The pilot applied hard right rudder to keep the bomber upright, and with the copilot's help he was able to keep the bomber level at 500 feet above ground and accelerate to a safe emergency cruise speed--until the acid blob finally ate through the thicker, stronger titanium lining the leading edge of the vertical stabilizer. The bomber began an uncontrolled left roll, immediately lost all lift, and plowed into the Iranian countryside just south of the city of Kerman.
The second Backfire bomber's fate was decided much quicker. The Tu-22M had just rotated and its main landing gear had just left the runway when the entire cockpit canopy failed, ripping a thirty-foot section of the fuselage directly over the crew compartment off the fuselage like an orange peel. At the same time, the electronics section of the right AS-4 Kitchen anti-ship missile sparked, ignited the acid, and detonated the missile's 2,200-pound warhead, blowing the 300,000-pound warplane into bits with a spectacular cloud of fire that illuminated the entire airport.
Luckily for the third and fourth Backfire bomber's crews, they had not yet left the runway, and the damage to their planes was localized and not so dramatic. Blobs of caustic acid burned through into fuselage fuel tanks and fright controls, starting fuselage and engine fires. Both four-man crews safely evacuated their planes and watched helplessly as their $200 million bombers burned. Soon, the lights of burning Backfire bombers were the only ones on the entire airport, for the JSOWs' deadly cargos had destroyed the main power grids... but those lights were soon followed by the brilliant mushroom of fire that erupted as the POL farm exploded, sending sheets of flame a thousand feet into the sky.
In minutes, one entire squadron of Iranian heavy bombers had been effectively destroyed, and their base rendered heavily damaged and unusable.
As they got closer and closer to the Gulf of Oman, the B-2A Spirit stealth bomber's threat scope became littered with dozens of Iranian threats, mostly MiG-29 and F-14 fighters--McLanahan was so concerned that he enlarged the threat display to cover almost the entire supercockpit display. The threat scope graphically depicted the position of each fighter and estimated range of each fighter's search radar; green, yellow, or red colors showed whether or not the radar was in a search, target-tracking, or missile-guidance mode. A few of the Iranian fighters' radar beams swept across the B-2A bomber, depicted in the center of the threat display, but the color of the radar cone never changed, indicating that the radar never locked on. Along with the extensive fighter patrols, there were two Iranian A-10 Mainstay airborne warning radar aircraft in the area, plus the normal array of ground-based radars and radar-guided antiaircraft sites.
"Jesus, there's got to be a half dozen flights of fighters up tonight, just over this one section of Iran," McLanahan said.
"Guess they're pretty upset about what we did to Chah Bahar the other night, huh?"
"Hey, they deserved to get their asses kicked," Jamieson said, "and I was glad that it was us who helped 'em. How long till feet-wet?"
"Fifteen minutes," McLanahan replied uneasily.
He fell silent again; Jamieson could tell that something was bugging McLanahan. "Problem, MC?"
"Nah... well, it's just the arrangement of these Iranian aircraft... it's changed since we went feet-dry on the bomb run," McLanahan said, pointing at the supercockpit screen. He expanded the ratio on the threat display until the entire region, from Bandar Abbas to the extreme eastern part of the Gulf of Oman, could be seen. The radar range circles from Chah Bahar, from the carrier Khomeini, and from the two Iranian A-10 airborne radar planes could be seen, forming a "basket" all along the southern and southwestern portions of Iran--and they were headed right for that basket. "Two AWACS radar planes practically side by side across the Gulf of Oman--that's weird. Everybody's clustered around each other. Not a very efficient use of their air defense assets."
"Whoever gave the ragheads a lot of credit for smarts?" Jamieson said. "Just keep an eye out for yellow or red--we're clean as long as the threats stay green, right?"
Something was still nagging at McLanahan's head. This looked too strange. The Iranians had showed much better deployment of their forces before--even four hours earlier, as they were heading into the target area, they had set up their defenses very effectively.
Now they were bunching up, with many more fighters aimlessly buzzing around. Was it a bit of confusion following the attack on Beghin Airport? Were they a little disorganized, trying to catch a shadow and screwing their valuable assets up even further in the process? Maybe...
"And look," he went on. "When the threat symbol comes up on the screen? It's not one by one--it's a flash. Look... barn, they all come up at once."
"So?" "So, I've never seen that before," McLanahan explained.
"We usually see one guy pop up, then another, then another, because their radars are different frequencies and different rpms and different timing and all that. Now, it's like all their radars are coming up exactly the same."
"That's impossible," Jamieson said. "You can't match a ground radar and an airborne radar up so they match everything like that.
It's just the way the signal processor is displaying the threats, that's all. No big deal."
Yeah, no big deal. Yes, it was impossible, or at least very highly unlikely, that all of the Iranians' radars were synced up that tight...
... or maybe it wasn't. "Let's take a detour," McLanahan said.
"Let's overfly Pakistan on our way out of here."
"Say what?"
"I know we're supposed to take pictures of Chah Bahar and the Khomeini, to find out how many extra fighters and ground-based air defense systems they've deployed--but I've got a bad feeling about this. It's like the Iranian air defenses are hanging around right in our flight path, daring us to drive through them. And their waves are all the same, they're too... similar. I wonder what they're up to."
"Well, whatever it is, they're doing it deaf, dumb, and blind," Jamieson remarked, with a satisfied smile. "They can't see us up here, MC-we've proven that without a doubt now. All they're doing is just microwaving birds and bugs. Besides, we don't have clearance to overfly Pakistan yet, and if Mr. Murphy kicks us in the butt and we're forced down over the Paks, we're really screwed. I say we follow the 'blue line' and see what happens."
McLanahan triple-checked that they were in COMBAT mode and that all of their defensive systems were in full operation. Maybe he was being too cautious, too defensive, a little paranoid. Was it because Wendy was back on Guam, waiting for him? Probably... "Okay, we continue," he said. But as they flew south into the midst of the cluster of Iranian radars, he ordered the defensive systems to perform a fast self-test--no problems, everything fully functional. McLanahan then began formulating an escape plan, just in case, a...
But things were looking worse and worse every second.
They had been within Chah Bahar's long-range radar coverage for several minutes now, but there was absolutely no hint that they were an item of interest. As they neared the coast, flying at 50,000 feet fifty miles west of Chah Bahar, they entered the aircraft carrier Khomeini's long-range radar coverage. There was still no sign of detection--both Chah Bahar and the Khomeini's radars stayed in two dimensional search mode, blindly sweeping the skies in azimuth and range. The signal delta-threshold showed that the signal strength was not enough to create a return--the difference in the signal received by the threat-detection gear compared to the signal reflected back to the same source was too great. If they had been detected, one of those radars--probably the Khomeini's--would switch to target-tracking mode, introducing a height-finder radar that would show up immediately. Nothing had changed... except...
"The fighters," McLanahan muttered. "The fighters disappeared."
"Say again?"
"Two fighters were right here, now they're gone," McLanahan said.
"They stopped transmitting their attack radars."
"What was their range to us?"
"About sixty miles," McLanahan said. "Too far away for a missile shot...
"
"Damned right," Jamieson said. "The AA-1 I can fly for over a hundred miles, but it homes on radar, and we're not transmitting anything... are we...?"
"No," McLanahan said--but they both quickly double-checked their switches. They were in COMBAT mode, all right--all radio transmitters were off, no synthetic aperture radars on, no Doppler radars on, no missile warning and tracking radars on, and the "cloaking device" was on--no electronic energy could leave the bomber with the electronic field activated. They were running silent. "Man, I still have a bad feeling."
"Then let's hurry up, take the SAR shot on the carrier, and let's get the hell outta Dodge," Jamieson said.
They were within SAR range of the carrier now, just sixty miles off the nose. "Okay, stand by, SAR coming on."
But just before he activated the system, which would automatically control the radar exposure as necessary to get a good picture of the carrier, McLanahan also activated the AN/ALQ-199 HAVE GLANCE system--as soon as the BEADS "cloaking device" went down, HAVE GLANCE would scan the sky all around the bomber with radar to search for nearby threats. "What's that for?"
"Precautionary," McLanahan said. "SAR exposure routine active...
in five... four... three... two... one... SAR radiating..."
And at the same instant, they heard a high-pitched, fast Deedledeedledeedle! warning tone, and a "bat-wing" fighter symbol appeared on the threat scope, just a few miles off their right rear quadrant! "Fighter, four o'clock, four miles, same altitude!" McLanahan screamed. "Descend! Accelerate! SAR down!
Break, Tiger, break right!"
Thankfully, Jamieson didn't hesitate. He immediately rolled the big B-2A stealth bomber to 90, then 100, then 120 degrees of bank--practically inverted!--pulled on the control stick until it was at the forward stop, and jammed the throttles to full military power. He held the bank in until they had almost flown a 180-degree turn, facing toward the fighter, turning their hot engine exhausts away from the fighter and presenting their smallest radar and thermal cross-section.
But he wasn't fast enough. They heard a loud explosion off to the left, the big bomber shuddered, and the ENGINE FIRE warning light on the eyebrow panel came on. "Fire on number one!" McLanahan shouted. His supercockpit display had automatically switched over to the WCA and emergency-procedures displays so he could monitor the automatic engine shutdown, but the shaking was so rough that he couldn't read the screen. He had to trust that the computers were still functioning and they would complete the emergency shutdown checklist before the fire destroyed the aircraft.
Jamieson kept the right bank in, but now they were no longer turning--they were spinning! With no smooth airflow over the wings to create lift, the B-2A Spirit stealth bomber had stopped flying--it was in a complete stall, and with one wing low, it transitioned immediately into a "death spiral" spin. The bomber's nose was now pointed almost straight down at the ocean, and they were careening down toward the Gulf of Oman at 20,000 feet per minute.
"Recover!" McLanahan shouted. "Recover, Tiger!" McLanahan couldn't focus anymore. He had the threat display up on his supercockpit screen, with the flight instruments hidden behind it, and it was completely dark outside the cockpit windows, so he had absolutely no sense of up or down, left or right. McLanahan immediately craned his neck over to the left so he could see the pilot's artificial horizon, but moving his head like that caused the disorientation to increase a hundredfold. Jesus, they were completely out of control! They were going to hit the ocean any second!
McLanahan hit the BYPASs button on his control stick, then fumbled for the speed brake button on his throttle quadrant--normally they could not deploy speed brakes in comBAT mode because it spoiled the bomber's stealth characteristics. He felt a rumbling in the airframe as the elevons on the bomber's wing tips split, acting as speed brakes to slow the bomber's wild, uncontrolled descent. At the same time, he held the control stick centered and full forward, then stomped on the left rudder to counteract the right spin. No good--no reaction. He tried jamming the control stick hard left, hoping that the increased elevon authority would... "Let go of the controls, MC!" he heard Jamieson shout.
"I got it! I got it!" McLanahan shouted. "Let me know when!"
"I said, I got it, dammit!" Jamieson shouted back.
"No! I can pull us out! I got it! Just let me know when!"
Suddenly he felt a crushing smack! on his face, and the world went dark. McLanahan thought he was dead, but he wasn't... not yet. In a second the ocean would rush in, he'd swallow, and then...
But they hadn't hit the water. Jamieson had backhanded McLanahan in the face! "I said, I got it," Jamieson said calmly. Smoothly, carefully, Jamieson pulled the throttles to idle and stepped on the right rudder pedals.
The spinning was still as intense as ever. "We're still spinning!" McLanahan shouted. "Get the rudder in! Get-!"
"The plane's wings-level, Patrick," Jamieson said. "It's your damned navigator brain that's spinning." Jamieson reached up and hit a button on his top center mission display unit, and a sixteen-color, larger-than-life attitude-direction indicator appeared on McLanahan's supercockpit display. The ADI showed them slightly nose-low but, sure enough, they were wings-level. "I pulled us out of the spin, but you kept on pushing us right back into another one. That's why they call those a 'death spiral,' you know--every time you try to recover without looking at the instruments, you put yourself in another spin in the other direction. Remember to keep an ADI on your screen all the time from now on, okay?"
It took several moments for McLanahan to get his head to stop spinning and flipping upside down, but after staring at the electronic ADI on his monitor and willing himself to believe it was true, everything finally calmed down. McLanahan checked their status. Jamieson had them down at 100feet above the Gulf of Oman, at max continuous thrust, heading south toward Omani airspace--away from the Khomeini and those Iranian radars as fast as possible. "You all right?" Jamieson asked.
"Yeah... yeah, I'm okay, thanks," McLanahan said weakly. He checked the Warnings, Cautions, and Alerts page. "Fire extinguishers fired off, so that engine is bye-bye," he said. "All number one systems down. Fuel pressure is fluctuating... hydraulic pressure OK... electrical system OK... fuel system is... wait, fuel valves three and four are still open. I'm going to MANUAL on the fuel system... ok, fuel shutoff valves to the number one engine are closed. All engines are feeding off the right wing tank. I'll empty that one first in case we sustained any damage." Jamieson checked the fuel panel switches, then nodded his agreement.
Iranian fighters were everywhere overhead, and the next twenty minutes was a nightmare come true. Every few minutes they would see fighters beginning to converge on them, so they would change course and edge as low as they dared to the ocean surface--at one point, they were at fifty feet, the absolute lowest they dared go without activating the radar altimeter or SAR. Even after they exited Iranian territorial waters, the Iranian fighters pursued.
They had to fly almost all the way to the Omani coast before the Iranian fighters began to retreat. Finally they were over land, and the fighters were gone.
"Jesus, that was close. It must've been that fighter jock's lucky day, stumbling onto us like that "I don't think he lucked into us. Look at this," McLanahan said, motioning to his display. "We're well within radar range of Omani air defense radars and even Saudi Arabian F-15 fighters, but they're not coming after us. It's only the Iranians--they figured out how to track a B-2A bomber."
"Track us? With what? They didn't have a lock on us."
"I know, but they found us," McLanahan said. "Somehow they figured out a way to detect us well enough to vector a fighter in on us. Remember those fighters suddenly shutting down their radars, even though they didn't have a lock on us? They did that so we wouldn't find out we were being watched. It's gotta have something to do with that cluster of radars they set up."
"If that's true, then we're probably out of this fight," Jamieson said. "The whole B-2A program could be in
jeopardy. The Pentagon won't risk a B-2A bomber again until they figure out how they were able to track us."
"I don't think we'll have too much time," McLanahan said. He began composing a report to the National Security Agency via the Air Intelligence Agency to report on the whole incredible, frightening incident. "The Iranians have the upper hand now--they might not rest until they get everything they want."
RESIDENCE OF THE PRESIDENT, SHAMSOL EMAREH PALACE, TEHRAN, IRAN
A SHORT TIME LATER President of the Islamic Republic Ali Akbar Nateq-Nouri was writing, pencil on paper, in a journal--no computer, no television, no radio in his quarters anymore--when suddenly the door to his room burst open, and General Hesarak all-Kan Buzhazi stormed in and strode directly up to him. "Come in, the door is open," Nateq-Nouri deadpanned.
Buzhazi virtually dragged the President to his feet in anger. "I want the codes," he demanded.
"I am well, thank you for asking, General," the President said.
Dale Brown - Shadows Of Steel Page 33