by Dale Brown
“Very good.” Hirsiz picked up a telephone. “I’ll call Gardner and set the stage with him, and let him vent about the attack on Irbil.”
COMMAND AND CONTROL CENTER, ALLIED AIR BASE NAHLA, IRAQ
LATER THAT EVENING
“Just got off the phone with the president,” Vice President Ken Phoenix said as he entered the Tank. Colonel Jack Wilhelm was at his console in the front of the senior staff area, but beside him—in the real commander’s chair—was Colonel Yusuf Jaffar. The Tank was very crowded, because both an American and an Iraqi now manned every combat staff console in the room. Also in the room were Patrick McLanahan, Wayne Macomber, and Jon Masters. “He spoke with President Hirsiz of Turkey and President Rashid of Iraq.
“First of all, he wanted me to give you a ‘job well done’ for your actions today. He said that although he didn’t feel the risk was worth it, he commends all of you for exercising restraint and courage. It was an explosive situation and you handled it well.”
“I spoke with President Rashid as well,” Jaffar said, “and he wished me to pass along similar thoughts to all.”
“Thank you, Colonel. However, we still have a situation. Turkey wants access to the wreckage of the XC-57 to gather evidence for a criminal trial against Scion Aviation International. They are asking permission for experts to examine the aircraft, including the stuff you removed from the plane, Dr. Masters.”
“That stuff is classified and proprietary, Mr. Vice President,” Jon said. “Letting the Turks examine it gives them a chance to reverse-engineer it. That’s the reason we risked our lives yanking that stuff out of there! They don’t care about a trial—they just want my technology. No way I’m letting the Turks get their grubby paws on it!”
“You might not have any choice, Dr. Masters,” Phoenix said. “Scion was a U.S. government contractor at the time of the attack. The government may be entitled to direct you to turn the equipment over.”
“I’m not a lawyer, sir, and I don’t particularly like them, but I know armies of them,” Jon said. “I’ll let them handle it.”
“I’m more concerned about what the Turks will do, Mr. Vice President,” Patrick said.
“I’m sure they’ll go to the World Court or to NATO, possibly to the International Admiralty Court, file the criminal charges, and try to compel you to—”
“No, sir, I don’t mean a legal proceeding. I mean, what will the Turkish army do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Sir, do you expect the Turkish army to just forget everything that’s happened here today?” Patrick replied. “They have twenty thousand troops spread out between the border and Mosul, and fifty thousand troops within a day’s march of here. This is the first defeat they’ve suffered in their Iraqi operation. I think Jon’s right: they want the systems on that plane, and I think they’re going to come back and take it.”
“They would not dare!” Jaffar exclaimed. “This is not their country, it is mine. They will not do whatever they please!”
“We’re trying to prevent this conflict from escalating, Colonel,” Vice President Phoenix said. “Frankly, I think we got lucky out there today. We caught the Turks flat-footed with the Tin Man and CID units. But if Jaffar’s brigade hadn’t shown up when it did, or if the Turks decided to attack right away instead of waiting for instructions, the results could’ve been a lot worse.”
“We would’ve handled them just fine, sir,” Wayne Macomber said.
“I’m glad you think so, Mr. Macomber, but I disagree,” Phoenix said. “You told me yourself you were low on ammo and power. I appreciate the fear factor involved in the Tin Man and CID, but those Turkish troops had marched almost two hundred miles inside Iraq. They weren’t going to run.” Whack lowered his eyes and said nothing in response; he knew the vice president was right.
“Mr. Vice President, I think General McLanahan may be correct,” Jaffar said. “I do not know about these classified things that Dr. Masters speaks of, but I do know generals in the field, and they do not take defeat well. We pushed around a small security unit today and made them back off, but they outnumber us here.
“The Turks have two brigades surrounding Mosul and deployed to the south of us,” Jaffar went on. “The Iraqi army has sufficient units in hiding to contain them, if that becomes necessary. But my brigade is the only significant force facing the two Turkish brigades to our north. That is where I will concentrate my forces and prepare for any action by the Turks.” He stood and put on his helmet. “General McLanahan, you will deploy your reconnaissance aircraft and ground teams to the northern approach sectors, as far north as you can go without making contact, and warn of any advances by the Turks.”
“Yes, Colonel,” Patrick said. “I’m also concerned about the Turkish air forces, particularly the Second Tactical Air Force’s F-15Es, A-10s, and AC-130 gunships based in Diyarbakir. If they decide to bring them in, they could decimate our forces.”
“What do you propose, Patrick?” Vice President Phoenix asked.
“Sir, you have to convince President Gardner that we need surveillance of Diyarbakir and a plan to respond should the Turks launch a massive attack against us.” Patrick produced a Secure Digital memory card in a plastic case. “This is my proposed reconnaissance schedule and attack plan. Our primary reconnaissance platform is a constellation of microsatellites that Sky Masters Incorporated can place in orbit to provide continuous coverage of Turkey. They can be launched within hours. The attack plan centers around using specialized modules in our XC-57 aircraft that can disrupt and destroy the command and control facilities at Diyarbakir.”
“I thought the XC-57 was just a transport and reconnaissance plane, Patrick,” Phoenix said with a knowing smile.
“Until we attack Diyarbakir, sir, that’s all it is,” Patrick said. “The attack will be with a combination of netrusion—network intrusion—to confuse and overload their networks, followed by high-power microwave weapons to destroy the electronics aboard any operating aircraft or facility. We can follow up with bomber attacks if necessary.”
“Bomber attacks?”
“The Seventh Air Expeditionary Squadron,” Patrick said. “It’s a small B-1B Lancer bomber unit formed by an engineering group in Palmdale, California, that takes planes in flyable storage and makes them operational again. They currently have seven bombers deployed to the United Arab Emirates. They’ve been used to fly contingency support missions for Second Regiment and other Army units in Iraq.”
“Are they an Air Force unit, Patrick?”
“They have an Air Force designation, I believe they’re organized under Air Force Matériel Command, and they’re commanded by an Air Force lieutenant colonel,” Patrick replied, “but most of the members are civilians.”
“Is the entire military being taken over by contractors, Patrick?” Phoenix asked wryly. He nodded somberly. “I don’t like the idea of bombing Turkey, even if they strike at us directly, but if that’s the final option, it sounds sufficiently small and powerful to do the job without causing a world war to break out between NATO allies.”
“My thoughts exactly, sir.”
“I’ll present your plan to Washington, Patrick,” Phoenix said, “but let’s hope we don’t go anywhere near that level of escalation.” He turned to the Iraqi commander. “Colonel Jaffar, I know this is your country and your army, but I urge you to practice the same restraint you showed today. We don’t want to get into a shooting war with the Turks. This business with the classified boxes from that wreckage is of no consequence if lives are at stake.”
“With respect, sir, you are wrong two ways,” Jaffar said. “As I said, I do not know or care about black boxes. But this is not about black boxes—this is about a foreign army invading my home. And I did not practice restraint with the Turks today. We had them outnumbered; there was no reason to fight unless they chose to do so. They were the ones who showed restraint, not I. But if the Turks do return, they will come in large numbers, and then we will fight. General McLanah
an, I expect a briefing on your deployment plan within the hour.”
“I’ll be ready, Colonel,” Patrick said.
“Excuse me, sir, but I must prepare my troops for battle,” Jaffar said, bowing to Vice President Phoenix. “Colonel Wilhelm, I must thank you for keeping Nahla secure in my absence. May I rely on you and your men to keep Nahla secure as we deploy, as you already have?”
“Of course,” Wilhelm said. “And I’d like to attend your deployment briefings, if I could.”
“You are always welcome, Colonel. You will be notified. Good night.” And Jaffar departed, with Patrick, Wayne, and Jon behind him.
“You still think this is a good idea, General?” Wilhelm asked before they left. “Jaffar’s fighting for his country. What are you fighting for now? The money?”
Jaffar froze, and they could see him clench and unclench his fists and straighten his back in indignation, but he did not do or say anything. But Patrick stopped and turned to Wilhelm. “You know what, Colonel?” Patrick said with a slight smile. “The Iraqis haven’t paid me a dime. Not one dime.” And he departed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
There are no great people in this world, only great challenges which ordinary people rise to meet.
—ADMIRAL WILLIAM FREDERICK HALSEY, JR. (1882–1959)
NEAR ALLIED AIR BASE NAHLA, IRAQ
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING
The two eight-man teams of Turkish bordo bereliler, or Maroon Beret, special operations Rangers arrived on station at about three A.M. They had executed a picture-perfect HALO, or high-altitude low-opening parachute jump, into the area about five miles north of Tall Kayf. After landing and stowing their parachutes, they verified their position, checked personnel, weapons, and gear, and headed south. Once near the checkpoint about two miles from the XC-57 crash site, they split up into two-man recon teams and proceeded to their individual objective points.
It took less than thirty minutes for the Maroon Berets to determine that all of the intel passed to them from Captain Evren’s unit stationed outside Allied Air Base Nahla was true: the Iraqis had deployed four infantry platoons around the XC-57 crash site and were setting up sandbag machine gun nests to guard it. The rest of the brigade was nowhere to be seen. Evren had also reported that the Americans were still inside the base, training and conditioning but remaining very low profile as well.
The Iraqis were obviously expecting something to happen, the Ranger platoon leader thought, but they weren’t putting up more than a token defense. They obviously weren’t looking for a fight over the reconnaissance plane. The Rangers could stop their operation if the Iraqis had deployed any more forces in the area, but they hadn’t. The operation was still on.
The timetable was razor-thin, but everyone was executing it perfectly. Aviation elements of First and Second Divisions had sent squadrons of light infantry in low-flying UH-60 Black Hawk and CH-47F Chinook helicopters from six different directions, all converging in the area around Nahla, under the protection of AH-1 Cobra helicopter gunships. The helicopters came in under a blanket of jamming across the entire electromagnetic spectrum that cut off all radar and communications other than bands they wished to use. At the same time ground forces were rushing in to reinforce them. In less than thirty minutes—the blink of an eye, even on a modern battlefield—the four Iraqi platoons surrounding the XC-57 crash site were surrounded themselves…and outnumbered.
The Iraqi defenders, using night-vision goggles, could see the red lines of Turkish laser designators crisscrossing the field ahead of them, and they hunkered down behind sandbag machine gun nests and the XC-57 wreckage. The assault could begin at any moment.
“Attention, Iraqi soldiers,” they heard in Arabic from a loudspeaker aboard a Turkish armored infantry vehicle, “this is Brigadier General Ozek, commander of this task force. You have been surrounded, and I am bringing in more reinforcements as I speak. I order you to—”
And at that moment one of the Chinook helicopters that had just touched down to off-load soldiers disappeared in a tremendous fireball, followed by a Cobra gunship that was hovering a few hundred yards away on patrol and a Black Hawk helicopter that had just lifted off. The entire horizon to the north and northeast of the XC-57 crash site suddenly seemed as if it was on fire.
“Carsi, Carsi, this is Kuvvet, we are taking heavy fire, direction unknown!” the Second Division task force commander radioed. “Say ETE. Over!” No response. The general looked over his left shoulder toward Highway Three, which his eastern battalion should have been racing up to flank the Iraqis…
…and through his night-vision goggles he saw an eerie glow on the horizon about three miles behind him—and the flickering of some very large objects burning and exploding. “Carsi, this is Kuvvet, say your pos!”
“Good strike, Boomer,” Patrick McLanahan said. The first AGM-177 Wolverine strike missile released a CBU-97 Sensor-Fuzed Weapon over the lead vehicles in the easternmost battalion driving southbound as part of the Nahla operation. Dropped from fifteen thousand feet, the CBU-97’s dispenser released ten submunitions, each of which deployed four skeets and laser and infrared seekers. As the submunitions fell toward the column of vehicles, they started to spin, and as they did they detected and classified all the vehicles below. At the proper altitude each skeet detonated over a vehicle, sending a molten blob of copper down onto its prey. The blob of superheated copper easily penetrated the usually thinner top armor of the Turkish vehicles, destroying every vehicle on the road for a quarter of a mile.
“Roger that, General,” Hunter Noble said. “The Wolverine is maneuvering for the western column for the second GBU-97 pass, and then it’ll attack the troops closest to Nahla with the eighty-seven.” The CBU-87 Combined Effects Munition was a mine-laying weapon that dispensed over two hundred bomblets over a three-thousand-square-foot rectangular area, effective against soldiers and light vehicles. “The second Wolverine is in a parking orbit to the south in case the Iraqis have trouble with the Mosul brigades.”
“Hopefully we won’t need it,” Patrick said. “Let me know if—”
“Problem, Patrick—I think we lost the first Wolverine,” Boomer interjected. “Lost contact. It might have been shot down if it was detected on radar when it made its attack.”
“Send in the second Wolverine on the western battalion,” Patrick ordered.
“Moving. But Jaffar’s guys might make contact before it arrives.”
The eastern column of Turkish infantry vehicles was initially stopped cold by the first Wolverine attack, but the survivors were soon on the move. As they raced forward to meet up with the center battalion, several Iraqi antitank teams in spider holes along the highway opened fire, destroying five Humvees and an M113 armored personnel carrier. But the Iraqis were soon coming under intense fire from other Turkish troops, and they were trapped in their spiderholes. A line of three Humvees had discovered three spider-holes and quickly destroyed the first one with forty-millimeter automatic grenade fire.
“Wa’if hena! Wa’if hena! Stop!” the Turks shouted in Arabic. They exited their Humvees, weapons raised. “Get out now, hands on your…!”
Suddenly they heard a loud CCRRACK! and one of the Humvees exploded in the blink of an eye. Before the explosion subsided they heard another CCRRACK! and the second Humvee detonated, followed by the third. The Turks flattened on their stomachs, searching for the enemy who had just blown up their vehicles…
…and a few moments later, they saw who it was: the ten-foot-tall American robot, carrying the impossibly large sniper rifle and a large backpack. “Time to run along,” the robot said in electronically synthesized Turkish. It leveled the big rifle and ordered, “Drop your weapons.” The Turks did as they were told, turned, and ran after their comrades. The Iraqis leaped out of their spider holes, scooped up the Turks’ weapons and their remaining antitank missiles, and went looking for more targets.
“Jaffar’s guys are doing pretty good on the eastern side,” Charlie Turlock said. “I
think we have the rest of this battalion broken up, thanks to the Wolverine. How’s it going on the west, Whack?”
“Not so good,” Wayne Macomber said. He was “tank plinking” on every large armored vehicle that came within range, but the column of Turkish vehicles coming toward them seemed endless.
“Need some help?”
“General?”
“The second Wolverine is five minutes out,” Patrick said. “The first one went Tango-Uniform. But we still have two companies on the east that I want to get turned around first. We have to hope the Iraqis hold.”
“Colonel Jaffar?”
“I am sorry I left such a small force at the reconnaissance plane,” Jaffar radioed amid loud engine noises and a lot of out-of-breath gasping. “Some of our vehicles broke down as well.”
Patrick could see where Jaffar’s battalion was relative to the four platoons guarding the XC-57, and like the second Wolverine he was not going to make it before the Turks started their attack. “General, I’m closer,” Charlie Turlock radioed. “Whack and I together might be enough to at least slow the Turks down long enough.”
“No, you have the eastern flank, Charlie; we don’t want anyone stunting around from that direction,” Patrick said. “Martinez, I need you to sprint ahead of Jaffar’s guys and engage.”
“With pleasure, General,” replied Angel Martinez, piloting a CID unit accompanying Yusuf Jaffar’s battalion. Martinez was a jack-of-all-trades in Scion Aviation International: he had police training; he fixed and drove trucks and construction equipment; he could even cook. When they were looking for volunteers to go to Iraq, his was the first hand up. On the long flight over, Wayne and Charlie gave him ground school lessons on how to pilot a Cybernetic Infantry Device; when Wayne Macomber ordered him to mount up after they had arrived at Nahla and were going to take down the local security force, it was his first time actually piloting a CID.
Now this was only his second time—and he was going to face an entire Turkish army battalion.
