by Ron Walden
“Here they come,” Monday called to Bates as the Jeep approached.
Bates walked to the rear of the motorhome and dragged Beth to her feet. Her face was stained with tears. Perspiration had soaked the front of her torn blouse. Her hair was a mess and she ached all over. “Come on lady, it’s show time,” Bates said, as he ripped the tape from her mouth. Her tender skin oozed blood.
Monday opened the side door of the motorhome as the Jeep stopped near the front of the vehicle. He stepped to the ground with a broad smile on his face. Dan scowled as he stepped from the Jeep. He was in no mood for levity or small talk.
“Where is my wife?” he said through clinched teeth.
“Right here,” Monday said, turning to watch Bates push her ahead of him, out of the coach.
The doors of the dark sedan were open, but the two men inside had not exited the car.
Monday had focused his attention on Dan. He walked to where Dan stood and patted him down. He found the Smith and Wesson automatic under his shirt and took it from him. Dan raised his hands and spoke to Bates as he walked slowly toward him.
“Okay. You have me. Let my wife go. Let her take the Jeep and leave. You have no need for her now,” Dan pleaded.
“Sorry, I can’t do that,” Bates said. “Monday, take him over there and finish him. I’ll take care of his wife.”
Beth was crying as Monday motioned for Dan to move to the edge of a small ditch.
“Dan!” she screamed.
Monday’s attention was diverted for an instant and Dan hit him with an elbow. Beth forced her shoulder into Bates and knocked him off balance and he fell. The two agents in the car stepped out and aimed weapons at the two suspects.
“Drop your weapons. You’re under arrest,” John yelled.
Monday looked surprised to see the strangers in the car but was able to swing the gun in his hand in the direction of the men. John fired, hitting Monday in the left shoulder. The force from the bullet slammed Monday to the ground. The army had taught John marksmanship. He spent a great deal of time on the pistol range and would ride his horse into the desert, find a quiet place, and practice shooting. Had it been his intent, Monday would have been dead. Monday dropped the gun. Dan retrieved his gun and ran toward his wife.
Bates saw Monday fall and fired two shots toward the car. He hit only the car. Lead was now flying in his direction. To escape, he rolled under the motorhome. Dan lifted Beth from the ground and ran in the direction of the Jeep. He was almost to the red CJ-5 when he felt a hot, searing pain in his left lower leg. He stumbled but regained his balance and continued to carry Beth to the safety of the Jeep. He loaded her into the car and started the engine. He backed up, spinning the tires and causing a huge cloud of dust. The distraction was enough to allow Bates to roll to the protected side of the motorhome.
Once on the hidden side of the motorhome, Bates stood and hurried to the driver door. He opened the door and slid into the seat, started the engine and slipped it into gear. He raised his head above the dashboard of the coach and mashed the throttle to the floor. He caught the Jeep as it backed to safety behind the sedan. John and Smokey were firing at the Motorhome, but it gained speed and hit the front of the Jeep, rolling it on its side, spilling Dan and Beth to the sand.
Bates pointed the coach toward the exit road just as the four agents in the backup car arrived. They saw the motorhome coming at them and kept their car straight on. Bates turned hard to the right, making a 180 degree turn. He sped back toward the overturned Jeep. Smokey and John were running toward the unconscious pair on the ground. They reached them in time to drag them from the path of the big motorhome. Bates had his foot on the floor when the motorhome hit the rear of the Jeep. The gas tank on the Jeep exploded, sending flames into the air and engulfing the smashed front end of the motorhome and its driver.
The impact drove Bates’ knee into the steering column, numbing his right leg. He hobbled to the side door, away from the flames leaping up in the front of the wrecked recreational vehicle. His leg would not support him when he stepped out of the burning coach. He fell to the ground but pointed his weapon in the direction of the agents helping John. Bates fired two more shots before being hit by bullets from Smokey’s gun.
Two of the agents who had just arrived ran to Bates and dragged him away from the burning vehicles. He was still alive but hit hard with two bullets in the upper chest.
John unlocked the handcuffs from Beth’s bruised arms, as she began to regain her senses. She opened her eyes and recognized John.
“Oh, John! I was so frightened,” She sobbed. “Is Dan okay?”
“Yes, he’s starting to come around now. He got nicked in the ankle, but he’ll be all right.”
Smokey and John helped Beth to where Dan was lying on the ground. He was trying to shake the stars from his vision when she spoke to him.
“Are you all right, Dearest?” she asked.
“I think so. I’m getting too old for full contact police work.”
“Call for an ambulance,” John said. “We’ll meet it with the wounded prisoners. Beth you can ride with the officers in the other car. Smokey’ll want to fly his plane back.”
“Yes, I’ll take the plane back. I can fly down here and pick Dan up and take him back with me for medical attention. If Beth wants to crowd into the back seat with him, she can ride to town too.”
“Good idea,” John said. “I’ll meet you in town.”
“Thanks for what you did,” Dan said, giving Beth a hug. “Beth and I owe you our lives.”
“What are friends for,” John smiled as he winked at Beth.
“One of you officers will drive Smokey back to his plane and pick up the other two prisoners. We’ll follow with the wounded and head out to meet the ambulance,” John spoke, then turned to Beth and Dan. “Smokey will come back here and pick you up to fly you into town where you can get that leg looked at, Dan.”
Bates didn’t make it back to town. He died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Monday, however, was rushed to surgery and lived. The damage to his artery would cause him circulation problems, and he would lose the full rotation of his left arm. It would be a couple of days before Dave and John could question him.
Dan walked with a limp for a few days but no serious damage was done to his leg. Somehow the shooting had made Beth understand that a cop accepts the dangers of his job, and, though he reduces the risks with skill and training, he must still put his own safety on the line to protect others. She would never again suffer the uncontrolled fears of the past. She knew Dan was able to make instant judgments and react instinctively to protect himself while saving others. She finally understood why he felt so strongly about his profession.
CHAPTER NINTEEN
Alaska has 19 remote radar sites picketing the shoreline of the huge state. Each is tied into a central control room at Elmendorf Air Force Base. This, Regional Operations Control Center, (ROCC) is the eyes of the far north. From here operators can detect activity in the sky at 200 miles. In the late 1980s, the Soviet Union tested the radar capabilities about once a week. These days, however, since the breakup of the Soviet Union, there are about six intrusions a year. Even those are routine and many are Russian “Coots,” a slow, propeller driven observation craft, checking the ice pack off the Russian coast. The urgency of foreign threat is gone, but the watchful eyes continue to look across dark seas, often bored but ever vigilant.
The radar operator was half asleep when the small dots of light appeared on his screen. On duty for an hour, he was on his second cup of coffee. Three small dots of light were traveling to the northeast out of Russia. It was the usual cat and mouse game played by the northern air commands: U.S. and Russian. They send aircraft to test our radar limits and intercept capability. The U.S. did the same thing by intruding into Russian air space.
The Airman 1st class picked up the phone and notified the Weapons Acquisition Officer, the WAO. “Sir, I have three unidentified aircraft moving northeast
in Russian airspace. On their present course, they will be flying the north coast in 12 minutes. Estimate they will reach our airspace in 8 minutes.”
“Can you tell what type of aircraft they are?”
“No sir, Captain Winston. The speed and size of the larger aircraft suggest a Bear. The other two look too large to be fighters.”
“I’m going to have them suit up at Galena. Keep me informed on the location of the intruders. Do we have an AWACs in the area?”
“No sir. The only one on duty is too far south to do us any good. I can see them as far as the Canadian border, and there the Canadians will pick them up at Inuvik. It looks like they are going to follow the northern coast. That’s an unusual course for them, though.” The airman was giving the captain as much information as possible and his best guess scenario from the short radar track.
“Thank you Airman, prepare intercept coordinates for the F15s. I’ll call the ANRDO for permission to launch the fighters.”
Eighty miles north of the Chukotskiy Peninsula, just crossing the 70° parallel were five, not three, ex-soviet aircraft. The largest, was a converted transport, an Ilyushin Il-38, designated the May by the U.S. government; an airliner turned antisubmarine patrol plane. It had been converted to a refueling aircraft for the fighters of General Kisishkin. The turboprop transport had a cruise range of 3,900 miles and a cruise speed of 400 miles per hour. It was an ideal aircraft for the job at hand.
Flying formation with the May were two MIG-25, Foxbats. Directly under the fighters were two more. On each side of the May, tucked under the top two and flying so tightly to the bellies of the top aircraft that the radar was only painting the profile of a single fighter, were two additional Foxbats. It was a tactic discussed frequently in officers clubs but not considered a valid military maneuver. The formation was at 25,000 feet, at the extreme range of the U.S. radar. A final refueling would be difficult because of the formation. The lower fighters, designated Attack One and Attack Two, would take on full fuel while the top two fighters, Cover one and Cover two, would take on only enough fuel to reach the separation point and to fly outside the U.S. territorial limits.
Major Gregorie Iniskin, mission commander, was flying Attack One. As the formation passed to the north of Barrow, Alaska, they started a descent to 500 feet above the surface of the Arctic Ocean. At 1,200 feet they would be too low to be detected by the American radar. They would be below the radar for only 1 minute. During that minute the four fighters would separate and the May, with the two MIG 25s, Cover one and Cover two, would return to 25,000 feet. They would return to Russian airspace and would continue to the Chukotskiy Peninsula for landing and refueling. The May would circle in a holding pattern and wait for Attack One and Attack Two. After refueling the second pair of fighters, it too would return to Russian soil.
Major Iniskin would fly his “training mission” to the oil fields of Prudhoe Bay, drop his “training bombs” on Pump station One and return to Russian airspace to refuel from the Il-38 tanker. This would be a true test of the response time for the F-15s from Galena. With luck the Major would encounter one of the F-15s and indulge in some playful dogfighting. The plan was simple and Iniskin was proud he had been selected to participate in this, the first international training missions between the United States and the new Republic of Russia.
Lieutenant Sergei Popov looked out the left side of the MIG canopy. “Iniskin comes from a long line of military men. He is, no doubt, thinking that he may be the first of his family to become a General.”
Sergei never set long term goals for himself. His only ambitions were to drink as much beer as possible and to bed as many women as possible. The handsome Lieutenant had many ladies to help him meet his goals. He was a lighthearted young man with exceptional athletic abilities. Everyone in the command thought him to be the best combat pilot in the Russian Air Command.
Having passed over the permanent ice pack, the Russian airmen relaxed as they flew over open water, just 500 feet above the waves, enjoying the summer sun. If the ploy worked as planned, the two men would drop their mock bombs and return to Russian airspace to refuel and go home without encountering American fighters.
Captain Winston gave the order to scramble two F-15s from Galena. Each aircraft was carrying three external fuel tanks supplying enough fuel to last until a refueling tanker could be dispatched to the area. Each aircraft also carried two radar controlled missiles and two heat seeking missiles and a full load of ammunition for each of the guns on board. The flight would be designated “Eagle One” and “Eagle Two.” It seemed to be the usual except for the course the intruders had chosen. Winston looked at the huge map in the center of the room and asked the operator, “Who’s this you have marked north of the Brooks Range?”
The airman checked his clip board against the numbers on the master map. “Two F-16s and a tanker from Eielson Air Force Base, Sir. On routine training maneuvers.”
The Captain thought a few seconds, then told the airman, “Let’s call Eielson Air Force Base and find out if these two have any ordinance on board. If so, see if we can divert those two to the Colville River area. I’m just not comfortable with the unknown blips on the radar and the unusual course they are using for approach.”
The flight leader was Major Donald, “Dragonfly,” Pierce. His wingman was Captain Al, “Slapshot,” Spencer. The two were just completing a midair refueling when the message was received.
“Proceed North to the mouth of the Colville River, then West along the coast to intercept and identify unknown aircraft in U.S. airspace west of Barrow. Use flight level 250, expedite.”
In just minutes the two had piloted their aircraft to the delta of the Colville River. There was a large fog bank to the north, above the ice pack, but the air was clear and the sun was nearly straight overhead as they cruised at 25,000 feet over open water.
The two targets were on the screen as the search radar was initiated. A voice channel was opened directly to the Regional Operations Control Center.
“Top Rock, I have two unidentified aircraft moving low at high speed. They appear to be headed for Prudhoe Bay,” Dragonfly reported.
“Intercept and identify. Turn them around and send them packing.” Simple orders.
“What are the coordinates for intercept?”
“Intercept will be 15 miles north of the Colville River Delta,” Dragonfly recited into the mike.
On the squadron frequency Slapshot was speaking. “Dragonfly, we’re going to have to get within gun range if we are going to engage these two. We don’t have any real hardware to throw at them.”
“Yeah, I know. Let’s go over the top and come in from the east about 100 feet above. When we get within gun range, we can hit them with the gunsight radar. They should turn around when we do that. If they don’t, we will dive past their nose and give them some wake turbulence to think about. Just stay on my wing and have some fun.”
Major Iniskin was alerted to the approaching jets by the whine of the search radar. He had visual contact now and saw the two F-16s pass overhead and begin their descent. When they got within gun range, he would surprise them by attacking. He would drop his mock bombs on the target at any cost. Anyway, some simulated combat would be good training for him and his wingman. If he and his wingman could show victories over the two American jets, it would look good on the mission report. After all, he had everything to gain and nothing to lose; it was only a game.
“When I give the signal, we’ll turn into them and press an attack. The instant we are within gun range, we’ll lock on targets and record the sight picture. Move out to combat formation.”
“I’m ready on your signal, Major,” Lieutenant Popov replied.
The two Americans were now approaching from the east and about 100 feet above the MIGs. Iniskin judged the distance and shouted into the radio, “NOW.”
The Russian fighters snapped into a hard 60° left bank and rolled out on a direct course on the noses of the F-16s. The Russians snap
ped on the gunsight radar the instant the wings were level. Iniskin only had a second to wait until the oncoming jet was in the square of his gunsight. He pressed the red trigger button on the stick of the Foxbat to record the sight picture as evidence of the kill. He felt the sudden recoil of the canons as tracer bullets and smoke of live canon fire erupted. He lifted his finger from the trigger as quickly as his reflexes would allow. Without thinking he slammed the throttle forward and pulled back on the stick to achieve a 70° climb angle. At 5,000 feet he leveled and began a slow circle as Popov again moved in tight on his right wing.
There were only three hits on the F-16, but they were enough. One was a tracer that sent burn marks down the left side of the fighter. The second went through the skin behind the canopy and severed a stainless steel hydraulic line. The third struck the top of the canopy with enough angle to shatter the lexan at the entry and exit points. The canopy was still intact, but dangerously close to tearing apart.
“Top Rock, Top Rock, Mayday, Mayday.” Dragonfly called. “Tell Command I have taken hits from live fire. Attempting an emergency landing at Deadhorse. Do you copy? We have encountered live fire.”
“Affirmative, Dragonfly. We copy. Are you okay?” Top Rock inquired with concern.
“I’m okay but my wingman is on his own. We are going to need help as soon as possible.”
Slapshot slowed his Fighting Falcon to under 200 knots in order to stay on his flight leader’s wing. White smoke streamed from the rear of the fuselage. “You’re smoking. Looks like hydraulic fluid. If your controls are okay, get your gear down and locked before you lose all hydraulic pressure.”
A thumbs up signal signaled affirmative. Slapshot dropped below the other aircraft and watched as the landing gear extended and locked into place. He then slid under and up on the opposite wing. “It looks okay. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. I can make it to Deadhorse. I’m showing three green. You had better keep an eye on those two. Don’t let them get near dry land.”