobb say when all this happened?”
“Two weeks ago.”
Avery switched off the razor and re-entered the room. “Two weeks?”
Aultman nodded. “Mayakovsky was replaced by a Colonel in the Ukrainian Air Defense Forces, a man named Andrei Ulyanov.”
“I know that name.” Avery was fully intrigued now. “We’ve got someone going over there in a week or so to verify their disarmament procedures, don’t we?”
Aultman got up and pulled another folder from a cabinet in the corner. “Got the file right here.” He handed it across the desk to Avery.
The National Security Advisor scanned the pages inside. “Here it is. Marine Lieutenant Michael Neill. Leaves in twelve days.” He sat down and read a little more, then smiled for the first time all morning. “Well, well, well . . .”
Now Aultman was curious. “What is it?”
“Did you say it was the dismantling station in Odessa?”
“Yes,” Aultman said.
“Do you know where Lieutenant Neill is headed?”
“I’ll take a wild guess and say Odessa.”
Avery chuckled. “You’ve got a bright future in intelligence, my boy. Want to know something else?”
“Humor me.”
“It was Colonel Ulyanov who recommended Neill for the job.”
“Wait a minute, I’m a little confused. What job?”
Avery’s voice took on the tone of a patient scholar instructing a student. “Several years ago we negotiated with Ukraine to return its stockpile of nuclear weapons."
"What a can of worms that turned out to be," Aultman snorted.
"Can't argue with that," Avery replied. "Every year or so a few more turn up. Which was the primary reason we agreed to the Odessa facility—we wanted to ensure disarmament was really happening. On-site verification was always a sticking point, though. Their military bristled at the idea of having American personnel on their turf.”
“I remember that,” Aultman said. “Didn’t our foreign aid money soften them up a bit?”
Avery shook his head. “Not completely. We only reached an agreement after a high-ranking member of their negotiating team—Colonel Andrei Ulyanov—recommended Neill to do the job.”
“Why did he do that?”
“Because Ulyanov and Neill know each other.”
Aultman was really confused now. “I don’t get it. How does a Ukrainian Colonel get to be buddies with an American Marine? And why put Ulyanov in charge of that station? He has no background in weapons disarmament.”
"That’s where things get a little murky," Avery answered. “But to answer your first question, it seems that Neill grew up in Ukraine. His parents were missionaries there or something. As for your second question, I don’t know.”
“I still don’t see how this Neill got the thumbs up from Ulyanov.”
Avery shrugged. “That part I’m not sure about either. But the bottom line was that the Ukrainian government was satisfied and so were we. And it gets better.” He slipped on his jacket and looked almost presentable. “Dismantling nukes isn’t in his resume, but Ulyanov is—or was—the commanding officer at Ukraine’s tactical air base in Nikolayev, which puts him in a position to help us.”
Aultman had learned that turning any situation into an advantage was a crucial step in achieving political goals. Avery was a master of that.
“How so?”
“Colonel Ulyanov was in their military even in the days before the Soviet Union broke up. I’m sure he still has contacts in the Russian Republic. If that’s the case, maybe he can tell us more about this—” he held up one of the photographs— “and what the Russians are up to near Vladivostok.”
Aultman could see where Avery was going with this. “Do you think our Lieutenant Neill could persuade him to do that?”
Avery shrugged again. “That’s something we’ll have to ask Neill.” With that, he gathered up the photos and headed down the hall for his meeting with the President.
Step One was easy.
Gathering the available information was the first part of his job. This morning there was plenty of that. The most reliable sources came in from various intelligence agencies, including the CIA. News from the television and cable networks was useful, as well as the internet, but the newspapers were not: the story had broken too late to make the morning editions.
Willis Avery sat in his plushly carpeted, mahogany-lined office down the hall from the President of the United States and concentrated on Step Two: fitting all the information together to form an overall picture. While that was a little trickier, it was the third step that was the toughest: advising the President and the Joint Chiefs of Staff on an appropriate course of action.
The small, wall-mounted sign outside the door identified Avery as the National Security Advisor to the President. Like most other offices in the White House, his was very busy this morning. Avery had gotten the call at 3 a.m. advising him of the incident in the Sea of Japan. By 4:30 he was at his desk. Now, at 8:45, he was gulping a second cup of coffee and fighting a losing battle with fatigue.
Richard Aultman, Special Assistant to the National Security Advisor, entered the room holding a thin file folder that contained additional information. He stopped in his tracks long enough to take in the scene before him.
Avery was a big man with a larger than life presence and a no-nonsense, squared-away reputation, but today’s events had already taken their toll on his appearance. It amused Aultman to see his boss this way until he remembered that Avery had been up half the night and seen the sunrise from his office.
Avery looked up from his reports and saw the file in Aultman’s hand. “Naval intelligence?” he asked.
“Naval intelligence,” Aultman nodded. “Just came in. Photos from the plane’s tailfin camera are right on top.”
Avery took the file. “Did you look at them?”
“Mr. Avery, that’s a top secret file,” Aultman frowned, pretending to be offended.
“You looked at them,” Avery said. “No matter. You’re cleared for it.” He opened the folder and pulled out three black and white photos, spread them out on his desk and whistled softly.
“The pilot was right,” he said. “This is definitely in the Red Sky category. Who do we have in the field that can check on this further?”
Aultman sat down in a chair across from Avery. “That’s the problem. There aren’t any field personnel in that area. For some time now we’ve suspected the Russians were up to something near Vladivostok, but security’s tighter than a drum. Nobody can get close.”
Avery winced. “Tell that to you-know-who.” He stood and straightened his tie, then picked up the photos. “All right. I’ll give these to the President. He’s meeting with the Russian ambassador at 9:30 so I’d better get over there. Anything else?”
Aultman shrugged. “Not really. We got a message from Wesley Cobb yesterday, but it can wait.”
“Cobb? Our ambassador to Ukraine? What’s up?”
“Seems there’s been a shake-up at the weapons dismantling station in Odessa.”
“Oh? What kind of a shake-up?” Avery walked into the small bathroom adjoining his office and looked at himself in the mirror. The tussled mass of gray hair on top of his head was a mess. Stroking his chin, he realized he could use a shave, too.
“Command level type.” Aultman’s voice rose so he could be heard. “The station commander was replaced, a Major named Mayakovsky.”
Avery pulled a cordless razor out of a drawer. “Any idea why?”
“No. Cobb didn’t say, so I’m assuming he doesn’t know either.” He heard a buzzing sound as Avery began to shave. “Kind of odd, don’t you think?”
“Very odd. Did Cobb say when all this happened?”
“Two weeks ago.”
Avery switched off the razor and re-entered the room. “Two weeks?”
Aultman nodded. “Mayakovsky was replaced by a Colonel in the Ukrainian Air Defense Forces, a man named Andrei Ulyanov.”
“I know that name.” Avery was fully intrigued now. “We’ve got someone going over there in a week or so to verify their disarmament procedures, don’t we?”
Aultman got up and pulled another folder from a cabinet in the corner. “Got the file right here.” He handed it across the desk to Avery.
The National Security Advisor scanned the pages inside. “Here it is. Marine Lieutenant Michael Neill. Leaves in twelve days.” He sat down and read a little more, then smiled for the first time all morning. “Well, well, well . . .”
Now Aultman was curious. “What is it?”
“Did you say it was the dismantling station in Odessa?”
“Yes,” Aultman said.
“Do you know where Lieutenant Neill is headed?”
“I’ll take a wild guess and say Odessa.”
Avery chuckled. “You’ve got a bright future in intelligence, my boy. Want to know something else?”
“Humor me.”
“It was Colonel Ulyanov who recommended Neill for the job.”
“Wait a minute, I’m a little confused. What job?”
Avery’s voice took on the tone of a patient scholar instructing a student. “Several years ago we negotiated with Ukraine to return its stockpile of nuclear weapons."
"What a can of worms that turned out to be," Aultman snorted.
"Can't argue with that," Avery replied. "Every year or so a few more turn up. Which was the primary reason we agreed to the Odessa facility—we wanted to ensure disarmament was really happening. On-site verification was always a sticking point, though. Their military bristled at the idea of having American personnel on their turf.”
“I remember that,” Aultman said. “Didn’t our foreign aid money soften them up a bit?”
Avery shook his head. “Not completely. We only reached an agreement after a high-ranking member of their negotiating team—Colonel Andrei Ulyanov—recommended Neill to do the job.”
“Why did he do that?”
“Because Ulyanov and Neill know each other.”
Aultman was really confused now. “I don’t get it. How does a Ukrainian Colonel get to be buddies with an American Marine? And why put Ulyanov in charge of that station? He has no background in weapons disarmament.”
"That’s where things get a little murky," Avery answered. “But to answer your first question, it seems that Neill grew up in Ukraine. His parents were missionaries there or something. As for your second question, I don’t know.”
“I still don’t see how this Neill got the thumbs up from Ulyanov.”
Avery shrugged. “That part I’m not sure about either. But the bottom line was that the Ukrainian government was satisfied and so were we. And it gets better.” He slipped on his jacket and looked almost presentable. “Dismantling nukes isn’t in his resume, but Ulyanov is—or was—the commanding officer at Ukraine’s tactical air base in Nikolayev, which puts him in a position to help us.”
Aultman had learned that turning any situation into an advantage was a crucial step in achieving political goals. Avery was a master of that.
“How so?”
“Colonel Ulyanov was in their military even in the days before the Soviet Union broke up. I’m sure he still has contacts in the Russian Republic. If that’s the case, maybe he can tell us more about this—” he held up one of the photographs— “and what the Russians are up to near Vladivostok.”
Aultman could see where Avery was going with this. “Do you think our Lieutenant Neill could persuade him to do that?”
Avery shrugged again. “That’s something we’ll have to ask Neill.” With that, he gathered up the photos and headed down the hall for his meeting with the President.
January 27, 2015
My Take on the 'American Sniper' Dust-Up
'American Sniper', the biopic of Navy SEAL Chris Kyle's multiple tours in Iraq, has now topped $200 million. In its opening, the film shattered records and was number one at the box office again this past weekend. America has embraced this film, and its popularity is staggering for those who considered it 'just another war film'.
It's far from just that. Currently, it's poised to be the most widely received motion picture focused on conflict. There are nuanced layers to this movie that could launch a thousand blogs, and undoubtedly have, and as always, its popularity has leftists wringing their hands in an apoplectic lather.
It doesn't surprise me that liberal America has taken the message of this film—and by extension, Chris Kyle's life—and spun it in a direction that most wouldn't see coming. Clearly, this film must be explained away, and the mediocre and left-of-center media is working overtime in that regard.
Just today, a commentator on one website dissected the movie, and addressed concerns that 'American Sniper' is anti-Muslim. He dismissed that idea and had a different take, spinning the focus away from that view, and through his eyes, he came to the conclusion that the movie is 'anti-war'.
Okay. I'll accept that idea. I've been to Iraq and Afghanistan. As a veteran, in a family of veterans, I don't much care for war. It has its uses; ending slavery, toppling despotic regimes, and destroying various Evil Empires worldwide, just to name a few. At times it's necessary. But there's always a price to be paid; death, broken and injured lives, destroyed families, and wholesale slaughter. The list doesn't end there, and I think you get the idea.
But what I think the leftists are trying to do by casting 'American Sniper' as an anti-war film misses the point. Nudging our perspective in that direction uses weasel words to get the focus off the bigger picture. For me, this movie depicts our troops as heroic, courageous, selfless, and dedicated to something bigger than themselves. And I guess it should come as no surprise that the left can't wrap their brains around that notion.
And why should they? The left's agenda (and the mainstream media) is to delegitimize the war against terror, and again, by extension, the men and women who have invested themselves in that fight. I saw that first-hand upon returning from northern Iraq in 2009. Our local newspaper published an editorial advocating policies that would have put our troops at risk--troops like my own son, whom I left behind just days before in the province of Kirkuk.
My wife and I saw 'American Sniper' this past weekend, not for entertainment, or part of our date night, but to show support for the film. Some of the scenes were stark reminders of what I saw in Iraq, and also Afghanistan. I'm sure many wives and mothers couldn't watch some of it, particularly when it struck a chord much too close to home.
I wasn't in combat (unless you count the mortars and rockets lobbed over our heads), but like my comrades-in-arms, I went to support the war-fighters downrange, and also my fellow squadron mates. In that I found a certain humble nobility, and I suspect anyone who bleeds red, white and blue would feel the same.
I think most Americans are flocking to this film because they know or love someone who has participated in these last two wars. They go to show their support for the veterans who have lived these wars--the same veterans for whom they prayed and wept over during their times of deployment.
Think about it. How many men and women do you know who have served in Iraq or Afghanistan, or other far-flung corners of our globe?
Most have come home, but far too many didn't, and many more are still struggling to find their place here--while others are even now preparing to go. See the movie for yourself, and make your own judgments. In reality, 'American Sniper' isn't just another war movie, or a film about Chris Kyle (as heroic as he was). It's about every military family who has volunteered to serve their country.
It's far from just that. Currently, it's poised to be the most widely received motion picture focused on conflict. There are nuanced layers to this movie that could launch a thousand blogs, and undoubtedly have, and as always, its popularity has leftists wringing their hands in an apoplectic lather.
It doesn't surprise me that liberal America has taken the message of this film—and by extension, Chris Kyle's life—and spun it in a direction that most wouldn't see coming. Clearly, this film must be explained away, and the mediocre and left-of-center media is working overtime in that regard.
Just today, a commentator on one website dissected the movie, and addressed concerns that 'American Sniper' is anti-Muslim. He dismissed that idea and had a different take, spinning the focus away from that view, and through his eyes, he came to the conclusion that the movie is 'anti-war'.
Okay. I'll accept that idea. I've been to Iraq and Afghanistan. As a veteran, in a family of veterans, I don't much care for war. It has its uses; ending slavery, toppling despotic regimes, and destroying various Evil Empires worldwide, just to name a few. At times it's necessary. But there's always a price to be paid; death, broken and injured lives, destroyed families, and wholesale slaughter. The list doesn't end there, and I think you get the idea.
But what I think the leftists are trying to do by casting 'American Sniper' as an anti-war film misses the point. Nudging our perspective in that direction uses weasel words to get the focus off the bigger picture. For me, this movie depicts our troops as heroic, courageous, selfless, and dedicated to something bigger than themselves. And I guess it should come as no surprise that the left can't wrap their brains around that notion.
And why should they? The left's agenda (and the mainstream media) is to delegitimize the war against terror, and again, by extension, the men and women who have invested themselves in that fight. I saw that first-hand upon returning from northern Iraq in 2009. Our local newspaper published an editorial advocating policies that would have put our troops at risk--troops like my own son, whom I left behind just days before in the province of Kirkuk.
My wife and I saw 'American Sniper' this past weekend, not for entertainment, or part of our date night, but to show support for the film. Some of the scenes were stark reminders of what I saw in Iraq, and also Afghanistan. I'm sure many wives and mothers couldn't watch some of it, particularly when it struck a chord much too close to home.
I wasn't in combat (unless you count the mortars and rockets lobbed over our heads), but like my comrades-in-arms, I went to support the war-fighters downrange, and also my fellow squadron mates. In that I found a certain humble nobility, and I suspect anyone who bleeds red, white and blue would feel the same.
I think most Americans are flocking to this film because they know or love someone who has participated in these last two wars. They go to show their support for the veterans who have lived these wars--the same veterans for whom they prayed and wept over during their times of deployment.
Think about it. How many men and women do you know who have served in Iraq or Afghanistan, or other far-flung corners of our globe?
Most have come home, but far too many didn't, and many more are still struggling to find their place here--while others are even now preparing to go. See the movie for yourself, and make your own judgments. In reality, 'American Sniper' isn't just another war movie, or a film about Chris Kyle (as heroic as he was). It's about every military family who has volunteered to serve their country.
November 28, 2014
Book Offer Christmas Promotion
My publisher and I are doing a Christmas promotion for the Michael Neill Adventures. You can get them individually, or as a 3-book set, discounted by 30% for the holidays. I'm including the links to PayPal for anyone who's interested. Just click on the preferred offer and follow the prompts.
'Red Sky at Morning' offer:
https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr...
'Tempest of Fire' offer:
https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr...
'Trinity Icon' offer:
https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr...
3 Book Set offer:
https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr...
'Red Sky at Morning' offer:
https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr...
'Tempest of Fire' offer:
https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr...
'Trinity Icon' offer:
https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr...
3 Book Set offer:
https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr...
November 22, 2014
A Fresh Look
Sometimes it's nice to break away from the actual writing of a series to focus on the images that will help you market it. I am a big fan of Photoshop, and I am constantly looking through my library of images and adding new graphics to my Facebook page and my Amazon author profile page.
Most of the imagery has focused on military hardware, or scenes depicting locations from the books. Today I decided the cover photo for my FB page needed a more human touch. This exercise was a lot of fun, and to my mind, brings a little bit of a different dimension to the look of the page.
October 19, 2014
Giveaway! Lime Award Nomination!
Okay, I couldn't come up with a better title. But that pretty much sums it up.
Most of my Goodreads and Facebook friends are aware of the Trinity Icon book giveaway going on right here on Goodreads. I'm giving away 3 copies of the paperback, and the contest runs through November 12th. There's still time to get in on this, but don't wait too long!
On Friday I learned that Trinity Icon has been nominated for the Lime Award for Excellence in Fiction. The annual awards are sponsored by thechristianmanifesto.com, and once again, the latest book in the series has garnered a five-star review, as well as this year's nomination in the Suspense/Thriller category. It's up against some stiff competition, and I am both humbled and thrilled to have my latest published efforts considered.
Readersfavorite.com and TCM are a couple of my favorite sites when it comes to reviews, and are a boon to up and coming writers and authors, so I would be remiss if I didn't give them both an appreciative shout-out. Thank you!
Most of my Goodreads and Facebook friends are aware of the Trinity Icon book giveaway going on right here on Goodreads. I'm giving away 3 copies of the paperback, and the contest runs through November 12th. There's still time to get in on this, but don't wait too long!
On Friday I learned that Trinity Icon has been nominated for the Lime Award for Excellence in Fiction. The annual awards are sponsored by thechristianmanifesto.com, and once again, the latest book in the series has garnered a five-star review, as well as this year's nomination in the Suspense/Thriller category. It's up against some stiff competition, and I am both humbled and thrilled to have my latest published efforts considered.
Readersfavorite.com and TCM are a couple of my favorite sites when it comes to reviews, and are a boon to up and coming writers and authors, so I would be remiss if I didn't give them both an appreciative shout-out. Thank you!
October 12, 2014
Transitions--The Changing World of Michael Neill
It's been a month since I began writing the fourth book in the Michael Neill series. Quite frankly, I should be farther along than I am, but my speed at writing is tempered by my painstaking focus on quality, and I must admit that I've re-written the opening paragraph to the prologue at least a dozen times.
At that pace, it seems that this latest adventure for the good captain will take quite some time to complete. Not necessarily. I seem to find my stride with each book after finding satisfaction with the novel's preamble, and I'm happy to report that the first ten pages have now met with my approval.
That brings me to the gist of this post. As an author, there comes a point where I find myself fully immersed in the fictional world that surrounds me. I hesitate to say that I've created this world; that seems a bit pretentious. I prefer to think that a properly fueled creative spark ignites the gifts God has given me, and it's His prompting that pushes me to tell the stories that well up inside.
I have rejoined old friends; Michael Neill, Christina Arrens, and Master Gunnery Sergeant Daniel Neill. And what would Michael's world be without Willis Avery, who has now accepted the mantle of Secretary of Defense?
It's a comfortable place for me, but it's never stagnant. Changes come and go, friendships are formed, and in some cases, friends are lost. Readers of 'Trinity Icon' are aware of a rather wrenching loss suffered by Neill and company. I won't spoil it for those who haven't read the book, but a death toward the end of the novel was very hard to write, and a character present in all three books will be missed.
But life goes on--even in fiction. There are new challenges in book four, and new characters. Cullough McKeckney joins the cast, along with Ukrainian scientist Radya Zhukov and Australian genius Taylor Brisbane. A few old friends turn up; readers met Xander Voskov and Yuri Tereshenko in the last book, and there will be a few more surprises in the fourth installment. New and old technologies are combined, posing formidable threats, and Neill's antagonists employ a weapons system protected from the West by something called--well, that would be a spoiler, so I'll leave that for the book's publication (we all know how crafty the Russians have been throughout the series, and it's not about to end).
I've felt compelled to include an even stronger testimony to the power of faith, and a more thoughtful and unashamed presentation of God's salvation through Christ. Neill will continue to struggle with his feelings for Christina, and ponder the reasons for his father's death. Again, my goal is to tell a compelling story that rests on solid characters--the same kinds of characters we all meet every single day.
And so I've written much of this to encourage other authors, or writers hoping to see their literary efforts published. It's also for those who might be working on their second or third book, or those thinking about a genre they've never considered. I think it's safe to say that once your God-given creativity is turned loose it's hard to say where you'll find yourself, but the blessings are wondrous.
At that pace, it seems that this latest adventure for the good captain will take quite some time to complete. Not necessarily. I seem to find my stride with each book after finding satisfaction with the novel's preamble, and I'm happy to report that the first ten pages have now met with my approval.
That brings me to the gist of this post. As an author, there comes a point where I find myself fully immersed in the fictional world that surrounds me. I hesitate to say that I've created this world; that seems a bit pretentious. I prefer to think that a properly fueled creative spark ignites the gifts God has given me, and it's His prompting that pushes me to tell the stories that well up inside.
I have rejoined old friends; Michael Neill, Christina Arrens, and Master Gunnery Sergeant Daniel Neill. And what would Michael's world be without Willis Avery, who has now accepted the mantle of Secretary of Defense?
It's a comfortable place for me, but it's never stagnant. Changes come and go, friendships are formed, and in some cases, friends are lost. Readers of 'Trinity Icon' are aware of a rather wrenching loss suffered by Neill and company. I won't spoil it for those who haven't read the book, but a death toward the end of the novel was very hard to write, and a character present in all three books will be missed.
But life goes on--even in fiction. There are new challenges in book four, and new characters. Cullough McKeckney joins the cast, along with Ukrainian scientist Radya Zhukov and Australian genius Taylor Brisbane. A few old friends turn up; readers met Xander Voskov and Yuri Tereshenko in the last book, and there will be a few more surprises in the fourth installment. New and old technologies are combined, posing formidable threats, and Neill's antagonists employ a weapons system protected from the West by something called--well, that would be a spoiler, so I'll leave that for the book's publication (we all know how crafty the Russians have been throughout the series, and it's not about to end).
I've felt compelled to include an even stronger testimony to the power of faith, and a more thoughtful and unashamed presentation of God's salvation through Christ. Neill will continue to struggle with his feelings for Christina, and ponder the reasons for his father's death. Again, my goal is to tell a compelling story that rests on solid characters--the same kinds of characters we all meet every single day.
And so I've written much of this to encourage other authors, or writers hoping to see their literary efforts published. It's also for those who might be working on their second or third book, or those thinking about a genre they've never considered. I think it's safe to say that once your God-given creativity is turned loose it's hard to say where you'll find yourself, but the blessings are wondrous.
August 5, 2014
'Trinity Icon' is now available
I'm very pleased to announce that Trinity Icon is now available in paperback and Kindle edition from Amazon.com. The book can also be found on the Barnes & Noble website, and I suspect other major online booksellers in the coming days.
I've also updated the Michael Neill Adventures Facebook page. You can find it here:
https://www.facebook.com/TheMichaelNe...
... and last but not least, here's the link to the book on Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Trinity-Michael...
Happy reading, and please pass the word!
I've also updated the Michael Neill Adventures Facebook page. You can find it here:
https://www.facebook.com/TheMichaelNe...
... and last but not least, here's the link to the book on Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Trinity-Michael...
Happy reading, and please pass the word!
April 13, 2014
Chapter Twenty-Two Excerpt--'Context'
Two hundred kilometers away, Chris Prentice pointed the nose of his Raptor east. He was the lead element for RAVEN Flight, and as he angled the fighter away from Gdansk, the colonel looked down and to his left.
His wingman today was a Polish lieutenant, fresh from of the Academy in Deblin. The young pilot jockeyed an F-16, and the respective aircraft were flying a ‘loose deuce’ formation, with vast distances between their wingtips. In reality, the aviators were jetting ahead at different altitudes, which, under normal conditions, wouldn’t hinder their ability to fly as a team.
For that, Prentice groused, we’ll just rely on the disparity in language.
The colonel’s kvetching was done under his breath. All of the Polish pilots spoke English, or so he’d been told, but the truth was a little more revealing. Joint ops had all the ingredients for miscommunication, at best, and the alternative—well, that wasn’t even worth thinking about, now was it?
Prentice gave the Poles an ‘E’ for effort. The Europeans had certainly bested their U.S. counterparts; many spoke a handful of languages, prompting Christian to consider the percentages for bi-lingual speakers in the American military. Spanish probably topped the list, to be sure, but he wondered—
“RAVEN-2, turn right and form up on my three o’clock position.” The colonel spoke slowly; the Pole’s responses had so far been sluggish—an indication that his command of English left something to be desired.
“Turning right, RAVEN Lead,” the lieutenant repeated, almost immediately. His heavily accented voice crackled in the colonel’s headset. “Forming up on your three o’clock position.”
Sunlight pierced the canopy, and a surprised Prentice smiled under his visored helmet. “That’s a good copy, RAVEN-2. Kilo’s just ahead.”
The so-called Kaliningrad Corridor was the grid square designated for RESILIENT EAGLE. Location names were typically shortened (hence the reliance on acronyms, Christian decided), and Kilo was quickly adopted.
The colonel checked his scope. To the east, and headed in the opposite direction, another pairing of American and Polish flyers traced the southern reaches of Kilo’s airspace. Their path lay parallel to RAVEN Flight. Two more groups followed from the west, and while their presence was encouraging, what he saw to the north was not.
The tactical air control center at Lask was coordinating with other assets; a Boeing E-3, with a rotating radar dish atop its fuselage. Their combined efforts gave a bird’s-eye view of the playing field, and for the first time, coalition forces had a clear picture of the Russians’ base of operations.
At this distance, they were far out of sight, but Christian’s long-range display showed Ivan’s fighters filling the sky. Hardware in the Raptor’s nose identified the aircraft as Sukhoi 27s, along with two Su-34s, the brightly colored FULLBACKs he’d seen just days earlier. The birds now aloft had sprung from the base in Chkalovsk.
Their point of origin was telling. Chkalovsk was owned by the Russian Navy, and the Su-34s were operated by their Air Force, the Voyenno-Vosdushnye Sily Rossii. That mouthful of Slavic flowed easily enough from the locals’ lips, but Prentice became tongue-tied at just the thought of saying it.
The colonel mulled over the collaboration between Russia’s forces. Fighters from the navy and air force were now working in tandem. The word had been passed that elements of the Rocket Forces were now in place, entrenched along Kaliningrad’s southern border with Poland. The Russians were clearly intent on showing some muscle.
According to Prentice’ software, eight fighters representing the opposing force were now airborne, with a couple of lumbering support platforms nearby. One was probably a re-fueler, and the other, with its larger radar return, was undoubtedly a Beriev A-50. This aircraft was far more robust than the E-3, but fulfilled the same role.
He looked on the bright side. None of Russia’s assets had behaved provocatively. Christian gave them that; Ivan could be very disciplined. The Sukhois stayed behind their line, playing it safe and observing strict rules of engagement. Coalition pilots did the same, and no one—American, Polish, or Russian—had raised their radars to paint a hypothetical target.
Prentice whispered a prayer that everyone involved would act circumspectly. Stretching out far below were the ground forces of several nations. Getting twitchy now wouldn’t help. Wars had begun over lesser things, and with NATO and the Russians poised on the brink, the senior officer couldn’t imagine a happenstance better suited to ruin everyone’s day.
His wingman today was a Polish lieutenant, fresh from of the Academy in Deblin. The young pilot jockeyed an F-16, and the respective aircraft were flying a ‘loose deuce’ formation, with vast distances between their wingtips. In reality, the aviators were jetting ahead at different altitudes, which, under normal conditions, wouldn’t hinder their ability to fly as a team.
For that, Prentice groused, we’ll just rely on the disparity in language.
The colonel’s kvetching was done under his breath. All of the Polish pilots spoke English, or so he’d been told, but the truth was a little more revealing. Joint ops had all the ingredients for miscommunication, at best, and the alternative—well, that wasn’t even worth thinking about, now was it?
Prentice gave the Poles an ‘E’ for effort. The Europeans had certainly bested their U.S. counterparts; many spoke a handful of languages, prompting Christian to consider the percentages for bi-lingual speakers in the American military. Spanish probably topped the list, to be sure, but he wondered—
“RAVEN-2, turn right and form up on my three o’clock position.” The colonel spoke slowly; the Pole’s responses had so far been sluggish—an indication that his command of English left something to be desired.
“Turning right, RAVEN Lead,” the lieutenant repeated, almost immediately. His heavily accented voice crackled in the colonel’s headset. “Forming up on your three o’clock position.”
Sunlight pierced the canopy, and a surprised Prentice smiled under his visored helmet. “That’s a good copy, RAVEN-2. Kilo’s just ahead.”
The so-called Kaliningrad Corridor was the grid square designated for RESILIENT EAGLE. Location names were typically shortened (hence the reliance on acronyms, Christian decided), and Kilo was quickly adopted.
The colonel checked his scope. To the east, and headed in the opposite direction, another pairing of American and Polish flyers traced the southern reaches of Kilo’s airspace. Their path lay parallel to RAVEN Flight. Two more groups followed from the west, and while their presence was encouraging, what he saw to the north was not.
The tactical air control center at Lask was coordinating with other assets; a Boeing E-3, with a rotating radar dish atop its fuselage. Their combined efforts gave a bird’s-eye view of the playing field, and for the first time, coalition forces had a clear picture of the Russians’ base of operations.
At this distance, they were far out of sight, but Christian’s long-range display showed Ivan’s fighters filling the sky. Hardware in the Raptor’s nose identified the aircraft as Sukhoi 27s, along with two Su-34s, the brightly colored FULLBACKs he’d seen just days earlier. The birds now aloft had sprung from the base in Chkalovsk.
Their point of origin was telling. Chkalovsk was owned by the Russian Navy, and the Su-34s were operated by their Air Force, the Voyenno-Vosdushnye Sily Rossii. That mouthful of Slavic flowed easily enough from the locals’ lips, but Prentice became tongue-tied at just the thought of saying it.
The colonel mulled over the collaboration between Russia’s forces. Fighters from the navy and air force were now working in tandem. The word had been passed that elements of the Rocket Forces were now in place, entrenched along Kaliningrad’s southern border with Poland. The Russians were clearly intent on showing some muscle.
According to Prentice’ software, eight fighters representing the opposing force were now airborne, with a couple of lumbering support platforms nearby. One was probably a re-fueler, and the other, with its larger radar return, was undoubtedly a Beriev A-50. This aircraft was far more robust than the E-3, but fulfilled the same role.
He looked on the bright side. None of Russia’s assets had behaved provocatively. Christian gave them that; Ivan could be very disciplined. The Sukhois stayed behind their line, playing it safe and observing strict rules of engagement. Coalition pilots did the same, and no one—American, Polish, or Russian—had raised their radars to paint a hypothetical target.
Prentice whispered a prayer that everyone involved would act circumspectly. Stretching out far below were the ground forces of several nations. Getting twitchy now wouldn’t help. Wars had begun over lesser things, and with NATO and the Russians poised on the brink, the senior officer couldn’t imagine a happenstance better suited to ruin everyone’s day.
