The senior director on Milford's crew, Captain Maureen Tate, turned and saw her MC scowling into his radar scope. "Still bugged about that VC-25 flight, sir?" she asked with a trace of amusement in her eyes.
"It's not the VC, it's the whole White House policy jerking us around," Milford complained. "We set up this whole complex air defense system, and we get blamed when it fails, but when the President wants to go on the campaign trail, he dismantles the whole thing overnight.
Now the White House is taking one of its heavies right through our airspace, and we didn't hear word one from anybody until twenty minutes ago." "That's FAA'S fault, not the White House's fault," Tate said.
"We checked--they got the flight plan and the Alert Notification.
The Northeast Air Defense Sector scrambled those two F-16's from Otis, too, and they got a visual--it's a VC-25 all right." It was standard procedure for Air Force One to get a military fighter escort anytime it was in or near hostile airspace, and these days, with Cazaux on the loose, the airspace over the United States was definitely considered hostile. But the fighters' standard operating procedure was not to come closer than three miles--close enough for a big plane like a 747--and there was to be no escort after sundown unless requested, so the fighters from the little base on Cape Cod had gone home shortly after the intercept. They probably got some dynamite pictures.
"I guess I'm bugged because usually we hear from Air Combat Command or the 89th before they launch a VC-25," Milford said. It was not standard or required procedure, but during most special operations and especially during an emergency situation such as this, the Support Missions Operations Center (s.m.o.c) of the 89th Air Wing, the Air Force unit that flew the V.i.p jets from Andrews Air Force Base, usually notifies Air Combat Command and the Airborne Warning and Control Squadrons that they were going to fly a SAM (special Air Mission) through their area.
It was a simple "heads-up" that was encouraged to expedite V.i.p traffic. Milford saw Tate's little amused grin, and added, "And I'm bugged I didn't get my invitation to the President's barbecue, either." "Situation normal, all fucked up," Tate offered. "Want to call and raise some hell with Andrews? I can contact the S.m.o.c." Milford hesitated for a moment, not wanting to bug the VC'S crew unnecessarily, but Tate took his hesitation to mean yes. "Comm, this is the SD, get the 89th S.m.o.c on button four for me, okay?" "Copy," the communications officer responded.
A second later he responded, "S.m.o.c on button four, SD. Call sign "Midnight." his "Thanks." "Hey, who's that?" Milford asked. He had flipped over to the Washington, D.c sector radar display, where a large electronic arrow was pointing at a low-flying, fast-moving radar target flying right through the middle of D.c just a few miles from the Capitol.
"Jesus, who is t"...Who gave him clearance to fly down there?" "Washington Approach has him, sir," Tate reported after checking with the Comm section. "It's an F-16 from Atlantic City, Devil Zero-Three.
Looks like he's on a Beltway tour." "Who gave him that?" "Washington Approach cleared him, sir," Tate responded.
"National Tower is talking with him too. He's VFRIEND." "I don't believe it, I just don't believe it," Milford said angrily.
"Two days ago we were ready to blow planes like that out of the sky twenty, thirty miles away--now we're letting them fly practically up to the front door of the White House. And he's not even under a proper flight plan! What are we doing up here if A.t.c keeps on clearing guys to cruise around anywhere they want? Are we supposed to be able to stop this guy if he turns out to be a terrorist?" Milford switched his comm panel to Washington Approach's direct phone line. The reply came: "Washington Approach, Pooled." "Mr. Pooled, this is Major Milford, aboard Leather Niner-Zero, the radar plane assigned to your sector," Milford responded.
"You've got a Devil-03 flying VFRIEND through the center of National's Class B airspace-- I'd like him out of there as soon as possible." "Any particular reason, Major?" "Any particular reason... his Sir, we're in the middle of an air defense emerenv!" Milford shouted, trying to keep his composure on the landline.
"The FAA may have taken down the special flight restrictions and approach funnels, but we're still responsible for stopping possible terrorist aircraft from entering Class B airspace.
It really complicates our job having unauthorized VFRIEND traffic flying through the middle of one of the most vital airspaces in the country.
Is that good enough for you, Mr. Pooled, or do I need to talk with the TRACON supervisor?" "All right, all right, Major, I get the point," the controller responded, clearly exasperated at the threat but not wanting to make waves. "How about we give him present position direct Nottingham direct Atlantic City International, and no more Beltway tours unless we coordinate with you first?" "That sounds fine, Mr. Pooled, thank you," Milford said.
"Leather-90 out." He punched off the phone line, stripped off his headset, and wearily rubbed his eyes and face. "Man, what is it with these controllers?" he murmured. "It seems like every one of them believes it's not going to happen to them, so they treat everything like situation-normal. I'm sick and tired of FAA controllers giving these pilots anything they ask for, and then us getting blamed when the pilot turns out to be a terrorist.
Look, there's another VFRIEND flight, busting the Class B airspace." Milford pointed at a new target just marked as UNKNOWN by the Surveillance section. It was a slow moving target flying northwest toward Washington Executive Field or Potomac Airport, traveling less than two miles per minute--a light plane doing some sightseeing. "We ought to blow that guy away just as a warning." "Executive-One-Foxtrot's been cleared to descend," Tate reported.
"He's twenty miles northeast of Pottstown VOR." "He's going to have to get his tail down if he wants to make RONNY intersection by eight thousand," one of the weapons controllers behind Tate remarked as he watched the VC-25 make its descent. RONNY inter Base, was the usual turnpoint for V.i.p planes landing at Andrews --it gave the pilots a nice long straight-in approach, with little traffic and few turns to disturb the passengers.
"Good thing the President's not on board," another we said.
"I heard the Steel Magnolia pitches a fit and tries to shit-can the whole flight crew if her ears do so much as pop while she's in Air Force One." "She's got bigger things on her mind these days... like how to keep her and the President from being indicted." Everyone chuckled.
"There he goes," the first weapons controller reported, monitoring Executive-One-Foxtrot's data block and mentally calculating the descent rate by watching the altitude readout. "He's doing at least fifteen hundred feet a minute in the descent. I think heads are going to roll tonight." "Just everybody settle down and monitor the transponder changeover up here," Tate said.
Before passing through ten thousand feet, Air Force V.i.p aircraft like Executive-One-Foxtrot switched their transponders to a discrete code, usually 2222, used only in the terminal area to alert controllers so they can give the plane expedited service. When the changeover occurred, the target usually disappeared off the radar screen for about twelve seconds until the new code was picked up by the radar computers--if the controllers weren't ready for the changeover, they got very frantic and sometimes pushed the panic button.
Milford went back and scanned his other four vital sectors.
Everything seemed to be running smoothly. Air traffic had not returned to normal by any means, but in the past few days travel at night had virtually disappeared, and now it was making a comeback.
Fewer restrictions on flight routing, more controller discretion, and less reliance on published arrival and departure procedures really helped to clear things up. That newcomer, the slow-moving VFRIEND flight that had originated somewhere in eastern Maryland, was now over Nottingham VOR, still headed northwest--its course would take it south of Andrews Air Force Base, but it was definitely on its way to busting the Class B airspace. That idiot deserved to get his license pulled, Milford thought.
"Any ID on that VFRIEND flight out there, AS?" Milford
asked the Airborne Surveillance section.
"Still checking, MC." Jesus, Milford thought, what an asshole. The air defense emergency had not been officially canceled, although the FAA did announce that flight corridors into the nation's busiest airports anymore. It was also not hard to hide all of the long-range Patriot missile sites being taken down all over the country.
"MC, no I.f.f changeover on that Executive-One-Foxtrot flight." Milford immediately flipped back to the Washington, D.c Class B airspace radar display and zoomed his presentation in, putting the VC-25A on the top of the scope and Andrews Air Force Base, the plane's destination, on the bottom. His heart immediately started to beat a bit faster.
Executive-One-Foxtrot was at RONNY intersection, inbound on the I.l.s approach to runway one-eight left, passing through eight thousand feet--and still no transponder code changeover.
The crews flying those V.i.p jets never made mistakes like that, never.
The next question was how to notify the crew of their omission.
Although it was certainly not required that the VC-25 crews change their transponder codes or accept any expedited service, it was generally not a good idea for any of the President's jets to be delayed in the air, especially when the President was on the road. But blabbing it on an open-frequency was probably not a politic idea, either.
Milford flipped his radio panel over to the 89th Air Wing's Special Mission Operations Center, the ones that were in constant contact with all of their V.i.p planes: "Midnight, this is Leather-90 on S.m.o.c common, over." "Leather-90, this is 89th Wing S.m.o.c, stand by." There was a lengthy pause, probably so the senior controller at Andrews could look up in his call-sign book to see who "Leather" was. Then: "Go ahead, com90." "I'm tracking your SAM-2800, Executive-One-Foxtrot, fifty-two miles north of A.d.w inbound. Can you ask him to change over his I.f.f?
Over." "Say again, com90?" "I repeat, I am tracking Executive-One-Foxtrot inbound to A.d.w, and he has not changed over his I.f.f to terminal procedure codes. Can you notify him to change his transponder code? Over." There was another slight pause, probably so the senior controller could ask the VC-25 crew if they were squawking the right code and to change it immediately if they had forgotten. Milford watched his radar display, expecting the code to change at any moment.
. but it did not. "Ah... Leather-90, sir, we can't verify the location of our SAM flights to you on this channel. You'll have to contact us on a secure landline or secure datalink. Over." "What the hell is this guy talking about?" Milford muttered.
"The whole friggin' world knows that this plane's up there." On the radio, he said, "Midnight, I've got a valid military flight plan for SAM-2800 and an FAA ALNOT on Executive-One-Foxtrot, I.f.r from Manchester, New Hampshire, to Andrews. He's less than fifty miles north of Andrews inbound for landing. He's been airborne for well over an hour. I think it's a little late to play hide-and-seek games with this one. All I want is to have him change over his I.f.f.
Over." After another interminable pause that was about to drive Milford nuts and had now gotten the attention of the entire AWACS crew, the S.m.o.c controller came back: "Leather-90, I've been directed to tell you by the senior controller here that there is no SAMBLEBHJJ or Executive-One-Foxtrot inbound for landing at Andrews.
All of our assets are accounted for, and none are inbound to Ar drews at this time. You have a faker on your hands." Milford felt the blood drain out of his face, and his stomach muscles tensed so tightly that he felt as if he were going to throw up.
"Shit, shit, shit, "he cursed loudly. On the radio, he shouted, "Midnight, are you sure?" "I can't tell you on this channel where the VC-25'S are, Leather," the S.m.o.c controller said, "but I can tell you they're not inbound to Andrews. All of our other assets are nowhere near A.d.w. Closest one departed a half-hour ago, destination Langley." "Damn it, I can't believe this," Milford said.
Tate and the other weapon controllers were waiting for their instructions--he had to act now.
"Comm, this is the MC, contact Washington Approach and Washington Center, advise them we're declaring an air defense emergency for the Baltimore-Washington Class B airspace.
I need the airspace cleared out and instructions issued to that 747 to stay out of Class B airspace. Surveillance, MC, mark radar target P045allyas "unknown." Maureen, do we have anybody suited up? Do we have a chance to get this guy?" "Yes, sir," Tate responded immediately.
"Two F-16's--tactical birds, not interceptors--on ready five alert at Andrews." "Scramble them," Milford ordered.
"Yes, sir," Tate acknowledged. She had her finger on the scramsle button as soon as she heard there was something wrong with Executive-One-Foxtrot. On aircraft-wide intercom, Tate announced, "All stations, all stations, active air scramble Andrews, unknown target P045ally designate as "Bandit-was... MC, Alpha-Whiskey One-One and One-Two acknowledging the klaxon; Weapons One, interceptors coming up to you on button two." "Who else we got, Maureen?" Milford asked.
"Next-closest units we have are F-16 A.d.f interceptors at Atlantic City and tactical F-15's at Langley," Tate responded. "ADFS at Atlantic City are on ready five alert, but their ETE is at least ten minutes at zone 5. The F-15's at Langley can get there in five minutes, but they're not on ready five alert." "Call Langley and tell them to get anything they can airborne," Milford said. "Put A-City on engines-running cockpit alert at the end of the runway in case Bandit-1 tries to bug out or if the fighters at Andrews are bent.
Get a tanker from Dover or Mcguire airborne and put him over Nottingham VOR for refueling support--all the out-oftowners are going to need gas if they arrive over DC on full afterburner." "What's the order for Alpha-Whiskey flight, sir?" Tate asked.
Milford checked his radar scope. The now-unknown 747 was only forty miles out; at his airspeed, traveling six to seven miles per minute, he would be over the Capitol in five minutes. "If Bandit-1 turns away and does not enter Class B airspace, the order is to intercept, ID, and shadow," Milford said. "If Bandit-1 enters Class B airspace, the order is to engage and destroy from maximum range.
Comm, get the National Military Command Center senior controller on button four." Milford then reached up to his primary radio channels and selected the common channel linking the fifteen Hawk missile sites and the twenty Stinger man-portable shoulder-fired missile platoons assigned to Washington-Dulles, Washington-National, Andrews Air Force Base, Baltimore International, and the Capitol district, and said, "All Leather units, this is Leather-90, air defense emergency for Washington Dulles, National, and Baltimore Tri-Cities Class B airspace, radar ID P045ally is now classified 'unknown," target designate "Bandit-1," stand by for engagement, repeat, stand by for engagemet For the moment, the slow-moving VFRIEND flight was forgotten.
Andrews Air Force Base That Same Time "Andrews Tower, Alpha-Whiskey-11 flight, active air scramble, taxi and takeoff northwest." "Alpha-Whiskey-11 flight, Andrews Tower, taxi runway three-six right, wind one-seven-zero at five, altimeter three-zero-zero-one, expect immediate takeoff clearance crossing the hold line, intersection Bravo takeoff approved, seven thousand five hundred feet remaining." It took considerably less than five minutes for the two F-1ca crews from the 121/ Fighter Squadron "Guardians," District of Columbia Air National Guard, to run to their jets, start engines, and begin to taxi.
No matter what someone at the Department of Justice said, they knew they were the last line of defense for the nation's capital. Not only did the Guardians refuse to revert back to normal air defense operations, but they kept themselves in advanced states of readiness in order to cut down on response times. All idle-time crew activities had been moved from the alert facility to the aircraft shelters, so crews were no more than six ladder steps from their cockpits, and runway 36 Right had been designated the "alert runway," so it was always clear and unused except for absolute emergencies.
By the time the echoes of the three long klaxon blasts were gone, immediately the roar of two Pratt and Whitney F100-P-200 turbofan engines replaced them.
> Both planes--not A.d.f (air Defense Fighter) F-16's, but standard battlefield combat models--carried four AIM-9Like Sidewinder heat-seeking missiles, ammunition for the 20-millimeter cannon, and one centerline fuel tank. They reached the hold line in less than a minute, performing last-second flight-control checks and takeoff checklist items on the roll. "AW flight, clear for takeoff to the northwest unrestricted, contact approach," Andrews Tower radioed.
"AW flight, clear for takeoff, go button three." "Two." For safety's sake at night, the fighters performed a standard intrail takeoff instead of a formation takeoff. The leader turned onto the runway, not bothering to set his brakes but plugging in the afterburner as soon as he was aligned with the runway centerline.
The wingman started counting to himself when he saw his leader's fifth-stage afterburner light, and although he was supposed to wait ten seconds, he started his takeoff roll on eight. Smoothly he pushed his throttle to military power, checked his gauges, cracked the throttle to afterburner range, watched the nozzle swing, and checked the fuel flow and exhaust pressure ratio gauges, pushed the throttle smoothly to zone five, and.
Dale Brown - Storming Heaven Page 43
