Cuba (60 page)

airplane, and now the computer and autopilot were

taking him there. All he had to do was monitor the

system, make sure everything functioned as it was

designed to.

O’Brian sucked on his oxygen mask, reached under

it to scratch his nose, readjusted his flight

gloves, and generally fidgeted around in his seat. He

was nervouswho wouldn’t be”…b quite confident. After all,

there was very little danger as long as the aircraft’s

systems continued to work properly. The craft truly

was invisible at night. Of course it did have a

small infrared signature and could be seen by an

enemy searching the skies with infrared detectors, but

there was no reason to suspect the Cubans

were doing any such thing.

Barring a freak accident, like getting hit by a random

unaimed artillery shell or having a midair with a

civilian plane, the Cubans would never know the

F-117 had even been around. Certainly they would

never see it on radar or with the naked eye. ,

The Cubans might get wise when and if he

dropped some bombs, but even so, there was nothing they

could do about an invisible bomber.

The biggest risk, Jack O’Brian decided, was

having a midair with one of the other three

F-117’s that were out here prowling around.

The second plane was running twenty miles back

in trail, a thousand feet above this one, and the others

an equal

distance up and back, all with their own hard

altitudes. Jack glanced again at his altimeter,

just to be sure.

Key West came into view on schedule, a bit

off to his left. The lights of the other Keys

looked like a handful of pearls flung into the blackness

of the night.

Then Key West lay behind and the lights of Havana

appeared ahead. Jack O’Brian reduced power

and set up a descent.

Angel One, the helicopter from

United States,

landed in the cane across the road from Dona Maria

Sedano’s house. Ocho got out of the chopper and

walked across the road toward the house. Tommy

Carmellini trailed along behind him.

Mercedes was standing on the porch as Ocho walked up.

They launched themselves at each other, hugged

fiercely. Mercedes didn’t even glance at

Carmellini, who was dressed in a civilian shirt

and trousers but had a pistol strapped to his waist.

Mercedes kept her arm around Ocho, took him into the

house where his mother was sitting in a chair.

Carmellini sat on the porch, watched the occasional

car and truck go by. The vehicles slowed, their

passengers gawking at the idling helo, but they

didn’t stop.

Soon Ocho came outside with Mercedes. She had

the videotape in her hand. Ocho introduced

Carmellini.

“If the videotape is to have maximum effect, it

should be aired immediatelyea”…Carmellini told Mercedes,

who held the tape tightly with both hands.

“We are going to get Hector out of

prisonea”…Ocho said, anxious to explain.

“We could take ‘y to Havana television and leave

you, if you wish.”

Mercedes nodded, so Ocho put his arm around her and

led her to the helicopter. Dona Maria was visible

in the door of her cottage; Ocho waved at her

before he climbed into the helo.

Jake Grafton used an infrared viewing scope

to examine the streets of Havana. He was sitting

in the copilot’s seat of the V-22 Osprey, which

Rita had racked over in a right bank, orbiting the

downtown. The city was well litnot as well lit

as an American city, but almost. The central core

of the city was darkthe electrical power had yet to be

restored.

The area around the University of Havana seemed

deserted. No tanks, no armored personnel

carriers, no barricades, apparently no

troops. The streets looked empty.

Strange.

Or maybe not so strange. Maybe the lab was

empty, the viruses moved to God knows where.

Everyone in Cuba seemed to be in the streets around

La Cabana Prison; at least a hundred

thousand people, Jake estimated. Bonfires burned in

the streets near the prison, huge fires

that appeared as bright spots of light on the infrared

viewing scope.

He looked for the antiaircraft guns which he knew

were there. He found them, but at this altitude he

couldn’t see people around them. “Go lowerea”…he told

Rita. “Two thousand feet.”

Still circling to the right, she eased the power and let the

Osprey descend.

Jake turned his attention to the prison, an island

of darkness on the edge of the stricken city center. The

main gate was an opening in a high masonry wall

that surrounded the huge old stone fortress. The gate

seemed to be closed, but at this altitude and

angle, it was difficult to be sure. Immediately behind

the gate sat a tankJake had seen enough of those

planforms to be absolutely certain. Two more

tanks sat in the courtyard … and some

automobiles. Jake adjusted the magnification

on the infrared viewer. Now he could see

individuals, walking, standing in knots, talking through

the fenceyes, the main gate was closed.

Two antiaircraft batteries sat beside the

prison, old Soviet four-barreled ZPU’S with

optical sights. They were use-

less against fast movers but would be hell on

helicopters.

The roof of the prison was flat, and apparently

empty. No. Correct that. Snipers on the

corners. Damn!

Jake checked the radio to ensure he was on the

proper frequency, then keyed the mike. “Angel

One, this is Battlestar One, where are you?”

“Angel One’s on its way to the television station

to deliver a passenger.”

“Let me know when you lift off from there.”

“Roger that, Battlestar.”

“Night Owl Four Two, call your posit.”

Jack O’Brian in the F-l 17 replied,

“Night Owl Four Two is overhead at ten.”

“La Cabana Prison is our object of

interest tonight, Four Two. I want single bombs,

all to stay within the walls. Can you do that?”

“We can try, sir. You know the limitations on my

equipment as well as I do.”

“Your best efforts. Lots of friendlies outside the

wall. First target is the antiaircraft battery

inside the prison walls on the north side. Do

you see it?”

“Wait.”…Seconds ticked by.

“Got it.”

‘The second target is the antiaircraft

battery on the south side.”

“Night Owl Four Four is on station at eleven

thousand, Battlestar. Why don’t we each run one

of those targets? I’ll take the north one.”

The two F-l 17 pilots discussed it and

Jake approved.

Jack O’Brian had several possible ways

to drop the bombs he carried in the internal bomb

bay. If he were bombing through a cloud deck or in

rain or snow, he would release the unpowered weapon

over the target and let it steer itself to the GPS

bull’s-eye through use of a GPS receiver, a

computer, and a set of canards mounted on the nose of the

weapon. Tonight, since the sky was reasonably clear,

he would illumine the target with a laser beam while

overflying it, and let the unpowered bomb fly itself to the

laser-designated bull’s-eye. If O’Brian

could keep the laser beam directly on the spot he

wished the bomb to hit, he should be able to achieve

pinpoint, bomb-in-a-barrel accuracy.

Once again O’Brian carefully checked his

electronic countermeasures panel, which was dark.

The Cubans were off the

aii,

which was comforting.

Now he adjusted the focus of the infrared camera in

the nose. The display blossomed slowly, continued

to change as he got closer and the grazing angle

increased.

He could see the gun plainly owing to the camera’s

magnification. He sweetened the crosshairs just a

touch as the airplane motored sedately toward the

target, still cruising at ten thousand feet, and turned

on the laser designator, which was slaved to the

crosshairs.

Jack O’Brian checked his watch. “Night Owl

Four Two is thirty seconds from drop.”

“Four Four is a minute out.”

“Don’t turn on your laser until you see my

thing pop.”

“Roger.”

Armament panel set for one bomb, laser mode

selected, laser designator on, master armament

switch on, steady on the run-in heading,

autopilot engaged, crosshairs steady on the

targetno driftsystem into Attack. A tone

sounded in his ears and was broadcast over the radio on

the tactical frequency. O’Brian knew that

several people were listening for that tone, including the

pilot of the other F-117 Night Owl Four

Four, Judy Kwiatkowski.

He watched for unexpected wind drift. Not much

tnwhat little wind there was was well within the capability

of the bomb to handle.

Counting down, the second hand on the clock on the

instrument panel ticking … The release marker

marched down and he felt the thump as the bomb bay

doors snapped open. Immediately thereafter the bomb was

released, the tone stopped, then the doors closed

again.

With the bomb in the air, it was essential that the

crosshairs on the laser designator stay

precisely on the target because the bomb was guiding

itself toward this spot of invisible light.

He took manual control of the crosshairs,

kept them right on the artillery piece beside the old

fortress. ,

The aspect angle of the target was changing, of

course, as the airplane flew over it and beyond. Now

it was behind the plane, the crosshairs right on the

target.

Then, suddenly, the antiaircraft artillery

piece disappeared in a flash as the

five-hundred-pound bomb struck it dead

center.

Thirty seconds later the gun on the south side

of the building was hit by Judy Kwiatkowski’s

weapon.

“Very good, Night Owlsea”…Battlestar said. “The

next target is the tank nearest to the main gate.

I think one bomb will discourage the tankers. Four

Four, I want you to bomb the main gate. Tell

me if you see it.”

“Four Four has the target.”

“How long until the weapons hit?”

“Give us ten minutes to go out and make another

run.”

‘Ten minutes will do fineea”…Jake Grafton said,

then turned to Rita.

“After the bombs hit the tanks and main gate, I

want you to land on the roof. The guys in back will go

out shooting and take care of the snipers. Let me go

talk to Eckhardt and Toad.” Both officers were

riding in the back of the Osprey with the grunts.

Jake unstrapped and got out of the copilot’s seat.

In a moment’Lieutenant Colonel Eckhardt

climbed into the seat and used the infrared scope.

“See the snipers”…”…the admiral asked. “I want

you and your people to shoot them or capture them,

whatever.”

“Yes, sir.”…The colonel got out pf the seat.

“Ten minutes, Rita. Start your clock.”

“Aye, aye, sirea”…Rita said, and began figuring

the best way to approach the prison.

* * *

A man from the control tower ran to find Carlos

Corrado and tell him that American aircraft were

over Havana. The people in the tower heard the news on

short-wave radio from headquarters.

“Havana.”

Corrado threw away his cigar butt and got

into his flying gear.

Five minutes later he was taxiing. He didn’t

stop at the end of the runway to check the systems or,

controls, but added power and stroked the burners. The

big fighter responded like a thoroughbred race

horse and lifted off after a short run.

Of course he left his radar off.

Still, the crew of the U.s. Air Force E-3

Sentry over the Isle of Pines picked up a

skin-paint return of the MiGo almost immediately.

“Showtime One Oh Two, we got a bogey

lifting off Cienfuegos, looks like he’s on his

way to Havana on the deck. Try

to intercept. Over.”

Stiff Hardwick had been airborne for an hour

and ten minutes. The recovery aboard

United States

would begin in exactly thirty-five minutes. This

bogey was on the deck using fuel at a

prodigious rate, and when Stiff came swooping

down from 30,000 feet his fuel consumption would also

go through the roof. Fuel would be tight. Very tight.

If he had to stroke the throttles to drop this

turkey, he was going to need a tanker.

“One Oh Two will probably need a tanker.”

“Roger that. Showtime One Oh Seven”…th was

Stiff’s wingman, who was orbiting a thousand feet

above Stiff “remain on station.”

“One Oh Seven aye.”

“Showtime One Oh Two is on the wayea”…Stiff

told the E-3 controller.

“That’s the spiritea”…Sailor Karnow said from the rear

cockpit.

“Shut up, babe. Just do your thing and keep the crap

to yourself.”

“You got h, dickwick. I’m behind you all the

way.”

The helicopter landed in the street in