Razor's Edge

by Dale Brown

  “Once they fire at the Quail, we’ll know for sure,” said Bree.

  “If they fire at the Quail.”

  “They will.” The Quail was a decoy drone, essentially a cruise missile with a profile and “noisemaker” that made it appear to be a B-52 on radar scopes.

  “I think they’ll go for it,” said Zen. “And Rubeo’s wrong about it fitting in a small building. Jennifer says it has to be one of those three sites.”

  “She’s not an expert on lasers,” said Alou.

  “She’s an expert on everything,” answered Zen.

  Danny listened as they continued to discuss the contingencies, pondering how effective the JSOWs would be against a hardened site, even though Rubeo said it would be impossible to place the director or firing mechanism behind one.

  In a perfect world, a massive strike by F-15Es would cover any possibility. But if it were a perfect world, Danny thought, he would have CentCom support.

  He glanced at the map. If it made sense to survey the laser site when they thought it was in Iraq, it made even more sense now.

  Two of the three most likely sites were within the Bronco’s radius, albeit just at the edge.

  So maybe they should be in the air, just in case.

  “What?” Zen asked him.

  “Listen, if you’re going to use the Quail to try and find the site, then I’ll take a team in the Bronco in case it turns out to be one we can hit,” Danny told him.

  “Now you’re talking,” said Mack.

  “Iraqis’ll shoot you down before you get to the border,” said Zen. “They’re running Zsu-23s up north like ants rushing to a picnic.”

  “It’s an awful long shot,” said Bree.

  “Granted. But the payoff would be high.”

  “Not if you’re shot down,” said Alou.

  “Hey, screw that,” said Mack. “I’m not getting shot down.”

  “You almost got shot down by a helicopter,” said Alou.

  “Not even close. And this time I won’t leave my Sidewinders behind.”

  “Then you’ll never make it into Iraq,” said Zen. “It’s too far, Mack.”

  “Don’t wimp on me, Zen boy.”

  The back and forth might have been amusing if so much weren’t riding on it. Danny wondered if he sounded like Mack—willing to take enormous risks just to get in on the action.

  Was that what he was doing?

  Dreamland Command Center

  0100

  THE FACE THAT FLASHED ONTO THE SCREEN SURPRISED Dog so much he found himself momentarily speechless.

  “I hear you’ve been looking to chew my ear,” said General Clearwater, CentCom CinC. “Fire away.”

  “Well, actually, it’s academic now,” said Dog, who’d just come back to the command center after catching a few hours sleep. “I wanted to inform you of a mission into Iraq.” Clearwater moved his closed mouth, as if shifting his teeth around. “Well, your boys pulled that off very well, Colonel. Congratulations. Were you looking for assistance?”

  “Just wanted to keep the lines of communication open, sir. A heads-up.”

  “Very good.” The general seemed ready to sign off.

  “General Clearwater, I wonder if we might have your support on another mission.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We believe we know where the laser is that’s been shooting down our aircraft. We want to hit it right away.”

  “It should be a target. Have you talked to Jack?” Jack meant Jack Christian, the Air Force general in charge of target planning for CentCom.

  “It’s in Iran,” said Dog. “What I’m looking for—”

  “Iran’s out of bounds,” said the general. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Clearwater moved his jaw again. The deep lines on his forehead grew even deeper. “How sure?” he asked.

  “Very.”

  “My orders at the moment are very explicit, and I’ve gone over similar ground with the Defense secretary twice. I understand your orders may be different,” added Clearwater before Dog could say anything else. “But for the moment at least, my hands are tied.” The screen blanked before Dog could say anything else.

  High Top

  1150

  THE IDEA HAD FORMED IN DANNY’S MIND EVEN BEFORE THE Marine Corps major came to see him. It was outrageous and even far-fetched—which made it perfect.

  “I know you’re busy,” said the Marine commander, helping himself to some of the coffee on the trailer counter near the worktable. “I was wondering if I could arrange a briefing on the valley you flew through on your way back from the Iraqi radar site. We have a mission just north of there. We’re going to pick up some Kurd leaders and bring them to Turkey for a conference. I’m authorized to take out anything that gets in the way.”

  “I’ll give you the whole rundown,” said Danny.

  “There’s a helicopter base down there that you ought to wipe out along the way. They have at least two Mi-24 Hinds on the ground.”

  “We’ll nail them,” said the Marine.

  “Wait. I’d like one of the helicopters,” said Danny.

  “What for?” said the major.

  “You don’t want to know,” said Danny.

  The Marine, who knew only that Whiplash was not part of the normal chain of command, nodded. A few minutes later Danny and he had worked out a plan to snatch one of the Hinds.

  Zen and Alou were considerably more skeptical than the Marine.

  “We take the helicopter into Iran. The Iraqis won’t shoot at it, because it’s theirs,” said Danny.

  “The Iranians will,” said Zen.

  “Not before we hit them.”

  “I don’t know, Danny.”

  “It’ll work,” he insisted. “It has the range, even without extra fuel. And we’ll take plenty. Payload’s there. It’s low risk.”

  “Bullshit on low risk,” said Alou, and even Zen rolled his eyes.

  A small part of him said to back off—he and the team were tired, this was way out there. But another part of him, the much larger part, pushed ahead.

  They could do it.

  “Who’s going to fly the helo?” asked Alou.

  “I got a guy,” Danny told him.

  “Who?”

  “Egg Reagan. He has a pilot’s license and everything.”

  “He’s flown Hinds?” Zen asked.

  “He can fly anything,” said Danny. “We can take the chopper, no sweat. As long as the Marines can get us there, we can do this. Egg flew a Pave Low just the other day. He can do this.”

  “We can’t go without Colonel Bastian’s approval,” said Alou.

  “He’ll approve it,” said Danny.

  Dreamland Command Center

  0210

  “VERY RISKY, DANNY. I DON’T KNOW IF SERGEANT REAGAN can fly the aircraft.”

  “I know he can, Colonel. He’s been sleeping or I’d have him here to tell you himself.” Dog started pacing. He knew as well as Danny what the sergeant would say; the word “No” didn’t seem to be in the Whiplash vocabulary.

  But could he really do it?

  “He flies the Pave Lows,” added Danny. “They’re more complicated, I guarantee.”

  The payoff was immense. Pull it off, and they’d have a treasure trove of information.

  But this was far riskier than the earlier plan.

  He played back the conversation he’d had earlier with Clearwater. The general wasn’t opposed to hitting the laser. On the contrary, it seemed. But he clearly wouldn’t go against his orders, and clearly wouldn’t directly support a mission into Iran until the orders were changed.

  That could take days. If the laser were mobile, it’d be gone then.

  “Colonel?”

  “CentCom needs one of the Megafortresses to help suppress antiair on a mission south about the time this is supposed to go off. We’re going to have to work that in,” said Dog.

  “Okay,” said Danny.

 
“I’ll talk to CentCom about the action inside of Iraq.”

  “Hot dog.”

  “I haven’t authorized the ground mission,” said Bastian quickly. “Let me think about it.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll get back to you,” said Dog, punching the End Transmit.

  High Top

  1225

  “KNOCK, KNOCK,” SAID EGG, OUTSIDE DANNY’S PERSONAL tent. “Hey, Captain, you wanted to see me?”

  “Come,” said Danny.

  Powder and Bison came in with Egg, filling the tent with an odd odor.

  “Enjoy your nap?” Danny asked Egg.

  “Yes, sir,” said the sergeant.

  “What the hell?” said Danny. “You guys smell like baby powder.”

  “Hey, just checking on the kid, Cap,” said Powder.

  “You know. We’re like uncles.”

  Danny rolled his eyes. “Listen, Egg, we have something a bit hard to tackle and I’m wondering if you’d be up to it.”

  “Hard’s his middle name, Cap,” said Powder. “Just before ‘on.’ “

  “Yeah, and Powder would know,” said Bison.

  Danny ignored them. “Egg, would you be up to flying a helicopter?”

  The sergeant shrugged. “Yeah, no problem.”

  “Good. It’s an Mi-24 Hind.”

  “A what?”

  “A Hind. Commie helicopter. Think you can handle it?”

  “Jeez, I don’t know. I don’t know that I’ve ever flown one of those before.”

  “A helicopter’s a helicopter, right? Jennifer Gleason says there’s a database on the controls and performance aspects in the Megafortress database,” Danny added.

  “She’s setting it up so you can review it. And I talked to Dr. Ray at Dreamland. He’s going to dig around for an expert to talk you through it. We can set up a direct line.”

  “Jennifer, the babe scientist,” said Powder. “Jeez, I’ll do it.”

  “I volunteer,” said Bison.

  “I don’t know, Cap,” said Egg. “I mean, I probably could figure it out if I have a little time.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Powder.

  “Screw yourself,” said Egg. “This isn’t a bulldozer we’re talking about.”

  “I can learn it, Cap,” insisted Powder. “Will she whisper in my ear?”

  “All right, guys, back off,” said Danny. “Outside the tent.”

  He watched Egg as they left. The normally self-assured sergeant wore a worried face.

  “We can come up with something else,” Danny suggested.

  “I can do it.” Egg flexed his shoulders back. Danny worried that he was pushing too hard—he didn’t want Egg to say he could do it just to please him.

  On the other hand, a helicopter was a helicopter, commie or not, right?

  “Where is it?” asked Egg.

  “We passed it on the way home,” Danny told him. “The Marines are going to help us steal it.”

  “Shit, I’ll do it, Cap,” said Powder outside.

  “Fuck off,” said Egg.

  “Go play with the kid,” yelled Danny.

  Powder and Bison moved a few feet away from the tent, though he could tell they were still nearby.

  “I’ll figure it out, Captain,” said Egg. “If I get some help. When are we leaving?”

  “Half an hour too soon?”

  Egg just scratched his head.

  Dreamland Command Center

  0255

  DOG WATCHED THE CNN FEED, HIS MIND DRIFTING BLANK.

  The connection with High Top was pending; he intended to give Danny the go-ahead to use the Hind, long shot though it was.

  He’d double-checked the sergeant’s piloting credentials, gone over the sat pictures, reviewed the flight plans.

  He’d listened to the scientists debate the value of the intelligence. He’d spoken once more to Clearwater, who personally approved the Marine involvement in the helo snatch, but set the limits there. Dog knew he was making the right decision; the odds were against the mission, but it was exactly the sort of long shot they’d put Whiplash together to undertake.

  And yet, he was still searching for some signpost, some indication that he was right to put his people at so much risk.

  It wasn’t there. Even on an easy mission, nothing could guarantee everything would fall in place.

  There were no easy missions. On the other hand, if they completely screwed up, if things went totally wrong, the implications were enormous.

  Worse than the situation if they did nothing?

  No.

  The CNN footage showed Iraqi tanks continuing their attacks against the Kurds. Didn’t we fight this war already? Dog wondered.

  “Captain Freah is on his way,” said the lieutenant at the com panel. “He should be on in five minutes, maybe less.”

  “Okay. Where’s Jed Barclay?” Dog asked.

  “Incirlik.”

  “Get him, would you?”

  The operator punched his keys. He spoke to someone on the other end of the line in Turkey, then told Dog they wouldn’t have video.

  “Not a problem.”

  “Colonel?” Jed’s voice boomed so loudly in the room the techie had to squelch the volume.

  “Jed, can you get me to General Elliott?”

  “He’s left to go back to Europe.”

  “You can get me in touch with him, can’t you?”

  “Uh, yeah. Take a minute.”

  Two minutes later the technician said they had an in-coming transmission from Class Two—General Elliott aboard a VIP Gulfstream.

  “How are you, Colonel?” boomed Elliott.

  “Personally, not so good.” Dog laughed, facing the blank screen. “Want your old job back?” Elliott laughed. “I’d take it in a heartbeat.” His tone grew serious. “It’s a little different being a colonel. You don’t have the perks to go with the responsibility.”

  “I still have to do what I think is right.”

  “It’s not always easy to figure out what that is,” said Elliott.

  Dog didn’t intend on asking him what to do, and he’d known Elliott wouldn’t volunteer advice. So why had he contacted him?

  Moral support? Word of encouragement?

  Not even that. Talking to him, though—it was like making a pilgrimage to a sacred shrine or a battlefield. Looking out over the hills at Gettysburg made you understand something, even though you couldn’t put it into words.

  Elliott as Gettysburg—he’d roar at that.

  “Thanks, General,” said Dog. “I have to go.”

  “That’s all you want?”

  “That’s all I need, sir.”

  Dog bent to the console and picked up the land-line phone, punching in his office. Ax answered immediately.

  “Ax, how are we doing with that expert on Russian helicopters?”

  “Should be aboard the Dolphin by now, sir,” answered the chief master sergeant.

  “Hustle him down here as soon as he clears security.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dog put down the phone and turned to the lieutenant.

  “I’d like that connection to High Top today, son.”

  “The connection’s there, sir. It’s Captain Freah we’re waiting on.”

  Dog straightened and looked at the screen. When Danny Freah’s tired face finally appeared, Colonel Bastian said only one word: “Go.”

  Aboard Fork One,

  over northeastern Iraq,

  1400

  DANNY FREAH STOOD NEAR THE DOOR OF THE MARINE HELICOPTER, watching as the CH-46 Sea Knight dubbed Fork One whipped across the landscape roughly twenty feet over the ground. The Marines liked the old helicopters, claiming they were more dependable than Pave Lows or even Chinooks, their look-alike big brothers. Danny wasn’t so sure. If he had to pick a Marine transport, he would have much preferred an Osprey or even a Super Stallion, the Corps’ three-engined version of the MH-53 Pave Low, ferociously quick monster choppers with plenty of power to spar
e.

  On the other hand, he didn’t think he could do better than the Marines accompanying them. If it went well, the whole operation would last maybe fifteen minutes: Flighthawk hits the two Zsu-23-4s protecting the approach, followed closely by the Cobras, which would strike the two BMPs at the base and a pair of machine guns near the buildings. The troops would then fast-rope into the complex. One group of Marines and the Whiplash team would land near the helicopters; the Marines in the second chopper would hit the buildings.

  Two of the eighteen men squeezing into the rear of the aircraft with Whiplash carried Shoulder-launched Multipurpose Assault Weapons—SMAW 83mm rockets—to be used against the fortified position near the Hinds and anything else that came up. The others carried standard M-16s and a variety of grenades. Two of Danny’s boys, Powder and Bison, had SAWs, or light machine guns, to lay down support fire at the start; the others carried MP-5s for close work at the finish.

  Boom, boom, boom, assuming it went according to plan. Then the real fun would begin.

  Egg fingered his gun nervously. The expert who was supposed to help him fly hadn’t shown up in the Dreamland command center yet, but Jennifer had downloaded several pages worth of data, and one of the Marine helo pilots had offered plenty of advice. Every so often Egg would look up from his notes toward Danny and nod confidently.

  It had the opposite effect from what he intended. Egg looked about as self-assured as a kid coming off the bus for basic training.

  It would work, Danny told himself. And if it didn’t—It would work.

  Aboard Raven,

  over Iraq

  1420

  THROUGH THE PREFLIGHT, TAKEOFF, AND LAUNCH OF THE Flighthawks, Zen tried to think of something to say to Fentress, who’d come along on Raven to act as an assistant. Frankly, he would have preferred to have Jennifer, but she was too exhausted. And besides, there was no reason not have Fentress there, helping—the kid had proven he could handle the U/MFs, even if he’d been shot down.

  He wasn’t a kid, Zen told himself again.

  He wasn’t out after his job either.

  Zen lifted his helmet visor as the Flighthawk settled onto the course toward the target area. He glanced over at Fentress, trying to think of what to say. The kid—the other U/MF pilot—was studying the latest photo relay from the mini-KH, orienting himself. There was a little less than five minutes left before fun time.

  Zen felt he should say something, but all he could think of was generic bullshit about how he knew Fentress would do a good job. Finally he simply slid his visor back and said they were ready.