Return to Honor Read online

  Book Description

  Five thousand miles from the U.S., the president of the United States is facing death. In one hour, an American force will strike back—with the most daring rescue mission ever!

  The RDF—Marine Corps Rapid Deployment Force—can strike anywhere in the world in under an hour. Their secret weapon: the Trans-Atmospheric Vehicle flown at 15,000 miles per hour by the Air Force’s most elite pilots, carrying a deadly cargo of highly trained marines. The technology is unproven. But its time has come.…

  Doug Beason

  Kindle Edition – 2014

  WordFire Press

  www.wordfire.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61475-105-2

  Copyright © 2014 WordFire, Inc.

  Originally published by First Pocket Books, 1989

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Art Director Kevin J. Anderson

  Book Design by RuneWright, LLC

  www.RuneWright.com

  Kevin J. Anderson & Rebecca Moesta, Publishers

  Published by

  WordFire Press, an imprint of

  WordFire, Inc.

  PO Box 1840

  Monument, CO 80132

  Contents

  Book Description

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Dramatis Personae

  Abbreviations

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  About the Author

  Other WordFire Titles

  Dedication

  To my wife and daughters—

  Cindy, Amanda, and Tamara—

  who put up with me.

  Acknowledgments

  To Dr. Tom Tascione, for giving me the idea for this novel, and Dr. Don Erbschloe, for reviewing and commenting on the draft manuscript. Boston’s “A Man I’ll Never Be” provided me with much inspiration during the writing. And to John F. Carr at J. E. Pournelle and Associates for first accepting the novelette on which this novel is based; to Patrick L. Price at AMAZING STORIES® who first published the novelette; to Paul McCarthy, senior editor at Pocket Books, who had patience with the slush pile and had faith in me; and to my long-time collaborator, Kevin J. Anderson, who pushed me to revise, rewrite and republish digitally.

  Dramatis Personae

  Edwards AFB

  Major Robert Gould, USAF—Trans-Atmospheric Vehicle pilot, Edwards AFB, California

  Major Delores Beckman, USAF—TAV pilot

  Colonel Mathin, USAF—Commander, USAF Test Pilot School, Edwards AFB

  Lt. Col. William J. Krandel, USMC—Commander, 37th Marine Battalion: Rapid Deployment Force (RDF), Camp Pendleton, California

  Maureen Krandel—his wife

  Brigadier General Allen W. Vandervoos, USMC—First Marine, Air Wing Commander

  Captain Harvey Weston, USMC—Headquarters 1st Platoon Commander, RDF

  Captain “Charley” Daniels, USMC—Headquarters 2nd Platoon Commander, RDF

  Gunnery Sergeant David Balcalski, USMC—Battalion First Sergeant, RDF

  Private Arrosh Havisad, USMC—Communications expert, Alpha Squad, RDF

  Lance Corporal Francis Morales, USMC—Alpha Squad Leader, RDF

  Lance Corporal Kenneth Henderson, USMC—Bravo Squad Leader, RDF

  Washington, D.C.

  President Sandoval Montoya—President of the United States

  Manuel Baca—White House Chief of Staff

  G. Percival Woodstone—Vice President of the United States

  Amador Trujillo—White House National Security Advisor

  CPO Yoli Aquinaldo, USN—Steward aboard Air Force One

  CPO Ramos Sicat, USN—another steward

  Colonel Joseph McGerney, USAF—Aircraft Commander, Air Force One

  Major Laynam, USAF—Copilot, Air Force One

  Sergeant Donald Clements, USMC—Marine guard assigned to Air Force One

  General “Batman” Peters, USA—Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff

  Colonel Welch, USAF—Presidential Military Aide, assigned to the National Emergency Command Center

  Do’brai

  Hujr ibn-Adi—terrorist

  Du’Ali al-Aswad—another terrorist, Hujr’s assistant

  Ghazzali abu-Hamid—Head of the Arab Liberated Hegemony (ALH)

  General Fariq Kamil—Chief of Staff for President Ash’ath

  Abd al-Rahman ibn-Muhammed ibn al-Ash’ath—President-for-Life and Commanding General, Do’brainese Militia Forces

  Other Locations

  Lieutenant Colonel George Frier, USAF—Commanding Officer, U.S.S.S. Bifrost

  Major Stephen Wordel, US AF—Bifrost crew member

  Honorable Pieter Akulov—Russian President

  Captain Jimmy McCluney, USAF—F-15 Wild Weasel Flight Commander

  First Lieutenant Chiu, USAF—Missile Launch Officer, Vandenberg AFB, CA

  Colonel Rathson, USAF—Commander, 2nd Aircraft Delivery Group, Langley AFB, VA

  Abbreviations

  AC—Aircraft Commander

  ACC—Air Combat Command

  AMC—Air Mobility Command

  AEHF—Advanced Extremely High Frequency satellite

  AFSATCOM—Air Force SATellite COMmunications

  ASL—Above Sea Level

  ATC—Air Training Command

  AWACS—Airborne Warning And Control System

  Base Ops—Base Operations

  BIGEYE—U.S.S.S. Bifrost

  BMDO—Ballistic Missile Defense Office

  Check—short for Checkride, a graded flight examination

  CINCSTRAT—Commander IN Chief STRATegic Command

  CP—Command Post

  CRT—Cathode Ray Tube

  CSOC—Consolidated Space Operations Center, Colorado Springs, CO

  CYA—Cover Your Ass

  DIA—Defense Intelligence Agency

  EM—Electromagnetic

  EMP—Electromagnetic Pulse

  FE—Flight Examiner

  FOB—Fractional Orbit Bomb

  FTC—Flight Test Center

  GPS—Global Positioning Satellite

  ICBM—InterContinental Ballistic Missile

  IFF—Identification Friend or Foe

  IP—Instructor Pilot

  INS—Inertial Navigation System

  IR—InfraRed

  JATO—Jet Assisted Take-Off

  JP-4—high-grade jet fuel

  JP-12—super-octane TAV fuel

  MRBM—Medium-Range Ballistic Missile

  NECC—National Emergency Command Center

  NSA—National Security Agency

  0-7—Brigadier general

  Pax—Passengers

  PCS—Permanent Change of Station

  PLF—Parachute Landing Fall

  STRATCOM—STRATegic COMmand

  SCRAM—Supersonic Combustion RAM jets

&n
bsp; SIE—Self-Initiated Elimination

  SLBM—Sea-Launched Ballistic Missile

  SMART—Super Maintenance And Readiness Truck

  TAV—Trans-Atmospheric Vehicle

  TDY—Temporary Duty

  TLF—Transient Living Facilities

  UPT—Undergraduate Pilot Training

  U.S.S.S.—United States Space Ship

  VUHF—Very Ultra High Frequency

  Zulu—Greenwich Mean Time, measured from Greenwich, Great Britain

  Return to Honor

  Prologue

  1200 ZULU: WEDNESDAY, 29 MAY

  The “born leader” is a fiction by “born followers.” Leadership is not a gift at birth: it is an award for growing up to full moral stature. It is the only award a man must win every day. The prize is the respect of others, earned by the disciplines that generate self-respect.

  Major General Louis Metzger, Commanding General Third Marine Division

  264,000+ Feet ASL

  Mach 25—over fifteen thousand miles per hour—and no sensation of movement. The ride seemed smooth enough; the buffeting that accompanied the TAV’s launch was nothing compared to the eerie silence that now permeated the craft. They were stuffed in the Trans-Atmospheric Vehicle tighter than sardines in a can: twenty-four marines, all clutching their rifles, all depending on their hotshot air force pilot to bring them safely back to ground.

  Where they could all be killed the instant they scrambled from the TAV.

  Gunnery sergeant Balcalski shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable. Now that his weight had returned, the webbed seating straps dug into his back. And the heat didn’t help. You’d think that once they were above the atmosphere—over fifty miles above the ground—things would cool down. But the cramped compartment held the heat in, sapping their strength.

  Minutes passes. Balcalski inched forward, and he jumped when the klaxon, set in the TAV’s bulkhead, gave an earsplitting blast.

  The air force pilot came over the intercom: “Two minutes to landing.…prepare your Stations, marines.”

  All around Balcalski, the marines straightened in their seats. Balcalski pushed his feet firmly against the vibrating deck and prepared for landing. They were approaching the desert at an unthinkable speed, screaming through the air, ready to disembark and spill out of the TAV to take their objective.

  Balcalski glanced over at Captain Weston, the new platoon commander. As young as Weston seemed, Balcalski had confidence in him. From what Balcalski knew of Weston’s background, he was a capable leader. Balcalski could count on being able to run the platoon through its motions without Weston butting in.

  Balcalski knew Weston was there to observe, and he would step in only as needed. He was the type of officer Balcalski respected—one he didn’t have to train; one that respected the presence of a good noncom. It was essential to have that mutual respect when going into battle.

  The TAV bounced down, jarring the marines as it landed. Before Balcalski could react, Captain Weston was out of his seat and standing in the TAV hatch, yelling, “This is it—get ready to jump!”

  Balcalski followed the rest of the marines as they stood and shuffled to the door in their combat equipment, careful not to trip on the bouncing deck. Balcalski felt adrenaline rush into his system as the excitement of the moment swept him up. He was first at the door, then stepped back as Weston shouted in his ear, “I’ll take the first jump—make sure the rest of them get out as soon as they can after me.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Balcalski shouldered his rifle.

  Weston clutched the sides of the hatch; a red light flickered above the door as the hatch swung open, spilling in warm desert air. Scrub brush and cactus whizzed by. The TAV bounced on the desert floor as the craft continued to slow. The intercom crackled as the air force pilot came on, excitement evident in his voice.

  “Twenty-five knots … twenty knots … and fifteen. Marines, disembark!”

  Balcalski slapped the captain on the rear. “Jump, sir!” Weston leapt out the hatch; he disappeared as the next marine took his place. Balcalski swatted the marine. “Jump!”

  Twenty-one more marines followed until Balcalski was alone in the TAV. Balcalski assumed the position at the hatch, spotted the rushing ground, and jumped, hitting the desert in a parachute-landing fall. He was instantly on his feet, running toward a small building to his right. The remainder of the Rapid Deployment Force was already converging on the objective. Behind him, Balcalski could make out the whine of the TAV’s engines winding down as the craft slowed to a halt.

  Out of breath, Balcalski was the last to reach the building. Grasping his rifle, he stormed through the door—and froze at what he saw.

  A burly, dark-haired man clicked off a stopwatch as Balcalski entered the building. The man took a cigar from his mouth and eyed the clock. “Fifty seconds. Gentlemen, you are all dead.”

  Brigadier General Vandervoos took a long draw off his cigar and studied the marines in front of him. They stood panting from the exertion, standing at attention. Balcalski felt his face grow red, more from embarrassing Captain Weston in front of the general than anything else. Vandervoos blew smoke away and spoke quietly so the marines had to strain to hear him: “Gentlemen, let me lay it on the line for you.

  “The only reason the RDF exists is for rapid response. American taxpayers are paying out good money for your training; they’re spending thousands of dollars so the air force can keep their TAVs on alert, twenty-four hours a day, here at Edwards. Those pilots have to pull alert, just like all of you, so that if the balloon ever goes up, they can fly you to any spot in the world to knock out enemy command posts—or to do whatever the hell the President wants you to do.

  “Now, unless you gentlemen get serious about these exercises and get every man out of that TAV in less than forty-five seconds, we might as well hang it up. We can send in the damned army cheaper than what it’s costing to keep this outfit going.” He allowed his words to sink in for some moments before speaking again. “Captain Weston, do you have anything to add?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Very well, I’ll see you outside. Carry on, men.” Vandervoos stomped out the building, leaving the marines at attention. A trail of cigar smoke rose behind him.

  Weston eyed Balcalski. “Run the men through the simulator until they get that time down, Gunny. Next time we go up in a TAV, I want the general’s socks blown off.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Weston didn’t have to elaborate to let Balcalski know that he meant business; it was the first time Balcalski had seen a general officer dress down a platoon.

  Weston hurried out of the building to catch up with the general. As the officer left, Balcalski turned to the men. He relaxed minutely before growling, “All right. Let’s hit the bus for Pendleton. We’re swinging by the simulator on the way back—and unless that time gets down, you can forget about any weekend passes.”

  The grumbling was less than what he expected, but then again, it wasn’t every day they got their asses chewed by a brigadier general. It made Balcalski realize how important their job really was.

  Chapter 1

  2300 ZULU: FRIDAY, 1 JUNE

  To be prepared for war is one of the most effectual means of preserving peace.

  George Washington

  Camp Pendleton, California

  Lieutenant Colonel Bill Krandel pulled into the lot across the street from the officers’ club. General Vandervoos’ parking slot near the main door was empty, so Krandel was still early for the appointment.

  Getting out of the car, he squared himself away, making sure his shirt was taut in front. The shirt was starched, but he still smoothed away the wrinkles. Years of habit kept him looking sharp. It was more instinct now than anything else. Krandel himself couldn’t tell that the shirt had been in a suitcase only hours before. As he entered the club a voice called, “Wild Bill, ten years and you haven’t changed at all.”

  Surprised, Krandel turned. “Harvey Weston. What the hell are yo
u doing here?”

  “I should ask you that. I’m the platoon commander for the RDF they’ve geared up. And how about those silver leaves? You must have gotten every below-the-zone promotion that came your way and then some. You haven’t had your ‘command lobotomy’ yet, have you, uh, sir?”

  Krandel laughed. “Easy, Harv. The last time my old cadet roomie called me sir was when you reported at my table, late for dinner. Besides, I’ve only had these leaves a few weeks.”

  Weston leaned forward and fingered Krandel’s rank, grinning. “Still, what about this promotion?”

  Krandel shrugged. “Just got lucky, that’s all. Got hooked up with a sugar-daddy general at the Pentagon who liked what I did. Guess I was in the right place at the right time. But how about you? When do you pin on major, and what have you been doing since graduation?”

  “Well, I don’t pin on the gold ones till next year. I was selected with our—I mean my—year group, so I’ve got a while to go yet. But anyway, I’ve been out gruntin’ the past few years, instead of sitting on my fat fanny at the Pentagon like you.

  “I’ve been everywhere from Okinawa to Reykjavik working with the troops.” He paused, then said almost wistfully, “I guess I’ve got to pull a Pentagon tour one of these days if I want to get promoted.” He brightened. “So what’s a paper pusher like you doing at an operational base?”

  “I’m taking over the 37th Battalion next week from Colonel Hathaway. In fact, I’m meeting General Vandervoos tonight to discuss it.”

  Captain Weston cracked a grin. “Well, I guess I’d really better get used to calling you sir, then. I knew a Colonel Krandel was supposed to take over the 37th, but I didn’t know it was ‘Wild Bill.’ The platoon I’m in is part of your Smilin’ 37th.”

  “No kidding. We’ll just have to work together like old times then, Harv.”

  “Sure.” Weston glanced at his watch. He looked around and, spotting the general’s staff car driving to the front, spoke up. “There’s Vandervoos now. Hey, I’ve got a dinner date and I’m late. Got to be running off. By the way, you married that girl you dated at Annapolis—uh, Maureen—didn’t you?”