These Few Brave Souls

by Rodney Manchester

  Jud Larson was a 'pretty boy' out of Chicago. He had anchored the local news for 2 years and had enjoyed extraordinarily high ratings. It was a natural combination for television. Smart, hardworking field and studio men and women whose dedication to their profession made even a handsome, well dictioned bumbling idiot look good. Unfortunately, management had erroneously believed too much in 'demographics' and 'market studies' and especially 'appearance indexes' upon which to base their decisions. The consequence of which was the arrival of Jud Larson in Washington D.C. Stripped of his field and research staff, he would be a flash in the pan, but until then, he was a pain in the ass.

  Jud leaned toward Lewis and said "I think the US was testing chemical weapons and somebody goofed."

  Lewis turned and looked at Jud for a moment before speaking. "Good point." Maybe humoring this dickhead will get him out of town quicker. "Remember the air current tests the Navy did in the San Francisco Bay in the fifties. Released all that stuff from Angel Island just to see how it would spread in the wind." Of course it was harmless bacteria, but bright eyes here probably didn't do his homework in school so he won't do it now, Lewis thought.

  He was saved from additional conversation with the appearance of one of the gnomes who worked for Marvin Winston. In five minutes a statement would be read, but there would be no questions taken. There would just be time to notify the network and that would get Jud off his back.

  Virtually every person worldwide with access to a television was watching as the stocky man walked to the podium upon which hung the Seal of the White House. Every network had interrupted their regular programming and of course CNN had maintained non-stop coverage beginning with the event in Peru.

  Without preamble or greeting he spoke. "This morning at 3 A.M. Eastern Standard Time, the Republic of Peru was subjected to a large scale attack with chemical weapons. We anticipate large numbers of casualties but we have no confirmed numbers yet. The main area of attack seems to be centered on the Peruvian Capital of Lima and their main port city of Callao. We have no information regarding the identity of the perpetrators of this atrocity.

  "This morning at about the same time, a pair of US Navy Destroyers were conducting operations off the West coast of Peru when they were subjected to a chemical weapons attack by an unknown aircraft. At approximately the same time, a Destroyer from the Peruvian Navy was also attacked. We have causality reports of 18 dead and 40 wounded from the USS Ingersoll and the USS Deyo. These vessels are part of the Third United States Fleet and were conducting routine naval exercises with ships of the Peruvian Navy. We have no information about Peruvian casualties.

  "The Carrier Battle Group centered upon the USS Carl Vinson was approximately 400 miles away and responded with fighter aircraft. The Admiral in charge of the Carrier Battle Group was in constant contact with Peruvian Navy officials during the incident. There is, of course, no reason to believe that the Republic of Peru was involved in the attack upon our ships.

  "The mission of the responding F-18 fighter bombers was to protect the two Destroyers against further attack. While they were circling the area, the F-18s were approached by another aircraft that refused to identify itself. The F-18s attempted to turn the aircraft away from rescue operations when the closest F-18 was deliberately bumped in a mid-air collision. It lost control and crashed. The pilot was recovered with minor injuries.

  "The remaining fighter plane was ordered to shoot down the unknown aircraft.” Marvin paused for a moment, looked up and made eye contact with several of the journalists. “It did so.” He paused again, noticeably swallowing before he continued. “There were no markings on the unidentified aircraft. A search was made for survivors from this craft but none were found."

  Marvin paused again and took a drink of water from a hidden glass on the podium. His forehead glistened with perspiration and his hand trembled slightly.

  "The President has instructed U.N. Ambassador Jenkins to request an emergency session of the Security Council and the President has also been 'working the phones' to bring our allies up to date.

  "Representatives of the Peruvian government have requested that the US military remain in the area to assist in their emergency efforts. The President has ordered the immediate dispatch of the Helicopter Carrier Tarawa to the area off Callao. This vessel was in Port in San Diego and in addition to containing a Marine Amphibious Unit, they have very extensive hospital facilities. He has also ordered other Military assets to respond."

  With his final words, Marvin turned on his heel and walked quickly from the room amid shouting questions.

  Minutes later after giving his opinion and appraisal for the camera, Lewis heard Jud speaking into his microphone as he stared knowledgeably into the camera lens. "And rumors persist that the United States may be involved much more deeply than the administration wants to admit."

  CHAPTER 15

  Thirty-two thousand feet

  Off the West coast of Equador

  Two US Air Force F-111-B's ran a fuel conserving racetrack pattern around the slow KC-135 as it headed south. The KC-135 was an airborne refueling station for airplanes on long distance flights. This particular KC-135 was special. Instead of carrying jet fuel, this one carried a flammable mixture of gasses under pressure, primarily comprised of methane.

  This liquefied gas was used as the propellant for a very special ‘black' project developed by the Air Force and the 'Skunkworks' of Lockheed Martin. The name "Aurora" brings to mind the Northern Lights of the Aurora Borealis, not a futuristic hypersonic air/space craft with a camera, yet the same name refers to both.

  The Air Force sergeant responsible for flying the refueling probe into its mating position was almost excited. She never failed to enjoy watching the sleek black highly swept triangle as it struggled to go slow enough to keep pace with the tankers maximum speed. Flying the high pressure coupling into place without damaging the Aurora required extreme concentration, yet Gloria enjoyed it as she enjoyed nothing else. It was a challenge of her abilities in a worthwhile cause that brought job satisfaction to a level few attain.

  Inside the cockpit of the airplane that was soon to be 'Just A Blur', the pilot, Colonel Sally Johnson, was unknowingly echoing the sergeants' job satisfaction. Carrying those thoughts a little bit further, she felt that the reason for existence of the Air Force is to control the air and influence events on the ground. She just happened to be flying her nations' most advanced tool for gathering information about those ground events.

  A glance at the fuel pressure gauges showed a full load had been transferred. She spoke to Gloria aboard the tanker via an intercom hookup along the refueling probe. "Full up. See ya in a little bit."

  "Good luck," Gloria said as the coupling gave way and the connection broke.

  Sally slowly fed more throttle as the 'JAB' effortlessly climbed toward a cruising altitude of 95 thousand feet and a speed of mach five point eight or three thousand seven hundred thirty knots. The incredible heat generated by such speed was partially alleviated by the inclusion of evaporation chambers behind the leading edges of the JAB. The liquid methane was fed into these chambers through restrictive nozzles which vaporized the liquid. Similar to the process used in standard air conditioning, the results were much more important than cooling the air around you. If the JAB ran out of fuel, it would melt and the occupants would die before the dripping pieces of the hypersonic aircraft had slowed down enough to bail out.

  Her 'GIB' or guy in back was Lt. Colonel Doug Vaughn. Doug was the best she had ever worked with and the two made a pair that usually delivered a superior on any evaluation. Sally felt comfortable in her partner’s competence, and she was aware that Doug felt the same way. They were close friends who understood the need to depend on each other without getting romantic about it. Early on in their partnership they decided that romance was not going to work between them. Now, it was no longer even a thought.

  A short time later they crossed the West coast of Peru. Images were gathered by
lenses and digitized for storage and processing and placed into memory. Colonel Vaughn reviewed the images as they arrived and selected the best ones for immediate transmittal, via a special reconnaissance plane orbiting over Brazil, to their base at Tonopah, Nevada. From there they were relayed by secure high resolution fax machines to the Air Forces' photo interpretation labs in the Pentagon. They were then hand carried to the main situation room where more experts poured over them.

  Colonel Johnson had been flying a course of one hundred sixty-three degrees for four minutes and was about to turn West and leave Peruvian airspace when Doug said "Take a look to the left."

  There, 75 yards away, was an aircraft pacing them. The unmarked vehicle was roughly triangular shaped with a rounded nose section and vertical tips on each wing. Sally looked down at her instruments. Current speed was three thousand eight hundred seventy-four knots, yet there it was. There was nothing on Earth that could keep up with them but her eyes told her otherwise. Sally slowly increased the throttle, gradually increasing their speed until they were well above four thousand knots.

  "Doug, can you focus on it that close with the side looking array?" she asked.

  "Yeah, I think so. See if you can open up the distance a bit."

  Sally turned the JAB toward the West and the distance between them increased.

  "Got it," Doug exclaimed! "Adventures in real time imagery. I hope the Pentagon pukes appreciate this one. Let's get the fuck out of Dodge."

  "Roger that," was the reply.

  The JAB gently turned until they were heading two hundred sixty-two degrees. Their companion dropped back a bit but kept shadowing them until they left the Peruvian Coast a dozen miles behind.

  Aboard the E2C Hawkeye orbiting off the coast, radar operators stared in shocked disbelief at the hypersonic objects playing tag on their screens. Their disbelief grew when one object began slowing and squawking USAF codes. The aircraft soon mated with a Southbound KC-135 tanker with fighter escort and together they turned and disappeared to the North.

  Aboard the Vinson, Admiral Jacobs and Captain Henderson shared a quizzical look before admonishing those just given a peek into the world of 'Black' projects.

  The Pentagon Situation Room

  Arlington County, Virginia

  The silver haired heads shook as Generals and Naval Flag officers examined the photographs recently delivered. Their experience and training had taught them to fight the enemies of the United States of America upon any field of battle, be it in the air, land or sea. They now faced a situation they were wholly unprepared for. The contingency plans for operations in Peru were dusted off and examined early this morning. They assumed an invasion of Peru by her neighbors and the plans were drawn to either assist in the invasion or defend against it. Both were useless in their basic assumption, but portions could be used as a starting point for transport and logistic support if the President deemed intervention necessary.

  The first series of photos were unusual in that they showed a complete lack of activity in the area of Pucusana in the south to the junction of national highway one and department highway 113 to the north. This covered a rectangular area roughly one hundred by fifty kilometers. Activity doesn't show up easily on still shots, yet there were no vehicles on the roads and no people visible. There were no signs of invading armies of occupation or of anything else unusual.

  The arrival of the final series of photos caused near total silence as the implication struck those cleared as to the manner of attaining the pictures. It was now indisputable.

  Until now, the events of the past 24 hours could have been considered warfare against a conventional, which is to say, human, enemy. That possibility was now removed from consideration as the men and women in the room knew that the only nation on earth capable of producing an aircraft flying four thousand four hundred miles per hour didn't make the one in the picture.

  CHAPTER 16

  The United Nations Building

  New York City

  It is an often stated truism that nations have interests but not friends. Having said that, the United States and Great Britain share a unique relationship among the family of nations. If they are not friends then they are certainly siblings. Every family has disagreements and the United States has had theirs' with the Brits, yet a common heritage and strong democratic traditions have created ties where none would exist between other nations. With this concept in mind, it is understandable that certain pieces of information are shared between intelligence services. These tidbits are not given but rather shared with the clear understanding by both sides that a 'quid pro quo' will occur at some future time. Therefore, it was entirely understandable when Charles Jenkins, the US Ambassador to the United Nations, met privately with his British counterpart, James Fenhall. The ensuing discussion, preceded by a frank exchange between British Prime Minister Westmorten and President Bermin, included a series of high quality photos whose origins were not mentioned. Even the closest family has some secrets. A short time later, the high priority and very secure voice communications between the British Ambassador and Her Majesty's Government did not come as a surprise. Nor did the orders to specialized units in the armed forces of both nations. Soon, airplanes would rise into the sky in support of their joint objective. While the situation in Morocco was relatively unknown, the word had been given that the previously clandestine operation would now take on a higher priority and visibility was no longer a significant concern. The world now knew of the invasion. Just not the scope.

  Ambassador Jenkins and Ambassador Fenhall then began a series of private meetings with other Security Council members, concentrating first on the three other permanent member nations, then the remaining ten rotating members. A short private meeting of the full Council was held, followed shortly thereafter by a meeting in front of the cameras on the floor of the Assembly.

  "We simply cannot stand idly by as virtually the entire population of a member nation is eradicated from the face of the Earth. Whatever the cause, whomever the culprit, we must stand united against this unprecedented aggression. To do less is to invite disaster on an even greater scale. Therefore, I have been instructed by Her Majesty's Government of the United Kingdom, to pledge the resources of our great nation to the struggle against this foe of humanity." Sir Albert James Fenhall spoke with fervent passion as surprise swept the main floor.

  Emotion was evident to those watching the proceedings as several resolutions were passed. While it was clear that the wording had been worked out beforehand, it was also clear that the world body was taking a hard stand against aggression in record time. The only question that remained was, whom are they standing against?

  HMS Rooke

  Gibraltar

  Inside the communications center, Admiral Hayes-Gentry hung up the phone and scratched his head. He had his orders, albeit largely in defiance of international law, he was sending a small, deniable contingent of elite SBS Marines to Morocco. Without being asked by that government and without their permission, they were to provide onsite reconnaissance. As he looked at a map, he wondered if his superiors had done the same. Several thousand square kilometers of open desert was the target. Now, as to exactly where to put them? And why the Special BOAT Service not the more famous Special AIR Service? The Admiral was not aware of the SAS transatlantic flight earlier.

  Several hundred meters to the north, the Royal Air Force flight rolled off the main runway and into taxiway leading to the Royal Air Force HQ building. The Royal Marines disembarked into the oppressive humid summer heat. They filed onto a waiting bus and left for the short journey to HMS Rooke, Naval HQ for Gibraltar. Here they waited only a short time as the order to board another aircraft was soon given. Upon arrival of the C-130, they boarded for a short flight south.

  Operation Jester was a go.

  C-130 Hercules Transport Aircraft

  Over Morocco

  They crossed the border, and went “feet dry” at five hundred meters in altitude and 200 knots of sp
eed between the Moroccan cities of El Hoceima and Nador. The Black Group of M squadron was mostly silent as they endured the low altitude turbulence not seen at higher passenger transport altitudes. Stoic was an understatement with the Marines on board the aircraft. Mop gear, that ungainly but lifesaving whole body suit and associated apparatus, was difficult to deal with at best, debilitating at worst. But in the wrong environment, it was a lifesaver.

  Major Cecil Mumsford leaned to his right and half shouted “Lieutenant, see to your men, we are two zero minutes from drop.”

  Lieutenant Harrison nodded his head dramatically, not to make a statement, but to acknowledge his order in a manner that was clearly understood inside the aircraft.

  The time passed quickly as they neared their objective. Seventeen minutes later the jump master commanded “Stand Up.”

  Seconds later an unknown aircraft appeared off their starboard wingtip and began veering toward them. The pilot yelled “Emergency evacuation, everybody out NOW!” as he hit the rear ramp door opening switch.

  The pressurized rear door opened and the Marines began to exit in an orderly manner. Marines don’t panic, but they did leave in a hurry. As Major Mumsford approached the open ramp the aircraft lurched violently to the left, throwing him off his feet. He reached out to the stanchion on his right only to drag his fingers across the structural members of the Hercules. Finally he grabbed a structural rib and heaved himself upward, only to have the aircraft reverse up and down, finding himself falling toward the open door. He left the aircraft, the last of the Marines to do so. He immediately angled his body away from the doomed transport plane and toward open sky. He clearly saw his team in the daylight sky, and began to steer his body toward the center of their collective flight path.