Fatal Terrain

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Fatal Terrain Page 53

by Dale Brown


  been selected for 0-6, and you pin on next week?" No reac-

  tion from Willis. "That's great. I wish the Air Force had that

  frocking policy, pinning on your new rank as soon as you're

  selected for promotion. You Navy guys get the best of every-

  thing."

  "Mr. McLanahan.. - Colonel McLanahan," Willis re-

  lented, "I cannot allow these planes to be towed out onto the

  apron without prior approval."

  354 DALE BROWN

  "It's very important that we tow them out, Commander,"

  Nancy Cheshire said. Willis turned to look at the Air Force

  pilot. Willis had seen Cheshire out around the planes several

  times before, and although she was pretty enough, he had al-

  ways thought of her as a tomboy, probably a lesbian, and dis-

  missed her.

  Not this time. Her flight suit had been altered to accentuate

  her figure, and her flight suit's top zipper had been unzipped

  to mid-chest, revealing a more than ample bosom, firm and

  round. Her hair had been pinned up, revealing a long, slender

  neck. Her eyes were shining green, round and inviting, and he

  saw those eyes dip down to check him out, her lips opening

  up slightly as if she was impressed and perhaps a little excited

  about the dashing figure he thought he cut in his tropical

  whites.

  "Can't you give us clearance, just this once?" Cheshire

  implored him. "We'll be done in less than two hours, and

  -

  we'll have them back in the hangars by midnight." She hes

  itated, then added, "I'll notify you in person when we're fin-

  ished."

  Willis puffed up his chest, excited at that prospect but not

  ready to concede one bit. But that thought was quickly can-

  celed by a slight girlish grin on Cheshire's lips that spoke huge

  volumes to the Navy officer. Willis said, "I'm sorry, but I

  cannot allow the planes to leave the hangar without prior clear-

  ance." But he paused, then added, "But you may open both

  sides of the hangars and run engines inside."

  "We really need to do this outside."

  "Denied," Willis said. "Run engines inside the hangar, or

  not at all. "

  McLanahan shook his head, muttered something to himself,

  lowered his head in defeat, then nodded. "Very well, Com-

  mander. Inside the hangars only. It'll have to do. Thank you."

  "Notify me in my office when you are complete and closed

  up," Willis added, glancing again at Nancy Cheshire. She

  arched her eyebrows, silently asking the question, and he an-

  swered with an almost imperceptible nod.. lie stepped away,

  issued instructions to the federal marshal and his NCO in

  charge of the security detail, gave one last glance at Cheshire,

  who still had her eyes locked on him--on his butt, he

  guessed-and stepped away to his waiting Humvee.

  "Thank you, Commander," Patrick shouted after him-his

  FATAL T ER RAI N 355

  thanks were not acknowledged. He turned to the others with

  him: "Okay, gang, we can't do this outside, so the noise levels

  are going to be bad, but we'll have to make do. Let's run the

  'Before Starting Engines' checklist for ground engine-running

  maintenance first, then climb on board. We're all going to have

  to help out. Let's go."

  It took just a few minutes for the flight and maintenance

  crews to clear out the hangars and open up the double-ended

  hangar doors, and within half an hour the deafening sound of

  the Megafortress's huge jet engines could be heard. The Navy

  security guards put on noise protectors, but were still forced

  to retreat to their Humvees to escape the noise.

  Fortunately, shift change was coming up soon, so the guards

  wouldn't have to contend with the noise for too long. Sure

  enough, a radio report announced that relief crews were on the

  way, and the security guards packed up their equipment and

  got ready to depart when the oncoming crews reported in. At

  the same time, a long convoy of canvas-covered trailers moved

  from one of the hangars on the other side of the twin runways

  to the west, accompanied by the standard four annored vehi-

  cles, moving toward them. The guards were curious, but the

  relief crews were arriving, so it was their problem now.

  The relief-crew Humvee for the front of Hangar No. I

  stopped directly in front of the offgoing crew's Humvee, shin-

  ing their headlights directly into the offgoing crew's eyes. Six

  men stepped out, all wearing Navy-style integrated helmet-

  noise protectors; the oncoming detail chief carried the detail

  duty log and the weapon inventory sheets, as required. The

  Marine detail chief was going to get out and start the weapon

  inventory, but the oncoming detail chief was already at the

  door, holding the logs and inventory sheets out. His crew

  opened the doors in back and began to step out ...

  ... and then all hell seemed to break loose.

  Doors flew open. Guys were yelling something. Confusion.

  'Gas began to fill the interior of the Humvee. Doors were

  closed, then wedged shut. The headlights on the other Humvee

  snapped off. The sweet odor of the gas, a slight choking sen-

  sation ... then nothing.

  The doors were opened to ventilate the gas, and a guard

  wearing a gas mask pushed the unconscious offgoing detail

  crew chief over against the huge engine hump in the middle

  of the Humvee, jumped in behind the wheel, and drove off.

  T

  356 DALE BROWN

  Outside, Marine Gunnery Sergeant Chris Wohl raised a wal-

  kie-talkie to his lips. "Bravo check."

  "Bravo secure."

  "Copy. Break. Charlie check." One by one, Chris Wohl i

  checked in all the members of his fifty-man commando team.

  In less than a minute, Chris Wohl and the members of his

  Intelligence Support Agency special operations commando

  team, nicknamed Madcap Magician, had completely subdued

  the four entire Marine Corps security rifle platoons that had

  been guarding the five Megafortress hangars.

  "Break. Leopard. All secure." i

  "Copy," Air Force Major Harold Briggs, the commander

  of Madcap Magician, responded. Briggs, an ex-Air Force se-

  curity police commander at the HAWC, was in the lead Hum-

  vee escorting the convoy of trailers from the secure hangar

  that held the Megafortress's weapons-his team had subdued

  the Marines guarding the weapons while Wohl's team had

  taken down the guards surrounding the planes. The convoy

  was ushered into the hangars, while another long convoy

  emerged from the weapons hangar on its way to the planes.

  Several Humvees converged on Hangar No. I as its engines

  were shut down. As each crew member climbed out of the

  planes, they did a very unmilitary-like thing-they gave each

  Madcap Magician commando a hug. "Damn it all, it's good

  to see you, Hal," Elliott said. Neither had seen the other since

  the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center had been

  closed.

  "Same here, General," Briggs said. "You look like a mil-

  lion
freakin' bucks, sir."

  "Don't bullshit a bullshitter, Hal," Elliott said. "I feel like

  shit. But I'm sure glad you're here."

  "We weren't going to miss this party for all the nukes in

  China, boss," Briggs said. He motioned to Chris Wohl.

  "Chris, you remember General Elliott, right?"

  "Of course. How are you, sir?" Wohl said, shaking hands

  with the retired three-star general. Wohl and Elliott first met

  while preparing for a secret rescue mission to Lithuania, when

  Wohl had been asked to train McLanahan, Briggs, and another

  HAWC commander, now dead, in enough commando-style

  tactics so they could safely accompany a Marine Force Recon

  team. Wohl had been against the entire plan, but had been

  convinced to carry on by Brad Elliott himself.

  AL@

  FATA L T E R RA I N 357

  "Peachy, Gunny, peachy," Elliott responded. "Glad to

  have you along. Thanks for the help."

  "Nothing to it," Wohl said matter-offactly. "This entire

  detachment needed a good ass-kicking. They were way too

  complacent. I was happy to give it to them."

  "I brought along a guy who said he knew a little about B-

  52s," Briggs said. Out of the Humvee came a gentleman a

  little younger than Elliott. "You remember Paul White, don't

  you, sir?"

  "Damn right I do," Elliott said happily, and they exchanged

  handshakes, then embraces.

  "Good to see you again, General," White said. Paul White

  was a retired Air Force colonel, an electronics engineering

  expert who'd been assigned to Patrick McLanahan's bomber

  base years earlier. Upon retirement from active military duty,

  White had become the original commander of the Central In-

  telligence Agency-sponsored unit called Madcap Magician.

  White's unit had been involved in the Iranian conflict earlier

  that year; White himself had been captured by the Iranians.

  Although he had been rescued unharmed by Briggs, Wohl, and

  the other surviving members of Madcap Magician, White had

  been decertified from intelligence work and forced to retire.

  "I bear we're going to kick some Chinese butt. Can't wait to

  fire up those turbofans."

  The real reunion came when Patrick and Wendy McLanahan

  emerged and greeted Hal Briggs. These three had first been

  together years earlier in the original Megafortress project

  started by Brad Elliott, when Patrick and Wendy had been

  selected by Elliott to help design and test-fly the first Mega-

  fortress, a modified B-52 nicknamed "Old Dog." That test

  program started ten years earlier had suddenly become an op-

  erational mission when Elliott and his crew of engineers and

  flyers had flown the Old Dog over the Soviet Union to destroy

  a ground-based laser site that had been shooting down Amer-

  ican satellites, and threatening an intercontinental nuclear war

  between the superpowers. The bastardized mission had been a

  success, and the ragtag test crew had become the centerpiece

  of the Air Force's most highly classified installation, the High

  Technology Aerospace Weapons Center, nicknamed Dream-

  land.

  "I never thanked you for helping my ass over Iran, Pat-

  rick," Hal Briggs said. "I knew you were up there doing shit,

  358 DALE BROWN

  1 knew it! I heard the Iranians launching every SAM and triple-

  A projectile they had, and I knew it was either a raid by every

  bomber in the fleet, or a couple Screamers launched by Patrick

  McLanahan. Thank you for saving my narrow ass, brother."

  "My distinct pleasure," Patrick said. He shook hands with

  Wohl. "Good to see you, Gunny. Great work taking over this

  airfield. I don't think the Marines will ever know what hit

  them."

  "It was no problem, sir," Wohl responded. He motioned to

  his Humvee, and two of Wohl's commandos brought out Corn-

  mander Willis. "I thought you should explain -things to the

  commander." Wohl ripped the piece of duct tape off the Navy

  commander's face, leaving a cherry-red mark on either side of

  the angry officer's face.

  "I will see you thrown in prison for the rest of your life,

  McLanahan!" Willis shouted. "This is a complete outrage!

  You are nothing but a criminal and a traitor!"

  "I'm taking what belongs to me, Eldon," Patrick said.

  "We're going to keep you and your men nice and safe and

  out of the way. I'm sure you'll be found shortly after we've

  departed."

  "Where the, hell do you think you're going to go, Mc-

  Lanahan?" Willis spat angrily. "Where do you think you're

  going to hide five fucking B-52 bombers? You might as well

  give yourselves up now. Or maybe you can just defect to Rus-

  sia or China or wherever the hell you're headed, you lousy

  stinking traitors! "

  "I'm not going to defect, Eldon-we're going to fight,"

  Patrick said. He nodded to Wohl, who nodded to his men, who

  wrapped another long piece of duct tape over Willis's mouth.

  "Get him out of here, Gunny," McLanahan said.

  "With pleasure, sir," Wohl said hurnorlessly.

  Patrick turned to Hal Briggs. "The rest of the flight crews t

  were taken off the island and sent back to the States," Patrick

  said, "so we've only got enough flight crews for one plane.

  We're going to load all the weapons we can on Jon Masters's

  DC-10 launch plane, and upload all the defensive weaponry

  we can on the bombers themselves. We're short on mainte-

  nance crews too, so we've got to do a lot of the loading and

  preflight stuff ourselves, so we can use all the help your guys

  can give us. After the Redtail Hawk mission, I figured your

  FATAL TER RAI N 359

  troops are somewhat familiar with loading air-to-mud stuff on

  bombers."

  "You got it, Patrick," Briggs said, rubbing his hands to-

  gether with sheer excitement. "Man, this is great! Do I get to

  go flying this time?"

  " We're way short on crew members, so we can use all the

  help we can get."

  "In that case, I brought along someone who might help,"

  Briggs said. He motioned to his 14umvee, and a single man

  stepped out. It was hard to see his face in the glare of the

  headlights ...

  ... but Patrick McLanahan knew who it was the minute he

  stepped out of the vehicle, even without seeing his face, and

  the brotherly embrace they shared in the glare of the Humvee's

  headlights was genuine and tearful. "My God, Dave, it's really

  you, it's really fucking you," Patrick breathed, his voice

  choked with emotion. Wendy, Briggs, and Brad Elliott joined

  the two, and they all clustered around one another like a close-

  knit family reunited after many painful years.

  David Luger and Patrick McLanahan had once formed the

  Air Force's most effective bombing team ever. Because of

  their skill, knowledge, expertise, and seamless teamwork, they

  had both been selected by Brad Elliott for the secret "Old

  Dog" project. When the test project had suddenly turned into

  an operational mission, together Patrick, Luger, Wendy,
Brad

  Elliott, and two more crew members, now dead, had success-

  fully attacked and destroyed the Soviet anti-satellite laser site.

  But the crew had been forced to land their battle-damaged

  plane on an abandoned Soviet airfield in eastern Siberia. The

  crew had managed to steal enough fuel to depart the base, but

  in the battle that ensued after they refueled the EB-52, Dave

  Luger had left the bomber to draw fire from the Red Army

  soldiers that had arrived. His heroic actions had allowed the

  Megafortress and the rest of the crew to escape, but he had

  been severely wounded and left behind in the frozen wastes.

  Luger had been feared dead and was nearly forgotten until

  Paul White and members of Madcap Magician, performing a

  daring rescue inside a secret Soviet research facility in the

  Baltic republic of Lithuania, had discovered Luger inside the

  same facility-White had been a simulator instructor and de-

  signer with David and Patrick McLanahan at Ford Air Force

  Base in California, and he'd recognized Luger instantly. White

  360 DALE BROWN

  had contacted Brad Elliott, who'd combined forces with Mad-

  cap Magician and Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant Chris Wohl

  and mounted a covert rescue mission. David Luger had been

  returned safely to the United States, but had had to be placed

  in security isolation because he had been declared dead, and

  his sudden reappearance would have caused questions about

  the then-classified "Old Dog" project.

  Patrick McLanahan's longtime partner David Luger re-

  turned the embrace, crying like a child and pounding Patrick's

  back with joy. "Hal told me you were going flying, and that

  it might be illegal, so we decided to go all the way and spring

  me out of security isolation," Luger said in his familiar Texas

  drawl. "He filled me in on the way. I guess we're not so

  classified after all, are we?"

  Patrick was still not believing his partner and best friend

  was standing in front of him. "God, Dave, I still can't believe

  this," Patrick gasped. "Man, a whole lot of shit has happened

  since I saw you last. I never thought either one of us would

 

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