by Dale Brown
The question was, would the Iranians go for it?
Zen watched the Quail climb from the Flighthawk cockpit, tagging along as the rockets quickly took it through ten thousand feet. By now it would be clearly visible on the Iranian airport control radars; even if the radars were being operated by civilians—something he doubted—they ought to be on the hot line by now.
“Quail is at twelve thousand feet, climbing steady, on course,” reported the copilot.
“Nothing,” said the electronic warfare officer. “All clear.”
“Laser detection gear is blank too,” said the copilot, who had the plot on his screen. Jennifer, Garcia, and some of the other techies had installed the tweaked device in Raven‘s tail, replacing the Stinger antiair mines.
Zen tucked back down toward the mountains, joining the Megafortress in a valley that rode almost directly into the target area. They were no more than fifteen minutes from the farthest site.
“Quail is topping out at eighteen thousand,” said the copilot.
“Nothing,” said the radar operator.
“We’re clean too,” said Fentress. “Are they missing it, or do they know it’s a decoy?” he asked Zen.
“Not sure,” he replied. “Should be pretty fat on their radar.”
“I told you we should have put a kick-me sign on the tail,” joked the copilot. No one laughed.
“We have to go to Plan B,” said Alou.
Zen pulled up the course he’d worked out earlier and pushed the throttle to the firewall, streaking toward the farthest site. The Flighthawk climbed away from the mountainside toward a patchwork of fields. A small village rose on his right, the center of town marked by the round spire of a mosque.
“Radar tracking Quail,” said the operator. “MIM-23 Hawk!”
“Confirmed,” said the copilot.
“Hey—this fits with the earlier profiles,” said the radar operator. “It shouldn’t have been in range—tracking the Quail!”
“That doesn’t fit the pattern,” said Alou.
“Radar is off the air. I have it marked,” said the operator. “Hind probably detected,” he added.
“Whiplash Hind, take evasive maneuvers!” said Fentress.
“Breaking the radar,” said the operator, beginning to explain that he had prodded the ECMs to keep the Hawk radar from locking on the helicopter.
“Laser!” yelled the copilot.
Aboard Whiplash Hind
1708
THE HELICOPTER LURCHED OUT FROM UNDER DANNY, twisting and falling at the same time. The helo’s 18,000 pounds hurtled sideways in the air, directly toward a sheer cliff. Unable to grip the slippery wind, and propelled by the violent centrifugal forces kicked up by the main rotor, the tail twisted, throwing the helicopter into a rolling dive so severe that about two inches at the tip of one of the blades sheered off. One of the two Isotov TV3-117 turboshafts choked, the severe rush of air overwhelming the poorly maintained power plant. The aircraft curled to the right but began to settle, its tail now drifting back the other way, a bare foot or two from the rocks. Danny clawed himself up the side of the cabin, steeling himself for the inevitable crash. He saw the door a few feet away; he’d go out there after they hit, assuming he could move.
But he didn’t have to. Somehow, miraculously, Egg had managed to regain control of the helicopter.
“Sorry,” he was saying over and over again. “Shit, sorry. Sorry, sorry.”
Danny looked across at the rest of his team, groaning and sorting themselves out.
“It’s okay, Egg. Settle down.”
“Sorry, Cap. I went to get down and I overdid it. Radar had us spiked.”
“It’s okay. Were we fired on?”
“I don’t know. I, uh, if we were, it doesn’t show up on the instruments, at least not what I can read.”
“Can we keep going?”
“I think so, sir. But, uh, I don’t have anything on my radio, I think.”
“Hang on.” Danny adjusted his own com set. They had lost communications with Dreamland Command, as well as Raven.
Had Raven been hit?
Helicopters often lost radio contact when they were flying very low to the ground. Even the Dreamland satellite connection was finicky.
“Probably, we’re too low to get a good radio connection,” said Danny.
“Should I go up?”
“Let’s stay low for a while,” said Danny. “When we’re closer to the target areas, then we’ll pop up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Whiplash team, sound off. Give me your status,” said Danny.
One by one the team members gave a curse-laden roll call. Liu had a major welt on his arm and Jack “Pretty Boy” Floyd had a bloody nose, but none of the injuries were severe. “Powder” Talcom brought up the rear of the muster.
“I think I puked my fuckin’ brains out,” he said.
Everyone laughed, even Egg.
“Ought to fill a thimble,” said Bison. “If that.”
Aboard Raven,
over Iran
1710
“LASER IS CONFIRMED AT SITE TWO,” SAID THE COPILOT.
“The rectangular building at the far end of the eastern block. Subgrid two. Near the animal pen. Marked now on GPS displays.”
“That’s where the Hawk radar is. I have the site marked,” said the radar operator. “They’re off the air.”
“The laser got the Quail,” said the copilot. “But I can’t find the Hind.”
“Scanning,” said the radar operator.
“Go to active radar,” said Major Alou. “Just a burst, then kill it.”
“Nothing,” said the copilot.
“I’m dropping back to look for them,” said Zen, turning the Flighthawk south.
“Hold on, Zen,” said Alou. “The laser is our priority.
We have to take it out. Then we’ll go back for Whiplash.”
“They may be dead by then.”
“They may be dead already.”
Dreamland Command Center
0815
THE HELICOPTER HAD BEEN OUT OF CONTACT FOR MORE than five minutes now. Dog did nothing, continuing to stare at the sitrep screen showing Raven over Iran.
They had a good location on the laser. Alou was almost in position to strike it. Should he tell them to turn back and find his men?
No way. The laser was a potent weapon that had to be erased. His men aboard the Hind were expendable.
So were the ones on Raven, for that matter. And his daughter in Quicksilver. And his lover on the ground at High Top.
“Contact with Captain Freah is still lost,” said the lieutenant at the console. “Major Alou wants to know whether to proceed with the attack or hold off for Whiplash.”
“Hold off,” said Rubeo. “The information is invaluable.”
“You’re assuming the helicopter hasn’t been destroyed,” said Major Cheshire, sitting at the console next to the scientist.
“It hasn’t,” said Rubeo. “It’s out of communication range because of the ground clutter. The laser struck the Quail, that was all. It’ll take them a half hour to recycle and fire again. I see the pattern now.” The scientist jumped up and went over to the com console. “The Hind is just very low and the signal is distorted by the rotor. Let me see those controls.”
“We’ll give it five more minutes,” Dog said. “Then we’re going ahead with the attack.”
Aboard Whiplash Hind,
over Iraq
1718
DANNY TRIED CONNECTING AGAIN. “DREAMLAND COMMAND? This is Whiplash Hind. Can you hear me?”
“Captain Freah—where are you? Are you okay?” It was Fentress.
“We’re on course,” Danny said. “We went into evasive maneuvers. We’re very low.”
“We thought you were shot down.”
“We thought the same thing happened to you.”
“No, the laser got the decoy. Listen—there’s a battery of Hawk missiles right near the laser. H
old off until we nail it.”
“Okay. Where’s the laser?”
“Site two. The rectangular building in subgrid two.
We’re about ninety seconds away—we’ll feed you video once we’ve got it. The air force may scramble jets,” Fentress added. “We haven’t seen them yet.”
“Site two. Got it.” Danny punched up the map visual on his combat helmet screen. Two was the northernmost site, a set of agricultural buildings. There were farm animals, a big warehouse or barn. “We’re five miles away.”
“Okay, good. We’re targeting the Hawks now. Stand by.”
“You hear all that, Egg?” Danny asked his pilot.
“Pretty much.”
“All right,” Danny told the others. “Five minutes.”
“About time,” said Powder. “It’s getting dark.”
Danny downloaded the diagram of the site into his helmet. “We land at the north end of the building. The barracks are just beyond that, across the double barbed-wire fence. Powder, when Egg gives you the word, hit the barracks with the rockets. Don’t hold anything back.”
“That’s my middle name,” said Powder.
“You see anything when we come in, give it everything you got.”
“What I’m talkin’ about, Captain.”
Aboard Quicksilver,
over Iraq
1735
ANTICIPATING THAT THEIR NEW RADAR OPERATOR WOULD have trouble with the equipment if things got hot, Breanna had preset her configurable display to bring up the duplicate radar interception screen on her voice command. Now that the attack planes they were shepherding were being probed by the Iraqis, she moved quickly, bringing up the screen and preparing to attack.
“Chris, open bay doors. Target radars.”
“Bay open.”
“Our shot, Torbin,” she said, overriding his panel.
“Take a breath. Fire at will, Chris. I have the ECMs.”
“Tacit has target. Launching,” he said.
There was an ever so soft clunk deep within the plane as the AGM-136X pushed off the rotary launcher, tracking toward the Iraqi radar. Unlike the original—and canceled—Tacit Rainbow missiles designed to take the place of HARMs, the Dreamland Tacit Plus had a GPS guidance system augmenting the radar homing head. This allowed it to operate in two distinct modes: it could fly straight to the radar site, switching to GPS mode if the radar went off. Or, like Tacit Rainbow, it could orbit an area, waiting for the radar to come back on. The ramjet made it reasonably quick, and gave it a range somewhere over seventy miles, depending on the mission profile.
“They’re jammed,” said Breanna.
“Yeah, I’m on it,” said Chris. “Tacit has gone to GPS mode. Sixty seconds from target.”
“Torbin, go ahead and track for more radars,” said Breanna.
“Missiles in the air!” warned Chris. “SA-2, SA-9s, a Six—barrage tactics again. They’re firing blind.”
“Everybody hang tight,” said Breanna. “Torbin, maintain the ECMs. Torbin?”
“I’m on it.”
“Shit—we’re being tracked. More radars,” said Chris.
“Tacit is thirty seconds from impact—they’re just firing everything they got, in case they get lucky.”
“Not today,” said Breanna. “Brace yourselves.” She put the Megafortress on its wing, rocking back in the other direction as electronic tinsel and flares spewed from the large plane. One of the missiles the Iraqis had launched sailed about five hundred feet from the nose, its seeker thoroughly confused. It had been launched totally blind and had no idea how close it was to its target.
Neither did the SA-9 that strode in on the Megafortress’s tail. But that didn’t make much difference—sucking on one of the flares, it veered right, then exploded about twenty yards from the right rear stabilizer.
Aboard Raven,
over Iran
1745
ZEN RODE THE FLIGHTHAWK SOUTH, AIMING TO MAKE HIS cut north as the first JSOW hit the SAM batteries guarding the base. Raven, meanwhile, stayed in the mountain valley, where the clutter would keep the Hawk radars from picking her up if they were turned on again.
The computer kept giving him connection warnings as he maneuvered. He still couldn’t see the site on his viewer.
“I need you to come south, Raven,” he told Alou.
“Can’t do it,” said Alou.
Zen began climbing back. As he did, the Hawk radars came back on. He tucked left but too late; the RWR screen blinked red as the computerized voice told him he was being tracked.
“Come on! Nail those mothers,” he told Alou.
“Ten seconds to launch,” said the copilot. “Area at the far end, near the livestock pen. Must be camo’d well.” With ECMs blaring and his disposables disposed, Zen plunged the Flighthawk toward the radars, zigged hard and pulled down, trying to both beam the Doppler radar and line up for his attack run. But this was physically impossible—the Hawk targeting radar spiked him. A half second later, the battery launched a pair of SAMs.
Fuck it, he thought, thumbing the cannon screen up. If he was going out, he was going out in style. The barracks building at the south end was just coming into view at the top of his screen.
It disappeared behind a cloud of white steam.
It took him a second to realize it was antiaircraft artillery, firing from inside a pen of milling animals near the building. A thick hail of lead rose from Zsu-23s or possibly M-163 Vulcans in netted pits below the animals, perhaps tied into the Hawk radar. Zen had to break his attack, and he twisted south. Clear, he turned back in time to see the Hawk battery explode.
“Bull’s-eye on the SAMs!” said the copilot. “Kick ass.”
“Triple A in the pig pen,” Zen told Alou. “Kind of figures. I got it.”
“Yours,” said Alou. “We have three AGMs left. Fentress, get Whiplash in as soon as the flak’s gone.” Bullets spewed from the guns as Zen rocked northward. As the closest torrent began to separate into two distinct streams, Zen pressed the trigger on his own cannon. The Flighthawk spewed shells into the dirt and panic-stricken animals in front of the triple-A pit; he rode the torrent into a low wall in front of it and then through the sloped turret. The cloud of gunfire parted and then cleared; Zen turned to the east beyond the target, trying to sort out the battlefield before making another pass.
Flames spewed from the Hawk battery. Men were running from the barracks. Two of the flak guns were continuing to fire, one east, one west. The Hind was about ninety seconds away.
And the building with the laser?
It sat at the north end of the complex. The roof panels on the west side were folding downward. There was movement inside but Zen couldn’t tell what was going on.
“I think the laser’s getting ready to fire,” he warned.
“I’m going to grease it.”
“We’ll get a missile on it,” said Alou.
“No time,” he said, pushing over.
Aboard Whiplash Hind,
over Iran
1750
DANNY WENT TO THE DOOR AS THE HIND GLIDED INTO A hover, preparing to launch its missiles. Black smoke curled on the other side of the complex, and he could see men running in different directions, some to take defensive positions, others to save themselves.
“Watch the Flighthawk!” he barked, but the warning was drowned out by a thundering succession of whoops from the rocket launchers. The rockets left the wing pod with a furl of white smoke and a hard shake; Danny felt as if a giant had grabbed hold of the Hind’s wings and was systematically trying to empty its stores on the enemy. Zen said something about targeting the laser building, then warned about flak, but in the rush of noise and fire and smoke it was impossible to figure out what he was saying. Danny wanted only one thing—to get down on the ground and complete their mission.
“Let’s go, Egg, let’s go!” he yelled as the rockets stopped. The Hind whipped right, but then twisted backward, away from the target. “What the hell?
” he asked Egg.
“Flighthawk is firing!” warned the pilot. “He wants us to stay back.”
“Get us into the complex now!” said Danny. “Just do it!”
“Yes, sir. Hold on.”
The helicopter lurched eastward. Danny saw the small robot plane pass almost in slow motion, smoke erupting from its mouth. Steam enveloped the side of the target building.
“Down! Down!” said Danny.
As if in response, the nose of the helicopter pitched hard toward the earth.
Northern Iran
1755
THEY WERE NEARLY TWO HUNDRED MILES FROM ANHIK, more than six or seven hours away by car, when the call came on his satellite phone. The connection was poor, but General Sattari understood immediately what had happened.
“Repulse the attack at all costs,” he told Colonel Vali, though the command was completely unnecessary. “Reinforcements will be sent.”
The general told the driver to go up the road to a high point. When they reached it, he got out of the car with the telephone and walked off the road to a pile of rocks, more for privacy than to ensure good reception. The driver the black robes had supplied was undoubtedly a spy. The bastards hadn’t even let him fly back in the helicopter.
No wonder. Thoughts of treachery ran through his head. Khamenei had tipped off the Americans or the Chinese somehow—it wasn’t clear who exactly was attacking.
Sattari emptied his mind and calmly began dialing the squadron commanders he knew would be loyal to him.
Smoke rose between the distant hills.
His imagination? Surely he could not see the attack from here.
“Anhik is under attack,” Sattari said into his phone when the connection went through. “Send assistance.” He repeated the words six times; each time the man on the other line said nothing more than “Yes” or “Right away.” As he clicked the End Transmit button after speaking to the last commander, Sattari turned toward Anhik, as if perhaps he might at least witness the battle there.
The smoke was gone.
His experts had told him the laser was undetectable.