Chao nodded. “That’s almost certain, Ms. Reynolds.” She sighed. “What’s much less certain is whether this Russian special forces operation is actually at an end.”

“Meaning what?” Murphy asked.

“Meaning that we cannot be sure yet that they had only one missile team deployed outside Elmendorf-Richardson,” she said bluntly. With the press of another key, she brought up a map hurriedly put together by her operations directorate staff experts. It showed all the areas around the air base where concealed enemy SAM teams might reasonably hope to take a shot at aircraft and helicopters while they were most vulnerable—at takeoff, on landing, and in the early stages of any flight.

A quick study of this map elicited dismayed-sounding murmurs from all of the military professionals present.

Chao nodded. “You see the point.” She turned to Taylor, Murphy, and Reynolds, the only three civilians now allowed into this cavernous war room, and explained. “Even using units from the Army and Army National Guard, it will take us a minimum of several hours to search and secure these areas. And until we’ve done that, launching another search-and-rescue mission toward those crash sites would be like ordering our people to play Russian roulette.”

“Literally, in this case,” Taylor said grimly.

“I’m afraid so,” the rear admiral agreed.

“But by the time our troops manage to secure the base perimeter against a missile ambush—” Murphy began.

“That storm front will be directly overhead,” Chao confirmed. “Making further flight operations impossible until the weather clears.”

Miranda Reynolds scowled. “Don’t we have any other assets—troops, aircraft, something, for God’s sake—anywhere else in Alaska we could send into the Brooks Range to look for those downed aircraft . . . and the stealth bomber?” Her fingers drummed nervously on the conference table. “Just because we’ve paid Petrov’s price doesn’t mean Moscow’s going to give up on getting the PAK-DA back. And if the Russians beat us to the punch while we’re sitting on our asses waiting for better weather conditions, we’ve just thrown away billions of dollars and a bunch of lives for nothing!”

In answer, Chao brought up another map, this one centered on northern Alaska. “My staff has found one possibility,” she said quietly. Her fingers touched a control, highlighting Kaktovik and Barter Island. “There’s a Joint Force security team deployed here, at one of our North Warning System’s long-range radar stations. We’ve checked the records and all the personnel attached to this force have parachute training. In fact, they’ve recently completed a practice jump.”

Neary shook his head. “All the airborne training in the world’s no good without a plane to jump from. And with that blizzard socking in both Eielson and Elmendorf-Richardson, we’re screwed on that front.”

“Not quite, sir,” Chao said coolly. “There’s an Air National Guard HC-130J on the ground now at Barter Island.”

The Air Force chief of staff stared at her. “On the ground there? Why?”

“Because it lost an engine in-flight and had to make an emergency landing,” she answered. “But we’ve checked the specifications and that Super Hercules is rated to fly, even with a dud engine.”