by Dale Brown
“One hundred grand!” Barbeau remarked. “He beats out every Nevada legislator I know!”
“Bottom line, Senator: He works hard and plays hard,” Colleen summarized. “He maintains a low profile but has made some fairly high-profile transgressions that have apparently been swept under the rug because of the work he does for the government. He’s contacted regularly by defense contractors who want to hire him, some offering incredible salaries, so that probably makes him cocky and contributes to his attitude that he doesn’t have to play the Air Force’s games.”
“Sounds like a guy living on the edge—and that’s exactly where I like ’em,” Barbeau said. “I think it’s time to go pay Captain Noble a little visit—in his native habitat.”
CHAPTER TEN
The deed is everything, the glory nothing.
—JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE
MASHHAD, ISLAMIC REPUBLIC OF IRAN
THAT NIGHT
The city of Mashhad—“City of Martyrs” in English—in northeastern Iran was the second-largest city in Iran and, as the location of the shrine of the eighth imam, Reza, it was the second-largest Shiite holy city in the world and second only to Qom in importance. Over twenty million pilgrims visited the Imam Reza shrine every year, making it as noteworthy and spiritual as the Haji, the pilgrimage to Mecca. Located in a valley between the Kuh-e-Ma’juni and Azhdar-Kuh mountain ranges, the area had brutally cold winters but was pleasant most of the rest of the year.
Located in the hinterlands of Iran, Mashhad held relatively little military or strategic importance until the rise of the Taliban regime in Afghanistan in the 1980s. Fearing that the Taliban would try to export its brand of Islam westward, Mashhad was turned into a counterinsurgency stronghold, with the Iranian Revolutionary Guards Corps operating several strike teams, intelligence units, counterinsurgency fighter-bomber and helicopter assault and attack units from Imam Reza International Airport.
When Hesarak Buzhazi’s military coup hit, Mashhad’s importance quickly grew even stronger. The remnants of the Revolutionary Guards Corps was chased all the way from Tehran to Mashhad. However, Buzhazi barely had the resources to maintain his tenuous hold on the capital, so he had no choice but to let the survivors flee without mounting a determined effort to root out the commanders. With the surviving Revolutionary Guards Corps commanders freely moving about the city, and with a very large influx of Shiite pilgrims that continued almost unabated even during the growing violence, the Pasdaran had lots of recruits to choose from in Mashhad. From mosques, the marketplaces and malls, and from every street corner, the call to jihad against Buzhazi and the Qagev pretenders went far and wide and quickly spread.
Spurred on by the powerful spiritual aura of the city and the entrenched power of the Revolutionary Guards Corps, acting Iranian president, chief of the Council of Guardians, and senior member of the Assembly of Experts Ayatollah Hassan Mohtaz was emboldened to return from exile in Turkmenistan, where he had been living under the protection of the Russian government. At first there was talk of all of the eastern provinces of Iran splitting from the rest of the country, with Mashhad as the new capital, but the instability of the coup and the failure of Buzhazi and the Qagevs to form a government postponed such discussions. Perhaps all Mohtaz had to do was encourage the faithful to jihad, continue to raise money to fund his insurgency, and wait—Tehran might drop right back into his hands soon enough all by itself.
Three full divisions of the Revolutionary Guards Corps, over one hundred thousand strong, were based in and around Mashhad, nearly the entire surviving complement of frontline elite troops. Most of the Pasdaran forces, two divisions, were infantry, including two mechanized infantry brigades. There was one aviation brigade with counterinsurgency aircraft, attack and assault helicopters, transports, and air defense battalions; one armored brigade with light tanks, artillery, and mortar battalions; and one special operations and intelligence brigade that conducted demolition, assassination, espionage, surveillance, interrogation, and specialized communications missions such as propaganda broadcasts. In addition, another thirty thousand al-Quds paramilitary forces were deployed within the city itself, acting as spies and informers for the Pasdaran and theocratic government-in-exile.
The Revolutionary Guards Corps’ headquarters and strategic center of gravity was Imam Reza International Airport, situated just five miles south of the Imam Reza shrine. However, all of the tactical military units at the airport were relocated to make room for a new arrival: an S-300OMU1 Favorit air defense regiment from the Russian Federation.
The S-300 strategic air defense system was considered one of the finest in the world, equal to the American PAC-3 Patriot missile system. An S-300 battery consisted of a long-range three-dimensional scanning acquisition radar, a target engagement and missile guidance radar, and twelve trailers each loaded with four missiles, along with maintenance, crew support, and security vehicles. One such battery was set up at the airport, with another northwest and a third positioned west of the city. The S-300 missile was effective against targets flying as low as thirty feet aboveground, as high as one hundred thousand feet, as fast as Mach 3, as far out as one hundred and twenty miles, and deadly against even low-flying cruise missiles and theater ballistic missiles.
The S-300s were augmented by the Tor-M1 air defense system, which were tracked armored vehicles that fired eight high-speed, short-range radar-guided anti-aircraft missiles from vertical launch tubes. The Tor-M1 was designed to protect mobile headquarters vehicles, vehicle marshaling areas, refueling areas, and ammunition dumps from attack helicopters, unmanned aerial vehicles, and low-flying subsonic tactical bombers. Although the Tor-M1 had a crew of three, it was designed to be a “set and forget” system, allowing for fully autonomous engagements, or it could be tied into the S-300’s fire control system to form an integrated air defense system. Together they formed an almost impenetrable shield around Mashhad.
That day, Mashhad was one of the most heavily defended cities on planet Earth…and it was about to be put to the test.
About two hours before dawn, the first alert was issued from the long-range air defense radar at S-300 battery number two, located thirty miles northwest of Mashhad: “Alarm, alarm, alarm, this is Syeveer battery, high-speed low-altitude target inbound, bearing two-eight-zero, range one-fifty, velocity nine-six-five, altitude nine-zero.”
“Syeveer, this is Tsentr, acknowledged,” the tactical action officer, Captain Sokolov, responded. His tactical display showed three high-speed, low-altitude targets heading toward Mashhad. “Contact, sir,” he reported to the regimental commander. “Looks like a terrain-following bomb run, right where you thought they’d be.”
“Completely predictable,” Colonel Kundrin, the air defense regimental commander, said confidently. As if sensing that something might happen that morning, he had been dressed and at his post in the regimental air defense command center on the top floor of the administration building at Reza International hours earlier. “The planes may change over the years, but the tactics remain the same. We placed that battery in perfect position—the bomber is trying to terrain-mask down the valley, but the mountains funnel right down to where we placed that battery. A fatal flaw in their mission planning. He can’t continue straight ahead, and if he pops up over the ridges he’ll be exposing himself even more.”
“Too fast and too low for a B-2 stealth bomber—this must be a B-1 bomber,” Sokolov surmised. “And they haven’t launched their hypersonic cruise missiles either.”
“I don’t think they have any stealth bombers left after President Gryzlov and General Darzov expertly pounded their bases and caught the fools flat-footed on the ground,” Kundrin said. “Besides, this is not the American air force we’re up against—it’s just McLanahan, the general that went crazy up in space. He’s probably fired all his missiles already. Tell Syeveer to engage at optimal range, and be sure to watch for a trailing aircraft. If he’s got more than one bomber, he’ll either be in close
trail or attacking from a different axis. I don’t want anyone to slip inside.”
Sokolov relayed the order. “Order to engage confirmed, sir, fifteen seconds to go…wait one! Sir, Zapat battery reports new hostile target inbound, bearing two-five-zero, range one hundred, altitude one hundred, speed eight-seventy and increasing!” Zapat was the westernmost battery, situated fifty miles west of Mashhad.
“I knew it! Predictable, all too predictable,” Kundrin said happily. “Looks like we placed that number three battery in a perfect place too—covering the Binalud ridgeline west of the city. If I were to plan an attack on the airport, I’d hug the ground along the ridge, then pop around the end of the ridge and launch missiles right at rollout. That’s exactly what McLanahan did—and we were in exactly the right spot to nail him! He’ll have his bomb doors open and his radar signature will be massive! Tell Zapat to engage when ready!”
Each battery had three missile trailers, separated by several miles but linked to each other via microwave datalink, each carrying four 48N6 vertical-launch interceptor missiles which were already raised to launch position. Once the order to attack was given and the proper attack mode set—launch at optimal range—the engagement was virtually automatic. As soon as the target came within range, a nitrogen gas catapult pushed the missile out of the launch tube to a height of about thirty feet and the rocket motor ignited, accelerating the missile to greater-than-a-mile-per-second velocity in less than twelve seconds. Three seconds later, a second missile automatically fired to assure a kill. The S-300’s missiles climbed to an altitude of only twenty thousand feet, guided to a predicted intercept point.
“Status?” the regimental commander asked.
“Batteries engaging targets, four missiles in the air,” Sokolov reported. “Targets making only minimal evasive maneuvers and little jamming. Solid lock-on.”
“The last act of overconfidence,” Kundrin said. “They have no room to maneuver in any case. Too bad they’re unmanned aircraft, eh, Captain?”
“Yes, sir. I’m concerned about those T-waves, or whatever they hit our fighter with.”
“We’ll see in a moment, won’t we?”
“Missiles tracking perfectly…targets making slightly more aggressive maneuvers…channel-hop away from jamming, still locked on…three…two…one…now.”
There were no other reports from the tactical action officer, which confused the regimental commander. “TAO, report!”
“Sir…sir, both missiles reporting ground contact!” Sokolov said in a low, confused voice. “Negative warhead detonation. Complete miss!”
“Release batteries and launch again!” Kundrin shouted. “Target range and bearing?”
“Second volley processing…missile three launched…missile four launched,” Sokolov said. “Target range nine-zero, bearing steady at two-eight-zero.”
“What of battery three? Status?”
“Battery three engagement…” And then his voice cut off with a sharp intake of breath.
Kundrin flew out of his seat and stared at the display. It was unbelievable…“They missed?” he exclaimed. “Another ground impact?”
“Battery three re-engaging…missile three launch…missile four…”
“Say range and bearing on battery three’s target?”
“Range eight-zero, bearing steady at two-five-zero.”
“That…that doesn’t make sense,” Kundrin said. “Both target bearings did not change even though they fell under attack? Something’s not—”
“Sir, batteries two and three second-engagement missiles show ground impact as well!” Sokolov said. “All engagements missed! Battery two re-engaging. Battery three—”
“Negative! All batteries tight!” Kundrin shouted. “Inhibit auto engage!”
“Repeat that last, sir?”
“I said, all batteries tight, inhibit auto engagement!” Kundrin shouted. “We’re being meaconed!”
“Meaconed? You mean, jammed, sir?”
“They’re broadcasting false targets on our displays and making us fire at ghosts,” Kundrin said.
“But we have full countermeasures and anti-jam algorithms in place, sir,” Sokolov said. “Our systems are in perfect working order.”
“We’re not being jammed, dammit,” Kundrin said. “Something’s inside our system. Our computers believe they are processing actual targets.”
The command network phone rang; only the regimental commander could answer it. “Tsentr.”
“This is Rayetka.” It was General Andrei Darzov himself, calling from Moscow. “We copied your notification of an attack response, but now we see you have canceled all engagements. Why?”
“Sir, I think we’re being meaconed—we’re reacting to false targets generated by our own sensors,” Kundrin said. “I’ve inhibited automatic responses until…”
“Sir, battery two S-300 and Tor units receiving automatic engagement commands and are preparing to launch!” Sokolov shouted.
“I gave no such orders!” Kundrin shouted. “Countermand those orders! All batteries tight!”
“Tsentr, are you positive those are false targets?” Darzov asked.
“Every missile launched so far has hit the ground,” Kundrin said. “Not one of our units has reported visual, optronic, or noise contact even though the targets are at very low altitude.”
“S-300 battery two launching against new multiple inbound high-speed targets!” Sokolov reported. He ran over and pushed the communications officer out of the way, slapping on his headset. “Syeveer and Zapat batteries, this is Tsentr TAO, batteries tight, repeat, batteries tight! Ignore the computer’s indications!” He hurriedly made out a date-time code for authentication—but as he did so, he watched as still more S-300 and Tor-M1 units launched missiles. “All units, this is Tsentr TAO, stop launch! Repeat, stop launch!”
“Stop those damned units from launching, Captain, now!” Kundrin shouted. There were now more targets appearing on the display—flying in exactly the same tracks, speed, altitude, and bearing as the first sets of targets! Soon battery one, the S-300 company at Reza International Airport, was beginning to launch missiles. “Rayetka, this is Tsentr, we’re picking up more inbound hostile targets, but they’re flying the exact same speed, altitude, and track as the first hostiles! Recommend we stop all responses and go to standby on all sensors. We’re being spoofed, I’m positive.”
There was a long pause, with the command net crackling and popping from the shifting encryption decoding routines; then: “Tsentr, this is Rayetka, deploy Fanar. Repeat, deploy Fanar. Stand by for engagement authentication.”
“Repeat that last, Rayetka?” Kundrin asked. For God’s sake, the regimental commander cried to himself, I just recommended to the guy that we shut everything down—now Darzo wants to roll out the biggest gun and the biggest sensor they had! “Repeat, Rayetka?”
“I said, deploy Fanar and stand by for engagement authentication,” the order came back. It was followed by an authentication code.
“I copy, Rayetka, moving Fanar to firing position, standing by for engagement authentication.” Darzov must be getting desperate, Kundrin thought. Fanar, the anti-spacecraft laser, was probably their last chance. The anti-aircraft artillery units scattered around Mashhad had no chance against fast, low-flying bombers. He picked up his regiment’s command network phone: “Security, this is Tsentr, move Fanar to firing position and notify the crew to prepare to engage enemy aircraft.” He gave the security commander an authentication code to move the trucks.
“Sir, we managed to get all units to respond to a weapons-tight order,” Sokolov said. “We’re down to twenty percent primary rounds available.”
“Twenty percent!” Shit, they wasted eighty percent of their missiles on ghosts! “They had better be reloading, dammit!”
“We’re in the process of reloading now, sir,” Sokolov went on. “The Tor-M1 units will be done within fifteen minutes, and the S-300 units will be done before the hour.”
; “Get on it. The real attack may be happening at any moment. And make sure they do not respond to any more targets unless they have optronic verification!” Kundrin rushed to the exit, down the corridor, out the emergency exit, and up to the roof of the administration building. From there, using night-vision binoculars, he could see the progress of the security units.
The four Fanar trucks were just emerging from their hiding places. They had been hidden in a tunnel that ran under the runways which allowed vehicles to go from one side of the airport to another without going all the way around the runways. They were headed for a firefighting training pad on the north side of the runways, which had some old fuel tanks arranged to look like an airliner which could be filled with waste jet fuel and ignited to simulate a crashed airliner. The command vehicle was just now unfolding the huge electronically scanned radar antenna and datalink mast, which would allow the radar to tie into the S-300 fire control network.
Kundrin’s secure portable radio crackled to life: “Tsentr, this is Rayetka,” Darzov spoke. “Status.”
“Fanar deployment under way, sir,” Kundrin replied.
“Tsentr, this is the TAO,” Sokolov radioed.
“Stand by, TAO,” Kundrin said. “I’m talking to Rayetka.”
“They are setting up on the southeast pad as directed?” Darzov asked.
Southeast pad? There was a fighter alert pad on the southeast side, but it was still in use by Revolutionary Guards Corps tactical attack helicopters and also as secure parking for the Russian transports. They had never briefed using it to employ the anti-spacecraft laser. “Negative, sir, we’re using the north firefighting training pad, as briefed.”
“Acknowledged,” Darzov said. “Proceed.”
Moments later, the TAO burst through the door to the roof observation post. “Stop, sir!” he shouted.
“What in hell is going on, Sokolov? What are you doing up here?”
“The authentication from Rayetka—it was not valid!” Sokolov said. “The order to deploy Fanar was not valid!”
