were really staying up late to await the newest installment in Minister Fang’s personal diary. The Chinese Politburo was meeting every day, and Fang was a dedicated diarist, not to mention a man who enjoyed the physical attractions of his female staff. They were even reading significance into the less regular writings of WARBLER, who mainly committed to her computer his sexual skills, occasionally enough to make Mary Pat blush. Being an intelligence officer was often little different from being a paid voyeur, and the staff psychiatrist translated all of the prurient stuff into what was probably a very accurate personality profile, but to them it just meant that Fang was a dirty old man who happened to exercise a lot of political power.
“It’s going to be another three hours at best,” the DCI said.
“Yeah,” his wife agreed.
“Tell you what ...” Ed Foley rose off the couch, tossed away the cushions, and reached in to pull out the foldaway bed. It was marginally big enough for two.
“When the staff sees this, they’ll wonder if we got laid tonight.”
“Baby, I have a headache,” the DCI reported.
CHAPTER 54
Probes and Pushes
Much of life in the military is mere adherence to Parkinson’s Law, the supposition that work invariably expands to fill the time allocated for it. In this case, Colonel Dick Boyle arrived on the very first C-5B Galaxy, which, immediately upon rolling to a stop, lifted its nose “visor” door to disgorge the first of three UH-60A Blackhawk helicopters, whose crewmen just as immediately rolled it to a vacant piece of ramp to unfold the rotor blades, assure they were locked in place, and ready the aircraft for flight after the usual safety checks. By that time, the C-5B had refueled and rolled off into the sky to make room for the next Galaxy, this one delivering AH-64 Apache attack helicopters—in this case complete with weapons and other accoutrements for flying real missions against a real armed enemy.
Colonel Boyle busied himself with watching everything, even though he knew that his troops were doing their jobs as well as they could be done, and would do those jobs whether he watched and fussed over them or not. Perversely, what Boyle wanted to do was to fly to where Diggs and his staff were located, but he resisted the temptation because he felt he should be supervising people whom he’d trained to do their jobs entirely without supervision. That lasted three hours until he finally saw the logic of the situation and decided to be a commander rather than a shop supervisor, and lifted off for Chabarsovil. The flying was easy enough, and he preferred the medium-low clouds, because there had to be fighters about, and not all of them would be friendly. The GPS navigation system guided him to the right location, and the right location, it turned out, was a concrete helipad with soldiers standing around it. They were wearing the “wrong” uniform, a state of mind that Boyle knew he’d have to work on. One of them escorted Boyle into a building that looked like the Russian idea of a headquarters, and sure enough, it was.
“Dick, come on over,” General Diggs called. The helicopter commander saluted as he approached.
“Welcome to Siberia, Dick,” Marion Diggs said in greeting.
“Thank you, sir. What’s the situation?”
“Interesting,” the general replied. “This is General Bondarenko. He’s the theater commander.” Boyle saluted again. “Gennady, this is Colonel Boyle, who commands my aviation brigade. He’s pretty good.”
“What’s the air situation, sir?” Boyle asked Diggs.
“The Air Force is doing a good job on their fighters so far.”
“What about Chinese helicopters?”
“They do not have many,” another Russian officer said. “I am Colonel Aliyev, Andrey Petrovich, theater operations. The Chinese do not have many helicopters. We’ve only seen a few, mainly scouts.”
“No troop carriers? No staff transport?”
“No,” Aliyev answered. “Their senior officers prefer to move around in tracked vehicles. They are not married to helicopters as you Americans are.”
“What do you want me to do, sir?” Boyle asked Diggs.
“Take Tony Turner to Chita. That’s the railhead we’re going to be using. We need to get set up there.”
“Drive the tracks in from there, eh?” Boyle looked at the map.
“That’s the plan. There are closer points, but Chita has the best facilities to off-load our vehicles, so our friends tell us.”
“What about gas?”
“The place you landed is supposed to have sizable underground fuel tanks.”
“More than you will need,” Aliyev confirmed. Boyle thought that was quite a promise.
“And ordnance?” Boyle asked. “We’ve got maybe two