by Dale Brown
Brad Elliott’s Razor theory seemed to be gaining adherents — and yet, the very fact that no planes had been shot down in the past few hours weighed against it. The Iraqis were clearly using new tactics, and also seemed to have many more missiles, or at least launchers, than anyone thought. One of the F-15s had been photographed by a U-2, and the damage appeared consistent with missile fire. But that didn’t rule out a laser acting on the others.
Everyone was scrambling for intelligence.
“You had mentioned commercial applications?” asked one of the congressmen, Garrett Tyler.
“Oh, yes,” said Firenzi. “One possibility is to replace or augment variable geometry. The trapezoid wings used on the Dreamland MC-17 demonstrator — see, that’s actually a perfect example of the benefits here. Because (a), that technology — basically a folding slat, let’s face it — is very expensive and prone to wear and tear, and (b), it’s always there, on the wing, in some manner, and
while they’ve done a lot with the airfoil to reduce drag, it does add to drag. The C-17 is always a C-17. It’s never going to break the sound barrier. But imagine a cargo aircraft with a wingspan the size of an F-104—you remember those, the Starfighter? Tiny wings. Fast as hell. So imagine a plane with a fuselage the size of a 767 but wings like that. Takes off — all right, we’re still coming up with an acceptable propulsion system, but that can be solved, believe me; that’s my area of expertise. You have these narrow, small wings and can go incredibly fast, then, when you want to land, you slow down, pop!”
Firenzi yelled and threw his arms out at his sides. All of his audience, even Dog, jumped up in their seats as the scientist mimicked a plane coming in for a landing.
“Zip,” said Firenzi triumphantly. “Enough wing surface inside twenty-five seconds to land on a road. A road!
Really. It’s the future. Imagine the civilian commercial applications — airports could handle two, three times the traffic. We’d reconfigure runways, change approaches — there would be parking and no traffic jams!”
“You know, I think we’re probably all in the mood for dinner about now,” said Dog, sensing that any further performance from Firenzi would convince the congressman he was crazy. “Unless there are other questions.”
There were a few, but Firenzi handled them as they walked to the elevators. There wasn’t enough room for the entire party to fit comfortably; Dog stayed behind with Knapp to wait for the second gondola.
“Anything new from Iraq?” Knapp asked as they waited.
“No details of the raids,” Dog told him. He couldn’t assume that Knapp’s clearance entitled him to know that Dreamland had sent the Whiplash team and two Megafortresses to Turkey.
“Should’ve dealt with the SOB when we had the chance,” said Knapp.
“Can’t argue with you, sir,” said Dog.
“Like to get a look at what’s shooting down our planes.”
“So would I.” Dog folded his arms.
“The President’s counting on you,” said Knapp.
“We do our best.”
“Joint Chiefs wanted to put you under CentCom for this, but he wouldn’t let them.”
Dog, unsure exactly how to respond, simply shrugged.
The elevator arrived. Knapp grabbed his arm as the door opened.
“Colonel, you understand of course that that was said in confidence.”
Dog smiled. “Absolutely.”
“I happen to agree that Dreamland and Whiplash should be independent. But best be careful. Dreamland’s future may well ride on your standing with the Secretary as well as the President.”
“I don’t get involved with politics if I can help it. Not my job.”
“Maybe you should help it,” said Knapp.
Dog had to put his hand out to stop the door from closing, since they hadn’t entered the car yet.
“General Magnus may not be your boss forever,”
added Knapp as they stepped inside.
Dog could only shrug again as the elevator started upward.
Chapter 42
Aboard Quicksilver, on High Top runway 29 May 1997
0650
“Power to ten percent. Engine one, temp, pressures green. Two, green. Three, green. Four, green. Recheck brakes. Holding. I’d recommend new drums at twenty thousand miles,” quipped Chris Ferris, deviating from the checklist. “You might get by with turning them down, but then you risk shimmy stopping at highway speeds.”
“Thank you, Mr. Midas,” answered Bree.
“We’re your under-car-care specialists,” said the copilot without losing a beat. “Power to fifty. System checks.
We’re in the green. Augmented list for assisted takeoff.
Green, green, green. My, we are good. Flighthawks are plugged in and ready to cook.”
“Jeff, how we looking down there?”
“Flighthawks are yours,” replied Zen.
“You sound a little tired this morning, Flighthawk leader.”
“Not at all, Quicksilver. I got two hours of sleep.”
Breanna knew Zen was in a bad mood and wouldn’t be kidded out of it. He’d told Fentress he wasn’t needed today, which had obviously disappointed the apprentice pilot. Fentress looked like he wanted to say something, but Zen had simply rolled himself away.
Not that Fentress shouldn’t have spoken up. He needed a little more of Mack Smith in him — not too much. Still, Mack had spent the morning pestering everyone with possible missions he could undertake, and while he was more than a bit of a pain, you had to admire his gung-ho attitude.
From afar.
“Takeoff assist module on line,” said Chris. “On your verbal command.”
“Computer, takeoff assist countdown,” said Bree.
The slightly mechanical feminine voice of the computer began talking. “Takeoff in five, four …”
“Okay, crew. Let’s go kick butt for little Muhammad Liu, Dreamland’s newest addition,” she told them.
Someone on the circuit laughed, but the roar of the power plants drowned it out as the Megafortress accelerated. Controlled by the flight computer, the Flighthawk engines acted like rocket packs, augmenting the massive thrust of the EB-52’s own P&Ws as the plane shot forward on the mesh. Breanna held the stick loosely, little more than a passenger as the plane rolled past the halfway point of the runway. A slight sensation of weightlessness followed as the plane’s wheels skipped off the pavement.
“Gear,” she prompted, at the same time nudging the stick. The computer stepped away, content to remain only a backseat driver until called on again. Chris, meanwhile, made sure the landing gear was stowed, did another quick check of the instruments, and then worked with Zen to refuel the Flighthawks through the Megafortress’s wing plumbing. The mission specialists began the lengthy process of firing up and calibrating their gear.
The Cold War had given rise to a variety of reconnaissance aircraft, most famously the U-2 and SR-71, which were essentially high-altitude observation platforms able to focus cameras over — or in some cases alongside of — enemy territory. Less well-known were a series of collectors that gathered electronic data ranging from radar capabilities to live radio transmissions. B-29s and B-50s, essentially Superfortresses on steroids, were first pressed into this role; RB-47s replaced them. But it wasn’t until vast improvements in electronics in the late sixties and early seventies that the type really came into its own.
While a number of airframes were used, the workhorse was based on one of the most successful commercial aircraft of all time — the Boeing 707. Known as the C-135 (and later, E-3) and prepared in dozens if not hundreds of variations, the plane provided an unassuming platform for some of the most sensitive missions of the Cold War.
Bristling with antennas and radars, a Rivet Joint or Cobra Ball aircraft might spend hours flying a track in international waters near the Soviet Union, monitoring transmissions during a missile test or a military exercise. It might note how the local air defense commanders rea
cted when American fighter aircraft approached. It might check the radars used, their capabilities and characteristics. It showed the enemy’s strengths and weaknesses, helping to compile a considerable library of information.
As valuable as they were, the planes remained 707s — highly vulnerable to attack. Even JSTARS, a real-time flying command post that revolutionized combat intelligence during the Gulf War, had to stand off at some distance from hostile territory.
That was where the EB-52 came in. Bigger than the 707 or even the 757 airframes proposed to replace it, the Megafortress was designed to operate in the heart of the volcano. One aircraft such as Quicksilver could perform the functions of several, detecting and jamming radars, snooping and disrupting radio transmissions, all in places and at times previously unthinkable. Along with an AWACS version and their Flighthawks, the Megafortresses promised to revolutionize warfare once again.
Today’s mission, simple in outline, tested some of those basic concepts. Quicksilver would fly eastward thirty thousand feet, vectoring south at a point exactly equidistant between Kirkuk and the Iranian border. Thirty miles south of Kirkuk it would loop back north. At roughly the time it swung parallel to Kirkuk about four minutes later, two packages of attack planes would strike their targets, 88 Bravo and 44 Alpha. Quicksilver would listen to the Iraqi response, compiling intelligence that might locate the laser or whatever it was that was attacking the allied planes.
“Looking good, Zen,” Breanna told her husband as the second U/MF rolled off their wing and sped off to the east. The robot planes had to stay within a ten-mile radius of the Megafortress because of their wide-band communications link.
“Hawk leader,” acknowledged her husband stiffly.
“Still cranky, huh?” Chris said as they began their run south.
“He’s not much of a morning person,” said Breanna.
“Have some J bands, gun dish — looks like a ring of Zsu-23s using their radars,” said O’Brien, who was monitoring the radar intercepts. The computer system guiding him would have been the envy of any Cobra Ball operator, able to glide between a dozen different sensors, prioritizing intercepts and pointing out suspicious activity without prompting. Then again, they might not have been envious — it did the work of eight crewmen, making all of them eligible for early retirement.
“Dog Ear detected — they’re looking for low fliers at Eight-eight Bravo,” added O’Brien.
“Let’s pass that on,” said Breanna. “They’re still a good distance away.”
“Coyote Bravo leader, this is Dreamland Quicksilver,” said Chris.
“Coyote Bravo. Go ahead Quicksilver.”
“We have an active Dog Ear looking for you at Eight-eight Bravo. Indication is they have a Gopher missile battery along with their Zeus guns.”
“Coyote Bravo acknowledges. Thanks for the heads-up, Quicksilver.”
The Gophers — also called SA-13s by NATO — were short- to medium-range SAMs that used infrared radar to lock on their target, similar to the more common SA-9s though somewhat larger and more capable. The Dog Ear radar was used to detect aircraft at a distance. After detec-
tion, a range-finding unit would allow the commander to launch the missiles; their all-aspect, filtered IR sensors would then take them to their target. The systems were relatively sophisticated but defeatable if you knew they were there.
“Have an E band radar that’s not on my menu,” said O’Brien. “Low power, really low power — lost it. Plotting.
Wow — never seen anything like this.”
Chapter 43
Aboard Quicksilver, over northern Iraq 0742
Zen worked the Flighthawks ahead of Quicksilver, alternating between One and Two. He was at twenty thousand feet, considerably lower than the EB-52 but well outside the range of the low-altitude AAA and shoulder-launched weapons that were ubiquitous below. His helmet visor was divided into two sections; the upper two-thirds fed an optical view from one of the Flighthawks, simulating what he would see if he were sitting in the cockpit. A HUD ghosted over altitude, speed, and other essentials.
The lower screen was divided into three smaller sections — an instrument summary for both planes at the far left, a long-distance radar plot supplied by Quicksilver in the middle, and an optical cockpit view from the other plane.
The visor display could be infinitely customized, though Zen tended to stick to this preset, using it about ninety percent of the time when he was flying two robots. The voice commands “One” and “Two” instantly changed the main view, a phenomenon he thought of as jumping into the cockpit of the plane. He controlled the small planes with the help of two joysticks, one in his right and one in his left hand. Control for the planes jumped with the view, so that his right hand always worked the plane in the main screen.
“O’Brien, you find that E band radar?” asked Zen.
“Negative. Threat library thinks it’s a Side Net but it’s not clear what it would be connected to. Definitely early warning. I can’t even find the source.”
“How about approximately?” Zen asked.
They plotted it below 88 Bravo and a bit to the east, which put it fifty miles away and dead on in Hawk One’s path near the Iranian border. A Side Net radar was a long-range target acquisition unit, capable of detecting a plane the size of an F-16 at roughly ninety-five miles; with its uncoated nose, the Megafortress was possibly though not definitely visible around the same range. The Flighthawk would be invisible at least to ten miles, and might not even be seen at all.
Of course, with the radar off, it could see nothing at all.
Zen’s threat radar was clean.
“What do you think it’s working with?” Zen asked O’Brien.
“Ordinarily I’d say an SA-2 and SA-3 battalion,” answered O’Brien. “But at this point it’s anybody’s guess.
There are no known sites in the area.”
“Maybe this is the sucker we’re looking for.”
“Could be. They’re not on the air. Tracking some other stuff,” added O’Brien. “Man, there are a lot of radars up here — didn’t we put these suckers out of business five years ago?”
“I’m going to get a little lower and see if I spot anything,” said Jeff. “We’ll store the video for the analysts.”
“Sounds good, Captain. I’ll alert you if I get another read.”
“Strike aircraft are zero-three from their IPs,” said Chris, indicating that the attackers were just about to start their bombing runs.
Zen concentrated on the image in his screen as he tucked toward the earth, looking for the semicircle of launchers and trailers the Iraqis liked to set their missiles up in. SA-2s were large suckers always accompanied by a variety of support vehicles; they could be obscured by netting and other camouflage but not totally hidden.
SA-3s were about half the size, but they too should stick out if they were positioned to fire.
O’Brien’s rough plot was centered around a farming area on a relatively flat plain about two miles square.
With no indications of any military activity — or any activity at all — Zen nudged the Flighthawk faster and slightly farther east, widening his search pattern.
“Losing connection, ” warned the computer as he strayed a bit too far.
Zen immediately throttled back, letting Quicksilver catch up. As his speed dropped, a row of black boxes appeared in the lower left screen.
“Magnify ground image,” he told the computer. A scanner tracking his retinas interpreted exactly which images he meant.
“O’Brien, I have four stationary vehicles, look like they might be radar or telemetry vans. Not set up.”
“You see a dish?”
“Negative,” said Jeff. “No missiles.”
He slid the robot plane closer to the ground. Razor was mobile, roughly the size of a tank.
“Losing connection, ” warned the computer again.
“Bree, I need you to stay with Hawk One.”
“We’re
at our turn,” Breanna told him. Her priority was the attack package, at least until they saddled up and headed home.
The first vehicle was a car, oldish, a nondescript Japa-nese sedan.
Two pickup trucks.
A flatbed.
Not Razor, not anything.
“Radar — something,” said O’Brien.
“Connection loss in five seconds, ” pleaded the computer. “Four, three—”
Zen flicked his wrist back, bringing the Flighthawk west to stay with the Megafortress.
“Vehicles were clean,” he told Breanna.
“Acknowledged,” she said.
“Got something else,” said O’Brien. “Jayhawk — airplanes on A-1.”
“Sitrep map,” Zen told the computer. “Identify A-1.”
A bird’s-eye view with Quicksilver and the Flighthawks highlighted as green blips materialized in the main screen. A red highlight and circle identified A-1 as a small airfield northeast of Baghdad, about 120 miles away.
“MiG-21 radars,” added O’Brien. “They must be getting ready to take off.”
* * *
“Quicksilver, be advised we have a pair of bogies coming off A-1 south of Eight-eight Bravo,” said the controller aboard Coyote, the AWACS plane. “Stick Flight is being vectored in. Please hold to your flight plan.”
“Quicksilver,” acknowledged Breanna. “We have radar indications from those planes. Looks like two MiG-21s. Working on radio intercepts,” she added.
O’Brien and Habib started talking together behind her.