Coonts, Stephen - Jake Grafton 7 - Cuba

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Coonts, Stephen - Jake Grafton 7 - Cuba Page 50

by Cuba (lit)

night, Jack O'Brian's F-117 passed

  Tampa Bay and continued south toward Key West.

  It was flying at Mach .72 to conserve fuel. The

  fighter had tanked over Tallahassee and would

  tank again in just a few minutes over two hours

  near Tampa. But first, a little jaunt to Havana.

  Navigation was by global positioning system, GPS.

  The pilot had entered the coordinates of his destination

  into the computer before he even started the engines of his

  airplane, and now the computer and autopilot were

  taking him there. All he had to do was monitor the

  system, make sure everything functioned as it was

  designed to.

  O'Brian sucked on his oxygen mask, reached under

  it to scratch his nose, readjusted his flight

  gloves, and generally fidgeted around in his seat. He

  was nervouswho wouldn't be"...b quite confident. After all,

  there was very little danger as long as the aircraft's

  systems continued to work properly. The craft truly

  was invisible at night. Of course it did have a

  small infrared signature and could be seen by an

  enemy searching the skies with infrared detectors, but

  there was no reason to suspect the Cubans

  were doing any such thing.

  Barring a freak accident, like getting hit by a random

  unaimed artillery shell or having a midair with a

  civilian plane, the Cubans would never know the

  F-117 had even been around. Certainly they would

  never see it on radar or with the naked eye. ,

  The Cubans might get wise when and if he

  dropped some bombs, but even so, there was nothing they

  could do about an invisible bomber.

  The biggest risk, Jack O'Brian decided, was

  having a midair with one of the other three

  F-117's that were out here prowling around.

  The second plane was running twenty miles back

  in trail, a thousand feet above this one, and the others

  an equal

  distance up and back, all with their own hard

  altitudes. Jack glanced again at his altimeter,

  just to be sure.

  Key West came into view on schedule, a bit

  off to his left. The lights of the other Keys

  looked like a handful of pearls flung into the blackness

  of the night.

  Then Key West lay behind and the lights of Havana

  appeared ahead. Jack O'Brian reduced power

  and set up a descent.

  Angel One, the helicopter from

  United States,

  landed in the cane across the road from Dona Maria

  Sedano's house. Ocho got out of the chopper and

  walked across the road toward the house. Tommy

  Carmellini trailed along behind him.

  Mercedes was standing on the porch as Ocho walked up.

  They launched themselves at each other, hugged

  fiercely. Mercedes didn't even glance at

  Carmellini, who was dressed in a civilian shirt

  and trousers but had a pistol strapped to his waist.

  Mercedes kept her arm around Ocho, took him into the

  house where his mother was sitting in a chair.

  Carmellini sat on the porch, watched the occasional

  car and truck go by. The vehicles slowed, their

  passengers gawking at the idling helo, but they

  didn't stop.

  Soon Ocho came outside with Mercedes. She had

  the videotape in her hand. Ocho introduced

  Carmellini.

  "If the videotape is to have maximum effect, it

  should be aired immediatelyea"...Carmellini told Mercedes,

  who held the tape tightly with both hands.

  "We are going to get Hector out of

  prisonea"...Ocho said, anxious to explain.

  "We could take 'y to Havana television and leave

  you, if you wish."

  Mercedes nodded, so Ocho put his arm around her and

  led her to the helicopter. Dona Maria was visible

  in the door of her cottage; Ocho waved at her

  before he climbed into the helo.

  Jake Grafton used an infrared viewing scope

  to examine the streets of Havana. He was sitting

  in the copilot's seat of the V-22 Osprey, which

  Rita had racked over in a right bank, orbiting the

  downtown. The city was well litnot as well lit

  as an American city, but almost. The central core

  of the city was darkthe electrical power had yet to be

  restored.

  The area around the University of Havana seemed

  deserted. No tanks, no armored personnel

  carriers, no barricades, apparently no

  troops. The streets looked empty.

  Strange.

  Or maybe not so strange. Maybe the lab was

  empty, the viruses moved to God knows where.

  Everyone in Cuba seemed to be in the streets around

  La Cabana Prison; at least a hundred

  thousand people, Jake estimated. Bonfires burned in

  the streets near the prison, huge fires

  that appeared as bright spots of light on the infrared

  viewing scope.

  He looked for the antiaircraft guns which he knew

  were there. He found them, but at this altitude he

  couldn't see people around them. "Go lowerea"...he told

  Rita. "Two thousand feet."

  Still circling to the right, she eased the power and let the

  Osprey descend.

  Jake turned his attention to the prison, an island

  of darkness on the edge of the stricken city center. The

  main gate was an opening in a high masonry wall

  that surrounded the huge old stone fortress. The gate

  seemed to be closed, but at this altitude and

  angle, it was difficult to be sure. Immediately behind

  the gate sat a tankJake had seen enough of those

  planforms to be absolutely certain. Two more

  tanks sat in the courtyard ... and some

  automobiles. Jake adjusted the magnification

  on the infrared viewer. Now he could see

  individuals, walking, standing in knots, talking through

  the fenceyes, the main gate was closed.

  Two antiaircraft batteries sat beside the

  prison, old Soviet four-barreled ZPU'S with

  optical sights. They were use-

  less against fast movers but would be hell on

  helicopters.

  The roof of the prison was flat, and apparently

  empty. No. Correct that. Snipers on the

  corners. Damn!

  Jake checked the radio to ensure he was on the

  proper frequency, then keyed the mike. "Angel

  One, this is Battlestar One, where are you?"

  "Angel One's on its way to the television station

  to deliver a passenger."

  "Let me know when you lift off from there."

  "Roger that, Battlestar."

  "Night Owl Four Two, call your posit."

  Jack O'Brian in the F-l 17 replied,

  "Night Owl Four Two is overhead at ten."

  "La Cabana Prison is our object of

  interest tonight, Four Two. I want single bombs,

  all to stay within the walls. Can you do that?"

  "We can try, sir. You know the limitations on my

  equipment as well as I do."

  "Your best efforts. Lots of friendlies outside the

  wall. First target is the antiaircraft battery

  inside the prison walls on the north side. Do

&nb
sp; you see it?"

  "Wait."...Seconds ticked by.

  "Got it."

  'The second target is the antiaircraft

  battery on the south side."

  "Night Owl Four Four is on station at eleven

  thousand, Battlestar. Why don't we each run one

  of those targets? I'll take the north one."

  The two F-l 17 pilots discussed it and

  Jake approved.

  Jack O'Brian had several possible ways

  to drop the bombs he carried in the internal bomb

  bay. If he were bombing through a cloud deck or in

  rain or snow, he would release the unpowered weapon

  over the target and let it steer itself to the GPS

  bull's-eye through use of a GPS receiver, a

  computer, and a set of canards mounted on the nose of the

  weapon. Tonight, since the sky was reasonably clear,

  he would illumine the target with a laser beam while

  overflying it, and let the unpowered bomb fly itself to the

  laser-designated bull's-eye. If O'Brian

  could keep the laser beam directly on the spot he

  wished the bomb to hit, he should be able to achieve

  pinpoint, bomb-in-a-barrel accuracy.

  Once again O'Brian carefully checked his

  electronic countermeasures panel, which was dark.

  The Cubans were off the

  aii,

  which was comforting.

  Now he adjusted the focus of the infrared camera in

  the nose. The display blossomed slowly, continued

  to change as he got closer and the grazing angle

  increased.

  He could see the gun plainly owing to the camera's

  magnification. He sweetened the crosshairs just a

  touch as the airplane motored sedately toward the

  target, still cruising at ten thousand feet, and turned

  on the laser designator, which was slaved to the

  crosshairs.

  Jack O'Brian checked his watch. "Night Owl

  Four Two is thirty seconds from drop."

  "Four Four is a minute out."

  "Don't turn on your laser until you see my

  thing pop."

  "Roger."

  Armament panel set for one bomb, laser mode

  selected, laser designator on, master armament

  switch on, steady on the run-in heading,

  autopilot engaged, crosshairs steady on the

  targetno driftsystem into Attack. A tone

  sounded in his ears and was broadcast over the radio on

  the tactical frequency. O'Brian knew that

  several people were listening for that tone, including the

  pilot of the other F-117 Night Owl Four

  Four, Judy Kwiatkowski.

  He watched for unexpected wind drift. Not much

  tnwhat little wind there was was well within the capability

  of the bomb to handle.

  Counting down, the second hand on the clock on the

  instrument panel ticking ... The release marker

  marched down and he felt the thump as the bomb bay

  doors snapped open. Immediately thereafter the bomb was

  released, the tone stopped, then the doors closed

  again.

  With the bomb in the air, it was essential that the

  crosshairs on the laser designator stay

  precisely on the target because the bomb was guiding

  itself toward this spot of invisible light.

  He took manual control of the crosshairs,

  kept them right on the artillery piece beside the old

  fortress. ,

  The aspect angle of the target was changing, of

  course, as the airplane flew over it and beyond. Now

  it was behind the plane, the crosshairs right on the

  target.

  Then, suddenly, the antiaircraft artillery

  piece disappeared in a flash as the

  five-hundred-pound bomb struck it dead

  center.

  Thirty seconds later the gun on the south side

  of the building was hit by Judy Kwiatkowski's

  weapon.

  "Very good, Night Owlsea"...Battlestar said. "The

  next target is the tank nearest to the main gate.

  I think one bomb will discourage the tankers. Four

  Four, I want you to bomb the main gate. Tell

  me if you see it."

  "Four Four has the target."

  "How long until the weapons hit?"

  "Give us ten minutes to go out and make another

  run."

  'Ten minutes will do fineea"...Jake Grafton said,

  then turned to Rita.

  "After the bombs hit the tanks and main gate, I

  want you to land on the roof. The guys in back will go

  out shooting and take care of the snipers. Let me go

  talk to Eckhardt and Toad." Both officers were

  riding in the back of the Osprey with the grunts.

  Jake unstrapped and got out of the copilot's seat.

  In a moment'Lieutenant Colonel Eckhardt

  climbed into the seat and used the infrared scope.

  "See the snipers"..."...the admiral asked. "I want

  you and your people to shoot them or capture them,

  whatever."

  "Yes, sir."...The colonel got out pf the seat.

  "Ten minutes, Rita. Start your clock."

  "Aye, aye, sirea"...Rita said, and began figuring

  the best way to approach the prison.

  * * *

  A man from the control tower ran to find Carlos

  Corrado and tell him that American aircraft were

  over Havana. The people in the tower heard the news on

  short-wave radio from headquarters.

  "Havana."

  Corrado threw away his cigar butt and got

  into his flying gear.

  Five minutes later he was taxiing. He didn't

  stop at the end of the runway to check the systems or,

  controls, but added power and stroked the burners. The

  big fighter responded like a thoroughbred race

  horse and lifted off after a short run.

  Of course he left his radar off.

  Still, the crew of the U.s. Air Force E-3

  Sentry over the Isle of Pines picked up a

  skin-paint return of the MiGo almost immediately.

  "Showtime One Oh Two, we got a bogey

  lifting off Cienfuegos, looks like he's on his

  way to Havana on the deck. Try

  to intercept. Over."

  Stiff Hardwick had been airborne for an hour

  and ten minutes. The recovery aboard

  United States

  would begin in exactly thirty-five minutes. This

  bogey was on the deck using fuel at a

  prodigious rate, and when Stiff came swooping

  down from 30,000 feet his fuel consumption would also

  go through the roof. Fuel would be tight. Very tight.

  If he had to stroke the throttles to drop this

  turkey, he was going to need a tanker.

  "One Oh Two will probably need a tanker."

  "Roger that. Showtime One Oh Seven"...th was

  Stiff's wingman, who was orbiting a thousand feet

  above Stiff "remain on station."

  "One Oh Seven aye."

  "Showtime One Oh Two is on the wayea"...Stiff

  told the E-3 controller.

  "That's the spiritea"...Sailor Karnow said from the rear

  cockpit.

  "Shut up, babe. Just do your thing and keep the crap

  to yourself."

  "You got h, dickwick. I'm behind you all the

  way."

  The helicopter landed in the street in

  front of the televisi
on station and Mercedes stepped out.

  Ocho waved as it lifted off, leaving her standing there with

  her hair and skirt blowing wildly, clutching the

  videotape.

  El Ocho, alive and well! It seemed like a

  miracle. Truly, she had thought he was dead, lost

  at sea.

  "I have seen the tapeea"...Ocho had shouted over the

  noise of the helicopter as they rode above the lights

  of Havana. "Fidel wanted Hector to lead

  Cuba. His opinion will sway many people."

  Yes, she nodded, fighting baok tears.

  "Why did you give the tape to the Americans?"

  "Vargas would have taken it from meea"...she replied.

  Ocho accepted that because he knew it was true. That

  tape would destroy Alejo Vargas.

  "Make them show it on televisionea"...Ocho had

  shouted. "We will get Hector out of prison."...He

  grinned broadly, showing all his teeth. The future

  was arriving all at once.

  She watched the helicopter disappear into the night

  sky, then turned and walked into the television station.

  One of the most horrifying threats any soldier can

  face is being in the bull's-eye of a modern guided

  weapon. The stealth fighters were out tonight,

  dropping their weapons with extraordinary precision.

  The bombs came in too fast for the human eye

  to follow, especially in the light conditions

  prevailing in Havana this night. For the Cuban

  troops surrounding the old prison, it was as if a

  giant invisible sharpshooter were somewhere in the clouds

  hurling bombs. The two bombs on the

  antiaircraft guns frightened the soldiers and made

  the crowd nervous. Watching from the Osprey, Jake

  Grafton thought for a moment the crowd might stampede:

  with this many people jamming the streets

  that would be a human disaster. Still, he could not take the

  risk the guns or tanks would open fire on the

  inbound helicopter or the Osprey, both of which he

  wanted to land on the prison's roof.

  Through the infrared viewer Jake could see the

  soldiers instinctively moving away from the tanks.

  He could see men getting out of the hatch, jumping to the

  ground, walking away.

  On the street the crowd was also pushing back, crowding

  away from the old fortress.

  Minutes passed and nothing happened. The packed

  rows of humanity on the street seemed to relax,

  to thin as the 'p instinctively sought their own space.

  Jake heard the first bomb tone come on.

  An officer Jake assumed he was"...an

  officerclimbed up on one of the tanks, waved his

  arms at his men. his

  The bomb tone ceased: the weapon was in the air.

 

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