Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 05 (40 page)

 
          
“What
is it, Leopard?”

 
          
“I
think ... I
hope,
it’s the cavalry,”
Briggs said.

 
          
Sure
enough, it was. Out of the darkness, a large aircraft appeared. It swooped in
toward the security headquarters building with incredible speed for an aircraft
its size, its huge twin propellers acting as helicopter rotors. A Gatling gun
mounted on its nose spat fire in several directions at ground targets as the
huge aircraft moved with delicate precision toward the rooftop. With the nose
and an FLIR turret peeking over the edge of the roof, the CV-22 Pave Hammer
tilt-rotor aircraft settled just a yard above the rooftop, rear end in. The
cargo ramp was open, and commandos were running out and taking security
positions around the rooftop.

           
Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant Chris
Wohl ran over to Briggs and Behrouzi as several Madcap Magician commandos
helped the others to the CV-22 tilt-rotor. “Let’s go, Major,” Wohl said. “We’re
outta here.”

 
          
Briggs
felt like hugging the tall Marine. “How in hell did you find us?”

 
          
“Later,”
Wohl said. “Right now, let’s get the hell outta here. We’re bingo fuel, and
we’ve got a tanker waiting for us off the coast.”

 
          
In
less than a minute, everyone was evacuated off the rooftop, and the CV-22 was
wave-hopping its way out over the
Gulf
of
Oman
. The CV-22’s threat warning receiver beeped
a few times, but they observed no missile launches or fighter pursuit. In ten
minutes they were out of Iranian territorial waters, and a few minutes later
they were refueling behind a U.S. Air Force HC-130N special operations tanker
that had been dispatched from
Bahrain
to support the Madcap Magician rescue
mission.

 
          
“Practically
the entire UAE government was watching you guys heading off toward Chah Bahar,”
Wohl explained once they were safely refueled and on the way back to
Dubai
. “Peace Shield Sky- watch reported the
OV-IOD Bronco belonging to General Rashid heading for
Iran
—they thought the Emir’s son was defecting
or something. When I heard about it on the air defense net, I had an HC-130N
scramble from Manama Air Base in
Bahrain
, we took a token onload over the UAE, and
immediately headed toward Chah Bahar. Somehow, I knew it was you: first the
message about the carrier and the lone chopper heading toward Chah Bahar, then
the recall message...”

 
          
“I
almost got everyone killed, Gunny,” Briggs said. “I lost two Americans, I got
four UAE commandos killed, I lost their Bronco ...”

 
          
“Yes,
you did,” Wohl said sternly. “You executed an impossible mission without proper
planning, intelligence, and preparation, including the basics like how in hell
you were going to get your asses out of the target area and safely back home.
You put yourself and your troops in mortal danger. It was stupid, Briggs,
really stupid. You exercised poor, immature, and completely rash judgment as a
commander. ...”

 
          
Wohl
stopped, then nodded resignedly and added, “But you pulled it off, goddamn your
Air Force birdbrain black ass. You saved ten guys, ten of
your
guys, and you didn’t leave anyone behind. You improvised,
adapted, and overcame. You used incredible bravery and guts, and showed real
leadership. I wouldn’t have done it that way, but I’m not the commander of
Madcap Magician’s strike force
—you
are.”

Over the
Gulf
of
Oman

THAT SAME TIME

 
          
“Shamu
One-One, this is Nightmare on AR primary, how copy, over.” Silently, McLanahan
prayed. Be there, you guys, dammit, be there.. . .

 
          
“Nightmare,
this is Shamu One-One, read you five by,” the KC- 10 Extender aerial refueling
tanker copilot responded. “We’re just about min fuel at Watchdog. What’s your
position? Over.”

 
          
“Nightmare
is two hundred west of the ARIP, headed your way,” McLanahan responded,
breathing a sigh of relief. They were one hour late to their scheduled
refueling, near the U.S.S.
Abraham
Lincoln
carrier group in the Arabian Sea, and now the B-2A was critically
short on fuel—but so was their tanker, a converted Douglas DC-10 used by the
U.S. Air Force for long-range aerial refueling and cargo hauling. If the KC-10
Extender couldn’t stay to hook up, they would have to abort to Diego Garcia in
the
Indian Ocean
—and surely this meant their cover would be
blown. One didn’t have to be a math major to draw a parallel between all the
attacks on
Iran
and the sudden appearance of a B-2A bomber on Diego Garcia.

           
“We’re headed your way, Nightmare,”
the copilot of the KC-10 said. “We’re working on an alternate divert site for
ourselves to get you your full offload. If you can take a partial offload, it
would sure help us out. Over.”

 
          
McLanahan
pulled up a large chart of the Pacific and
Indian Ocean
regions and ran several range calculations
through the navigation computer. “We can take a three-quarter off-load and
abort to
Guam
if we can’t get a tanker to meet us,”
McLanahan reported. He paused, showing Jamieson the calculations: “We can also
take a three-quarters off-load, fly across
India
, southeast Asia, and
China
, and get our normal refueling west of
Hawaii
. Tempting, isn’t it?”

 
          
“We’re
not authorized to overfly any non-international airspace,” Jamieson said, “no
matter how much gas it’ll save. But yes, it is tempting. Take the partial
off-load, we’ll plan on aborting to
Guam
.”

 
          
“Agreed,”
McLanahan said. He relayed the information to the tanker crew, who were very
excited to hear that they wouldn’t have to try to get landing permission in
Oman or fly anywhere near Iran right now—any aircraft, especially U.S. military
aircraft, flying anywhere near the Persian Gulf would definitely be putting the
lives of its crew at risk right now. Like a huge, angry swarm of bees, the
entire Iranian air force was up, fully alerted, and looking for revenge. With a
partial off-load to the B-2A, the tanker could safely make its way back to its
staging base at Diego Garcia, a small island in the Indian Ocean leased by the
United States from Britain for use as a military air and naval base, about
1,500 miles south.

 
          
They
agreed on a “point parallel” rendezvous, in which both aircraft would fly
toward each other 1,000 feet apart in altitude. About thirty miles apart, the
tanker turned in front of the bomber so it would roll out about four to five
miles ahead of the bomber, within visual range, and then Jamieson would fly the
B-2A up into the pre-contact position. The rendezvous was automatic—the
tanker’s navigation computers performed the entire operation, backed up by
occasional updates by the B-2A’s synthetic aperture radar transmitting in
air-to-air mode—and a few short minutes later, the KC-lO’s flying boom was
nestled into the B-2A bomber’s in-flight refueling receptacle. The fuel
transfer began. The B-2A needed gas badly, so the KC-10 crew turned up the
transfer pumps and got the transfer rate up to 3,000 pounds of fuel per
minute—enough gas to fill up
sixty
automobiles
every minute.

 
          
The
fuel transfer was about half completed when suddenly the tanker’s director lights—the
rows of colored lights on the tanker’s belly that told the pilot where to fly
to stay in the proper refueling envelope—flashed on and off rapidly, and the
refueling boom popped out of the bomber’s receptacle. McLanahan was watching
the tanker and checking to make sure the fuel was being distributed to the
proper tanks when he saw the flashing lights and immediately shouted, “Break
away, break away! ” Jamieson chopped the throttles and started a
3,000-foot-per-minute descent, making both crew members light in the seats from
the sudden negative gravity. “Boom’s clear! Tanker climbing!” McLanahan
reported.

 
          
“What
happened? What is it?” Jamieson asked, scanning his instruments. “Was it a
pressure disconnect? Boom malfunction?”

 
          
“The
tanker’s lights are out,” McLanahan said. “I lost sight of him ... ”

 
          
“Get
him on the SAR,” Jamieson said. “We need this refueling.”

 
          
Just
then on the radios, they heard a thick Middle Eastern- accented voice say in
English, “Unidentified aircraft, unidentified aircraft, this is Interceptor
Seven-Four, air force of the Islamic Republic of Iran, on emergency GUARD
frequency. You have been observed flying into Iranian airspace in violation of
international law. You are ordered to follow me to a landing at Chah Bahar air base.
Turn left heading three-five-zero degrees immediately or you will be fired upon
without further warning! ”

           
“What?”
Jamieson shouted. “What kind of bullshit is this? We’re not in Iranian
airspace! ”

 
          
McLanahan
made no reply—but he did reach up and hit the COMBAT switch light. The light
began to blink because Jamieson’s consent switch was not in the proper
position. “Give me consent for COMBAT mode, AC.”

 
          
“What
are you doing?”

 
          
“Do it,
Colonel!” McLanahan shouted.
“Keep on descending— take it down to two thousand feet,
fast!”
Jamieson was about to argue again, but he flipped his
consent switch to CONSENT, and the COMBAT light turned steady.

 
          
As
Jamieson nosed the bomber over and pointed the B-2A’s beaked nose seaward,
McLanahan displayed the threat scope on his supercockpit display. There was the
KC-10 tanker, transmitting rendezvous beacon codes. “Shut down your
transmitters, Shamu,” McLanahan prayed aloud. Another symbol, a flashing
inverted-V “bat-wing” symbol with a yellow triangle emanating from its nose and
overlapping the KC-10 symbol, also appeared on the scope.

 
          
“What
is it?” Jamieson asked.

 
          
“An
Iranian MiG-29,” McLanahan replied. “He’s got the tanker locked on his attack
radar.”

 
          
“An
Iranian MiG! What’s he doing way out here? We’re a hundred miles outside
Iranian airspace! ”

 
          
“The
Iranians are sweeping the skies for whoever invaded Chah Bahar, Bandar Abbas,
and their carrier batde group,” McLanahan surmised. “They’re looking for
us”

 
          
“And
they found our tanker instead!” Jamieson cried. “Shit, they’re trying to get
him to land back at Chah Bahar! ”

 
          
“To
replace the hostages Briggs got out of prison,” McLanahan said. “Jesus!”

 
          
“We
gotta do something!” Jamieson shouted. “Get on that machine of yours. Call the
Navy, call
Washington
, but get some help!”

 
          
McLanahan
immediately burst out a message via satellite to the National Security Agency,
warning them of the intercept and requesting that the U.S.S.
Abraham Lincoln
launch fighters to try
to pursue and to ask American fighter patrols over the Arabian Peninsula to
intercept the group over the Gulf of Oman on their way back. “Messages sent,”
McLanahan said as they leveled off at 2,000 feet above the ocean.

 
          
“American
tanker plane, this is Interceptor Seven-Four on emergency GUARD frequency. Change
heading immediately or I will be forced to fire upon you. You have been
observed trespassing in Iranian airspace and attacking Iranian military and
civilian property. Turn left to heading three-five-zero now. This is your last
warning!”