Force of Eagles (47 page)

Chapter 48: H Plus 12

The Mahidashi Highway Bridge

“I’ve got the reticle on him,” Jack told his backseater. Furry checked the video screen in front of him that repeated whatever Jack saw through the HUD. It matched the video image he was getting from the seeker head of the Maverick Jack had called up. He drove the crosshairs on his scope over the six-wheeled vehicle that was starting to move down the road and pulled the trigger on his right-hand controller to half-detent. He liked what he saw and went full action. The Maverick’s sensitive, cooled infrared seeker-head was locked on to the SA-8.

“Locked on, cleared to pickle,” Furry called.

Jack waited as they bore down on the vehicle. A cold anger drove him on and he started to fink his jet back and forth in small random heading and altitude changes.

Meanwhile Furry was busy at monitoring their position for hostile radar activity and glancing back at their six o’clock position. “Lots of radar activity in front of us,” he said. “But no threats. They haven’t had a chance to reload—”

“Hold on…” Jack mashed his pickle button, sending a rocket-powered Maverick with its 125-pound warhead shrieking at the SA-8.

The crew of the SA-8 finally saw the F-15 before the Maverick leaped off its launcher and had slewed their vehicle to a stop. They were scattering when the missile hit, destroying the village. Jack circled and watched three men running for the nearby vehicle. “Not fast enough…” He thumbed back the auto-acquisition switch on the stick, changing his HUD display to guns. Since the cannon in the F-15 was canted up two degrees for air-to-air, it was going to be a low-angle strafe-run with a real low altitude pull-out. He triggered a short burst into the enemy…the cannon gave off a soft burring sound…and watched them crumble. He came in for a second pass and fired again.

He pulled off and checked the bridge. It was destroyed, as ordered. Then he turned over the smoking wreckage of the crew-module before heading down the road…

*

Kermanshah, Iran

“On three…” The four men threw their weight against the heavy beam they were using as a lever. Slowly, they inched a heavy chunk of reinforced concrete out of the way before it fell and kicked up a cloud of dust. “Mary? Mary? You still okay?” Carroll called out.

“I’m okay…“

One of the Rangers looked up when he heard the approaching AC-130. “Take cover,” he yelled. Four other Rangers were in position next to the back wall with M-203s. A command barked over their MX-360 radios and they started to pump 40mm grenades out of the launcher slung under the barrel of their rifles. They reloaded and kept firing rapidly as they could, lobbing the grenades high over the wall into the barracks area, providing indirect fire, driving the defenders for cover…

*

Beasely could see puffs from the grenades mushrooming up in the barracks compound as he set up his firing orbit. This time he selected the two 20mm cannons mounted in front of the left wheel-well. Again the crew went through the synchronized routine of bringing the gunship’s firepower to bear. The Beezer wasn’t concerned with hitting a specific target and walked the lighted circle on his HUD that showed the point of impact around the barracks. If he saw a likely target he pressed his trigger button and sent a hail of high-explosive bullets raining down. One of the Iranians caught in the open panicked and bolted around the side wall of the prison—to meet a burst of fire from the M-60 machine gun team holding the right side of the ditch in front of the prison.

The six trucks carrying the POWs gunned their engines and roared out of the protective shadow of the prison’s front wall and raced for the airfield. Two jeep teams, Ratso Three in the front and Ratso Four in the rear, joined up and escorted them down the road, their M-60s swinging onto the barracks, raking them with gunfire.

*

When the first radio call reached the airfield that the trucks were moving, Stansell keyed his UHF radio. “Scamp One-Six and Scamp One-Seven, engine start. Repeat, start your engines. Scamp One-Four and Scamp One-Five, standby for engine start.” The dull roar of two turboprop engines coming to life swept the airfield.

*

The illuminator operator in the back of the AC-130, studied the barracks compound as Beasely took one last orbit. This time the guns were silent as the crew did their own damage assessment. The 1O didn’t see the movement at first, then he saw the tracked, four-barreled anti-aircraft ZSU-23-4, the Shilka, break into the open from its protective shed. The four barrels of its turret-mounted-twenty-three-millimeter guns were swinging on to the gunship as the tanklike, extremely dangerous anti-aircraft package clanked through the compound. “Break left! Poppin’ flares and chaff!” the IO shouted, mashing buttons on the remote control in his left hand, sending flares and chaff cascading out behind the AC-130.

The Beezer wrenched the gunship to the left as commanded and jerked back on the yoke. Immediately he pushed it forward, driving the nose up and down as he pumped the rudder pedals, skidding and jerking the big Hercules—anything to break a tracking solution.

But it was too late. The ZSU-23-4 had Spectre dead to rights and sent a stream of 23mm bullets into the belly of the gunship. The bullets ripped the underside, tearing it apart. But the ceramic armor plating under the flight deck and cargo compartment held and the gunship was still flying. Two 23mm bullets hit the right wing, behind the number three inboard engine. Flames flickered behind the trailing edge of the wing and pieces of the center-section flap tore off in the windstream. Beasely slammed the big plane down onto the deck and managed to escape over the town’s roof tops, but trailing smoke behind him…

*

The enemy ZSU-23-4 spun on its track and headed for the right side of the prison wall, into the same spot where the M-60 team had gunned down the Iranian moments before. The ZSU depressed its four guns as low as they would go. Because each gun had an automatic feed and was liquid cooled, it could sustain a rate of fire of a thousand rounds a minute. The commander inside the PT-76 tank chassis fired as he turned the corner, but the barrels were depressed too low and the bullets struck the ground in front, kicking up a cloud of dirt and gravel. The M-60 team returned fire and some of their 7.62mm rounds punctured the thin skin of the turret. But it was no contest. The ZSU’s 23mm, high-explosive bullets dug a trench leading to the ditch as the ZSU commander lifted his sight and kept firing.

The ZSU-23-4 then backed around the corner and rumbled through the destroyed barracks compound, abandoning their wounded in the burning barracks.

*

The Pentagon

The announcement that Scamp 15 and 16 were airborne out of Kermanshah with 191 POWs aboard sent a round of clapping and an occasional whistle through the command center. Even the President was standing, a smile on his face, his right fist clenched in front of him. Only Cunningham did not respond. He sat quietly scanning the status boards.

Leachmeyer was on the stage holding his microphone, also smiling. When order settled over the crowd, he directed: “Send four of the F-15s orbiting on the tanker to intercept and escort the C-130s to safety.”

“Sir”—it was Dewa—“that’s a bad move. The radar at Maragheh is up and it might follow the F-15s into Iran. The C-130s have good terrain-masking and should be able to sneak out undetected. The Iranians must know we are on the ground at Kermanshah, but thanks to the Ayatollahs their command-and-control net is a shambles. They won’t have their act together for another thirty, forty minutes.”

“Charlie”—Cunningham hit his mike button, he wanted the President to hear what he had to say—“let the tactical director in the AWACS make that decision. He’s in a much better position to evaluate the threat. That’s what he’s there for.” He glanced at the President. There was no sign of disagreement so he went on. “Relay what you just said as an option for him to consider. But don’t get in the way. Our troops seem to have their act together so far.” Leachmeyer grumbled something he couldn’t hear and the major relayed Leachmeyer’s “suggestion” to Nelson aboard the AWACS.

The President sat down and turned to Bobby Burke, his CIA director. “Bobby, we walked right into an ambush…” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a cigar. Andy Wollard, the President’s chief of staff, recognized the signs and motioned the others in the Command and Authority Room to leave. He closed the door on the two men, leaving them alone. “We’re not out of this yet, but after the dust settles I want to know why Intelligence missed it and I want the problem fixed.”

Burke nodded. He knew better than to argue with the truth. He made a mental promise that he would, indeed, “fix” the problem. And if heads had to roll…

“Sir, let me get Camm over here for an update on the situation.”

“Do that.”

*

Kermanshah, Iran

The flight engineer and the copilot went through the drill of shutting down number-three engine. Beasely pulled the engine condition lever for three to the feather position and the copilot continued with the checklist. The right scanner in the rear reported flames were still coming from the engine and the prop had feathered. The engineer double-checked the fuel-shunt valves and pulled the tee-handle that activated the fire bottle. The scanner reported the fire had gone out. Beasely established an orbit ten miles north of town and ran a crew check. Other than flying on three engines and the flaps being sticky, the AC-130 seemed to be in pretty fair shape.

“Captain Beasely,” Mado said, “when you have it under control, land at the airfield and drop me off.” It was the general’s first time being shot at and hit. His stomach was around his eyeballs.

“General, no way I can land this beast and get it airborne with only three engines on that short of a runway. These puppies are heavy. If you want on the ground, you’re going to have to make a nylon approach and landing. Got lots of extra chutes.” There was no answer. A few moments later Mado was back on the SatCom, talking to the command center in the Pentagon.

*

“Sergeant Major,” Jamison called from under the boxes in the rear of the dilapidated Japanese mini truck, “what’s happening? Where are we?”

“Quiet,” Kamigami commanded. They were parked on a side street leading to the back of the prison. It had taken them almost two hours to work their way unobserved down the hill and into the edge of town. There, Kamigami had hot-wired an old pickup truck that was parked next to a building. He was working under the dash when the owner found them. The Iranian still had a look of confusion on his face when Jamison shot him in the head. It was the first time the lieutenant had ever seen a dead man, much less one that he had made that way.

Kamigami had bundled the stunned Jamison into the rear of the truck and buried him under a pile of boxes. He sat behind the steering wheel and had wrapped himself in a blanket, his pistol and helmet on the seat beside him, and driven through town. He had decided that his oriental face would draw less attention than, say, a black one. As he suspected, in the confusion following the attack on the prison, no one seemed to notice. Ten minutes later he had found the spot on the side street near the prison, and was in time to watch the AC-130 lay a cloud of fire-suppression on the barracks and the six loaded trucks escape.

“Someone’s coming,” he told the lieutenant as he gunned the engine and threw a U-turn.

The ZSU-23-4 was moving down the street toward them and he did not want the enemy troops he could see running behind it to commandeer their truck. He turned down a dirt alley as the Iranians ran by. When the last of the men had passed, he followed them. This time he explained what he was doing. “Lieutenant, we’re following some unfriendlies that came out of the barracks behind the prison. They look pissed and dangerous. I want to check ’em out.”

“Shouldn’t we rejoin Romeo Team or check in on the radio?”

“Not yet. Want to maintain radio silence. I’ve got my whisper mike plugged in and have been listening to the chatter on the MX-360. Romeo Team is still blowing doors down on the third floor. They’ll be at that for at least another thirty minutes before all the POWs are free. We got time to join up.” He didn’t tell the lieutenant that the ZSU-23-4 was headed north. But then, that was in the general direction of the airfield where they wanted to go anyway…

*

Near Shahabad, Iran

The F-15’s TEWS painted overlapping hostile radar threats on the road leading from Shahabad to Kermanshah, and Jack’s wizzo was worried. “There’s at least one SA-8 and ZSU-23-4 moving down the road,” Furry told him. “There’s got to be more.”

“About what you’d expect with an armored battalion,” Jack said. “But we’re going to take a look anyhow. Let’s circle to the south and sneak up behind them.” He dropped his F-15 down onto the deck and headed south away from the highway and paralleled the mountains on the west side of the valley. He rolled into a 135-degree bank and turned up a shallow canyon that crossed the mountains and led into the next valley. When they crested the ridge, Furry hit the EMIS LIMIT switch and activated their radar. Then they were back to silent running as Jack headed north toward the highway.

Suddenly Furry called out. “Someone’s got us with a ZSU-23-4. Jamming now.” Furry hit the buttons that brought the electronic-counter-measures part of the TEWS alive. He watched his video monitor to be sure it was working. “Got ’em. They won’t have the foggiest where we are.”

“Yeah, but they know we’re out here.” Jack dropped lower and pushed the throttles up, touching six hundred knots. He was doing easy jinks two hundred feet above the ground. “Look at that!” Furry, looking over Jack’s right shoulder, saw a convoy stretched out on the road in front of them. “Amb, check the left, I’ll check right. We’re going to cross right over and get the hell out of Dodge. None of this parallel-road reccy shit.” He dropped the jet even lower and flew around a low knoll, taking what terrain-masking he could. They flashed out from behind the knoll and bore down on the highway and crossed it at ninety degrees. Then they were clear and Jack was twisting and turning up another mountain valley.