Dale Brown - Shadows Of Steel

by Shadows Of Steel [lit]

  "She jumped me!" Sabin shouted indignantly the instant the tape was removed. "She nearly broke my neck!"

  "I have a feeling she could have done that easily if she wanted, Doc," Briggs said with a wry smile. Sabin obviously didn't see the humor in it, though. "Were you in my room when she attacked you?"

  Sabin looked a bit embarrassed but nodded. "I came to check up on you," he explained. "I knew your team was going out on another mission, and I didn't find you at the command center, and I'm not allowed in the ops hangar, so I thought I'd check here..."

  "I don't like anyone coming into my room when I'm not here, Doc," Briggs said, his voice not as stern or displeased as he'd first meant it to be. Briggs just took his time undoing the tape binding the doctor's wrists and ankles as they spoke.

  "Fine--then I'll confine you to the clinic," Sabin said irritably.

  "I only let you out of my immediate care because you were making life miserable for me and my staff, but it was under the premise that I keep you under close observation. And since you don't think it's necessary to send over stool or urine samples as I asked you to do, yes, I search your laundry and your commode.

  Since this is how I'm treated for trying to accommodate your wishes, I'll be the asshole and confine you to the clinic until I'm good and ready to release you. How's that sound?"

  Hal started undoing the duct tape much quicker now--the flight doc was really pissed. In a moment Sabin was untied and back on his feet. "Sorry, Doc," he said. "I'm a little jumpy when the team's going out on a mission."

  Sabin looked at his outfit and nodded in disgust. "You were trying to go out with them, against my orders, weren't you?" he observed. Briggs's silence confirmed his suspicions. "Not only will I put you back in the clinic, but I'll put a twenty-four-hour guard on you."

  "That's not necessary. I'm fine, really," Briggs said. "If I have any problems I'll be sure and let you know. And you obviously put a real big bug in the gunny's ear, because he booted me off. But you don't need to confine me. I'll do as you say."

  "Good. You'd better." Sabin turned to Behrouzi and asked Briggs, "Now, can you please explain who this is, and what she's doing here? You obviously know who she is."

  Briggs hesitated--he didn't know how to address Riza in front of any outsider. But Behrouzi extended her hand, gave Sabin a mind-blowing smile that melted both men's hearts, then showed him an ID card. "I am Riza Behrouzi, assistant to the deputy general, Directorate of Military Intelligence of the United Arab Emirates."

  She handed her ID card over to the doctor, who gave it a careful examination before handing it back. "I was ordered to interview Major Briggs immediately, since he and his forces came under attack by an unknown ZSU-23/4 system on Tumb as Sughrd on their last mission."

  "Here? Now? That seems a little strange."

  "Truthfully, Doctor, the Directorate had heard that Major Briggs was dead," Behrouzi said with a half-amused, half-embarrassed expression. "Little of what the Americans do here at Mina Sultan Naval Base is well known in the UAE. We are also looking for Gunnery Sergeant Wohl, who apparently is also alive and well. Do you know where I can find him? I need to interview him immediately."

  Sabin looked at Behrouzi suspiciously, then at Briggs. After years of serving with special operations forces, he knew that the less he said and the more suspicious he was, the better. "You should be talking to the base commander or the operations commander, Major Behrouzi," the doctor said. "I'm not exactly sure how you got on base without an escort, but Major Briggs seems to know you and is willing to vouch for you. I can't help you any further. Major Briggs, are you well enough to escort Major Behrouzi to base headquarters, or should I call security?"

  "I'll handle it, Doc," Briggs assured him. Sabin smiled and nodded--it was obvious that Briggs not only had the situation under control, but was as anxious as a love-struck teenager to be alone with this woman. The flight surgeon rubbed his aching arms and wrists once more, received another mind-blowing smile from Riza as an apology, then departed.

  When Sabin departed, Behrouzi turned to Briggs and began, "Leopard... Hal, I am sorry I surprised you like this..."

  Briggs didn't let her finish. He pulled her into his arms and gave her a deep, longing kiss, and she returned it with every bit as much passion, holding him even closer. Both of their eyes were smoky, almost tearful, when they parted. "My God, Riza," Briggs said breathlessly, "I've missed you so much."

  "I have missed you as well," Behrouzi said. "I heard of your last mission just tonight. Were you hurt? The doctor said you-"

  "I'm fine," Briggs interjected. "Just a scratch."

  "A scratch? Let me look." She zeroed in on his left shoulder as if she knew exactly where to look, and she unbuttoned his rough cotton shirt and peeled back his underwear. Heavy dressings covered the wound on both sides of his shoulder. "Entry and exit wounds, Hal? It is much more than a scratch," Behrouzi said breathily. "I am so glad you are safe." They kissed again, drinking even more deeply from each other than before. "You wanted to go on a mission? Tonight? Are you mad?"

  "The team is flying into Iran, inspecting every safe area between here and Bandar Abbas."

  "Looking for Colonel Paul White and the survivors of the attack on your ship, I know," Behrouzi said. "I have information for you--information on the whereabouts of your commander."

  "Paul? He's safe?"

  "For now," Behrouzi said ominously. "He and twelve crew members were taken aboard the Iranian aircraft carrier Khomeini after his ship was

  Briggs tried to hide his thoughts, but his suddenly averted eyes were a dead giveaway for a trained observer like Behrouzi. "The carrier... the Americans will attack the aircraft carrier?"

  "I can't tell you, Riza," Briggs said. "We were told there'd be plenty of distractions while we made our infiltration into Bandar Abbas..."

  "I shall see about the carrier," Behrouzi said. She took out a cellular telephone, got the Dubai Directorate of Military Intelligence duty desk, and spoke to the senior controller at the command center. A few minutes later, she had her information: "Peace Shield Sky watch reports that there appears to have been an aircraft accident near the Khomeini--a helicopter or fighter crashed at sea, and there have been reports of antiaircraft fire.

  After the accident, one helicopter was reported departing for Chah Bahar--none toward Bandar Abbas."

  "That means they're taking their prisoners to Chah Bahar!" Briggs said. "Leopard, that helicopter could be a simple medical evacuation, or it could be just the carrier commander and his staff," Behrouzi said. "And my intelligence information may be faulty and they could not be on the carrier after all, or they could be held on the carrier, or there could have been more than one helicopter..."

  "Or this could be the best chance we've got to rescue our teammates," Briggs said. "If we can get a strike team together, I'm going to give it a try. I've got to notify the team and tell them to back us up--there's no time to waste!" Briggs was on the phone in an instant, notifying his command center that Wohl and the CV-22 team should return as soon as possible. "Riza, you're wonderful," Briggs said. "You may have saved the lives of all the survivors... but I have to go."

  "I shall go with you, of course."

  "Riza, this mission won't be sanctioned by anyone..

  "You think you shall go alone?" Behrouzi asked him with a smile.

  "Will you sprout jet-powered wings and fly five hundred kilometers to Chah Bahar?"

  "I'll find a plane or a ship to take me," Briggs said "The team will be back in less than an hour. Another hour for refueling and a briefing, ninety minutes enroute..."

  "If your mission is approved by your superiors," Behrouzi added.

  "And by then, it will be daylight."

  "I told you, I'm not talking about a sanctioned mission--I'm talking about rescuing my men," Briggs said. "They're my men--at least they're supposed to be, if they'd ever let me prove it to them. I could take a cargo plane, parachute in, reconnoiter the base, and report back here."r />
  "Are you sure you are thinking properly?" Behrouzi asked cautiously. "Are you doing this because it is your duty and you feel you can succeed--or are you doing this to gain the favor of the men who now must serve under you?"

  Briggs fell silent and scowled at Behrouzi--but, dammit, she was right. "I'm not thinking straight," he said aloud, not really talking to Behrouzi but to himself. "This is not how Chris Wohl would do it. He'd play it by the book, gather intelligence, collect the data, assemble a plan, brief it with his superiors, get approval, assemble his troops and equipment, then brief his troops. He'd be methodical, calculating, and always damned effective. But..."

  Briggs stopped and looked at Behrouzi's concerned expression.

  "But, Hal," she said softly, "you are not Chris Wohl. You are Hal Briggs. You are the Leopard."

  It was then that the light finally went on in Briggs's brain.

  "Riza... you're right," Briggs said. "I'm not Chris Wohl. I wasn't trained by the Marine Corps. I was trained by my uncle, the sheriff of Camden County, Georgia; by General Brad Elliott, by John Ormack, by Patrick McLanahan, by a team of engineers and crewdogs. They always said, 'Just get the job done. Don't plan everything to death. Train and study hard, then use that training to decide on a course of action--then do it." And that's exactly what I'm going to do." He turned to Behrouzi excitedly. "I need a plane, Riza."

  "I have my liaison aircraft available right here at Mina Sultan," Behrouzi said excitedly. "Any other aircraft, I must take time to requisition.

  "What is it?"

  "A surplus aircraft from your Marine Corps," Behrouzi said, "an OVIOD. I believe you called it a Bronco-D."

  "Your personal aircraft is an observation-and-close-air-support aircraft...?"

  "In my country, we have little use for a plane that fulfills only one role," Behrouzi said with a smile. "This belongs to Sheikh Rashid's eldest son, who is the Minister of Defense of the United Arab Emirates. When General Rashid is away, the Directorate is permitted to use it to transport myself and others to meetings and exercises all over the region. I am well trained in how to use it for ground attack as well."

  "So it still has its weaponry, its cargo bay?"

  "Of course," Behrouzi said matter-of-factly. 'it is a DNOS aircraft, configured for night reconnaissance as well as for ground attack and observation, with an AAS-36 FLIR turret, a Gatling gun in a helmet-aimed turret, laser designator, satellite navigation, missile warning system, chaff, and flare dispensers.

  His Eminence the Sheikh spares little expense for his toys."

  "Major Behrouzi, it sounds like just the magic carpet I need right now," Briggs said happily. "Care to offer a guy a ride tonight?"

  "Only if I can ride with you, Leopard," Behrouzi said. "If what I think you have in mind is what you will do, I wish to... how do you say, 'be where the action is,' no?"

  In reply, Briggs gave her a kiss. "You're on, Major Riza Behrouzi. Lead the way."

  Just twenty minutes later, Behrouzi and four men--Hal Briggs and three United Arab Emirates troopers, members of the Emir of Dubai's Royal Guard Brigade commandos, were crammed in the tiny aft cargo bay of the OVIODNOS (Night Observation System) Bronco attack plane, speeding down the runway of Mina Sultan Naval Base, on their way to Chah Bahar Naval Base in Iran.

  They didn't have a flight plan, clearance, permission, or a real concrete plan of action, but they did have a warplane. The OVIODNOS twin turboprop attack-and-observation plane had a full attack payload configuration: fully fueled centerline and wing fuel tanks, 1,500 rounds of 20-millimeter ammunition for the six-barrel steerable Gatling gun, two pods of four AGM-1 14 Hellfire laser-guided missiles on the fuselage sponsons, and one AGM-122A Sidearm anti-radar missile mounted on the outboard side of each of the wing fuel-tank pylons.

  This Bronco also had chaff and flare ejectors installed in the tail booms to assist in decoying enemy antiaircraft radars and heat-seeking missiles. It seemed as if it took every available foot of Dubai's 9,000-foot runway to get the heavily laden Bronco into the warm, humid air.

  Shortly after leveling off at cruise altitude, Briggs was on the plane's radio on the UHF emergency frequency: "Genesis, Genesis, this is Redman, if you copy, come up on Storybook, repeat, Genesis, this is Redman, come up on Storybook." Briggs then flipped over to a special UHF frequency that they had used back when Briggs had been the commander of security operations at the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center. One of the ranges they'd used for weapons tests had been called "Storybook," and each range had had its own discrete frequency. Redman was Briggs's security detail's call sign.

  "Who are you calling, Leopard?" Behrouzi asked.

  "A friend that I think is flying tonight," Briggs said. He keyed the mike: "Genesis, this is Redman on Storybook. How copy?"

  "Loud and clear, Redman," came the reply. "Fancy meeting you here. Seen any red-tail hawks lately?"

  "Only in Amarillo," Briggs replied. "Nice to hear from you again, Old Dog."

  ABOARD THE B-2A SPIRIT STEALTH BOMBER, AV-01 I "This is an open frequency, remember," Patrick McLanahan said from the flight deck.

  "What in hell do you think you're doing, McLanahan?"

  Jamieson asked. "Are you nuts? You'll blow us for sure!"

  "This is the team, the guy we're supposed to be supporting," McLanahan said. "He knows security better than either of us, and if he took the chance to call, it must be serious."

  "Shit, this is going to get us killed--we're still too damn close to the bad guys here," Jamieson groused. But now he was intrigued as well: "So what's with this 'red-tail hawk' and "Amarillo' business?"

  "A private code," McLanahan said. "A job we did not long ago."

  He keyed the mike: "What's happening?"

  "Got any screamers left?"

  Jamieson looked as if he had seen a ghost as he stared in complete surprise at McLanahan. "He knows... how in hell does he know about our JSOWS?"

  "He was there when we first tested and built the things at Dreamland, AC," McLanahan explained with a smile. "I don't know if he was briefed on our mission, but he sure as hell seems to have figured it out." On the radio, McLanahan replied, "Affirmative, Redman. Where do you need them"

  "Follow the lights," came the response.

  "What in hell does that mean?" Jamieson asked.

  "It means he's going in somewhere, probably into Iran," McLanahan said. "Give me a one-eighty--I'll see if I can pick him up on radar."

  "A one-eighty? You mean, fly back to where we just creamed an Iranian aircraft carrier?" Jamieson retorted. "Are you insane?"

  "C'mon, Colonel, where's your spirit of adventure?" McLanahan asked. "We've got the gas, and we're outside fran's radar coverage."

  "Hey, my butt thinks my legs have been cut off," Jamieson said.

  "We've still got twelve more hours' flying time to go." But he quickly relented, took control of the Spirit, and turned westbound toward the Strait of Hormuz again.

  "What's your altitude, Redman?"

  "Shoshone," came the reply.

  "You two are just too fuckin' cute," Jamieson said. "Another code word from your days in Dreamland?"

  "Exactly," McLanahan said. "Shoshone Peak, in restricted aeca 4202A, sixty-five hundred feet above sea level. SAR coming on."

  McLanahan configured the B-2A's radar, then shot a one-second sweep of the sky. The choice was fairly easy--there was only one aircraft near that altitude. "Level off at Brawley for confirmation."

  "Roger," came the reply. A few moments later, McLanahan took another SAR shot and zeroed in on the same return--sure enough, it had leveled off at 9,500 feet above sea level--the same height as Brawley Peak in southwestern Nevada near Hawthorne.

  "Radar contact, Redman," McLanahan said. "Continue on course. We can keep an eye on you for a while, and if we see red lights, we'll try to turn them green for you.

  ABOARD THE OVIODNOS BRONCO ATTACK PLANE "Thanks, Genesis. See you when I see you. Out."

  "Can they help us, Leopard?
" Behrouzi asked.

  "I think so," Briggs said with a smile big enough to be seen in the dim light of the Bronco's cargo bay. "Whatever happened over Bandar Abbas and over the Khomeini carrier group tonight, I got a feeling these guys are gonna make it happen over Chah Bahar."

  BALUCHISTAN VA SISTAN PROVINCIAL NAVAL BASE, CHAH BAHAR, IRAN 23 APRIL 1997, 0408 HOURS LOCAL TIME

  A flash of intense light like a billion-watt lightbulb instantly destroyed his night vision; followed by an earth-shattering explosion, louder than any sound felt like ten earthquakes rolled into one. The normally giant child's hand had tossed them against the toy box, then the deck rolled hard to port, and the port rail was awash. Men were screaming, their faces yellowed by the fires, their voices as loud, maybe even louder--if that was possible--than the sounds of explosions and tearing metal.