Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 05

by Shadows of Steel (v1. 1)

  ABOARD THE CV-22 PAVE HAMMER TILT-ROTOR, OVER THE Gulf of Oman

  THAT SAME TIME

  The CV-22 Pave Hammer tilt-rotor aircraft’s refueling probe had no sooner nestled into the HC-130P Hercules tanker’s lighted basket of the refueling drogue and transferred a few hundred pounds of JP-7 fuel when the navigator aboard the HC-130P Hercules called on secure interplane, “Hammer Zero-One, Peninsula Shield Skywatch is reporting a single helicopter, designate Target Seven, leaving the deck of the Khomeini. ”

  “Roger,” the pilot of the CV-22 responded. “Continue the transfer.” He clicked open the intercom: “Right when you said he’d show, Major.”

  Hal Briggs punched the air with satisfaction and smiled broadly at the men of Madcap Magician surrounding him. “You were right, Paul—but we don’t know Tufayli’s on board that helicopter. It could be a medevac, could be anything. ...”

  “Even so, Tufayli will still be on it—no matter how many injured there might be on that carrier, I’ll bet Tufayli will make room for himself.” He paused, then regarded Briggs and said, “But the next step’s up to you, Hal. You’re in charge of this mission.”

  “Thanks,” Briggs said. “And I say we go see who’s out flying around at this time of night.” He clicked open the intercom: “Greg, get a vector to Target Seven, finish your on-load, and intercept.” “Got it,” the CV-22 pilot responded happily.

  In less than five minutes, the HC-130P tanker had filled the CV- 22’s tanks. The CV-22 disconnected, turned to clear the tanker— they were flying less than 500feet above the Gulf of Oman, so no one dared descend to get separation!—and transitioned to airplane mode to pursue the Iranian helicopter. Their top speed in helicopter mode was only about 110 miles per hour, but once the CV-22 tilt-rotor’s twin engine nacelles swiveled horizontally, which changed the helicopter rotors to function as aircraft propellers, the CV-22 quickly accelerated to over 360 miles an hour. Following vectors from the Saudi Arabian E-3S AWACS radar plane orbiting near the Omani border in the southeast corner of the Arabian Peninsula, the CV-22 sped northward after its quarry at low altitude.

  With a nearly 200-mile-per-hour overtake, the Madcap Magician special-ops aircraft closed the distance in ten minutes, less than 100 miles from the Iranian shoreline. The Iranian Mil-8 cargo/anti- submarine warfare helicopter, a rather round, squat, bug-shaped machine with twin tails and two sets of main rotor blades counterrotating on one rotor mast, showed up perfectly in the CV-22’s imaging infrared scanner, and they maneuvered above and to the left, out of direct sight of the helicopter’s pilot. The helicopter was cruising without running lights at medium altitude; its engines were brighdy glowing red-hot from the engines high-power setting. The CV-22 pilot used a small thumbwheel on the cyclic/control stick to swivel the engine nacelles up to a thirty-five-degree setting, to obtain the best combination of forward speed, maneuverability, and vertical flight capability.

  “The Mil-8 is definitely not made for high-speed cruising,” Briggs observed as he studied the Mil-8’s image on the copilot’s monitor. “Its engines will probably have to be shelled after this flight. See any door guns on that thing?”

  “Negative,” the pilot responded. “Nothing stopping them from sticking a rifle out the window and blowing us away, though.”

  “We got a few popguns of our own,” Briggs said. “If you see even one pistol aimed at you, blow that bug out of the sky.”

  “They’re going to call for help,” the pilot said, “and the Iranian fighters aren’t too far away. We got no comm jammers ...”

  “We’ll give Tufayli the chance to surrender, or we splash him,” Briggs said angrily. “I’m not letting him get away. Peace Shield Sky-watch better do their job. Lets take this bad boy down.” With a touch of the power control lever, the CV-22 slipped within sight of the Mil-8’s copilot, and they hit the exterior lights.. ..

  “What in God's name... ?” The copilots scream made the pilot’s head snap over as if he’d been slapped. It was hard to see exacdy what was out there, but in the flashing red and white lights, they saw an immense aircraft, as large as a small cargo plane but with propellers canted at an unusual angle. But there was no mistaking the black-and-green star centered between three horizontal bars—the chevrons of an American military aircraft. The copilot could see weapons pylons with some sort of missile on it—it resembled a four- round American Hellfire anti-tank missile pod—plus a large steerable cannon on a chin turret, with the muzzle of the big Gatling gun aimed right at them! Seconds later, the American aircraft’s lights winked out, plunging the horrifying scene back into total darkness. “Admiral! ”

  “I saw it,” Major Admiral Akbar Tufayli said. “What are you waiting for? Get on the radio and get some fighters from Chah Bahar or Bandar Abbas out here to help us.”

  “Shall we try to lose it?”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Tufayli said. “It found us easily, at night and at low altitude. They must be in contact with their radar planes and using infrared scanners—running will do us no—”

  “Attention on the Iranian Mil-8 helicopter,” came a voice in English on the international GUARD emergency frequency. “You have been intercepted. Turn left heading two-zero-zero immediately or you will be destroyed. Repeat, turn left to a heading of two-zero- zero immediately or you will be destroyed.”

  “Ignore them,” Tufayli ordered. “Continue on your present course and speed. Any response from our fighters?”

  “A flight of two Sukhoi-27 fighters, Interceptor Eleven flight, will rendezvous with us in five minutes,” the copilot responded.

  “Good,” Tufayli said. “Then I want...”

  Just then a brilliant flash of light and a line of bright white tracers lanced across the sky—the tracers were so close that everyone in the cockpit could hear the concussion of the shells beat on the canopy. Then they heard a voice in Farsi say, “Admiral Tufayli, you cannot escape.”

  “He knows you!” the pilot shouted. “He knows you are on board!”

  “Colonel Paul White,” Tufayli said angrily. “It is the American spy we captured. So the rumor is true: President Nateq-Nouri did conspire with the Americans to release White from prison.”

  “Admiral Tufayli, you have one last chance,” White radioed. “Turn about now or die.”

  “Where are those fighters?” Tufayli shouted.

  “Our fighters have the American aircraft locked on radar,” the copilot shouted as he monitored the tactical frequency. “He will be in missile range in less than two minutes.”

  “Tell him to fly at full reheat if he has to,” Tufayli shouted, “but get him in firing position now!”

  It took a litde more than one minute for the Iranian MiG-29 fighter to report that he was in radar-missile firing range . . . but: “Be advised, Khomeini Five, that I am painting only one radar return, repeat, one radar return. I do not see the second aircraft on my radar.”

  “He’s flying too closely, sir,” the pilot of the Mil-8 helicopter said. “Our radar images are merging.”

  “Tell him to close the infrared scanner range,” Tufayli ordered. He knew that the MiG-29 fighter had a system called IRSTS, or Infrared Search and Track System, which could guide the fighter pilot into an intercept and kill even at night, without the use of airborne or ground-based radar. “Tell him to use his guns. The American tilt- rotor is northwest of us.” The MIG-29 pilot acknowledged Tufayli’s instructions.

  “Admiral Tufayli, I order you to turn around and surrender,”

  White radioed again in broken Farsi. “Your MiG-29s will not save you.”

  The Americans obviously had a radar plane of their own up now, Tufayli thought grimly—but it was no matter. In a matter of seconds, the tilt-rotor would fly through a hail of bullets. “Range ten kilometers,” the Mil-8 pilot reported. There was no way to stop him—the Americans had no fighters up this far toward Iran close enough to help. “Eight kilometers ...”

  Suddenly everyone on the Mil-8 helicopter saw several brig
ht flashes of light and a brief but spectacular streak of fire race through the night sky. “Missiles!” the Mil-8 pilot shouted on his interplane radio. “The Americans are launching missiles! Take evasive action!” Although the Hellfire missile was intended as an anti-tank weapon, it was just as capable and deadly against flying targets—and evidence of that came just a few seconds later, as the Mil-8 crew saw a flash of red-and-orange light and a streak of fire arcing down into the sea.

  “Khomeini Five, Khomeini Five, this is Interceptor Eleven, I have lost contact with my leader,” a new voice on the interplane frequency said. “What in Allah’s name is that aircraft?”

  “It is nothing more than a fancy helicopter, damn you!” Tufayli shouted in response. “Get down here and destroy them!”

  The lone MiG-29 wheeled back and set up for a stern gun pass— but his fate was no different than his leader’s. Seconds before flying into cannon range, the CV-22 wheeled around, locked its laser designator onto the approaching fighter, and fired another salvo of Hellfire laser-guided missiles. The MiG-29 exploded into a huge fireball long before the pilot could press his trigger. The CV-22 wheeled around again and was on the Iranian Mil-8 helicopter in less than a minute. “You’re next, Admiral,” Paul White’s voice echoed on the GUARD frequency. “Surrender now or you’ll die.”

  “We have wounded sailors on board this aircraft,” Tufayli said. “You will not dare to harm them. That is a barbaric act of a coward! ”

  “Their blood will be on your hands, Admiral, not mine,” White said. “Surrender, and I will see to it that your wounded receive all the medical care they need and are then immediately returned to Iran.” “Go to helly filthy American terrorist pig! ” Tufayli shouted in response. “We are in Iranian airspace, over Iranian waters. If you shoot us down, it is an act of war! You go to hell! ”

  “After you, Admiral Tufayli,” White radioed—seconds before the CV-22’s last two Hellfire missiles plowed into the Mil-8 helicopter, blowing it to pieces and sending it crashing into the Gulf of Oman.

  “Oh, man, that looked good,” Paul White said, uncharacteristically angry, almost bloodthirsty. “That felt real good.”

  “We’ll turn you into a mad-dog killer yet, Colonel,” Hal Briggs added with a wry smile. “A stone mad-dog killer.”

  “About as likely as you becoming a chaste monk,” White shot back. “Speaking of which, where did that charming young lady of yours run off to? I’m sure she’s a capable agent, and I know the United Arab Emirates must have plenty of safe houses in Tehran, but do you think it was wise for her to stay down there?”

  “She’s not just a capable agent—she’s the best I’ve ever seen,” Briggs said. “And as much as I want her with me, she’s got a job to do. I can’t wait to see her again, boss....”

  White noticed the unexpected intensity in Briggs’s voice. “This sounds serious, Hal,” he said with a smile. “Is it?”

  “Could be, Colonel,” Briggs said. “Could be ...”

  Tehran,Iran

  “Your incredible incompetence has nearly resulted in bringing this entire government down, General Buzhazi,” the Faqih Ayatollah Ali Hoseini Khamenei said angrily. He and the members of the Council of Guardians, the twelve-member legal and religious tribunal that advised the Faqih on government matters, were meeting with Buzhazi in the Council’s chambers. “You almost single-handedly managed to create a third world war, with the military forces of nearly the entire planet directed against us—only the incompetence of your military commanders on board the aircraft carrier saved the Islamic Republic from disaster. Further, you directly violated our orders that President Nateq-Nouri not be harmed. Allah and his faithful servants demand an answer. Speak, General. What have you to say for yourself?”

  “Your Excellency, I demand to know why you ordered our air and naval forces to cease their operations,” Hesarak al-Kan Buzhazi said in response, ignoring the Ayatollah’s demand. “The aircraft carrier Khomeini and several vessels in the battle group sustained heavy damage, but our air forces had the upper hand ...”

  “We ordered the operations to stop because our armed forces were facing virtual annihilation, General,” Khamenei said. “Our carrier was barely able to return to Chah Bahar, and I now understand that it is still in danger of sinking, even though several hundred workers are struggling to save it.”

  “Your Excellency, I was one or two days away from completely eliminating all foreign threats to Iran!” Buzhazi said angrily. “In just a few hours, my air forces could have destroyed or damaged every military base within fifteen hundred kilometers of our shores. With no American or foreign military forces to support them, every nation in the region would have been forced to sign non-aggression pacts with us. With this cease-fire, we allow the United States to deploy more air defense forces to Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Turkey, Kuwait...”

  “Several bases in the Islamic Republic, a radar plane, and our carrier battle group were attacked by the Americans—and it is said that it was a single American bomber;” Khamenei pointed out. “Our destruction was imminent. Your failures have angered Allah, and it was his command that this senseless waste of lives and resources of the Islamic Republic stop immed—”

  Buzhazi shot to his feet before the Faqih and the Council of Guardians. “Enough of this religious tripe, Khamenei,” he said angrily. “My war has not ended—it is just beginning.”

  Every member of the Council of Guardians recoiled in horror at Buzhazis words—everyone but Khamenei himself. “How so, General?” the Faqih asked calmly.

  “Iran is suffering under men like you—small-minded men who actually believe that Allah is going to elevate this country ahead of all others simply because you invoke his name,” Buzhazi said. “Iran will be powerful and take charge of the true believers around the world only if its leadership has the guts to do so—and you need a powerful military force to do it.

  “My men control the government now, Khamenei,” Buzhazi went on. “I control the press, the Cabinet, and all telecommunications in and out of this capital. I have a military force of two million men under arms, and I have begun the mobilization of the Basij under the direct control of my Pasdaran forces—that is another million men and women under arms. We do not believe that Allah is speaking to you, any of you. Iran is under attack, and Allah has commanded me to lead her, to drive the non-believers away, and to secure our borders and our future.

  “I have a suggestion for all you tired, shriveled-up old men,” he said as he turned to depart. “Finger your worry beads and pray in silence, or stand up and support me and your warriors. If you attempt to involve yourself in military affairs again, I will see to it that this Council is disbanded or replaced. You have been warned.”

  “We will discuss your suggestion—and your warning—with our military advisers,” the Ayatollah Khamenei said calmly.

  “Your what...?”

  “Our military advisers,” Khamenei said, raising a hand. From a side room, several men, some in uniform, entered—including one who made Buzhazis jaw drop in surprise. “I am sure you know the leader of our new military advisory panel: the honorable Dr. Ding Henggao, Minister of National Defense Science, Technology, and Industry of the People’s Republic of China. He was kind enough to bring along General Fu Qanyou, Chief of General Logistics, and Vice Admiral Qu Zhenmou, commander of the East China Sea Fleet of the People’s Liberation Army Navy. The others with him are—”

  “What in God’s name is this?” Buzhazi retorted. “What are they doing here? I did not request this—”

  “These gendemen are representatives of the Chinese government, come to inspect their equipment and inquire as to the status of their country’s considerable investment in the Islamic Republic,” Khamenei said with a satisfied smile. His smile dimmed dramatically as he went on: “They were very, very disappointed to learn of the attack and destruction on their aircraft carrier and their cruiser.”

  Buzhazi was thunderstruck. Khamenei, the man who hated all foreign
ers and disdained almost anything having to do with the military, had secretly called a high-level delegation of Chinese military advisers to Tehran! Next to Russia, China was Iran’s largest arms supplier; most of Iran’s naval and missile technology had come from China, the agreements signed by most of these gentlemen now present and delivered by these very military commanders. “I am prepared to brief these distinguished visitors from the People’s Republic of China at any time on the nature of the attacks by the Americans.”

  “Excuse me, please,” Minister Ding said in Beijing Mandarin, translated into Farsi by an Iranian linguist, “but it is quite apparent to us and to my government that any continued plans for the employment of People’s Liberation Army Navy vessels and weapons by forces under your command would be foolish ...”

  “I beg your pardon, Minister Ding,” Buzhazi retorted, “but Iran is the victim of American treachery. With all due respect, the Chinese government should be considering sanctions against the American government for their role in the destruction of your warships. I.. .”

  “The People’s Republic of China no longer has confidence in your ability to command, or any confidence in your judgment, General Buzhazi,” Minister Ding said acidly. To the Ayatollah Khamenei, Ding said. “The carrier Varyag and the cruiser Zhanjiang shall be transferred to our control immediately, Your Eminence. It shall be totally disarmed and rendered completely non-operational.”

  “This is not possible!” Buzhazi interjected. “This cannot be done! I forbid it!”

  “We would advise you not to interfere,” General Fu, Chief of General Logistics, interrupted. “The People’s Liberation Army Navy has already sent a contingent of soldiers to Chah Bahar to effect the turnover. These include a security detachment of two People’s Liberation Army marine battalions.”