Ancients (event group thriller)

by David L. Golemon

  "Twenty-four? I guess we don't rate any higher than that with all the trouble in the world. We were right: the Americans are spread too thin to adequately deal with us."

  "What is it, Mr. Tomlinson?" Dame Lilith asked.

  "It seems we have become a nuisance to our American president after all. Radar has picked up a force of twenty-four fighters inbound from Aviano. They're not even bothering to hide their presence."

  "I see. And your plan for this is--"

  Tomlinson looked at Caretaker and smiled. "To destroy them, what else." He turned away and raised his radio to his mouth, the whole time watching Professor Engvall install the Key. "Commander, defend the island; defend it vigorously, please."

  Above, former Soviet Air Force General Igor Uvilinski lowered his radio and looked at the radarscope one more time.

  "The SAMs will strike first and then our Migs will take care of any American that makes it out alive," he said, raising his field glasses to the camo netting three hundred yards away. "All air-defense units lock on to inbound targets and fire at will."

  Around the center of the island, twenty-five SAM batteries fired, as each of their missiles locked on to an incoming warplane.

  A hundred miles south, following the exhaust trails of the SAMs as they streaked through the sky to meet the foolish American pilots who so brazenly thought they could attack Crete without a fight, the lead flight of twenty Coalition MIG 31s based out of Libya saw the first of the antiair-craft missiles take out the first five targets. The lead pilot smiled under his mask. At this rate they would not have much to clean up.

  As the flight leader watched the fighters break through the SAM screen, he became curious as to why they were not taking evasive maneuvers to avoid further contact--a decision that was very brave of them, but also very foolish.

  "Lead, I have a visual on the targets. They are not American fighter aircraft--they are cruise missiles!"

  The leader heard the call. He had been duped into believing that the cruise missiles were a fighter flight. As he thought this, he heard his missile-threat warning system go off with a piercing screech. He looked at his radar but it was clear. Where is this threat coming from? he asked himself.

  At a hundred miles away from Crete, the flight of ten F-22A Raptors popped up from the ground clutter of the sea and fired off twenty AMRAMM missiles, then went low again and continued to streak toward Crete.

  Before the lead pilot of the flight of MIGs knew exactly who and what was attacking them, AMRAMM missiles started to slam into the engines, wings, and fuselages of his squadron. The Americans had somehow enticed his men to attack what they thought was a poorly disguised flight of fighters, having their cruise missiles emit a high frequency "ghosting" as if they were manned aircraft, radar signature and all.

  The pilot's next thought never made it to the formation of a question in his mind as the lock-on tone became even more insistent just as he finally saw the telltale radar-guided AMRAMM. The flight leader's MIG came apart exactly one minute after the attack had begun; after ten years of training and payment to an air force consisting of very well-paid mercenaries, the Coalition fighter squadron had ceased to exist.

  As the MIG wreckage struck the sea below, a new and even more amazing sight graced the Mediterranean as twelve water slugs breached the surface one right after the other as the Tomahawk cruise missiles of the USS Cheyenne flew to a hundred feet before leveling off. The stubby wings, air intake, and rear stabilizers popped free as the missiles started their runs for the SAM sites that had been tracked by the Cheyenne when they launched against the decoy cruise missiles, their target being the Coalition air defenses.

  The defensive SAM sites started tracking new targets. These were not giving off false radar bounces and they were anything but incoming aircraft. The commander of the SAMs knew that they were under missile attack. However, before he could give the order to target the Tomahawks coming from the Cheyenne, his radar commander called in ten new targets to the east of Crete and coming on at Mach 1.9--more than twice the speed of sound. The Coalition general knew that the Americans had outsmarted him. To split his remaining SAMs among the two incoming sets of targets was to guarantee that half of the bogeys would get through.

  "Sir, the incoming targets to the east are intermittent, not a strong bounce-back. I suspect another trick," his radar officer reported.

  Yes, the Americans made the mistake of showing their hand earlier, he thought. Obviously, the targets that had swung around to the east for the attack were nothing more than the same type of missile that radiated like a fighter signature. They hoped to fool them into firing on them again.

  "Once too many times to the well," the commander said. "Target only the western bogeys, ignore the eastern threat."

  As he watched, SAM after SAM lifted off its launch rails and streaked into the sky headed west. Almost immediately, the general started receiving reports that the incoming targets were being struck without evasive maneuvering. The general raised his field glasses and looked to the lightening western sky. He saw a sky burst as something went down in flames.

  "How many targets have been destroyed?"

  "Six--there are six still incoming!"

  The general closed his eyes and lowered his glasses for a moment. He then brought them back up and looked into the eastern sky and saw, in nightmarelike slowness, that the aircraft he thought had been decoy missiles were actually fighters. The first of the ten F-22A Raptors, acting as a Wild Weasel antiradar attack plane, launched its missiles. He lowered his glasses again before the nine other, started launching their long-range ordnance. Right at that moment, the remaining six cruise missiles he had mistaken for manned aircraft screamed overhead and then air-burst over the SAM batteries. Then the first antiradiation Snake Eye struck the radar and command bunker.

  The population of Crete, around 650,000 people, awoke to the tremendous explosions at the center of their island. The cruise-missile airbursts were an added bonus for the American commander. He actually did not think any of them would get through to their targets. The downward pressure of the warhead explosions drove the batteries into a crumpled heap along with the crews who operated them.

  The ten F-22A Raptors tore over the island and fired on anything that moved. Either the Coalition troops were running around dazed or they made their way to the giant opening of the excavation.

  The sound of helicopters came with the first rays of the sun. V-22 Ospreys and U.S. Marine hovercraft were making a run unopposed to the beaches of Crete.

  The Second Battalion, First Marine Expeditionary Force (recon) was starting the land-assault portion of Operation Morning Thunder.

  THE UNITED NATIONS NEW YORK CITY

  The special conference room had been set up at a moment's notice. The American ambassador had finally talked the delegations from Russia and China into attending, along with any military attaches they chose to bring.

  As the live feed from one of the KH-11 satellites continued to show real-time visuals, the room remained silent as a tomb. The destruction in the opening moments of the attack stunned the gathered attaches and diplomats.

  Five minutes later, Space Command reported that the Blackbird was drifting out of visual range of the battle and could not maintain the live feed.

  "What you have just witnessed was an attack by Coalition forces on military units of the United States. A force you did not believe existed, a group that has made the United States look guilty at every turn in this very murderous game they are playing. Moreover, what is worse is the fact that we have intelligence that states they are going to strike your homelands within the hour. Earthquakes designed to destroy your way of life and take away any offensive military capabilities you have. They are going to make China and Russia so weak they will no longer be a threat to their long-range plans of dominating your societies."

  The Russian ambassador silently stood and then looked back at the large screen on which he had just watched many people die. Then he nodded at C
ompton and left the room with his military attache close behind.

  The Chinese delegation sat for a moment. The ten men did not exchange words; they only looked at Niles, gauging his words and watching for the moment when a lie would be detected in the American's face. Slowly, the ambassador rose to his feet, followed by his entourage.

  "If you will excuse us, we have much to absorb and much more to discuss with Beijing. Thank you for our inclusion in this briefing."

  Compton watched them leave and then harshly pushed a chair out of his way as he grabbed his coat. Their honesty seemed that it would only delay the inevitable.

  The president would have to defend those boys in Korea, and Niles knew that this would mean the world would then go to war.

  An hour later, Compton was sitting with the president and the National Security Council in the subbasement of the White House.

  Niles thought it ironic that the two parties most involved in the conflict were both buried below ground and waiting for things to play out above. He also knew that the Coalition would not be content to wait things out--they were going to strike; and it looked as if Jack and his team wouldn't get to them in time to stop the Wave from unleashing its devastating effects.

  On the large monitors placed at the four corners of the room, Marine Corps General Pete Hamilton was seen on a live feed from the USS Iwo Jima.

  "Yes, Mr. President, the second assault wave is ashore. We have curtailed the Sea Harrier and Raptor strikes on the island for lack of viable targets. The civilian population has cooperated thus far, and I am using two companies of marines to safeguard the indigenous personnel. That will make the tunnel-assault force light, but we'll have to do it with what we have on hand."

  Every man in the room had been impressed with how the plan had unfolded thus far, but the real nut remained to be cracked.

  "Any report from Operation Backdoor?" Niles asked from his seat away from the table.

  "None. Since we have had no contact, as operational field commander, I must assume they have not reached their objective, dictating that we attack the front door with everything we have."

  Niles lowered his head in thought. Only he knew that Collins had never failed at a mission he'd set out to complete.

  "Thank you, General. We had one last go at the Russians and Chinese and it looks like they'll have none of what we're selling. So, good luck and Godspeed," the president said as he ordered the satellite feed terminated.

  "What's the latest from Korea, General Caulfield?"

  "Still just the one spearhead has crossed the border. We have learned that the commanding general has finally crossed with them and is leading the assault. We have a mixed bag of intelligence, some saying that this general," Caulfield looked down at his notes, "Ton Shi Quang, is acting alone and against orders from Pyongyang. Other intel says he is acting directly on Kim Jong Il's orders. In any case, his spearhead will meet up with the Second Infantry Division's armored forces ten miles north of Seoul. Satellite imagery has given us a grim picture of what's to come. The North could cross with thirty-five divisions at any time."

  "We all know I cannot let the South Korean government fall. The painful truth of the matter is that we are a prisoner of our own past. We would betray those that have died there in hot war and cold. Either we stop them any way that we can, or have those boys will be overrun."

  The faces around the room could not bring themselves to look at one another. Niles stood in frustration and paced.

  "Admiral Fuqua, do we have a capable sub in the area?"

  Fuqua stood up and looked from Caulfield to the president.

  "Yes, sir, USS Pasadena."

  "She is carrying special ordnance onboard?"

  "Yes, sir, she is."

  "She is to stand by for orders." He looked at Niles and then back at his military advisers. "But first, I want every fighter from Japan, the carrier groups, and Korea in the air. Before I commit to a nuclear option, I want to hit them conventionally with everything we have. Simultaneous with the air strike, I want the Second ID to advance to meet the spearhead. Make up the orders. I want them on my desk confirming a nuclear-strike alert."

  "Yes, Mr. President."

  Niles closed his eyes. The words nuclear strike were out in the open.

  Jack Collins was their last hope for peace.

  THIRTY MILES SOUTH OF THE DMZ, SOUTH KOREA

  Major General Ton Shi Quang had just received the orders he had forced his Great Leader into giving him: "Attack with all offensive forces under your command."

  The Coalition's bold plan for North Korea was finally becoming a reality and was going to pay off far better than they had ever thought. Now he would order his army forward to crush Seoul and he would be far away by the time the Americans were forced to do what he knew they had to do. Long before the mushroom clouds started to spread along the border, he would be a thousand miles away.

  "Order the armored spearheads to advance at all possible speed; they will now be supported by the whole of the People's Army and air forces. Also inform my helicopter pilot I will be touring the advance from the air."

  After his aide left to give the order, the general looked around and was content. He nodded as he looked at the sand table once more as the small models of tank forces from both sides were very nearly converged.

  "Too bad; I believe we would have had a fighting chance this time around," he said to himself as he pulled on his gloves and walked away from the People's Army forever.

  16

  THE ATLANTEAN ACCESS TUNNEL

  The last sandbag went on top of the eight-pound charge of C-4 explosive. The echo-sound machine that Sarah had insisted on bringing had shown a large cavity underneath the roadway, but it could not tell them anything other than that. The hollow spot could mean almost anything, and Jack knew it. Their entire participation in this attack depended on what was down there.

  "Fire in the hole!" one of the SEAL team shouted.

  Ryan and Mendenhall covered Sarah as the loud crump was somewhat muted by the pile of sandbags that directed the blast downward. The tunnel shook, and they feared collapse until it settled.

  Collins shone a large light down inside the hole they had made and saw that there was indeed a bottom, and that was a start. He started peeling away equipment, but was stopped by Sarah, who had started handing off her own equipment to Mendenhall and Ryan.

  "Excuse me, Colonel, but I think this is my area of expertise, remember?"

  "Sorry, Lieutenant, I believe your job description is now that of an instructor in geology," he shot back, knowing that Sarah had originally been trained as a U.S. Army tunnel rat--what the army euphemistically called a person dumb enough and small enough to wriggle into places where only bad things could be lurking.

  "She's right, Colonel. And not only that, your going down first is a little off the beaten path for a command-type person such as yourself," Ryan said as he, too, handed off his equipment to Mendenhall. "And I believe this mission also calls for a gentleman of my ... uh ... limited stature."

  Jack looked at his two officers and then over at Everett.

  "I hate to say this, and I really do hate it, but Ryan's right, Colonel."

  As Mendenhall accepted Ryan's field pack, a small CD player fell out along with several CDs.

  "You didn't!" Will said, looking at Ryan.

  "Yeah, the colonel's music; it brought me good luck back in Africa."

  The marine major looked at the five people in front of him and then turned to the SEAL lieutenant.

  "Just who in the hell are these people?" he whispered.

  "I don't think we want to know," the SEAL answered.

  Hands-free SEAL headphones and silenced MP-5 machine guns were issued to Sarah and Ryan along with four pounds of C-4 and several flares.

  "Kind of reminds me a little of Arizona a couple of years back," Sarah joked, but then she looked around and saw the serious faces of the others. Mendenhall looked downright angry at the comparison because
they had all lost friends there and he didn't want to lose these two here.

  "Just watch your ass, Lieutenant," Jack ordered.

  Sarah shone her light into the hole and started down the ladder into the darkness below. Will slapped Ryan on the back and then stepped back and allowed him to follow.

  "Okay, Major, let's start getting our equipment off these trucks and get the men stripped down to something that'll allow them to fight in this heat. Upper-torso body armor only if they so choose," Everett ordered, as Collins watched the two lights disappear down below.

  At several places in the first hundred feet, the sewer walls had given way to forced magma movement. Sarah thought it was lucky beyond measure that the entire system had not filled up with the flow of hot stuff. One of the first sights they saw were skeletal remains. It looked as if the bodies had been citizens and soldiers. Some had the barest of armor still attached, literally, to their bones. Others had the bronze chest plates and grieves melted onto them.

  "Sarah, stop!" Ryan said.

  Sarah stopped in her tracks. They were close to a turn in the ancient sewer system. She looked back at Ryan and saw that he had his gloved hand placed against the tiled wall.

  "Feel it?" he asked.

  Sarah placed her hand on the wall. She felt it immediately. It was the same sensation as one would have if she placed her hand against a subway tunnel wall.

  "What do you think?"

  "I can't place it. It's not moving, but it builds in intensity and then settles before starting up again."

  "Construction?" Ryan asked.

  "Maybe. Come on, let's get our asses down the tunnel and find out."

  Sarah turned and started making her way along faster. Soon she noticed that with each step she took, her feet were sinking into ever-deeper water that had accumulated. This did not bode well, but she decided not to say anything to Ryan.

  Five minutes later, Sarah's shoulders slumped as she saw the cave-in from the roadway above. More parts of the ancient city had spilled into the sewer system. Columns, pieces of roadway, marble, sandstone houses, and more skeletons littered the sewage passage ahead.