“It’s some place out in Nevada, isn’t it?” John asked, but then he paused as Bob placed an old-style aviation slide rule on the map. The circular part was mounted in the middle of a rectangular sheet of metal, a foot long and four inches wide, one side hashed off with lines like a ruler, which John recalled could be used to measure distances on an aviation map.
Bob was not trying to hide anything as John came around the table to look over Bob’s shoulder. John could see lines already penciled in, originating in Asheville and then tracing north by northeast. He leaned closer. To an untrained eye, the map was a nearly insane jumble of circles, numbers, and symbols for airports, some surrounded with air-controlled demarcation zones, the surface color shaded to indicate ground altitudes, inverted V-like symbols of such obstacles as antennas.
He focused his attention on the penciled lines that crossed into an area bound by Washington, D.C., on one side and extending westward for a considerable distance, all of it colored over in light gray.
Bob saw where John was focusing his attention.
“All that gray area was heavily restricted to air traffic, even more so after 9/11. It is just under 350 air miles from here.”
John followed the line that Bob now traced out on the map and then looked up at him in surprise.
“My birds down there have an operational radius of just under 350 miles. I’m having my people mount some extra fuel tanks to extend that. It is eating up nearly every gallon I have left. We’re lifting off in a couple of hours.” He looked over again at John. “You’re going with me.”
“To hand over to Bluemont?”
Bob glared at him. “I’m leaving some of my personnel behind for this. It will be a handpicked team that goes with me. I don’t think I need to tell you when it comes to really trusting everyone who is with me in this command, I know who I can count on, who might hesitate, and some just might jump the other way. My Major Minecci is one of them, so he stays behind. I can carry ninety with me in the Black Hawks.”
He continued to stare at John. “I want you to pick half a dozen of yours to go with us.”
“In heaven’s name, why? So they can be executed too?”
“I want them as witnesses,” Bob replied sharply, obviously insulted by John’s accusatory response. “I want civilian witnesses who are about to learn the truth. I want you to pick six people that you trust.”
“And that means trusting you, General.”
“Yes, it does. Again, I leave the decision to you.” Bob turned away and looked out the window. “You can walk out of here now, and no one will stop you. I publicly arrested you to protect you, because I had orders to either give you a speedy trial and execution or take you to Bluemont for the same. I am not going to do that. I had reason to believe another unit might be sent to visit you—or, for that matter, just drop a fuel-air bomb on that beautiful valley of Montreat to finish it—and let me take the blame. Arresting you as I did bought a little extra time, but Bluemont is expecting me to deliver you alive or dead before the day is out. Knowing that, you are free to go if that is your decision, but get your people evacuated now, today.”
“Or what, sir?”
“This morning, my ass is on the line as well. I’ll explain it later, but things with Bluemont have never been a love match from the start, of late have gone very sour, and you, Colonel Matherson, you and your friends have finally pushed me over the edge.”
“Which means?”
“Your call, John. If you don’t trust me with this, and suspect I am playing some game to deliver not just you but six of your friends to Bluemont as icing on the cake, then get the hell out of here now. If you trust me I want six of your best with me within two hours. I want them as additional witnesses as to what is going to happen next. When all is said and done this day, many might not believe me, but they just might believe you and your friends.”
John again looked at the map. He was not sure exactly what it was that Bob was plotting, but it was not what he expected just twelve hours ago when arrested.
“Okay, sir,” was all he could say in reply. Across a lifetime he had learned that far too often when someone said “just trust me,” it was a prequel to getting a knife in the back. Bob was asking him now to not just put his own life on the line, but those of some of his closest friends and comrades as well.
But there was a cold logic to it all at this moment. If they were about to be betrayed, Bob’s prediction that Bluemont would take his community off the map with an air attack was undoubtedly true and his friends would die anyhow.
He again looked at the lines Bob had drawn on the map, what it implied, and he finally made the decision. If Bob’s intent was to betray them, they were all dead anyhow. If not, he would have to trust his old commander’s offer.
“Okay, sir, I’ll give them a call, but chances are they’ll refuse.”
“I won’t blame them if they do, but I sure would appreciate their presence this day. I can have a Bradley up there in an hour to pick them up and bring them back. I hope they sign on.”
John looked at the map one more time, still not sure where this was all leading. Some pieces were beginning to fall into place, memories surfacing from his time at the War College and a stint in the Pentagon.
“I’ll make the call.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
John climbed into the troop compartment of the Black Hawk and looked across to the opposite row of benches. Maury, Grace, Forrest Burnett, Reverend Black, and Kevin Malady seemed relatively at ease, but Lee was already cursing under his breath while Maury helped him to adjust his safety straps. They had all been rousted out by his call to the town office. By chance, Forrest had come in from over the mountain when hearing that John had been arrested, demanding to lead a rescue operation before he was hauled away. The fact that all of them had actually trusted his voice, over a phone, to board a Bradley sent up from the airport and that it was not a trap to round up those who had served with him spoke volumes.
The door was about to be slid shut when, to John’s surprise, Bob Scales climbed in, followed by Sergeant Major Bentley and a young staff sergeant toting several different radios. Behind them, extra boxes of small-caliber ammunition were loaded in, finally followed by a medic dragging aboard a couple of boxes of medical supplies.
The pilot looked back over his shoulder. “Sir, we are overweight!” he shouted.
“Just get us the hell up, burn off some gas, and we’ll be fine!” Bob shouted back. “I’ve seen worse!”
“Your orders, sir,” the pilot snapped back.
Bob looked around at John’s friends and smiled. “So I suppose you’re all wondering why I asked for this meeting at eight in the morning with the snow coming down.”
“You’re damn straight,” Forrest muttered, and he finally added on, “sir.”
“Time later—now just enjoy the ride, I always get a kick out of liftoff.”