The Last Phoenix

by Richard Herman

  Gus stood at the wall map, his eyes fixed on the Taman Negara. “We need to do something about that.”

  Central Malaysia

  Thursday, October 7

  The night air steamed around the five men as they pushed their way up a small stream. They rounded a bend, and a cloud of gnats descended on them, burrowing under the straps of their night-vision goggles. Tel kept moving, and soon they were in the open and free of the irritating insects. He checked his watch. They had been evading through the jungle for eight hours, and he planned to make good use of the hours remaining before sunrise. Aware that his night-vision goggles were growing dim, he called for a break to replace the batteries. He motioned his men to cover on one bank and told a corporal to retrace their steps to stand lookout. He quickly replaced the batteries, but before donning the goggles, he checked their position with his GPS. They were making good time and should make the rendezvous with Kamigami that afternoon. He decided to take a break.

  The corporal was back, his hand flashing a warning—soldiers were coming. Tel could hardly credit that their pursuers had kept up, and that irritated him more than the gnats. He decided to end it. He slipped out of his bergen and sent his men into a quick-reaction drill. But this time it was not for practice. Satisfied that they were ready, he and the corporal moved back downstream. They didn’t have to wait long.

  Two men waded upstream, their weapons at the ready. They passed by, and four more soldiers came into view. Tel let them also go by. A sixth man brought up the rear, his eyes darting from side to side. He angled over to the bank directly below the corporal and sat down, his back to them. At first Tel couldn’t determine what he was doing. Then the distinctive smell of urine wafted back to him. The soldier was relieving himself as he sat on the sloping bank. Tel pointed to the soldier and made a chopping motion with his hand. The corporal nodded and silently moved out of cover. He took two quick steps and rabbit-punched the side of the soldier’s neck. But it didn’t work. The man screamed twice before the corporal could pound him into silence.

  Tel unlimbered his MP5 as loud shouts echoed from upstream. A grenade exploded, followed by five quick bursts of submachine-gun fire. A soldier stumbled back downstream, and Tel fired twice, putting two bullets in his head. He waded out to make sure the soldier was dead as another body came floating down. He dragged both bodies to the bank and quickly searched them.

  “What do I do with this one?” the corporal asked, standing over the unconscious body.

  “Drain it,” Tel said.

  Washington, D.C.

  Wednesday, October 6

  Bobbi Jo Reynolds’s voice was flat and unemotional as she tallied the fallout from the previous evening’s debate. “Most of the media are repeating verbatim what that asshole said.” Like Shaw, she refused to call David Grau by his name. But for the other five people gathered with the president in the Oval Office for the afternoon recap, her words were the death rattle of Turner’s election campaign. “What’s amazing,” Reynolds said, “is who has not jumped on the bandwagon. The Washington Times, of all things, and CNC-TV have adopted a wait-and-see attitude.”

  “The polls aren’t quite as bad,” Parrish said. “But the trending is down. Grau and group are hitting us with too many unanswered charges. The GAO has issued a report highly critical of the AVG, and Congress is getting on board. The Senate is going ahead with the investigation into the fall of King Khalid Military City, and Leland is pushing for the hearings to begin before the election.”

  Turner rocked back in her chair, feeling the gloom in the air. “That’s nice of him.” Her instincts told her it was time for the half-time locker-room pep talk. But how much could she tell them without compromising the impending operations in the Gulf? “Please trust me on this. We have to hunker down for the next few hours and take the hits. But we come out swinging tomorrow. Until then no comment to the press or anyone else.” From the look on Bobbi Jo’s face, Turner knew she wasn’t reaching her.

  The door opened and Nancy entered. “Madam President, it’s time for the afternoon briefing in the Situation Room.”

  Turner stood up, a decision made. “Bobbi Jo, please join us. I think you’ll find it very interesting.” She led the way down to the basement, discussing the next day’s schedule with Parrish. Bobbi Jo followed, not sure why she was there.

  Wilding was waiting with the ExCom, eager to start the briefing. He glanced at Bobbi Jo and arched an eyebrow. “Bobbi Jo is taking Patrick’s place,” Turner said. She patted the chair where Shaw normally sat. Suddenly Bobbi Jo understood. Patrick Flannery Shaw was gone, and she was now walking in his shoes.

  “Madam President, ladies and gentlemen,” Wilding said, “Operation Saracen will commence in two minutes.” The big center monitor came to life with a map of northern Iraq on the screen. It zoomed onto the area where the Tigris River flowed south across the Turkey-Iraq border. “Two German panzer regiments with one hundred thirty-four Leopard tanks and lighter armored vehicles are in position to sweep down the eastern bank of the Tigris. The first objective is Mosul, eighty miles away.”

  “When do they expect to reach Mosul?” Turner asked.

  “If everything goes as planned,” Wilding answered, “within twenty-four hours.” The left screen came on with a report that the Iraqi air-defense net was reporting massive air strikes against its northern radar net and missile sites. “Luftwaffe Tornados launching out of the airbase at Diyarbakir in Turkey are tasked with kicking the door open,” Wilding said. He watched the screen as Iraqi radar and missile sites disappeared from the map one by one. “It appears the door is open.” He called up the latest information being downlinked from an orbiting Joint Stars aircraft. A remarkably detailed radar picture of vehicular movement along the northern Turkey-Iraq border appeared on the right screen. He used a laser pointer to indicate a bright line. “This is as near real-time as we can get. This radar return is an armored column.” More information appeared on the screen, identifying and classifying the vehicles. “Definitely German,” he said, his lips a grim line.

  “So they’re off to a good start,” Vice President Kennett said.

  “They’ve started as planned,” Wilding replied.

  Butler looked worried. “A plan never survives the first thirty seconds of combat,” he intoned.

  For the first time in four weeks, Wilding smiled. “I think this one will. And for good reason. The first convoy arrived eighteen hours early and is docking as we speak. We will have the troops and equipment in place and ready to commence Operation Anvil Monday. The Air Force has destroyed the tunnels at the northern end of Saddam’s Spider, and nothing is moving on the southern end.” He looked at his president with deep respect. “Madam President, your strategy to trap the bulk of the UIF in the Spider was brilliant.”

  Bobbi Jo couldn’t contain herself. “When can we go public with this?”

  “For now,” Turner replied, “we’re not. We’re simply going to let the facts speak for themselves.” She looked around the table. “I’ve got an election to win. Is there anything else?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Butler said. “But given the sensitivity, perhaps it would be best if Miss Reynolds…”

  “Bobbi Jo,” Turner said, “would you be kind enough to meet with me later?”

  Butler waited until Reynolds had left. “Madam President, I’m very worried about Malaysia. If I may.” He punched at a hand controller, and the center screen changed to a map of central Malaysia. “The PLA is pushing hard down the center of the peninsula. SEAC’s main forces have taken up a defensive line anchored on the town of Segamat and are reported in contact with advanced elements of the PLA. The analysts at DIA don’t think SEAC can hold Segamat and will have to fall back to here.” He pointed to Camp Alpha. “Alpha is not defensible, and my analysts expect it to fall within days. There is nothing between Alpha and Singapore to stop them.”

  Turner stood up. “How soon before we can redeploy to Malaysia?”

  “We have some har
d fighting ahead of us in the Gulf,” Wilding said. “Without Operation Anvil, the Germans are at risk.”

  “I’m not asking for you to be a miracle worker,” Turner told him.

  Wilding thought for a moment. “Two weeks at the earliest.”

  Bobbi Jo floated back to her office on the second floor of the West Wing. Grau, she thought, calling up an image of a barbecued seal, you’re dead meat. She sat down at her desk and kicked back as it all fell into place. “Lordy, Lord, Lord,” she sang. “Patrick, you should have been there.” She cocked her head, thinking. She rummaged in her gigantic handbag for the tape cassette he had given her at the debate. The clarity of the tape surprised her when she played it, and she instantly recognized Leland’s voice. Is that the secretary of defense? she wondered. Where did Shaw get this? She replayed it, and all the pieces fell into place. “Oh, my God!”

  Shaw had trained her well.

  Twenty-nine

  Malaysia

  Thursday, October 7

  It was still dark when the pilots gathered at the back of the hardened shelter for the mass briefing. Pontowski and Maggot stood at the back while Waldo went down the lineup, detailing each pilot to an aircraft and going over the ATO Pontowski had delivered just after midnight. In principle it was simple enough. SEAC wanted them to keep two A-10s for close air support on station throughout daylight hours, with two more on five-minute alert. When the first two had expended their ordnance or had to return to base to refuel, the two alert birds would launch. Then two more Hogs would come on status, ready to launch in five minutes. But as Waldo pointed out, the simple things are always hard. Then he turned it over to an Intelligence officer to update the situation.

  It was the young lieutenant’s first briefing, and his face was somber and his voice matter-of-fact as he reviewed what they were up against. “The PLA is in contact with SEAC here, sixty miles to the northwest.” He pointed to the town of Segamat. “If the PLA can capture the bridge across the river at Segamat, there’ll only be three minor river crossings, all fordable, between them and us.”

  “Can we go home now?” a pilot called.

  “I’m working on it,” the lieutenant replied, never missing a beat.

  The weapons and tactics officer was next. He quickly outlined how the Singapore Air Force would have two F-16s on station for SEAD, or suppression of enemy air defenses. SEAD was a three-dimensional chess game in which the goal was to kill surface-to-air missiles and cheating was required. Then it was Maggot’s turn. “This is the big Kahuna,” he told them, “the reason we’re here. Let’s do it right.”

  The pilot called Neck, short for Red Neck, taxied his heavily loaded Hog into position on Waldo’s left side. He gave Waldo the high sign that he was ready to go. Waldo ran his engines up and released his brakes. Neck punched at the clock on his instrument panel, starting the elapsed-time hand. Fifteen seconds later he ran his engines up and, when the second hand touched twenty, released his brakes. The Hog rolled down the runway, slowly at first, then gaining speed. He eased the stick back, and the nose gear came unstuck. He caught a glimpse of Pontowski standing beside his car at the first taxiway intersection. Just as he lifted off, Pontowski threw him a salute.

  Waldo turned out to the left, giving Neck cutoff room to join up. Neck slid into an easy route formation on the left. “Fence check,” Waldo ordered. Neck’s hands flew over the switches, making sure his Hog was ready for combat. He double-checked everything, leaving only the master arm switch in the off position. Four minutes later Waldo radioed the ALO, the air-liaison officer, at Segamat. The ALO cleared them into the area and told them to contact the FAC, the forward air controller, on the ground. High above, two F-16s cut a graceful arc, trolling for action. Almost immediately Neck’s radar warning gear was screaming at him. He glanced at the scope. A monopulse radar was active, signifying a SAM launch. Above him, the two F-16s jinked hard, splitting apart. One rolled in on a target, buried its nose, and then pulled up. A missile streaked by, not able to turn with the F-16. The F-16 did a violent Split-S as a second missile flashed by. Then the second F-16 was in. An antiradiation missile leaped from under its left wing. It was Neck’s first combat mission, and he would not have believed the speed of the antiradiation missile if he hadn’t seen it. His warning gear continued to scream at him, and he turned the volume down. He saw a flash on the ground, and his RWR gear went quiet. The antiradiation missile had done its job.

  Waldo contacted the FAC, who asked if he had the green smoke on the northern edge of town in sight. “Affirmative,” Waldo answered, his voice calm. The FAC cleared them to engage any target north or northwest of the green smoke. “Understand cleared in hot,” Waldo transmitted. “Take spacing,” he ordered, dropping to the deck. As they had briefed before taking off, Neck peeled off to the left and leveled off at a hundred feet above the ground to run in at a cross angle behind Waldo. He double-checked his armament-control panel: bombs ripple, stations three and nine, high drag, nose fusing, gun high rate of fire. He was ready. He breathed faster. Ahead of him, Waldo was pulling off, and he saw the silver ballutes, inflatable balloon/parachutes, deploy behind each bomb, slowing them so Waldo could scamper to safety and avoid the bombs’ blast.

  “Your six is clear,” Neck radioed. “I’m in.” He headed for the road running north out of the town. Four trucks and what looked like two armored vehicles were at his ten o’clock position. People were scattering in all directions, running for cover. He pulled back on the stick and popped to fifteen hundred feet. He rolled the Hog and apexed at eighteen hundred feet, too high, as he brought the nose around, placing the lead vehicle at the top of his HUD, or head-up display. The target moved down the projected bomb-impact line and into the bomb reticle. Looking good. He depressed the pickle button so the system would automatically release the bombs when all delivery parameters were met. For a fraction of a second the pipper was on the target, centered in the bomb reticle. Six bombs should have rippled off the ejection racks, but nothing happened.

  “Go through dry and check your switches,” Waldo radioed.

  Neck’s eyes darted over the armament-control panel. The master arm switch was still off, and he suppressed a groan. He had made a switchology error. Furious with himself, he ruddered the Hog around, now determined to kill the trucks and armored vehicles. He moved the master arm switch to the down position. A mental Klaxon sounded, warning him not to pop to altitude. He firewalled the throttles and stayed low as he ran in. The black boxes in the A-10’s weapon-release systems did their magic, and this time six bombs separated cleanly, walking across the trucks.

  He pulled off to the left. “Flares!” Waldo shouted over the radio. Neck hit the flare switch on the right throttle. Eight flares popped out behind him just as a Grail homed in. The shoulder-fired missile exploded, sending high-explosive fragmentation into the tail of Neck’s Warthog. The aircraft shuddered as he fought for control. He rolled the wings level as four high-explosive twenty-three-millimeter rounds passed overhead. A fifth round hit the left side of the fuselage, just below the canopy rail, while eight more rounds passed underneath.

  Pontowski sat back in his chair, his feet up, chin on his chest, as Waldo debriefed the mission. The words came at him in packets of bad news, telling a tale he had heard many times. “Switchology error…reattacked…my fault, should have been one pass, haul ass…a Grail and ZSU-23 working together…bad juju.” Waldo stood there. “So do we keep at it?”

  It was a fair question that demanded an answer. Pontowski looked at Maggot, not willing to take the decision away from him. The monkey was on Maggot’s back, and he knew it. “It’s the first goddamned ten days of combat,” Maggot said. “If we can get a jock through it, his chances of survival go sky high.” He paced the floor. “Neck made three basic mistakes. A switchology error, he hung around to reattack when he should have gotten the hell out of Dodge, and he was late hitting the flare switch.”

  He stared over their heads and thought out loud. “A Grail alo
ne can’t do it. It messes up the control surfaces something fierce, but the Hog can handle that. And the tub normally works.” The tub was the titanium armor plating that surrounded the A-10’s cockpit like a bathtub. “We know the F-16s can get their heads down.” He made the decision. “As long as we got F-16s for SEAD, we keep flying. Brief the pilots that from now on it’s one pass, haul ass, stay in the weeds, keep the flares coming, and jink like a son of a bitch.”

  “Too bad it cost us a Hog to relearn what we already knew,” Waldo said.

  Maggot reached for the phone, punched the button for the med clinic, and asked to speak to Ryan. “Hey, Doc, how’s Neck?” He listened for a moment. “Good enough. Give him back when you’re done.”

  Central Malaysia

  Thursday, October 7

  It was late afternoon when Tel and his team reached the rendezvous point. It was just a spot in the jungle, totally devoid of distinctive features, and Tel checked his GPS. Certain they were at the correct coordinates, he sent his men into defensive fire positions. “Very good,” a voice said from the shadows.

  Tel shook his head. “We never saw you.”

  “You weren’t supposed to,” Kamigami replied. “How’d it go?”

  “Lost the lieutenant when we stumbled into a guard post. But we cleared the bridge as planned. The A-10s were on time, but one was shot down before it could release its bombs. We were taking counterbattery fire and had to withdraw.”

  Kamigami appreciated his understatement. “And the bridge?” Kamigami asked.

  “The last I saw, it was still standing. I don’t know if the AVG went back after it or not. We had other problems. I got to admit, those bastards chasing us were good. Luckily, it was night, or we would’ve never made it.”

  Kamigami asked him more questions and reconstructed the mission, approving of the way he had ambushed his pursuers. Without doubt, Tel had proven himself. “We’ve got marching orders,” he told the young man. “We’re going after the Scuds in the Taman Negara. We rendezvous with three helicopters tomorrow morning and switch out the men before insertion.”