Mission Compromised

by Oliver North

  The men all stood and grabbed their weapons and gear. Jane Robinette boarded the plane wearing her flight uniform and helmet. Newman noticed she was packing her side arm. While the men inside prepared their weapons and equipment for takeoff, Major Robinette and her crew made a hurried last inspection of the aircraft.

  Newman climbed into his seat at the command console, where he had directed the insertion three nights ago. Tom McDade settled himself into the electronic warfare station. Strapped into the red nylon web seats, three on one side and four on the other, were Capt. Phillips and his ISET Charlie men.

  As the engines spooled up, the electronics on the consoles in front of Newman and McDade flickered on. Because it was midday instead of the middle of the night, the video feeds were much more visible than they had been when they had dropped Weiskopf and his ISET Echo three nights ago.

  It took less than fifteen minutes for the crew to finish its pre-flight checks and for McDade, acting as the EWO, to make sure that all the necessary data was uploaded into the plane's computer.

  In the cockpit, Major Robinette and Lieutenant Haskell were checking their instruments, as was Master Sergeant Maddox, the Crew Chief. Some smart aleck had hung a sign over Maddox's little compartment: “Galley Slave.”

  Haskell's copilot seat on the right side up front had been slightly reconfigured by the spooks out at Nellis Air Force Base when the MD-80 was borrowed from the “bone-yard” for this mission. On his side of the cockpit Haskell had a complete navigator's station with video displays for radar, altitude, VORTAC navigation, GPS, heading, and two radios—one of them an ARC-210 for secure voice transmissions.

  Just as they completed the pre-flight check, Lieutenant Haskell said into Newman's intercom, “Sir, there's a call coming in on the ARC.”

  Newman flicked a switch on his console and keyed his mike. “Picnic Six, go ahead.”

  “Colonel, I'm glad I reached you.”

  Newman recognized Major Ellwood's voice.

  “What is it? We're about ready to leave.”

  “I know that, sir. That's why I called on the secure channel. I just wanted you to know there are some suspicious happenings here. I don't have anything specific to tell you, except that there is a live audio feed of the RF transmissions between you and your units that is being fed back to here. Did you know about this connection, sir?”

  “Are you sure? How are you picking me up?”

  “It's being fed to us from your Air Force sat com link at Incirlik, apparently at the direction of the White House,” the British major replied. “Every time you communicate with one of your units, we're picking it up here. And I'm concerned that the information we're receiving may be getting fed to Baghdad.”

  “Baghdad! Major, are you sure?”

  “I'm not positive, but I have noticed over the last three days that after every MoveRep and SitRep from your unit in Iraq, within minutes there has been a call to a satellite phone number in Iraq—and none of those calls show on the communications log. I raised the matter with Deputy Secretary General Komulakov and he told me, in so many words, to mind my own business. Well, I'm making it my business now. We'll sort things out here, or when you get back. I just wanted you to know… and to watch yourself up there.”

  “Copy that… Let me know if anything turns up while we still have our guys on the ground. Newman out.” He toggled the switch back to intercom. “I want you guys on radar and the radios to be extra alert. There may be someone monitoring our RF communications and passing info to the bad guys in Iraq. From here on out, I want to keep our radio communications to an absolute minimum.

  “Major Robinette, hold our departure. Lieutenant McDade, I want you to type up a ‘Top Secret’ encrypted data message—no voice, no video—to Brigadier General James Harris in the 331st Expeditionary Group command center at Incirlik. Tell him we have reason to believe our RF messages to him and to the ISETs in the field are all being picked up by somebody at UNHQ in New York and being re-broadcast to someone in Iraq. Tell him that, if he is relaying our comms to the UN in New York at the request of the White House, that as the mission commander, I respectfully request he pull the plug on any feeds to the UN in New York until we can sort this out. I want to talk only to the faces I've been talking to the last three days… and shut down everyone else. Ask him to please keep his comms up with us, the EA-6s, F-15s, and with the F-16s, but no one else. Now, type that up, print it, and hand it to the nearest airman on the ground crew with instructions to get it to General Harris ASAP. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir!” McDade began typing the message on his keyboard. He turned his monitor display so Newman could proof it before it was printed. Newman read it and nodded. McDade keyed in the print command and the document was ready in twelve seconds. He grabbed it from the console and opened the closest escape hatch. He waved to one of the ground crew. “Airman! Take this to General Harris as fast as you can.”

  Within a couple minutes there was another call on the ARC radio line. Newman took the call from General Harris and explained the situation. Then the general asked Newman, “When is the next time we're supposed to hear from your team on the ground in Iraq?”

  “They're supposed to call me as soon as Saddam shows up at the palace with bin Laden, and then I'm to vector the UAV from its loiter station over Turkey on to the target. I'll fly it from here until it picks up Weiskopf's LTD reflection off the target. There shouldn't be that many radio communications with them until we pull them out after the UAV detonates.”

  “Roger that. What do you want me to do?”

  “I don't know whether there's a problem, but I want to err on the side of caution. Please, General, pull the plug to New York now, before the call comes in from ISET Echo.”

  “You've got it, Colonel.” Newman heard the general's voice giving the order to cut the feed to New York. “The guys are asking, ‘What about Washington?’ Is there a chance that the feed to the Pentagon or the White House has been picked up?”

  “I don't think so… but use your own judgment. There's nothing we need from them, and they just want to know what's going on. But just to be safe, cut the audio feed only. Let them keep the video feed. That way they can still see what's going on.”

  “Lieutenant Colonel Newman, we have clearance for takeoff. Is it a go?” Major Robinette asked.

  Newman paused for a moment. There was too much at stake not to go. “Yes, let's go!” he called to the pilot. The engines accelerated and the aircraft began to pull forward on the tarmac and move toward the end of the runway. Within three minutes they were airborne. Major Robinette retraced her flight path from the previous mission, this time filing an enroute flight plan as a United Nations humanitarian aid flight from Turkey to Yemen.

  While they were climbing to altitude and awaiting clearance from the International Airspace Coordinator in Ankara, the Global Hawk's preprogrammed satellite radio queried McDade's console, seeking instructions, as its Rolls-Royce turbofan engine pushed it to 65,000 feet at 350 knots. Up to this point the UAV was simply flying a parking pattern pre-programmed into its GPS-guided memory.

  McDade pushed a button on his terminal and sent a stream of zeros and ones to the UAV's electronic brain, programming the huge flying bomb to head for the coordinates of Saddam's summer palace and then, at precisely 1500 hours, to activate the seeker head in its nose cone and search for a laser reflection at those coordinates. Once it found the laser reflection, the UAV was instructed to hurtle its 22,900 pounds of explosives and fuel at the point where the reflected beam originated—the building housing Saddam Hussein, Osama bin Laden, and, according to Harrod, the killer of Peter Newman's brother, Mohammed Farrah Aidid.

  Ten minutes after Major Robinette had requested the over-flight clearance, Ankara granted it, and instructed her to contact Baghdad flight control. Even though United Nations sanctions limited Iraq to no more than one commercial flight in and out of the country each day, Baghdad was still required to maintain flight clearance facilities for
other nations' commercial flights.

  Robinette came up on the assigned frequency, contacted Baghdad, and switched her commercial IFF transponder to the assigned squawk. She then picked up a heading that would have taken the MD-80 roughly parallel to the Tigris, but twenty miles west of the river, and finally out over the Persian Gulf, west of Basra. Baghdad Center specifically instructed her to avoid Tikrit since it was a “Head-of-State Restricted Area.”

  At precisely 1415 hours, Newman saw Tom McDade signal him.

  “Colonel Newman—I've got him!” McDade announced over the intercom. “Captain Weiskopf is on comm one.”

  Newman, not knowing whether the audio feed to New York from the Incirlik Air Base Command Center had actually been cut yet, asked if the call was on the ARC secure radio. McDade nodded. “The call is being relayed from a satellite in earth orbit.”

  Weiskopf's voice was clear and crisp. “This is Picnic Base. We are go for video in ten seconds… switching to video feed in… five, four, three, two,…”

  On “one” the video monitor on Newman's console flickered and a picture flared on-screen. There was too much light, but the camera quickly compensated and the image cleared up.

  “We've got your pictures,” Newman told him. “Are you guys set?”

  “Affirmative. The finger is pointing and ready for your model airplane.”

  “It's on the way. It should be in your area in another forty minutes if it's working right. Do you have guests at the hotel?”

  “Do we have guests? It looks like a used Mercedes auction over there. We saw Saddam with bin Laden and a whole raft of straphangers. Couldn't pick your buddy Aidid out of the crowd, but he's probably one of the dozens dressed in the Ali Baba and the forty thieves' outfits.”

  “Any unwanted visitors to your location?”

  “Funny you should mention that. I'm going to take the camera and give you a tour. We've noticed some activity. There's a bunch of Iraqi soldiers—maybe a platoon or as much as a company—that have spread themselves all around us. I don't think they've made us; I think they're just a security force connected to the summit.”

  Newman watched as Weiskopf slowly panned the video camera from the northeast where it had been pointing to the right in a clear visual panorama of the summer palace and nearby air base. Newman saw a tower at the edge of the air base, and a curious dark spot near the top. Weiskopf must have noticed it too; the camera jiggled slightly as he stepped just outside the cave. The picture zoomed in on the mysterious spot on the tower. As Newman and the flight crew watched, the image became clearer, and it was obvious that it was a person with a rifle. Newman's mouth went dry as he realized the rifle was aimed at Weiskopf's location.

  As if in slow motion, Newman watched as a sudden puff of blue-white smoke and a flash obscured the face of the person on the tower.

  A fraction of a second later, Weiskopf's body collapsed, as a bullet smashed through his forehead adjacent to where he had been holding the camera's eyepiece. The video picture slewed as the camera fell to the ground. It ended on its side, pointed at a tilted view of sky, rock, and what looked like part of Weiskopf's camo uniform. “Oh, God, please,” Newman prayed. “Please…”

  Within seconds the other ISET Echo team members were spread out in defensive postures, weapons at the ready. “Key” Palmeri crawled to the side of Captain Weiskopf, still crumpled on the ground below the camera. Palmeri checked the captain for vital signs, found none, then carefully turned him to check for the exit wound—and grimaced as he saw that most of the back of Weiskopf's head was missing.

  Palmeri eased the camera from beneath Weiskopf 's arm and turned it so he was staring into the lens. He shook his head. He reached for the mike switch on his headset radio and took over the transmission. “He died instantly, sir. Sniper. We're going to have to focus on what's outside… I'll try to get the camera re-mounted and leave it running.”

  Back on the flying command post, Newman switched on the intercom and spoke to McDade. “How far out is the UAV?”

  “It's still thirty minutes out before it can acquire the LTD.”

  Those guys won't be there in thirty minutes. Newman locked eyes with his EWO. “Call back to General Harris and tell him that our guys on the ground are in contact. Tell him they already have one dead and he needs to send in the F-15s and -16s. We can act as airborne FAC if they can't talk to the guys on the ground.”

  Amn Al-Khass Operations Center

  ________________________________________

  Hangar 3, Tikrit Air Base

  Monday, 6 March 1995

  1434 Hours, Local

  Hussein Kamil was furious. He shouted at a nearby colonel. “Who authorized that sniper to shoot?” Then he unleashed a torrent of obscenities. “Bring that man to me.”

  A few minutes later the sniper was brought in to the hangar. The soldier looked confused—was he being congratulated for the first kill of an American?

  “You idiot! Who told you to fire?” Kamil screamed. “Are you the one running this operation?” He drew his automatic pistol and shot the man dead as his stunned and frightened aides looked on. “I will not waste my breath on this pile of camel dung. That bullet is my reminder to the rest of you to follow orders! I do not want anyone to act without my authority. Do I make myself clear!?”

  Dotensk, who had seen two similar demonstrations of Kamil's cold-blooded rage, could not disagree with his actions this time.

  Kamil whirled on Dotensk. “What do you hear from your all-knowing source? Can he tell you what the assassins know?”

  “I don't know.” The Ukrainian was hesitant to tell the Iraqi security chief that just moments before the sniper fired, Komulakov had called on the satellite phone to advise that New York had lost the audio feed from Incirlik. “Just as you were dealing with the incident, the audio feed… it went silent. It may be a temporary loss, but I don't know for sure.”

  “Well, stay with it. Try and get it back. We need to know the plans of these people!” The risks of failure were coming more and more into focus now, Dotensk thought. With the trained infiltrators out there and the raging, murderous security chief in here, he knew he was now fighting for his own life.

  Kamil took a breath and walked over and picked up a phone. “Get Qusay on the phone for me.” There was a brief pause. “I know he's in a meeting, you fool. I'm supposed to be there myself. Get him on the phone now. Tell him his father's life may be in danger.”

  A moment later, Kamil said, “I have discovered a plot against your father. I'm dealing with it, but for his safety and that of our very important guests, it would be best if you would please immediately escort the President and his distinguished guests away from the palace and to the safety of the secure bunkers at Al Sahra Air Base.”

  There was another long pause as Kamil listened to his brother-in-law. “I suspect the Americans or perhaps the British,” Kamil said. “I believe it is an effort to kill many people—including you. I urge you to take the President and our guests out of the palace and to the bunker at Al Sahra immediately. If necessary, I will have the demonstration materials for the guests delivered there.”

  Kamil hung up and turned to Dotensk. “If what you told me earlier is correct, there are seven of them left. We must take them out, and then we have to capture the laser-targeting device and aim it at the site where we want their weapon to hit. There is still enough time to do that. Have you been able to re-establish the audio link so we can know exactly what they are up to?”

  “Sorry… not yet. Nothing.”

  “Then we must act on our own. Major Shahir! Come here.”

  The officer hurried over to Kamil.

  “Take the company of sharpshooters that you have in position… and more if you need them. Bring in two or three squads with grenade launchers and mortars. Begin now to encircle the assassins and destroy them. But do not destroy their equipment. I need it. Do you hear? Make sure you do not harm their equipment.”

  Major Shahir saluted and tur
ned to obey his orders.

  A little more than a kilometer west, ISET Echo was dug in and carefully hidden. The seven surviving members had slipped away from the cave after Captain Weiskopf was killed.

  With their commander dead, Key Palmeri assumed the leadership position. “We'll stay on headsets to communicate but try and get as far apart as you can. We have to make sure the LTD does its job. After the UAV hits, there should be enough confusion for us to E and E to the west, toward the rendezvous point. If we can hold 'em off until dark, we'll be able to get to the extraction site. If you end up alone—if no one answers your radio signal—then you know the E and E route to link up with the QRF. By my reckoning,” the lieutenant said, checking his watch, “the UAV ought to be here in twenty-one minutes, right at 1500.”

  Palmeri had just gotten into a prone position and wiggled into as much sand cover as possible when a mortar round exploded some thirty yards to his right, just outside the rock outcropping where they had spent the night. A second one followed, and this one detonated right at the mouth of the cave. Rocks and pebbles showered down all around. Two more rounds struck the cave. Now there were rocket-propelled grenades. The explosions continued for several minutes.

  When there was a break in the shelling, Palmeri did a radio check to find out if everyone was OK. They were. Palmeri had stayed closest to the laser-targeting system. They had covered the equipment with a small camouflage net and had covered that with scrub vegetation. Just the laser lens itself was visible, and only from a few feet away.

  Captain Weiskopf had wisely chosen to separate the antenna for the UAV terminal guidance system and those for the video and audio uplinks that were located near the cave. Palmeri was hopeful that the mortar and grenade explosions had not destroyed the UAV uplink.