The Red Line

As soon as all twenty-four engineers cleared the plane, the C-17’s loadmaster began pushing the first pallet down the ramp. Two Air Force cargo trucks and a large ten-ton tractor waited a short distance away. The lead truck would soon be taking the satellite ground-station equipment nestled on the initial pallet to Hillingdon. The minute the pallet was free of the plane, the supporting ground crew began moving it into position to load onto the transport truck. A fuel truck nestled up next to the plane, and the refueling process quickly began.

An air policeman waited nearby in his Humvee. Three of the engineers would ride with him as he escorted the precious cargo the seventy miles to the vital communication center in northwest London. Once there, the engineers would install the satellite equipment next to the communication center and begin making the necessary cabling connections to bring the ground station to life.

Denny Doyle had spent most of the day coordinating with EUCOM to determine what new and previously existing circuits would be placed on the satellite system. Under Doyle’s direction, Hillingdon’s communication controllers would then begin loading the highest-priority command and control users.

As the loadmaster returned to the plane for the next piece of critical equipment, O’Neill walked over to the miserable-looking group of civilians. After twenty-four hectic hours preparing and eight hours crammed into the C-17 for the trip from Dover, Delaware, none of the sleep-deprived team felt particularly spry. And each knew there was a great deal more for them to do before the next day’s sun would appear.

“Which of you is Randy Carson?” George asked as he searched the huddled group for DISA’s senior electronics engineer.

A nondescript individual in his late forties stepped forward and reached out a hand.

“You must be George,” Carson said. “Glad to finally put a face to the voice I’ve been talking with incessantly for what feels like days.”

O’Neill watched the ground station being loaded onto the truck. “I see you really were successful in locating the satellite equipment and delivering on your promise.”

“Yeah, it was a bit of a challenge. These things aren’t something you find sitting on the shelf in the electronics department at your local Walmart. But I was able to get my hands on two—one for Hillingdon and a second system for Donnersberg. As I told you on the phone, the only problem is both systems are rather old and small. The capacity on each will be limited to thirty-six circuits.”

“With as much trouble as our command and control’s in,” O’Neill said, “thirty-six additional circuits at Hillingdon and another thirty-six at Donnersberg will really help. Although I sure wish we could figure out some way to establish a microwave link directly from Donnersberg to Hillingdon. Right now, just about everything from Germany to England depends on Feldberg. With the progress the Russian armor’s made today, Feldberg will likely be overrun in two or three days at the very most. Donnersberg’s in a much better position. It’s situated fifty miles deeper into Germany, securely on the western side of the Rhine. If we have a choice, it would be a far more ideal spot than Feldberg to center our communications.”

“When we’ve finished installing all of this, why don’t you and I take a look at that,” Carson said. “Who knows, if we can accomplish what we’ve pulled off in the last day and a half, maybe we can pull another rabbit out of our hat. Anything’s possible with a pound of creativity and an ounce of luck.”

The loadmaster began pushing a second pallet down the ramp. O’Neill saw it the moment it left the plane.

“Oh my God! They got to Dover in time,” he said.

“Yep, two AWACS ground stations. One for Mildenhall, and a second one for my team headed to Germany to install at Donnersberg. The ground stations arrived in Delaware less than two hours before we were scheduled to depart. If you thought finding existing satellite terminals to bring over here was difficult, you should have seen these. It’s not like there’s normally a big demand for them. The manufacturer in California typically builds a new one at the military’s request every few years or so. It’s a tiny part of their business. Most of their AWACS work comes from providing spare parts when a ground station somewhere in the world needs repair. Luckily, they had enough parts on hand to build one of the two systems we brought on the plane. The other, they had to manufacturer from scratch. But as you can see, less than thirty-six hours after the Russians destroyed both AWACS ground stations, they were able to build new ones and get ’em all the way from California to England. As soon as we unload the communication van and the parts for Mildenhall’s new microwave tower, we’ll get to work installing the first one. The sooner my team’s at work, the better we’ll all feel.”

“Mildenhall’s destroyed communication center is less than a half mile from here. It’ll take no time at all to get over there and get to work.”

“How bad a shape is the original site in?” Carson asked.

“The damage is total. When I got here a few hours ago, it was nothing but a pile of scrap. I spent most of the day helping the site’s airmen lucky enough to not be on duty when it exploded clear away the wreckage in preparation for your arrival. They were nearly finished when I started for the flight line. You should have no problem placing the van in the exact location the demolished building was. And I don’t see any issues in erecting the new microwave tower where the old one previously stood.”

“Were you able to recover anything at all from the site?”

“From what I saw, some of the underground cabling that fed into the communication center might still be okay. If it’s even partially usable, that might save us a few hours in getting Mildenhall’s communications fully online. Is the plan we last talked about for Donnersberg, Hillingdon, and Mildenhall still in effect?”

Just then the loadmaster appeared from the plane with a third pallet. This one contained the pieces needed for Mildenhall’s new microwave tower and two brand-new microwave dishes. At the same moment, the last tie-down strap for the satellite equipment bound for Hillingdon was secured. Three of the engineers headed for the air policeman’s Humvee. They, and the truck, were soon departing the flight line. O’Neill and Carson paused in their conversation to watch the loadmaster’s efforts and the engineers and equipment pull away.

“Nothing’s changed from what we talked about,” Carson said. “As you saw, three of my guys will handle Hillingdon. Six will get back on the C-17 and fly to Ramstein with the satellite and AWACS ground station. MPs will be waiting to escort them and their equipment to Donnersberg. We figure they should get there by nine or ten tonight. The remaining fifteen of us will stay here to reconstruct Mildenhall.”

“How long do you estimate it’s going to take to get everything in place?”

“Even doing all this in the dark, the Hillingdon satellite should be ready by midnight. Depending on what problems we encounter, Mildenhall should be back online by about 4:00 a.m. at the very latest. Donnersberg should have both a working satellite and an AWACS ground-station terminal before tomorrow’s sun rises.”

The ten-ton tractor eased up to the C-17’s ramp to remove the final piece of equipment. The fifty-foot-long communication van was soon attached and ready to go.

Before they left for the brief drive to the demolished site, George had one more task to complete. He walked over to his Humvee, removed a pile of items from it, and returned to where the remaining engineers were gathered.

“Randy,” he said, “which of your folks are getting back on the plane and heading for Donnersberg? I need to meet with them for a few minutes before they go.”

The six were soon gathered around O’Neill. He began passing out the gas-mask pouches, atropine, and chemical protective clothing to the perplexed engineers.

“Each of you is going to need these while working in Germany. The Russians unleashed a massive nerve-gas attack against the 1st Armor Division early this morning. We’ve no idea if, or when, the

Russians will do it again, but the stuff is absolutely lethal. If you’re unprepared, there’s no possibility of surviving. If there’s a chemical attack, you must get your gas mask on immediately, give yourself an injection, and get into the protective gear as fast as you can. Before you get back on that plane, let me give you a quick lesson on how to use this stuff.”

O’Neill took a few minutes to go over the procedures and have the engineers practice the steps necessary to protect themselves. He did the best he could in the brief time he had. They were certainly no experts at defending against chemical weapons, but if they didn’t panic, there was a decent chance most of them would survive.

Shortly thereafter, the C-17 carrying the satellite system, the AWACS ground station, and the six engineers started out onto the runway to depart for Germany. As they did, the small convoy with the van and the other AWACS ground station headed the short distance across Mildenhall to where the communication center had stood.

• • •

The hours had passed quickly, but the job was nearly completed. Just a few minutes more, and both Mildenhall’s communications and the new AWACS ground station would be fully operational.

Inside the pristine van, O’Neill stood in the center of the impressive communication control station, admiring what he saw. Randy Carson stood next to him. Both in front of and behind them, all fifty feet was crammed with the latest technology. There was no doubt the van would be more than capable of handling all of Mildenhall’s needs. Just a final, precise adjustment of the microwave dishes, and the communication link between Mildenhall and Hillingdon would be restored.

“Randy, this van is incredible. I’d no idea anything like this existed in mobile form. Where did you say you got it?”

“FEMA. They have over three dozen of them at their regional headquarters around the country. They use them to handle communication needs in a national emergency, like major hurricanes, earthquakes, and things like that. This is just the basic model. They’ve got others far more sophisticated than this. But we knew this one would easily handle all of Mildenhall’s needs, so we only asked for what we needed. Some of them are set up to act as communication nodes, with over three hundred channels that can handle an entire network of smaller communication centers spread over a wide area. The big vans are over eighty feet long. They have multiple transmitters and receivers and enough supporting equipment to handle an entire region of the country’s needs should it come to that. FEMA can handle the biggest cities and the smallest towns all in one interconnected network. It’s not all that different an idea than our worldwide Defense Information System. The only significant difference is that while our network is in fixed locations in friendly countries around the world, FEMA’s is designed to be far more flexible.”

O’Neill’s quick mind instantly seized upon what he’d just been told. Given his knowledge of the American military communication system in Europe, the potential implications of what Randy Carson had said were unmistakable.

“Do you think there’s any chance you could get your hands on a couple of the fancy ones and a number of the smaller units if I asked you to?”

“Why? What have you got in mind, George?”

“I’m not certain just yet. It might turn out to be nothing but a dead end. And I’m not sure the higher-ups would be interested in it even if we can make it work. But it’s something we should take a look at. I know your team’s exhausted, but do you think you could still get some fairly advanced, highly technical work out of them for a few hours more? What I’m planning on us examining is going to keep them from seeing a bed anytime soon.”

George O’Neill’s next surprising move had appeared.

It would be one for which General Yovanovich could not have prepared.

CHAPTER 49

January 31—5:14 a.m.

Sixth Floor, East Surgical Wing