Read Online Riding the Red Horse by Jerry Pournelle, Christopher Nuttall, Rolf Nelson, Chris Kennedy, Brad Torgersen, Thomas Mays, James F. Dunnigan, William S. Lind - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jerry Pournelle, Christopher Nuttall, Rolf Nelson, Chris Kennedy, Brad Torgersen, Thomas Mays, James F. Dunnigan, William S. Lind
Ads: Link
more impressively, his operators had only lost one bird, an old model Global Hawk that was hacked and diverted by unknown parties while flying over Ghana. Ronald assumed it was the Chinese, since no one ever took credit for the exploit and neither the Iranians nor the jihadists were inclined to keep their mouths shut whenever they seized a drone.
“Sir, your plane is ready,” a lieutenant informed him.
He nodded. “Remind Bart that I won't be back until Monday, Eric.” Bart was Colonel Corbett, the wing's Vice Commander and Ronald's second-in-command.
“Will do, Colonel. Have a safe trip.” Captain Hainesworth saluted crisply and Ronald acknowledged it. He stopped by his office long enough to slip the legal pad into his attache, tucked his lid under his arm, and made his way out to the tarmac. One benefit of commanding an Air Force base, even if it was a fighter wing without any fighters, was having ready access to air transportation.
The T-6A Texan II, one of the base's two trainers, was already warmed up and waiting for him. The Beechcraft was no speed demon, but it would get him to Fort Drum before he would even have been able to board a commercial flight in Philadelphia. His garment bag was already stowed underneath, so he gave the pilot, a captain by the name of John Hallowell, a thumb's up as soon as he was strapped in.
Ronald would have preferred to fly himself, but these flights were too good an opportunity to see how the younger officers comported themselves to pass up. And it was nice to relax in the back seat, knowing that no one would ambush him with questions or urgent matters requiring immediate resolution. The skies were clear, the takeoff was smooth, and Hallowell proved to be pleasantly taciturn. They had barely reached cruising altitude before Ronald fell asleep.
Fort Drum was considerably busier than Horsham and its security was much tighter. Once they were on the ground, he and Hallowell were met by a pair of muscular infantrymen, who escorted Ronald to a black Suburban that ferried him to an unexpectedly beautiful cream-colored mansion featuring four massive white pillars in the front. There he was greeted by an Army colonel, his garment bag was collected by a lieutenant, and he was shown into a well-appointed, high-ceilinged meeting room in which there were eleven officers wearing the uniforms of four different service branches.
There were four other Air Force men, one general and three colonels, five Army generals, one rear admiral, and a short Marine general who looked rather like the bulldog that served as his Corps's mascot. He didn't recognize most of them, but he knew they were his counterparts, commanders of various drone bases from Florida to Alaska.
“There's the man of the hour!” General William Norstad, commander of SATGO, was a tall man whose broad shoulders bore three stars apiece. “Colonel James, allow me to be the first to congratulate you. And someone get this man a beer!”
“Thank you, General.” James smiled at the blank looks on the faces of the men from the other three forces. “We had some first-rate support from the intelligence community.”
“Earlier this morning, a Grimm pilot under Colonel James's command terminated with what can only be described as extreme prejudice both Aden al-Muhajir and Osama al-Ansari, numbers twelve and eighteen on our priority list.”
“Just doing our job, General.” The officers with their hands free clapped, others raised their drinks in salute. Three more officers arrived, including another Air Force general, and they, too, came over to congratulate James and shake his hand as the reason for the celebratory mood was explained to them.
However, once all sixteen of the invited commanders were present, Norstad's face grew more serious and he urged them all to take a seat and get comfortable.
“I'm sure most of you are wondering what the purpose of this interservice conclave is. As I expect you will have worked out by
“Sir, your plane is ready,” a lieutenant informed him.
He nodded. “Remind Bart that I won't be back until Monday, Eric.” Bart was Colonel Corbett, the wing's Vice Commander and Ronald's second-in-command.
“Will do, Colonel. Have a safe trip.” Captain Hainesworth saluted crisply and Ronald acknowledged it. He stopped by his office long enough to slip the legal pad into his attache, tucked his lid under his arm, and made his way out to the tarmac. One benefit of commanding an Air Force base, even if it was a fighter wing without any fighters, was having ready access to air transportation.
The T-6A Texan II, one of the base's two trainers, was already warmed up and waiting for him. The Beechcraft was no speed demon, but it would get him to Fort Drum before he would even have been able to board a commercial flight in Philadelphia. His garment bag was already stowed underneath, so he gave the pilot, a captain by the name of John Hallowell, a thumb's up as soon as he was strapped in.
Ronald would have preferred to fly himself, but these flights were too good an opportunity to see how the younger officers comported themselves to pass up. And it was nice to relax in the back seat, knowing that no one would ambush him with questions or urgent matters requiring immediate resolution. The skies were clear, the takeoff was smooth, and Hallowell proved to be pleasantly taciturn. They had barely reached cruising altitude before Ronald fell asleep.
Fort Drum was considerably busier than Horsham and its security was much tighter. Once they were on the ground, he and Hallowell were met by a pair of muscular infantrymen, who escorted Ronald to a black Suburban that ferried him to an unexpectedly beautiful cream-colored mansion featuring four massive white pillars in the front. There he was greeted by an Army colonel, his garment bag was collected by a lieutenant, and he was shown into a well-appointed, high-ceilinged meeting room in which there were eleven officers wearing the uniforms of four different service branches.
There were four other Air Force men, one general and three colonels, five Army generals, one rear admiral, and a short Marine general who looked rather like the bulldog that served as his Corps's mascot. He didn't recognize most of them, but he knew they were his counterparts, commanders of various drone bases from Florida to Alaska.
“There's the man of the hour!” General William Norstad, commander of SATGO, was a tall man whose broad shoulders bore three stars apiece. “Colonel James, allow me to be the first to congratulate you. And someone get this man a beer!”
“Thank you, General.” James smiled at the blank looks on the faces of the men from the other three forces. “We had some first-rate support from the intelligence community.”
“Earlier this morning, a Grimm pilot under Colonel James's command terminated with what can only be described as extreme prejudice both Aden al-Muhajir and Osama al-Ansari, numbers twelve and eighteen on our priority list.”
“Just doing our job, General.” The officers with their hands free clapped, others raised their drinks in salute. Three more officers arrived, including another Air Force general, and they, too, came over to congratulate James and shake his hand as the reason for the celebratory mood was explained to them.
However, once all sixteen of the invited commanders were present, Norstad's face grew more serious and he urged them all to take a seat and get comfortable.
“I'm sure most of you are wondering what the purpose of this interservice conclave is. As I expect you will have worked out by
Similar Books
