Shattered Bone (28 page)

Sergeant Boris Kozyrav was one of the security policemen whose responsibility it was to guard the Tu-160. For eight hours a day he would stand idly by the huge bomber, endlessly trying to find new ways to keep his mind occupied. Boredom and fatigue were a constant battle, especially since he had been transferred onto the night schedule. From ten at night until six in the morning, Sgt. Kozyrav was alone in the bunker. By two in the morning, he was usually sleeping in a corner of the maintenance bin, his pack stuffed under his head as a pillow, his hat pulled down over his eyes.

For Sgt. Kozyrav, the night that Golubev and General Lomov had decided to initiate their plan was just like any other. He made his rounds, read for a while, then promptly fell asleep.

He didn't hear the soft footsteps as they approached the aircraft from the rear of the bunker. He didn't stir when a small black box was attached to the underside of the main landing gear. The box was placed under the main brake lines, where it would never be seen, even when the ground crews did their normal preflight inspection.

The aircraft that Sgt. Kozyrav was guarding was scheduled to fly the next day. When the aircraft lifted off from the runway and the main gear were retracted into the belly of the aircraft, the black box would only be three feet from the 27,000 pounds of jet fuel that was stored inside the Blackjack's main fuel tank.

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DAGGER 34 OVER THE NORTHEASTERN COAST OF MAINE

T
WENTY HOURS LATER, TWO
T
U
-160 B
LACKJACK BOMBERS WERE FLYING
down the eastern coast of Canada. Although they would stay in international airspace, they intended to press the edge of the twelve-mile Air Defense Zone that surrounded the United States. After flying south along the coast of Maine, they would turn slightly eastward to clip the edge of Cape Cod. Not until then would they turn around and head back north, flying the same route back to their home in Pskov.

The purpose of their mission was twofold. First, they would once again test the United States air defense response and capabilities. They knew that Vermont Air National Guard F-16s would scramble from their alert shelters to intercept the Blackjacks just after they passed south of the coast of Maine.

But there was another purpose for this mission. Their presence was intended to be a political show of will. It had been several years since the Russians had regularly run their bombers down the eastern coast of the United States, and President Fedotov thought this might be a good time to remind his American friends of his long-range bombing capability.

The Blackjacks didn't show up unannounced. American early warning radar had been tracking them since they passed over the southern tip of Iceland. As the American radar operators tracked the bombers on their southern route, they kept expecting them to turn around. They were more than a little surprised when the Blackjacks continued south along the Canadian coast.

When the Russian bombers were fifteen minutes from the United States border, two F-16s were scrambled to intercept and escort them along the coast. As the F-16 pilots flew out to intercept the bombers, they talked over their have-quick secure voice radio, reviewing the rules of engagement that they would follow against the Russian Blackjacks.

The rules were fairly simple. Don't act in any hostile, aggressive, or threatening manner. Don't intimidate the bombers in any way. As long as the Russians remained in international airspace, the fighters could only observe them from a safe distance.

But the fighters would definitely make their presence known. They would fly to the side of the bombers, occasionally flashing on their acquisition radar as a little reminder to the Russians that they weren't alone up there in the sky.

Inside the lead F-16 was Captain Les Harris. Les spent most of his days running his father's computer service store. Most weekends were spent inside the cockpit of an F-16. Les had been flying the F-16 Falcon for more than nine years, and it had been a long time since he had felt uncomfortable with a mission. But this one had him just a little bit rattled. Any time the Americans ran an intercept on a Russian aircraft, there was the potential for small things to be blown into international incidents.

As Captain Harris and his wingman flew north, they were receiving vectors toward the two Russian bombers from Darkhorse, the ground radar controllers. Captain Harris's call sign was Dagger three-four. The Blackjacks were referred to as Unknown Cowboys.

Harris listened on his radio as the female controller was giving him directions. “Dagger three-four, turn left heading zero-four-zero. Your bogey is now one-two-zero miles, twelve o'clock and closing. Call when you have him on radar.”

“Roger, heading zero-four-zero for the Daggers,” Harris replied.

The Darkhorse controller's voice was very calm and even. Husky and low. Confident and cool. It was a voice that made Harris wonder what the controller looked like. He could picture her as she sat at the console, legs crossed, arms on the table as she leaned forward and stared into her radar screen. He imagined her to be a very smooth and self-assured girl.

But the truth was, Darkhorse was also a little bit nervous. Running intercepts like this could be tricky. It was her responsibility to vector the pilots until they were within range of the F-16s' radar. If she didn't give the pilots a good intercept heading, they might not ever find the two Russian bombers. So she was concentrating as much as the pilots as she guided them northward to the oncoming Blackjacks.

After responding to the controller, Harris looked back at his wingman to make sure he was still in position, then glanced down to check his safety switches one more time. He had to be certain that his weapons were not armed, but instead were in the “safe” position. Harris was carrying two AMRAAM missiles, as well as a case full of 20mm shells for his cannon. It would be a very difficult thing to have to explain if he were to accidentally shoot down a Russian bomber.

So he checked his switches one more time. “Safe” and “Locked” appeared on his head-up-display.

Then Harris checked his airspeed indicator and did some simple math in his head. He figured the four aircraft were now closing at nearly 1,000 miles an hour. In a few seconds he should have the Unknown Cowboys on his AN/APG-66 radar. Then he would challenge them over the radio.

Once again Harris looked at his wingman, then squinted his eyes into the distance. They were flying above a broken layer of clouds, but here at 30,000 feet the visibility was nearly unlimited. Harris figured he should be able to see the Cowboys when they were about twenty miles away. Once he got a good positive visual identification, he could move in for a closer look.

“Dagger, I now have you eight-zero miles from the Unknown Cowboys, twelve o'clock and closing. They are riding at two- three thousand feet. Call visual on the Cowboys.”

Les acknowledged the controller with a simple “Rog,” then focused his attention back to his radar. The Cowboys were just beginning to show up on his screen. He confirmed their position, altitude, and airspeed, then pumped on his control stick several times. His wingman noticed Harris's horizontal stabilizer as it fluttered up and down in the air. This was the signal for him to move out and away from Harris to a tactical position three hundred feet behind and slightly above his leader. From there, the wingman could monitor his own radar while still protecting his leader.

Harris then switched his transmitter over to guard frequency and clicked the button to his radio.

“Unknown Cowboy, Unknown Cowboy, this is Landmass Dagger broadcasting on 243.0. How do you read?”

By adding “Landmass” to his call sign, Captain Harris had identified himself with the internationally accepted term for U.S. air defenses. He waited several seconds for the bombers to respond, then broadcast the same message again. After a short pause, the Russian pilot replied in broken English.

“Landmass Dagger, Landmass Dagger, this is Losko six-six-seven. Go ahead.”

Harris quickly looked down at a small notebook of classified code words that was strapped to his leg. He thumbed through it very quickly until he found the call sign “Losko.” According to his notebook, “Losko” was the call sign for the Russian Blackjack bomber. That was what Darkhorse had told him the bogeys were. So far, so good, he thought.

Harris keyed his microphone switch once again. “Losko, you are approaching United States airspace. Recommend you turn left, heading one-eight-zero. Copy?”

“Negative, Landmass Dagger. We are in international airspace. We have not penetrated your Air Defense Zone. Do not attempt to interfere.”

This time Capt Harris didn't reply. Instead he rocked his wings several times. Within seconds his wingman had moved back into a tight position, his wing tip just three feet from his leader. While Harris was waiting for the other F-16 to move back into position, he checked his radar once more. The Blackjacks were now less than thirty miles away. They appeared as two small boxes, moving down from the top right-hand corner of his screen. They had not changed their altitude, but they had picked up their airspeed. They were now cruising at over five hundred knots.

Harris turned his head slightly to look at his wingman. The two fighters were so close that Harris could read the letters on his wing-man's name tag. Harris raised his hands into a fist, shook it slightly, then extended three fingers toward the sky.

Almost immediately his wingman banked his fighter up and peeled away from him, then rolled into a dive. Harris watched for a moment as the other F-16 accelerated earthward, then leveled off just above the tops of the clouds. Not until then did Harris pull back gently on his stick. His own F-16 began to climb, and he was soon level at 36,000 feet.

He and his wingman had now sandwiched the Russian bombers between them. They would continue on this heading, flying straight toward the Blackjacks. Once the two bombers had passed underneath him, Harris would roll inverted and pull into a dive, at the same time reversing his course. As he was doing this, his wingman would be pulling into a steep climb. When they had both rolled out and leveled off, they would be at 23,000 feet, the same altitude as the bombers. They would also be heading in the same direction. The F-16s would then move slowly forward until they were abeam the Blackjacks, one fighter on each side, five hundred feet out from their wings.

From here they could monitor the bomber's intentions. This was the standard intercept position. It was designed to provide for the safety of all of the aircraft while at the same time allowing the fighters to defend their country's borders.

As the four aircraft quickly closed the remaining gap that separated them, Captain Harris got on his radio to Darkhorse. “Daggers are turning on railroad,” he said as he watched the targets on his radar.

“Roger, you're cleared on railroad. Call when bingo fuel,” the ground radar controller replied.

By “turning on railroad,” Harris had advised Darkhorse that he and his wingman were going to maneuver in on the bombers. Once “railroad” was initiated, the controller then accepted the responsibility of clearing any civilian air traffic that might be in the way of the intercept. This would allow Harris and his wingman to change their altitude and airspeed without prior coordination with Air Traffic Control. It basically gave them carte blanche to go where they wanted, when they wanted, and at any speed they required. The controller would vector other traffic away, allowing the fighters to focus on the target.

“Bingo fuel” meant the controller wanted to know when the fighters were running low on gas. That way she could begin to coordinate for other F-16s to come out and continue to escort the bombers, assuming that they hadn't turned around by that time.

Just then Harris caught a glimmer in the distance. He scanned the airspace in the general direction of the flash that had caught his eye. Then he saw them, two dark shadows in close formation, 14,000 feet below him. They were still about twelve miles out. He kept them in sight as they closed the distance between them. When the Blackjacks had passed underneath, he rolled his fighter inverted and watched the bombers for just a second while he hung upside down in his seat.

Then with a short, “Daggers push ... now” he declared the intercept on. Pulling back on his stick, his fighter began to pull down into a steep dive. He allowed the F-16's nose to track earthward for a few seconds, building up speed in his dive.

At 520 knots he began to pull back hard on his stick. He felt his G-suit compress tightly around his abdomen and thighs in an effort to keep as much blood as possible from draining from his head. Harris strained against the force of the Gs as he pulled the nose of his fighter back up to the horizon. He glanced at his radar once again to check the position of his wingman, already in his climb.

Harris rolled out level, not more than four hundred feet from the bombers. He glanced over to see that his wingman was already in position, directly across from his leader.

“Landmass Dagger, we have you off our wing. Push back. I say again, push back. You are violating our space.”

Harris didn't acknowledge, but he did pull out a little on the bombers. He positioned himself 1,000 feet off of their left wing. He pulled up twenty feet above the Russian aircraft so that he could look across at his wingman, who had also pulled back slightly from the Blackjack's right wing. This was where they would stay.

They didn't plan to converse with the bombers any further. So long as they continued to maintain this distance from U.S. airspace they would just hang out, watching them as they plodded along.

It was only a few minutes later that the bombers were ready to turn around. They had seen what they wanted to see. There wasn't much use in pressing any further now that they had a chance to evaluate the Americans' air defense capabilities.