"Why risk your life for a man you didn't know--for an Iranian," Wendy asked incredulously. "He was just another fundamentalist Muslim looking to infect the rest of the world with his brand of Islam by whatever means he could..
"Nateq-Nouri was a man who wanted peace," Patrick said. "He wasn't a Muslim fundamentalist--he was a realist. He may not have liked the United States, but he was wise enough to think of innovative ways to avoid a conflict. Buzhazi's not a fundamentalist, either--he's a homicidal psychopath. He's out there taking shots at our aircraft carriers with Backfire bombers and supersonic cruise missiles just for fun. What if he gets lucky and lands a one-ton warhead on the decks of the Abraham Lincoln, or decides to put a torpedo into one of our ships? How many Americans does he have to kill before we should go after him?" Wendy had no answer for him.
They stood together for a few minutes longer, until Patrick looked at his watch and sighed. "I've got to go," he said.
"I know," Wendy responded. He hugged Wendy closely, and she started to cry. "You know... you know we talked about trying to have another child," Wendy said in a tiny voice through her tears.
"We should stop trying...
"What?" Patrick asked. "Why, Wendy? We both want one so much.
Why...?" He read the sorrow in her eyes, then shook his head in exasperation. "Is it because I'm with Future Flight? Dammit, Wendy, I was afraid this would happen. I never should have accepted this Future flight assignment. I was happy working the pub in Old Sacrament', "No you weren't," Wendy interjected. "You wanted to come back, wanted to start flying again. When Freeman came along, it was a dream come true for you. You made a decision."
"But I love you, Wendy. I want us to be happy. I know how much you want a child, how upset you were when you lost the first one.
If it means that much to you, Wendy, I'll quit.
"You will? Right now? Three hours before takeoff?"
"Yes," Patrick said resolutely. "You mean more to me than this mission or Future Flight or even the damned country!
Wendy was so surprised that she had to remember to close her mouth. "I... I can't believe this...
you'd do that for me? For us?"
"Yes."
"That's so sweet... I love you so much, Patrick," Wendy said.
"But that's not what I meant."
"What? You don't... I'm confused, Wendy. What are you saying?
Don't you want me to quit flying?"
"Of course not," Wendy said. "What, and watch you stare off into space and mope around the House all day and yell and scream at the employees all night? No, you're doing what you love to do, and you're the best at it, so keep doing it. I'll consult for Jon Masters, and telecommute with Sky Masters from home while I take care of our baby."
"Our... our what?"
"Our baby, bomber-brain--our offspring, our rug-rat, our cookie-cruncher," Wendy said. "We can stop trying to have a baby because we did it--I'm pregnant."
"But... but how...?"
"How? Your mom never told you the facts of life?"
"No, dammit... I thought you couldn't have a baby after the accident because of trauma to your follicles or something... I thought we had to do all that in vitro fertilization stuff, do the test tubes and the echography and follicle punctures..."
"Well, either it was an immaculate conception or the doctors were wrong about the old lady's plumbing, because we got pregnant the old-fashioned way--without Synarel sprays or Pergonal shots or micromanipulation," Wendy said proudly. "You're going to be a daddy after all--that is, as long as you come back to me."
"Of course I'll be back, Wendy," Patrick said. "Even if I have to walk. If I've got any skill, if I've got any luck, if I've got any brains at all, I'll use them all to come back to YOU."
They embraced again, tighter than ever before; and even amid the sounds of external power carts and shouting soldiers and missiles and weapons being uploaded and all the other sounds of war in that hangar, for a brief instant in time, there were only the two of them, together forever Takeoff was shortly after darkness set in on Guam. After the area was cleared for any unidentified aircraft or vessels, Air Vehicle 011 launched from Andersen's north-south runway, instantly 500 feet above the ocean as it left the runway because the end of the runway was on a tall cliff on Guam's northernmost tip. McLanahan couldn't help but think of the last time he had taken a B-2 bomber into combat from Guam--they almost hadn't made it. But that was a lifetime ago, it seemed.
The launch brought the same thrill of fear into Tony Jamieson's heart. He remembered all too well their mission against the Chinese navy and air force over the Philippines.
And this mission was even more insane. They had planned it less, and all the planning had been done by McLanahan--a damned civilian, no less!--along with his computers and his buddies at Sky Masters, Inc. The enemy was more numerous, better equipped, better prepared, and they were on their home turf, defending their homeland. But Jamieson had agreed to do it--he couldn't back out now. He had to prove to himself that he really did have the right stuff to fly into combat.
Just two hours after takeoff, over the Philippine Sea between Luzon and the Batan Islands, they rendezvoused with a KC-135 tanker that had taken off before them, and they topped off their tanks--it was the loneliest feeling in the world to see that KC-135 leave. They began a step-climb to 48,000 feet, saving as much fuel as possible. Both crew members could see the lights of Manila about 300 miles to the south; 300 miles north were the lights of Taipei, and off the B-2A's curved beak nose on the horizon were the lights of Victoria and Macao. They altered course slightly to avoid overflying Hong Kong...
... but went feet-dry over the city of Zhelang, Guangdong Province, in the People's Republic of China. They were overflying China on their way to strike Iran.
"I don't friggin' believe this," Jamieson said, "but we're doing it. We've just violated China's airspace with an armed strategic bomber."
The huge naval and air base at Guangzhou was the biggest concern right now. They had picked up strong radar and air defense signals from more than 300 miles out, shortly after completing their aerial refueling. Guangzhou was alive with air defense systems--most older, ex-Soviet systems, like the Vietnam-era SA-2 long-range "flying telephone pole" missile; China was flying late-evening air patrols as well. The majority of Chinese air interceptors on patrol showed on the threat scope as MiG-21s, with a few more modern Sukhoi27s in the mix. "Well, the Chinese air force is certainly awake tonight," Jamieson commented. "Training day, I hope.
Just then, one of the Chinese-built Xian J-7 fighters, copies of the Russian MiG-21, swept its radar beam across the B-2A stealth bomber--and the green triangle representing its search radar changed to yellow. Shit, that MiG-21 locked onto us!" Jamieson called out. "He's at eight o'clock, twenty miles!"
"If we get intercepted, our best plan is an emergency descent, then deviate southwest across Laos or Burma," McLanahan said, repeating their hastily planned escape procedures. "Range to the Laotian border is about five hundred miles. Radar coverage is almost nonexistent to the southwest."
"If he gets an eyeball on us, we'll be lucky to make it five minutes, let alone five hundred miles," Jamieson muttered. But thankfully, the fighter's radar broke lock a few moments later, and he did not reacquire. "God, that was close."
But it wasn't over yet. Several minutes later, another fighter--this one a Russian-built Sukhoi-27, a much more up-to-date fighter-bomber--started sweeping the area, searching for the B-2A bomber--and seconds later, it too showed a lock-on.
"The Su-27's got us," McLanahan said. "Seven o'clock, fifteen miles."
"What in hell's going on?" Jamieson asked. "Recheck your switches." But after quickly scanning the status page of the computer readouts, they could find nothing out of place--they were in COMBAT mode, with all stealth and defensive systems on and functioning. "That's two in a row.
Are we hanging something?"
"That's got to be it," McLanahan said. "Try a turn to the left."
Sure enough, as soon as they turned into the fighter, the yellow target-tracking radar turned to a green search radar, and the fighter began sweeping the skies in other directions, trying to lock on. The closest he got was ten miles, well outside visual range even with night-vision optics.
"I was afraid of that," Jamieson said. "Field maintenance in a B-2A bomber is not like any other plane. The maintenance crews have to be specially trained, and the plane has to be checked to make sure its stealth characteristics weren't altered. One fastener not screwed in all the way, one seam not in perfect alignment, one ding in the skin, can destroy the stealth characteristics and increase the radar cross-section two or three times." Jamieson turned to McLanahan. "We got a decision to make, bub. The Chinese generally are known to have shitty military stuff, but their standard line aircraft got a lock-on and closed within missile range--twice. Iran's got top-of-the-line stuff; so do India and Pakistan. Burma's our last safe chance to get out."
McLanahan knew that they had no choice--the mission was in serious jeopardy. "All right," he said, "I have to agree. I think we can still make it, but the risk is too much. We'll execute the Burma escape route; once we're clear of Chinese radar coverage, I'll flash a message to Andersen to schedule a tanker." In the back of his head was Wendy's surprise message, too--he was going to be a father. He couldn't risk his first child growing up without him.
As McLanahan composed their status and abort message for satellite relay, they continued on for another hour until they were well clear of the Chinese air defense region near Chengdu, where it was safe to temporarily deactivate the AN/VUQ-13 BEADS "cloaking device," get a GPS satellite navigation fix, and activate the encoded satellite transceiver. Just as McLanahan was ready to send his message, a priority message came in.
"Shit," McLanahan said. "Iran is attacking the United Arab Emirates and Oman!"
"What?"
"Bomber attacks on three bases in the UAE and two bases in Oman," McLanahan read. "Iran is shutting down any Gulf Cooperative Council base that might threaten the carrier Khomeini while it's stationed in the Gulf of Oman. Extensive Iranian fighter coverage throughout the region, including near the Abraham Lincoln battle group... no U.S. or GCC air defense units were able to respond.
The attack came out of nowhere."
"We'll get plastered," Jamieson said. "If Iran presses the attack, we could lose every usable air and naval base east of the Red Sea. We'd..." He knew... they both knew, what this meant--they couldn't abort their mission now. Their B-2A bomber was the only allied strike aircraft in the Gulf region ready to fight back, the only one that could shut off the Iranian surge.
"What's our ETE to the area, MC?"
"About three hours," McLanahan responded.
"Well, we won't be in time to help in the first series of attacks, but we can sure as hell do some damage in the second," Jamieson said. "Let's get cloaked up again and get back on the blue line--we've got an aircraft carrier to knock out."
Once past Chengdu, all Chinese air defense activity dropped off markedly. They deactivated BEADS to get more target and status updates via satellite, activating the system once again as they neared Lhasa in southern China, then again as they approached Kathmandu in Nepal.
As they came closer to India, they studied the updated threat charts closely. "I think it's too risky," McLanahan said finally.
"The original plan had us crossing northern India and Pakistan, which is the shortest track, but the radar coverage is too thick there--the border skirmishes between India and Pakistan over the Punjab and Kashmir have that area too heavily fortified. Our best bet would be to extend farther north and go through Afghanistan north of Kabul, then south to Chah Bahar."
"What's that do to our fuel status?" Jamieson asked.
"It'll add another hour to our flight time," McLanahan said. "If we assume that all our divert bases on the Arabian Peninsula and Turkey are unavailable because of Iran's attacks, that means we either hit a tanker right away over the Arabian Sea on the outbound leg, or we splash down--Diego Garcia goes away as an alternate. No other safe alternates are available."
"What's our decision point?"
"Right about now," McLanahan said. "If we decided to abort from here, we'd reverse course and bug out over Burma, head east, and pick up a tanker just east of Manila. We can probably abort later on in the sortie and bug out over India, but then we'd have to bootleg a tanker out of Diego Garcia to meet us over the Arabian Sea or Bay of Bengal. Any way you cook it, AC, we'll be skosh on gas from here on in. The last time we'll have the right amount of fuel on board is right now."
"Shit," Jamieson swore on interphone. "You know, this is exactly the situation I warned General Samson not to get into. Don't get backed into corners. Don't do stupid stunts. I guess it's true--you never learn anything new when you're yakking." He paused, then looked at McLanahan. "It's your call, mission commander. I'll drive the bus anywhere you want."
McLanahan looked at Jamieson in surprise. "First time you've said that without the words dripping in sarcasm, Tiger."
"Yeah, maybe I should check my oxygen--I might be getting hypoxic." He shrugged, then nodded. "You're a pretty good stick after all, Mack. You got us this far. Make the call."
McLanahan paused, thinking; then: "You know, I just found out I'm going to be a father. Wendy's pregnant."
"No shit? That's great. Congrats. I got three of my own. Those critters will change your life, believe me." He looked hard at McLanahan. "So you thinking about bagging this mission?"
"Couldn't think of a better reason He hesitated, thought for a short moment, then added, "... except there's troops on the ground counting on us. We gotta do it, Tiger. We go."
"Then we go," Jamieson agreed. "We're committed."
The trip across Afghanistan was quiet and uneventful, but things changed immediately as the Spirit approached southeastern Iran.
Their original chosen flight path had them flying through the less populated parts of the provinces of northeastern Kerman and northern Baluchistan va Sistan, but the closer they got to the Iranian army air base at Zahedran, they realized they could not put the left wing toward any emitters, so they flew east of Zahedan through western Pakistan.
Before reaching the city of Zahedan, they briefly deactivated the "cloaking device" to get a last GPS satellite navigation update to the inertial navigation system, use the SAR radar to input an accurate pressure altitude into the flight computer, and to pick up any last-minute satellite intelligence and targeting data, including updates on the Iranian attacks on the United Arab Emirates and Oman. "The battle is going into phase two," McLanahan reported as he read the retrieved messages. "Kamza Omani Naval Base on Musandam in the Strait of Hormuz, destroyed.
Sib Air Base in Oman, heavily damaged along with nearly all of Oman's air force. Mina Sultan Naval Base in the UAE, heavily damaged--that's where Madcap Magician was based. God, I hope they're okay."
"Your spy buddies made it this far, didn't they?"
"Yep... and I'd say they kicked some butt, too," McLanahan said with a smile. "Listen: Peninsula Shield reports a counterattack by commando forces out of Mina Sultan on the rebuilt Iranian air defense emplacements on Abu Musa Island. Some injuries, no casualties, but the Iranian defenses were destroyed--two Hawk, one Rapier SAM emplacements, the command-and-control center destroyed, and the runway cratered. That sounds like my friends, all right."
As the B-2A flew southwest past Zahedan, they picked up the first indications of the air defense radar at Chah Bahar.
"Let's head on down," McLanahan said, punching in commands to the flight-control computer. "COLA mode engaged." He configured his supercockpit display to provide a God's-eye view of the sky and terrain around the B-2A bomber.
"Ready," Jamieson said. "Deaf, dumb, and blind, we're going hunting." He engaged the autopilot to the new commands being entered into the flight-control system, and the B-2A bomber headed earthward at 15,000 feet per minute. Because the B-2A bomber used BEA
DS, the so-called cloaking device, it could not use a conventional terrain-following or terrain-avoidance radar system as with the B-52, F-111, F-15E, or B-1B bombers--it could not even use a radar altimeter to measure the distance below it, because BEADS would absorb all the outgoing energy.
Instead, this B-2A bomber used a system developed by the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center called COLA, or COmputer-generated Lowest Attitude. First used on an experimental B-52H bomber nicknamed the "Megafortress"--so called because it had pioneered many of the advanced stealth and attack systems used on future war machines--the B-2A's flight computers split up the entire globe into one-mile blocks, then had the highest terrain elevation within that block programmed into it. Using its inertial navigation system, accurate to 200 to 300 feet per hour, the B-2A's flight-control system knew what terrain was coming up all along its flight path, and it would choose the lowest possible altitude while still avoiding the terrain. The flight-control computer could look "into" an upcoming turn, evaluate its airspeed, gross weight, outside air data, and flight performance, and fly as close as possible to the earth--sometimes as low as 100 feet--even though neither crew member could see out the cockpit windows! As the accuracy of the inertial navigation system degraded over time--there was no way to update the inertial navigation system with the "cloaking device" activated--COLA would select a higher altitude to provide a greater margin of safety while still flying as low as possible.
Dale Brown - Shadows Of Steel Page 36
