Day of the Cheetah

by Dale Brown

  veillance and GCI radar at Puerto Cabezas, the large combined

  Soviet-Nicaraguan airbase on the Nicaraguan northeast coast.

  They were aiming right for the northern edge of the dome, but

  because of the interference from the sand dunes and marshes of

  Punta Gorda they were able to fly just under the radar coverage.

  But in less than sixty seconds they would lose the protection of

  even that low spit of land.

  Carter hit the voice-command button on his control stick. "Set

  countermeasures release switches to consent," he said in a slight

  Louisiana bayou accent, reaccented and measured to make it

  easier for the voice-command computer to understand his voice.

  It was a humorous problem back in the early years of the project,

  he recalled-he refused to believe he was the problem when the

  computer continually rejected his commands during testing.

  "Pilot's countermeasures release consent," the computer

  394 DALE BROWN

  confirmed. Then to warn the rest of the crew about the move,

  the computer came on shipwide interphone and announced,

  "Caution, pilot release consent."

  "Co' ming up on SCM point, crew," Kellerman said.

  "Caution, radar navigator release consent, " the computer

  said.

  "You're all a bit early," the electronic-warfare officer, Cap-

  tain Robert Atkins, said.

  "If it hits the fan up here," Carter said, watching the green

  radar sky slowly inching down on top of him, "I don't want to

  be fumbling with switches."

  "Amen," radar navigator Captain Paul Scott chimed in.

  Just then Carter heard, "Caution, electronic warfare release

  consent. Warning, weapon release consent complete." The last

  safety interlock belonging to Robert Atkins had been removed.

  They were sixty miles from the coastline, about seventy-five

  miles northeast of Puerto Cabezas. This part of the mission was

  almost as crucial as the attack phase. For the next one hundred

  twenty miles until they reached the Cordillera Isabella moun-

  tains in north-central Nicaragua, they were vulnerable to at-

  tack-no mountains to hide in, only marshes and featureless

  lowlands-and they would be in range of the powerful search

  radar at Puerto Cabezas. Although the exact strength of the de-

  fenses was unknown they had been briefed to expect SA-10 air-

  defense missiles, MiG-29 and MiG-23 fighters to be operating

  in the no-man's land before them.

  But at least this sortie had been planned to challenge those

  defenses. They were not relying on air cover, nor were they

  taking advantage of overlying friendly territory. This mission

  was designed as much for effect as well as results-the idea that

  a large American strike aircraft could make it across Nicaragua

  and strike a heavily defended target was planned to demoralize

  and confuse as much as it was to destroy.

  The green radar dome had almost touched them. "I show

  contact with that search radar any second," Carter called out.

  "Clear all weapons for release. Station check and report by

  compartment when ready."

  Nancy Cheshire performed the pilot's station check, choosing

  not to rely on the computer to check switch positions but doing

  the checks visually. She was the first female test pilot at HAWC

  and one of the first ever anywhere, and the public attention she

  had attracted three years earlier at the beginning of the Mega-

  fortress Plus program had threatened to undermine her goal to

  be the best pilot in the organization.

  "Offense ready," Scott reported.

  "Defense ready," Atkins responded.

  "Station check complete, Kel, warning light coming on

  Nancy reported as she hit the EJECT press-to-test button. The

  last item on the list.

  Carter looked at the small, red-haired woman for a moment,

  studying her face underneath her lightweight flyer's helmet.

  "How you doing over there?" he asked cross-cockpit.

  She looked back at him. "I'm scared to death, Kel." But she

  sounded more angry than scared. "And why don't you ask any-

  one else if they're scared?"

  "Because you're my copilot," Carter shot back. "That's all.

  Hell, I never know what you're thinking and you're wrong . . . "

  His attention was pulled away from his copilot as he watched

  the green dome descend over his aircraft like some unearthly fog.

  "Caution, search radar, ten o'clock," the computer reported.

  "I've got a second search radar, ten o'clock, estimated range

  sixty miles," Atkins reported. "Search and height-finder

  looks like our shoreline SA-10. Hasn't found us yet, though.

  "Take it out, EW," Carter said. "Jam the search radar-I

  don't want to be tracked by anyone out here over water. Kory,

  send a warning message on the HAWC satellite net. Tell 'em

  we're coming."

  "Roger," Master Sergeant Kory Karbayjal, the crew gunner

  and defense systems officer, replied, flipping down the SAT-

  COM keyboard and punching commands to send the preformat-

  ted message out on the satellite channel.

  "Kel?"

  Carter turned to Cheshire.

  "Thanks for asking," she said, giving the control stick a slight

  shake.

  Carter nodded, lowered his oxygen visor and checked his sys-

  tem. "Get on oxygen." She raised her mask.

  "Stand by for missile launch, crew," Atkins said. "Radar

  programming complete. I need a hundred feet, pilot."

  "Rog." Carter pulled back on the control stick, manually

  flying the Megafortress Plus a hundred feet higher. "Set."

  "Rainbow away," Atkins called out.

  396 DALE BROWN

  The Rainbow was the AGM-136 Tacit Rainbow air-to-ground

  missile, a subsonic winged drone aircraft with a small jet engine

  that could seek out and destroy enemy radars. If the enemy radar

  was operating, it would home in and destroy it with a one-

  hundred-pound high-explosive warhead; if it did not detect a

  radar it would orbit within ten miles of the target area until a

  signal was detected, then fly toward it and destroy it. So even if

  the enemy radar was shut off or moved, the missile could still

  seek out and destroy.

  Carter shielded his eyes from the sudden glare of the AGM-

  136's engine exhaust as the missile appeared briefly past the long

  pointed nose of the Megafortress Plus, banked left, then disap-

  peared into the darkness. Just then the green-radar warning

  sky" projected onto the windscreen changed to yellow.

  "Tracking radar," Atkins called out over the computerized

  warning voice. ".SA-10, ten o'clock. I'm getting warning mes-

  sages on UHF and VHF GUARD channels." The yellow sky

  seemed to undulate, then disappear and reappear at long inter-

  vals, showing the effectiveness of Atkins's jamming.

  Kellerman activated her navigation radar. "Land fall in two

  minutes. First terrain, fifteen miles, not a factor at this altitude.

  First high terrain twenty-five miles, starting to paint over it.

  She plotted her position on a chart, cross-checked it with the

  GPS satellite navig
ation readout, then turned the radar to standby.

  Carter released his back pressure on his control stick, allow-

  ing the terrain-following autopilot to bring the B-52 back to one

  hundred feet above the Caribbean. The radar warning had

  changed to solid yellow, then changed briefly to red before being

  blotted out.

  "Did they get a missile off, EW?" Cheshire called out.

  "No uplink signal," Atkins replied. "We're at the extreme

  outer range of the SA- 10. I don't think they can . . . "

  "There, I see it," Cheshire said. She pointed out the left

  windscreen. Just over the horizon was a short glowing line of

  fire spinning in a tight circle, growing larger and larger by the

  second.

  Carter jerked the control stick hard left toward the missile.

  "Chaff, flare." Atkins hit the ejector buttons, sending bundles

  of radar-decoying chaff and heat-decoy flares overboard.

  Carter hit the voice-command stud. "Set clearance plane fifty

  feet.

  "Clearance plane fifty feet, warning low altitude, clearance

  plane one hundred feet." Carter's turn was so tight that, had the

  computer set the lower clearance plane, the B-52s left wingtip

  would have dragged the water.

  "It's still coming," Cheshire called out as Carter rolled out.

  The B-52 dipped as the lower clearance plane setting kicked in.

  "I can't find the uplink, something must be guiding it but I

  can't find it .

  The glow was getting brighter-Carter would swear he heard

  the roar of the missile's rocket-motor as it sped closer and closer,

  jamming wasn't working ... what ... ?

  "Stop jamming, EW," Carter suddenly called out. "It must

  be homing in on the jamming source. Go to standby. Fast."

  The result was near-instantaneous. The fast-circling flight-path

  of the missile began to wobble, and the tail flame of the missile's

  engine began to elongate just as it burned out. Carter nudged

  his B-52 as low as he could safely go. It was too late to try to

  make a turn, too late even for more decoys . . .

  They heard a thud against the fuselage, then silence. The

  B-52 shook as if a iant hammer had hit it.

  "It missed," Cheshire shouted, "that was the supersonic

  shock wave, it missed .

  "It must have been a SA-15 SAM," Atkins said. "SA-15s ...

  they just started deploying SA-15s in the Soviet Union. Now they

  got them in Nicaragua?"

  Carter forced calm into his own dry throat. "Be ready-our

  intelligence briefing was obviously missing a few details."

  But Atkins was still rattled. "SA-15 . . . I'm sorry, I didn't

  recognize it . . . they're not supposed to have SA-15s in Nica-

  ragua . . . I could've gotten us all killed . . . "

  "Snap out of it, Bob." But Carter understood what Atkins

  was going through. No one on this crew, including himself, had

  ever flown a combat mission-as a matter of fact, until Dog Zero

  TWo was ready to fly two months ago, none of his crew members

  had been aboard a military aircraft for several months. After

  months or years with their mostly deskbound duties at Dream-

  land they had become more like engineers than combat crew

  members. Now they were being -shot at by the Soviet Union's

  most advanced surface-to-air missile. He was sure the rest of the

  crew was steeling a panic-Atkins was just the first one to let

  loose.

  398 DALE BROWN

  "All of you, settle down and pay attention," Carter called

  over interphone. "They took a shot and missed. Fly this mission

  as briefed. But we've gotta pull together and back each other up -

  All of you know your stuff-now it's time to put it into action.

  All right. Check your stations and minimize electronic emis-

  sions. Nancy, get another power-plant check."

  The radar sky had turned back to yellow. Carter maintained

  his new heading for a few moments, then turned back to the

  right and let the autopilot take control.

  " Do you think we should go back on the same course?" Scott

  asked. "It'll be easier to find us that way."

  No use in doing that until we get over the mountains," Carter

  said. "The faster we get inland the better. Besides, I'll bet there's

  no big secret where we're heading. The entire Nicaraguan air

  force is probably waiting up there for us."

  "Crossing the coast now," Kellerman announced. Carter

  checked out the cockpit window-when only fifty feet above the

  surface, the transition from water to land occurred very fast. He

  double-checked that the terrain-following system was working

  properly and set a two-hundred-foot clearance plane.

  "Tracking radar up again," Atkins said shakily. The yellow

  sky was back for only a few moments when it completely blanked

  out again.

  "They get another missile off?"

  "I don't think so," Atkins said. "The Rainbow indicates im-

  pact-we got it."

  Cheshire slapped her armrest. "All right."

  "Celebration over, copilot," Carter said. "We've got a long

  long way to go."

  In a matter of only a few minutes the Nicaraguan military air-

  base of Puerto Cabezas was in chaos. One moment it was quiet

  and peaceftil, a warm, lazy summer evening with a hint of an

  evening storm brewing. The next, air raid sirens were screaming

  into the night, Russian missiles raised from concrete canisters

  like demons rising from their crypts, and the roar of jet fighters

  began to fill the air with the pungent odor of kerosene.

  The first SA-15 missile, installed on the coastal Nicaraguan

  base only a month earlier in the ongoing Russian fortification of

  Nicaragua, screamed off its launch rails less than twenty seconds

  later, filling the air with burning acidic exhaust gas. The missile

  crews, Nicaraguan with Russian commanding officers, stood and

  watched the missile disappear into the night sky until a Soviet

  officer yelled an order to prepare the launcher for reload. An-

  other SA-15 missile was completing its gyro-alignment-the

  Nicaraguan soldiers were skilled at aligning one missile at a time

  forlaunch . . .

  It was this deficiency that had probably saved the crew of the

  Megafortress Plus. Just before the second missile was ready for

  launch a huge explosion lit up the small sandy hill where the

  SA-15 tracking and guidance radome was positioned. The golf-

  ball-like radome exploded like a burst balloon, scattering pieces

  of the antenna within for hundreds of meters.

  From his vantage point in a low-covered concrete revetment

  near the flight line, Maraklov saw the golf-ball radome split

  apart and explode; now it looked like a cracked egg in a boiled

  egg holder. Men were running toward the flight line, but he

  knew the attack on the SA-15 guidance radome was a prelude to

  the real assault. If it was a Tacit Rainbow cruise missile the

  attack would not be for a few minutes because the AGM-136

  had a range of almost a hundred miles; if it was an AGM-88

  HARM missile the follow-on attack could be any second. Either

  way it was going to be an air rai
d-the attackers had obviously

  been waiting for the SA-15 to come up before blowing it up,

  and with the radar gone the whole north coast of Nicaragua was

  open to air attack.

  Maraklov took a deep pull from a plastic jug of distilled water

  as he watched the radar control center begin to bum. Sebaco,

  he was sure, was next-except whoever was staging this attack

  wasn't going to stop at a radar site.

  But DrearnStar-it was safe. He was sitting in DreamStar's

  cockpit, still wearing his flight suit, his helmet resting on his lap

  in front of him. Less than one hour earlier he had landed at

  Puerto Cabezas after a low-altitude run from Sebaco. Becau e

  he knew that the American AWACS radar planes would be look-

  ing for a high-speed aircraft leaving Sebaco, he had made the

  flight under two hundred miles an hour and at the lowest altitude

  he could muster, flying deep within mountain valleys and jungle

  river beds to avoid detection. His gamble that his flight-profile

  would resemble anything but a jet fighter had apparently worked.

  To avoid detection he had landed on the taxiway at Puerto

  Cabezas instead of the broad ten-thousand-foot runway, taxied

  400 DALE BROWN

  to the semi-underground concrete shelter and waited with en-

  gines running for any sign of pursuit. None. He shut down but

  maintained the ANTARES interface and remained strapped in

  place, configured and ready to fire up DreimStar. But still no

  sign of pursuit. Exhaustion overtook him, so he shut down the

  interface and directed the ground crewmen to begin refueling

  his fighter. He had been off the ANTARES interface only fifteen

  minutes when the attack began.

  DreamStar was ready for a fight. She carried two more Lluyka

  in-flight refueling tanks on the wing pylons plus two radar-guided

  missiles on wing pylons and, this time, two infrared-guided mis-

  siles on hardpoints on the underside of the fuselage. The two IR

  missiles were more of a hazard than a help-if DrearnStar's ca-

  nards were down in their high-maneuverability position, the mis-

  siles could possibly hit the canards after launch-but for the long