Patrick McLanahan Collection #1 by Dale Brown

look like a fool? You really expect me to go in front of the National Security Council and tell that to the president of the United States? Do you think he’ll find the humor in my statement after he reads the entire report that the director of Central Intelligence will undoubtedly give him and finds out what really happened?” Goff stared at McLanahan, who had his eyes caged straight ahead. “Well? I’ve got two minutes before I go. You’d better start talking—and fast. ”
    â€œSir, the mission was a success,” McLanahan said. “Our mission was to locate, identify, track, and if necessary interdict that group of Taliban raiders that has been killing United Nations aid workers and Afghan government security forces. We were successful, and the systems we employed worked perfectly, until we were hit by ground fire, went out of control, and were in danger of crash-landing almost intact in Turkmenistan. The only way to retrieve the aircraft was to switch to line-of-sight radio control.” He didn’t need to explain what that was—Robert Goff was an industrialist and engineer and knew almost as much as any aerospace scientist.
    â€œIt was supposed to recall itself if there was a problem,” Goff said. “It was supposed to come back if it sustained any damage or lost contact with you.”
    â€œI have no excuse for that, sir—I haven’t had time to analyze the data we were able to retrieve from the UCAV’s flight-control computers,” Patrick responded. “We couldn’t recall it or self-destruct it, and I knew we couldn’t just let it crash-land in Turkmenistan—our most sophisticated unmanned combat aircraft would be in the hands of the Russians or sold on the black market. No special-ops forces were available to retrieve it. The only choice I had was to dash across Pakistan and Afghanistan, reach it before it ran out of fuel, and hope it responded to direct line-of-sight commands instead of satellite-relay commands. Flying over Iran was unavoidable as well. We were able to reach it and get it turned around, but at the same time we were attacked by Turkmen air defenses. The drone was shot down, and we sustained damage to our aerial-refueling system. I thought we had enough gas to safely reach the runway.” He paused, then added, “I was right.”
    â€œDon’t smart-mouth me, mister,” Goff said. “You were ordered by me to ditch that plane. Why did you ignore that order?”
    â€œSir, I felt an ejection and ditching under those circumstances would be hazardous to my crew, pose a danger to vessels and aircraft in the area, subject the United States to unnecessary security and negative publicity exposure, and result in unnecessary loss of a valuable military asset,” Patrick McLanahan replied. “I made a decision as senior officer on board the aircraft to attempt a landing. I felt the risk was minimal compared to an uncontrolled crash-landing at sea.”
    â€œI don’t care what you felt or what you decided—you violated a direct order from several superior officers,” Goff said. “You could have caused unmentionable damage to that airfield and the aircraft parked there. Both of you could have been killed.” Goff looked at Venti, who had remained silent during this entire meeting. “Well, General Venti? What do you think we ought to do to these two?”
    â€œSir, I recommend the Air Medal be awarded to both Generals McLanahan and Furness for successfully completing a dangerous mission over hostile airspace, for bringing their crippled aircraft home, and for preserving and protecting the secrecy of their mission, even at considerable risk to their own lives,” Venti responded, a broad smile spreading across his face.
    â€œMake it the Airman’s Medal. We can award that in peacetime, can’t we, General?”
    â€œWe can indeed, sir,” Venti replied