Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 09

by Warrior Class (v1. 1)

  “He’s not turning,” the satellite surveillance officer reported. “Increasing speed to twenty knots.”

  “Looks like he’s not going to break off his attack on the tanker,” Jon Masters said. “We might be too late.”

  “Not yet,” David Luger said. “I’ll push AALF up and take it down, and let’s see what he does.”

  Masters and Luger, along with a team of technicians, were aboard Sky Masters Inc.’s DC-10 carrier aircraft, orbiting sixty miles north near Ukrainian airspace. The satellite images they were viewing came from a string of six small imaging reconnaissance satellites called NIRTSats (Need It Right This Second satellites), launched earlier by Masters specifically for this operation. The satellites, beaming their signals to a geosynchronous relay satellite that then sent the images to the DC 10 launch aircraft, would provide continuous images of the entire Black Sea region for the next week.

  Luger happily entered commands into a keyboard. Fifty miles to the south, a small aircraft began a steep dive and accelerated to almost the speed of sound. The small aircraft was called “AALF," an acronym that stood for Autonomous Air Launched Fighter Launched from the DC-10, AALF was a sophisticated, high-speed, highly maneuverable cruise missile with a brain. AALF was not steered like other unmanned aerial vehicles. It was simply given a task to do, and AALF would use its neural computer logic functions, combined with sensor and preprogrammed threat data, to determine its own way to accomplish the mission. David Luger simply acted as the coach, telling AALF what they wanted it to do. After it had been first launched from the DC-10, AALF had been ordered to be an interceptor, and it had sneaked up on the Sukhoi-24 and Tupolev-95 aircraft and attacked them with internal Sidewinder air-to-air missiles.

  Right now, Luger wanted AALF to pretend it was a sea- skimming antiship missile. AALF descended until it was less than two hundred feet above the Black Sea, then accelerated to six hundred miles an hour and headed for the destroyer Besstrashny making an occasional zigzag pattern as a sophisticated antiship missile would do. The Besstrashny responded as expected, turning hard to starboard to present as small a target to the incoming missile as possible and also to bring its aft 130-millimeter dual-purpose guns and aft SA-N-7 antiaircraft missiles to bear.

  Then, just before AALF flew within gun range, it turned away, staying outside maximum gun range. The crew of the Russian destroyer couldn’t ignore the threat, so they kept on maneuvering to keep its stem to the missile in case it started another attack. As it did, the tanker Ustinov sailed farther and farther away, well out of gun range now. The Ka-27 helicopter with its commandos on board had no choice but to turn around—they could not risk facing more shoulder-fired antiaircraft missiles without some sort of covering fire to help screen their approach. The launch carrying two dozen naval infantry commandos continued their approach, easily overtaking the much slower tanker.

  “See ’em yet, guys?” Luger radioed. He was watching the launch’s approach on the satellite surveillance video. “About four miles dead astern, heading toward you at forty knots.”

  Patrick McLanahan deactivated his helmet’s electronic visor. He and Hal Briggs were wearing the electronic body armor and had led the assault on the tanker The armor had originally been developed by Sky Masters Inc. as a lightweight protective anti-explosive sheathing inside airliner’s cargo compartments, But the material, nicknamed BERP (Ballistic Electro-Reactive Process), had been adapted for many other uses, including strong, lightweight protection for special operations commandos. Patrick picked up the electromagnetic rail gun rifle and steadied it on the safety rail of the starboard pilot’s wing. He searched, using his helmet-mounted imaging infrared sensor, positioned the rifle, then activated the rifle's electronic sight. “Contact,” he radioed back to Luger. “Brave boys. They keep on coming, even though their cover is completely gone”

  “Don’t let them get within mortar or antitank range, Mack.”

  “Don’t worry, Dave,” Patrick said. He aimed his rifle and fired. A streak of blue-yellow vapor ripped through the night sky, followed by a supersonic CCRRAACCKK! as loud as a thunderclap. The sausage-size hypersonic projectile pierced the front of the launch, passing between the launch captain and helmsman and barely missing one commando, before passing through the deck, right through the diesel engine, out the bottom near the stem, and through one hundred and fifty feet of seawater before burying itself seventy-five feet in the bottom of the Black Sea. The launch’s engine sputtered, coughed, and died within seconds. The automatic bilge pumps activated as the water in the bilges started to get deeper. Soon, the commandos and the crew were scurrying for life preservers.

  “Target neutralized,” Luger radioed. “He’s dead in the water. Good shooting. Mack. I’m going to recall AALF for refueling. That destroyer won’t be back in gun range before AALF gets refueled.”

  “Roger,” Patrick responded. “We’re working on rigging auxiliary control for remote operation. Stay in touch. You should be expecting company any minute.”

  “We're ready for them, Texas out.” Luger entered commands into the computer. AALF stopped making false attacks on the Russian destroyer Besstrashny and headed back to the DC-10. It automatically began an approach behind the launch aircraft. Luger extended a refueling probe, much like a U.S. Air Force KC-10 Extender tanker, and, using its onboard radar as well as following laser steering signals from the DC-10, AALF flew itself toward the refueling probe. A small receptacle popped open on the upper portion of its fuselage, it guided itself into position, and the drone flew itself into contact with the probe. Mechanical clamps secured the drone onto the probe, and it began taking on jet fuel directly from the DC-l0’s fuel tanks.

  But while AALF was attached to the DC-l0’s refueling probe, the crew was in its most vulnerable position—and AALF’s approach had been watched and plotted by Russian ground-based and airborne radars. Minutes after AALF attached itself to the probe, threat-warning receivers on board the DC-10 bleeped to life. “Russian MiG-27s, bearing zero-seven- zero, forty-seven miles, coming in fast!” the sensor technician shouted. “We've got company!”

  “I’m detaching AALF and sending it after them,” Luger said. “Jon, tell the flight crew to get us out of here ASAP.” Luger entered instructions into AALF's computerized brain, and the little craft detached itself from the refueling probe, drifted behind and away from the DC-10, then turned and flew toward the oncoming MiGs. The DC-10 turned northwest and headed for the Ukrainian coast.

  AALF was a small aircraft, much smaller than a MiG-27, but it had been built for speed and maneuverability, not stealth. It detected the MiG’s radar-guided missile attacks, evaded the first salvo, and flew close enough to the pack to cause them to break formation and scatter. But there were too many Russians versus one unarmed aircraft, and no matter how smart, fast, and maneuverable it was, it couldn’t evade its attackers and protect the DC-10 at the same time. When it turned to pursue two MiGs that had pressed their attack westward toward the DC-10, two more MiGs managed to bracket it from behind and kill it with a heat-seeking-missile shot.

  “Those MiGs got past AALF.” the sensor operator said. ’They’re on our six, thirty-nine miles and closing fast.”

  The two MiG-27s in the lead had shot their two long-range radar-guided missiles at the drone already, so they had to continue to close in on the DC-10 for a heat-seeking-missile shot. But they had orders to get a visual ID on the aircraft first, so they continued inside missile range. They closed the distance quickly—their quarry was obviously very large and not very maneuverable, w ith three big engines glow-ing bright enough to be seen ten kilometers away on the IRSTS infrared sensor. The pilot of the lead MiG could feel buffeting and hear the engine roar from five kilometers away. This aircraft had to be big to create turbulence like that! He flew a bit farther to one side, out of the turbulent air. and continued. Just a few more seconds and he’d—

  Suddenly the Russian MiG pilot’s threat warning indicators lit up like a holiday centerpiece
. They were surrounded by fighters! Where did they come from? Who .. . ?

  “Attention, attention, unidentified MiG-27 aircraft at our twelve o’clock position,” the MiG pilots heard in fluent Russian, “this is Eskadril Twenty-seven. Six-twenty-six Polk, Odessa, Viyskovo-Povitryani Syly, Air Force of Ukraine. You are in violation of Ukrainian airspace. You will turn right immediately to head south, decelerate, and lower your landing gear, or you will be attacked without further warning.”

  “Twenty-seventh Squadron, this is the Ninety-first Squadron. Novorossiysk, Air Force of the Russian Federation,” the lead MiG-27 pilot replied. “We are in pursuit of unidentified hostile combat aircraft that attacked a Russian tanker and a Russian Federation Navy destroyer. The unidentified hostile is at our twelve o’clock position. We request your help to pursue and identify this hostile. Over.”

  In response, the MiG-27 on the leader’s right wing exploded in a ball of fire.

  The Russian pilot couldn’t believe what he’d just seen. “You ... you shot down my wingman!” he cried on the radio, “You bastards! How could you do this? We are allies! We are neighbors!”

  “Negative, Russian MiG, negative!” the Ukrainian pilot responded. “Turn starboard right now or you will be destroyed!”

  “You cannot do this! This is not permitted!”

  “You will be fish food if you do not comply immediately!” the Ukrainian pilot responded. “Turn now!”

  He had no other choice. The MiG-27 pilot pushed his control stick right and pulled his throttle back a few notches. The large unidentified aircraft quickly disappeared from his IRSTS sensor. He thought about turning and trying a missile snapshot at the aircraft—but at that exact moment, he saw a burst of cannon fire shoot from a fighter just a few meters off his left side. The damned Ukrainian fighter was right there! The threat warning receiver counted six more aircraft in the vicinity. “Flaps and gear, or you will be shot down!” the Ukrainian warned him. He had no choice but to comply. With his flaps and landing gear down, his fire control system automatically shut itself down.

  “Bastards!” the Russian pilot shouted. “What do you think you’re doing? We have permission to overfly Ukrainian airspace when necessary for defense purposes! Aren’t you familiar with our memorandum of understanding? We are allies!”

  “Not anymore, we’re not,” the Ukrainian responded. “The Russian Federation is no longer welcome over Ukrainian airspace.”

  “What in hell are you talking about? Russia has the right to fly over the Black Sea or anywhere else we choose.”

  “This airspace belongs to the Black Sea Alliance,” the Ukrainian pilot said. “Russian warplanes are not welcome over Alliance airspace.”

  “The what? What Black Sea Alliance?”

  “This,” came a different voice. The Russian pilot looked. The aircraft off his left wing turned its identification lights on .. .

  . . . and revealed itself not as a Ukrainian fighter, but as a Turkish F-16 fighter! It still wore the star and crescent of Turkey, but it wore the blue and gold of the Republic of Ukraine on its tail as well!

  “Left turn smartly heading one-eight-zero, then flank speed to intercept that tanker!” Captain Boriskov of the Russian navy destroyer Besstrashny ordered. “I want all the patrol and smaller combatants available to rendezvous with us as soon as possible. We need help to stop that tanker before it reaches Turkish territorial waters.”

  “Our fighters report downing one unidentified aircraft,” the tactical action officer reported. “But now our fighters are surrounded by Turkish and Ukrainian interceptors, and one of our fighters has been shot down. Our fighters are greatly outnumbered,”

  “Turkish interceptors?” the captain retorted. “What are Turkish interceptors doing flying over Ukraine?”

  “They call themselves the Black Sea Alliance,” the executive officer replied. “The aircraft are Hying both flags. They prohibited Russian aircraft from entering their airspace, and they shot down one of our planes.”

  “My God, are they insane? What is this Black Sea Alliance? What in hell is going on here? How many fighters arc up there?”

  “There are at least six up there, outnumbering them two to one—MiG-29s and F-l6s. They have forced our fighters to withdraw.”

  “Is Novorossiysk sending more fighters?” the captain asked.

  “Negative,” the TAO replied. “They were pursuing an unidentified aircraft when they entered Ukrainian airspace, but that aircraft has disappeared over Ukraine. There is no longer any justification for overflying Ukrainian airspace, so no more aircraft will be launched.”

  “What about helping us?” the captain shouted. “We need helicopter-capable warships out here to launch an assault on the terrorists holding that tanker,”

  “The frigate luidny is two and a half hours out,” the executive officer said. “They are switching their ASW helicopter with an armed attack helicopter to assist in an armed assault on the tanker Three Border Patrol Type 206MP missile hydrofoil patrol boats are also en route, about seventy minutes out.”

  “Barely enough time,” the captain muttered. “How long until the tanker crosses into Turkish waters?”

  “Should be within Turkish treaty waters in ten minutes on present course and speed.”

  The captain shrugged. “No matter We won’t let a little thing like lines on a map stop us. Notify me when the hydrofoils come into range and the Ka-27 is refueled, and we'll try another assault on the tanker How long until we get back within gun range?”

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  “We’ll try a couple shots on the superstructure and perhaps convince them to give themselves up,” the captain said. “Notify me when we get within extreme gun range.”

  It was the weirdest chase anyone had ever seen—two massive ships, separated by just a few miles, with one pursuing the other at barely the speed of a brisk bicycle ride. With aircraft, Captain Boriskov thought, everything happens so fast; with maritime warfare, everything happens so slow. But soon they were within maximum range of the forward AK-130, and the big twin-barreled gun opened fire. Two 70-pound high- explosive shells impacted the superstructure just a few seconds apart, ripping huge holes in the living spaces. A second two-round volley hit the bridge itself. A small fire started in the living and engineering spaces from the first blast.

  “This is the Ustinov,;” a voice came on the radio. “Congratulations on your shooting—you have managed to destroy the bridge. I don’t think we can control the ship well enough from the auxiliary control station. But I wouldn’t fire any more rounds at the superstructure. We have sent the Ustinov's crew into those spaces. Hit us again, and you’ll be killing your fellow Russians.”

  “Cease fire, cease fire,” the captain said, looking on with his repeater of the telescopic low-light optronic gun sight. “This is Captain Boriskov of the Russian Federation Navy destroyer Besstrashnythe skipper responded on the radio in English.

  “What kind of cowards put hostages in harm's way? You should release the crew into lifeboats. This is between you and me."

  “I think we will leave the crew where they are for now— they're safe as long as you stop firing into our superstructure.”

  “Who are you? What do you w ant?”

  “Never mind who I am,” Patrick McLanahan responded. “We wish to send Comrade Pavel Kazakov a little message: if he flies his little stealth toy any more, he and all of his partners and business associates will suffer.”

  “What stealth toy? What are you talking about?”

  “Pavel Kazakov has been involved in a campaign of terror and mayhem throughout Europe,” Patrick went on. “He has been responsible for creating enough fear and destruction within the Balkans that the international community was forced to respond by sending Russian peacekeepers into otherwise peaceful countries. But all this has been created specifically so the Russian army can protect Kazakov's new pipeline.”

  “You claim the Russian Army is in league with Pavel Kazakov? Ridiculous.” />
  “President Sen'kov, Colonel-General Zhurbenko, and many others in the Russian military high command are on Kazakov’s payroll,” Patrick replied. “If they weren’t enticed by Kazakov’s money, Kazakov sent his Metyor-179 stealth fighter- bomber in to attack Kazakov has killed thousands in order to create enough fear to convince others to go along.”

  “What proof do you have of all this?”

  “We have sent a tape recording of conversations between Kazakov, Metyor Aerospace Director Fursenko, Chief of the General Staff Zhurbenko, and Russian National Security Advisor Yejsk, to the world’s major media outlets, discussing this plan,” Patrick said “Zhurbenko and Yejsk agree to mobilize the Russian army in response to the terror created by Kazakov and his stealth warplane, specifically so Russian troops could occupy and control foreign territory that Kazakov needed to build his pipeline across the Balkans from the Black Sea to the Adriatic Sea. By tonight, the whole world will have heard this tape.”

  “How do we know this tape is authentic? How do we know any of this is real?”

  “Because we have also included a tape recording of President Sen’kov of Russia discussing the matter with President Thom of the United States,” Patrick radioed. “Sen’kov agreed to let two captured American pilots free in exchange for Thom agreeing not to reveal the contents of the tape. The Russian government eventually leaked the information on the two captured Americans and their aircraft shot down over Russia.” “So President Thomas Thom was involved in this as well?” “President Thom’s goal was the release of his captured fliers,” McLanahan replied. “Sen’kov’s goal was not to have embarrassing intelligence information leak out on how he was going to go along with crime boss and drug dealer Kazakov in taking over the Balkans in order to share in the profits of a one-hundred-million-dollar-per-day oil venture. If Thom is guilty of anything, it is of trusting Sen’kov. Sen’kov is guilty of collusion with Pavel Kazakov.”

  “Well, this is a very interesting fairy tale,” Boriskov said. But he was worried. For the past several months, this is exactly what most of the Russian military forces had been doing: protecting Pavel Kazakov’s business interests. He and many of his fellow officers had been wondering about the grand scheme, although it seemed to be a lucrative deal for everyone. Perhaps that was the reason: Sen’kov, Zhurbenko, and others in Moscow were getting kickbacks from Kazakov, in exchange for providing protection for his oil enterprise. Now the Russian Navy had become his unwitting bodyguards, too. “What do you intend to do with the tanker?”