by Bob Thomas
Dedication
To those who have dedicated their lives to the service of this country
Acknowledgment
Special thanks to
former Petty Officer James E. Walker United States Navy
USS Sea Devil (submariner) and
Lt. Colonel Rex Schlagenhauf
United States Air Force (ret)
who contributed their technical expertise to the writing of this work
The Bear © Robert Thomas 2015
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced by any means without the written permission of the author or his representatives
This is a work of fiction.
All characters and events portrayed are products of the author’s imagination
The Bear
Alaska Air Command 13:00 h
The screen blurred as the white bar continued its unending sweep. Day in, day out. It never changed. He reached up and pinched the corners of his eyes by his nose. Two more hours, that’s all he needed, two more hours on duty. He leaned back, throwing his arms above his head, trying to stretch. He felt the kink between his shoulder blades tighten. Nothing seemed to help. The dingy white ceiling tiles above, stained from the endless leaking above showed their years of use. He adjusted himself in his seat. Why couldn’t they give them some good chairs to sit in? He hated this one; its fake leather surface was peeling like a cheap whore. He smiled at the thought. His mother wouldn’t have liked him to say something like that.
The single tone that slipped through his headset made him blink. He turned his head from side to side, a crack of the neck a welcome relief. He focused his attention on the screen and watched as the single dot began to turn into a line.
“Capt’n? We have a contact.”
“Any F/F?”
“No sir, no friend or foe info.”
“Log it and let me know.”
“Yes sir, but I think it’s a biggie. The return is too strong for a Piper or something.”
“Let me look. They really need to do something about the private aircraft up here, damn it. These locals are all over the place.”
“It’s the only way to deliver supplies to most of Alaska, sir. Can’t do much about the weather up here, and the roads suck in the winter.” The airman manning the screen had been on this tour for a couple of years. His captain was a newbie.
“I hear ya.” The sound of his boots on the hard floor echoed across the room before falling silent. Captain Will Jenner looked down at the screen and was instantly greeted with multiple returns. “Holy shit! I thought you said there was only one dot?”
Their actions were immediate, a well-practiced drill that honed their skills without a scrap of emotion. The receiver for the dedicated land-line made its connection immediately.
“Command Five, this is Diamond Command. We have multiple inbound bogeys. Scramble Charlie Six. Repeat. Scramble Charlie Six.”
“Charlie Six, roger Diamond Command. Scramble Charlie Six, came the hollow reply.”
“They really need to upgrade this equipment some day. I’ll bet this stuff was what my grandfather used back in the eighties,” the operator said with a sly grin.
“It was, airman. And it worked just fine back then too.”
The deep voice that poured into the room brought everyone but the station operators to their feet. As the smoke from his cigar swirled around his weathered face, General Nathan Dulles’ presence in the command center was immediately acknowledged. After surveying the room, he bounded over to the display. He was hands-on, and everyone knew it. He came up through the ranks, earning the respect of the enlisted along the way.
“General,” Jenner said as he nodded toward his CO. Dulles nodded back as he looked to the display.
“Only the screen has been updated since my time in this unit, airman. You might be sitting in the same chair I did”
“Sir?”
“What’cha got?”
“Multiple traces inbound off the coast. Big ones, sir.”
“From Russia?”
“Looks that way, sir.”
“What have we done about it?”
“Six Raptors from Elmendorf, sir.”
“Skip the ‘sir’, airman.”
“Yes, sss…” The operator cleared his throat before continuing his report. The general was one not to stand on ceremony while in the command center, but it was a difficult habit to break. “They seemed to come out of nowhere. First,” he tapped the display, “this showed up followed quickly by all these others.”
“Hmm, likely a jamming bird. Wonder why they showed up all of a sudden?”
“Perhaps their jammer had a problem. Or maybe they just turned it off to get our attention,” Jenner remarked.
“Could be, Captain. The Russians have a funny way of doing things to antagonize us.” Dulles turned away from the display as a new string of traces, these with a set of numbers, showed up on the screens.
“Raptors showing on the screen.”
“How far out?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“Damn, too slow.”
“They’ll probably just turn back, General. They usually do.”
“But not before we show ‘em the business side of our wings, Captain. Nothing like the thought of an AMRAAM up your tail to make someone think twice.”
Alaska 13:20 h
The clear skies, as blue as any he could remember were painted serenely above his canopy. What few clouds inhabited the heavens were no more than wispy strings of cotton stretched well past their breaking point. It was a sharp contrast to the stark white ground that passed quickly below his fighter, thirty-thousand feet below. Visibility wasn’t an issue; he could see the curvature of the earth in all its glory. Picking out small dots racing at him at over 1200 knots was another matter. Fortunately he was at the stick of the most advanced fighter on earth, and he had five friends beside him.
“Roger that. I have a vector on them.” Captain Daryl Wills, call sign Chipmunk, followed the line on his display. He was the lead Raptor in the Red Diamond sortie. The avionics in his fighter were the coolest he’d ever seen, one of the reasons he wanted a chance to fly them, even if it meant relocating to Alaska. He’d come a long way just to be in this position, in the action. Within five minutes, the challenge was made.
“Unknown rider, unknown rider, you have violated United States airspace. You are ordered to turn away.” The crackle over his headset was the only answer he received.
“Perhaps you should speak Russian to them.”
“Can the chatter, Sweeper,” Wills said, shooting his rebuke toward his team. We’ve got work to do.” He flipped the mike again. “Neizvestnyi vsadnik, neizvestnyi vsadnik, vy narushali vozdushnoe prostranstvo Soedinennykh Shatov. Prikazyvaiu vam povernut'sia” He was left again with nothing but static.
“Holy crap! I didn’t know you spoke Russian.”
“Okay boys. Seems like they want to play hardball today. Just like we practiced, okay?”
The Raptors broke formation just as four of the bogeys split off from their own. The number of blips on Chipmunk’s display increased by a third.
“We’ve got trouble. There’s more than we thought.” Chipmunk looked at his display and quickly evaluated his options. “Execute Tango-Sierra.”
The Raptors widened their formation as the bogeys bore down on their unchanging path. Captain Wills and his wingman flew headlong into the oncoming aircraft, nearly sideswiping four, large Tu-160 Blackjack bombers. The Raptors banked left, pulling up hard and coming in behind the bombers on their six.
“Where are the other planes?”
“Holy shit. They damn near took my tail off.”
“What did?”
“A Mig-29. Damn, the other’s right up behind u
s.”
“Same over here. How’d they get there?”
“Get ‘em off your tale, Sweeper.”
“Roger that.” He pulled hard banking away from the bomber’s flightpath.
Captain Wills closed in above the Blackjacks hoping to draw the Migs off his fighters, staying above the bombers to avoid the turbulent vortex from their wingtips.
“Put the audio on speaker and turn it up,” Dulles ordered.
“Yes sir.”
The airman jabbed his finger on a button, reached to the slide and eased it upward. The crackle jumped into the command center as well as multiple frantic conversations.
“Who’s in command?”
“Captain Daryl Wills,” Captain Jenner replied. “I’ve known him for a couple years. Good pilot.”
“He better be a damn good one right now,” Dulles replied.
All other actions in the command center came to a halt as everyone listened, and focused on the display. The chatter blaring over the speaker heated up.
“Break right! Break right!”
“He’s still there. Gonna roll!”
“What the …. Shit man. Shit!”
“Someone took a shot!”
“Who? Where’s it at?”
“Just flying off to nowhere. Damn it.”
“Damn it, who shot it?”
“Not us. Someone from behind me. Didn’t even come close. I didn’t hear a tone. Might be a drone shot to get us off guard, try to get us to shoot.”
“I’m lighting up the bomber. Let ‘em hear this in their headset. I’ll bet it sounds the same in Russian.” Captain Daryl Wills engaged his targeting radar and it easily locked on the slower planes. Although they were supersonic bombers, they weren’t a match for his Raptor’s maneuverability. To his surprise, they didn’t even flinch.
“We got escorts on our tale, Chipmunk.”
“We do? Let’s just see how close we can get to this bomber. That’ll back ‘em off.”
“What’s he going to do?” Dulles was suddenly on edge.
“I’m not sure, General.”
“He’d better not fire or I’ll have his ass.”
“That MIG’s lighting us up, Chipmunk.”
“He won’t fire. He’ll hit his own planes. Even a dumb Ivan knows he can’t splash a pretty new bomber. I’m going in close, stay with me.”
“Roger Chipmunk. On your six. What’re you gonna do?”
“I’m just going to give him a little nudge.”
Captain Wills swallowed hard and brought his streaking fighter directly above the last bomber in the formation. He could see the silhouette of the Russian pilot painted against the window. He knew he had to be careful; one blast of turbulence and it could all be over. He eased his fighter around the tip of the bomber’s wing, bringing himself below before sliding his own wing underneath.
“How long before they make the coast?”
“They’ll be within fifty miles before I end this sentence, General. Less than ten minutes to the coast, if they don’t turn back.”
“Get me the line to Elmendorf, airman.”
“Yes sir.”
General Dulles sneered again at the ‘sir’ comment, but said nothing. In times of stress, fall back on your training. That’s what you do. He had an operator on the other end in seconds.
“This is General Dulles. Get me General Foxx.” The other end of the line had another voice seconds later.
“Allan? Nate. We have Blackjacks and Migs on the coast. They’re not turning back.”
“What’s in the air, Nate?”
“Six Raptors are with them.”
“Want to send up more?”
“Naw, too many in the mix might make it worse.”
“What do you want from me?”
“You just need to be on higher alert in case something else happens. Maybe it’s nothing.”
“You need an E-3?”
“Not a bad idea. Won’t help me here, but we might need it north.”
“I’ll send one up over the pole to make sure no one is sneaking in behind Santa Clause.”
“Thanks Al.” The phone hit the console as Dulles returned to the display just in time to hear …
“Aw shit!”
“What the hell happened?”
“Chipmunk’s going down! Chipmunk’s going down! So is the bear. They must’ve clipped wings somehow!”
“Red Diamond. Red Diamond. Pull back. Pull back.”
“Who’s order?”
“Diamond Command, General Dulles. Clear the area, Red Diamond. That’s an order.”
“Sir, the Raptors are peeling off.”
“What are the Russians doing?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Damn. Jenner, get rescue in the air, pronto. No one can survive out there this time of year.”
“Yes sir.” Jenner turned to the console on his right, lifted the phone and gave the order to launch helos out from the coast. “Sir?”
“Yes?”
“There’s a Navy exercise …”
“Do it!”
Jenner nodded as the airman dialed in the number.
“General, the Russians are veering off, turning away.”
“Bout damn time. Keep me posted, Captain.” Dulles’ words faded as he stormed out of the command center, his cigar smoke training behind.
The White House 14:30 h
Mary Higgins lifted the phone and gave her standard answer.
“White House Chief of Staff’s office. How may I help you?”
“Mary? This is General Scott from DOD. Is Marty in? It’s really important.”
“Yes General. He just returned from a luncheon. I’ll get him for you.” She punched a single button, putting the line on hold. ‘It’s always important’, she thought to herself. ‘Wonder what would happen if it was really, really important’. Another button connected her to the president’s chief of staff’s desk. “Mr. Powell? General Scott is on line four.”
“General Scott. What can I do for you today?”
“Big trouble, Martin.”
“Really!” The words made Martin Powell sit up straight in his chair. Fitzroy Scott was not one to mince words. Trouble meant real trouble. “What’s happening?”
“One of our fighters tangled with a Russian bomber over our airspace. Both went down.”
“What the … “ The chief of staff cleared his throat, nearly choking on the news. “You don’t mince words, General. Where did it happen?”
“Over Alaska. They were directly over the coastline when they tangled up.”
“How the hell does one of our pilots hit a Backfire bomber?” Marty Powell leaned forward on his desk, his forehead coming to rest in his palm. “Those things should have been put out of their misery years ago. Do you mean they actually hit each other?”
“Not exactly, sir. It was a Blackjack bomber. We’re still investigating exactly what happened.”
“Holy crap. That’s the newer one. That means they weren’t just playing around.”
“I’m afraid not, at least that’s the same thing I’m thinking. I don’t have all the answers yet.”
“Let me know as soon as you do, General.” He leaned back into his padded office chair again, rubbing his closed eyes. “I can’t put this off. Facts or not, I have to tell the president.”
“I understand, sir. I’ll keep you in the loop.”
“Damn. How the hell does this happen?” Marty said to himself as he slowly lowered the phone. Martin Powell, a straight-talking southerner, almost a throwback to the Johnson era, crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair. He let his head fall back as he looked at the white drop ceiling in his office. “Why now?” He hit yet another button on his phone. “Mary? Where is the president?”
“Just a moment, let me see.” Mary Higgins, a longtime government worker leafed through her appointment book. She had a section specifically for the president. She resisted keeping it on her computer, a security issue as far as she was
concerned. Systems could be hacked. It would take an army to pry that appointment book away from her. It was safer than a still in the backwoods of Kentucky. In reality it took only seconds for her to find his itinerary, but it seemed forever to the chief of staff. “He’s in a meeting with Treasury right now. They should be done in fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you,” he said, and the line went dead.
“Hmm, it must have actually been important,” she said to herself.
The door to Martin Powell’s office opened seconds later. Her boss just stood there looking at her. She spun in her chair and faced him.
“Where is that meeting?”
“Here in the White House, Cabinet Room.”
“Thanks.”
“Something wrong? You don’t look so good.”
His silence was all the answer she needed. He went back to his desk and pulled his suit coat off the back of his chair and held it up. He just looked at it.
“Put it on.” He spun at the sound of Mary’s voice. “You always wear one. If you leave it off and go running through the building, people will think something is wrong and you’ll have lots of chatter bouncing off the walls. Nobody needs to know anything yet.” She walked up to him as he slid his arms through the sleeves. She reached up and straightened his tie, just a bit. “There. You don’t want it too straight. It might look like you’re taking the day off.” She gently patted him on his chest, feeling the rich wool beneath her fingertips.
“I’ll be back.” He was out the door in a flash.
“Wouldn’t have thought an old coot like that could move so well,” she wondered aloud as she leaned against the mahogany credenza.
Navy Seahawk SAR 15:00 h
“There’s no way we’re gonna find him in this!” The spotter shouted as loud as he could. Likely the pilot didn’t hear him. He hated using the on-board mic. He wasn’t sure why. He was a tech guy after all. He pushed the mic up to his mouth. “Hear that?”
“Yea, Pits, I hear ya,” the shout came back.