by Cuba (lit)
night, Jack O'Brian's F-117 passed
Tampa Bay and continued south toward Key West.
It was flying at Mach .72 to conserve fuel. The
fighter had tanked over Tallahassee and would
tank again in just a few minutes over two hours
near Tampa. But first, a little jaunt to Havana.
Navigation was by global positioning system, GPS.
The pilot had entered the coordinates of his destination
into the computer before he even started the engines of his
airplane, and now the computer and autopilot were
taking him there. All he had to do was monitor the
system, make sure everything functioned as it was
designed to.
O'Brian sucked on his oxygen mask, reached under
it to scratch his nose, readjusted his flight
gloves, and generally fidgeted around in his seat. He
was nervouswho wouldn't be"...b quite confident. After all,
there was very little danger as long as the aircraft's
systems continued to work properly. The craft truly
was invisible at night. Of course it did have a
small infrared signature and could be seen by an
enemy searching the skies with infrared detectors, but
there was no reason to suspect the Cubans
were doing any such thing.
Barring a freak accident, like getting hit by a random
unaimed artillery shell or having a midair with a
civilian plane, the Cubans would never know the
F-117 had even been around. Certainly they would
never see it on radar or with the naked eye. ,
The Cubans might get wise when and if he
dropped some bombs, but even so, there was nothing they
could do about an invisible bomber.
The biggest risk, Jack O'Brian decided, was
having a midair with one of the other three
F-117's that were out here prowling around.
The second plane was running twenty miles back
in trail, a thousand feet above this one, and the others
an equal
distance up and back, all with their own hard
altitudes. Jack glanced again at his altimeter,
just to be sure.
Key West came into view on schedule, a bit
off to his left. The lights of the other Keys
looked like a handful of pearls flung into the blackness
of the night.
Then Key West lay behind and the lights of Havana
appeared ahead. Jack O'Brian reduced power
and set up a descent.
Angel One, the helicopter from
United States,
landed in the cane across the road from Dona Maria
Sedano's house. Ocho got out of the chopper and
walked across the road toward the house. Tommy
Carmellini trailed along behind him.
Mercedes was standing on the porch as Ocho walked up.
They launched themselves at each other, hugged
fiercely. Mercedes didn't even glance at
Carmellini, who was dressed in a civilian shirt
and trousers but had a pistol strapped to his waist.
Mercedes kept her arm around Ocho, took him into the
house where his mother was sitting in a chair.
Carmellini sat on the porch, watched the occasional
car and truck go by. The vehicles slowed, their
passengers gawking at the idling helo, but they
didn't stop.
Soon Ocho came outside with Mercedes. She had
the videotape in her hand. Ocho introduced
Carmellini.
"If the videotape is to have maximum effect, it
should be aired immediatelyea"...Carmellini told Mercedes,
who held the tape tightly with both hands.
"We are going to get Hector out of
prisonea"...Ocho said, anxious to explain.
"We could take 'y to Havana television and leave
you, if you wish."
Mercedes nodded, so Ocho put his arm around her and
led her to the helicopter. Dona Maria was visible
in the door of her cottage; Ocho waved at her
before he climbed into the helo.
Jake Grafton used an infrared viewing scope
to examine the streets of Havana. He was sitting
in the copilot's seat of the V-22 Osprey, which
Rita had racked over in a right bank, orbiting the
downtown. The city was well litnot as well lit
as an American city, but almost. The central core
of the city was darkthe electrical power had yet to be
restored.
The area around the University of Havana seemed
deserted. No tanks, no armored personnel
carriers, no barricades, apparently no
troops. The streets looked empty.
Strange.
Or maybe not so strange. Maybe the lab was
empty, the viruses moved to God knows where.
Everyone in Cuba seemed to be in the streets around
La Cabana Prison; at least a hundred
thousand people, Jake estimated. Bonfires burned in
the streets near the prison, huge fires
that appeared as bright spots of light on the infrared
viewing scope.
He looked for the antiaircraft guns which he knew
were there. He found them, but at this altitude he
couldn't see people around them. "Go lowerea"...he told
Rita. "Two thousand feet."
Still circling to the right, she eased the power and let the
Osprey descend.
Jake turned his attention to the prison, an island
of darkness on the edge of the stricken city center. The
main gate was an opening in a high masonry wall
that surrounded the huge old stone fortress. The gate
seemed to be closed, but at this altitude and
angle, it was difficult to be sure. Immediately behind
the gate sat a tankJake had seen enough of those
planforms to be absolutely certain. Two more
tanks sat in the courtyard ... and some
automobiles. Jake adjusted the magnification
on the infrared viewer. Now he could see
individuals, walking, standing in knots, talking through
the fenceyes, the main gate was closed.
Two antiaircraft batteries sat beside the
prison, old Soviet four-barreled ZPU'S with
optical sights. They were use-
less against fast movers but would be hell on
helicopters.
The roof of the prison was flat, and apparently
empty. No. Correct that. Snipers on the
corners. Damn!
Jake checked the radio to ensure he was on the
proper frequency, then keyed the mike. "Angel
One, this is Battlestar One, where are you?"
"Angel One's on its way to the television station
to deliver a passenger."
"Let me know when you lift off from there."
"Roger that, Battlestar."
"Night Owl Four Two, call your posit."
Jack O'Brian in the F-l 17 replied,
"Night Owl Four Two is overhead at ten."
"La Cabana Prison is our object of
interest tonight, Four Two. I want single bombs,
all to stay within the walls. Can you do that?"
"We can try, sir. You know the limitations on my
equipment as well as I do."
"Your best efforts. Lots of friendlies outside the
wall. First target is the antiaircraft battery
inside the prison walls on the north side. Do
&nb
sp; you see it?"
"Wait."...Seconds ticked by.
"Got it."
'The second target is the antiaircraft
battery on the south side."
"Night Owl Four Four is on station at eleven
thousand, Battlestar. Why don't we each run one
of those targets? I'll take the north one."
The two F-l 17 pilots discussed it and
Jake approved.
Jack O'Brian had several possible ways
to drop the bombs he carried in the internal bomb
bay. If he were bombing through a cloud deck or in
rain or snow, he would release the unpowered weapon
over the target and let it steer itself to the GPS
bull's-eye through use of a GPS receiver, a
computer, and a set of canards mounted on the nose of the
weapon. Tonight, since the sky was reasonably clear,
he would illumine the target with a laser beam while
overflying it, and let the unpowered bomb fly itself to the
laser-designated bull's-eye. If O'Brian
could keep the laser beam directly on the spot he
wished the bomb to hit, he should be able to achieve
pinpoint, bomb-in-a-barrel accuracy.
Once again O'Brian carefully checked his
electronic countermeasures panel, which was dark.
The Cubans were off the
aii,
which was comforting.
Now he adjusted the focus of the infrared camera in
the nose. The display blossomed slowly, continued
to change as he got closer and the grazing angle
increased.
He could see the gun plainly owing to the camera's
magnification. He sweetened the crosshairs just a
touch as the airplane motored sedately toward the
target, still cruising at ten thousand feet, and turned
on the laser designator, which was slaved to the
crosshairs.
Jack O'Brian checked his watch. "Night Owl
Four Two is thirty seconds from drop."
"Four Four is a minute out."
"Don't turn on your laser until you see my
thing pop."
"Roger."
Armament panel set for one bomb, laser mode
selected, laser designator on, master armament
switch on, steady on the run-in heading,
autopilot engaged, crosshairs steady on the
targetno driftsystem into Attack. A tone
sounded in his ears and was broadcast over the radio on
the tactical frequency. O'Brian knew that
several people were listening for that tone, including the
pilot of the other F-117 Night Owl Four
Four, Judy Kwiatkowski.
He watched for unexpected wind drift. Not much
tnwhat little wind there was was well within the capability
of the bomb to handle.
Counting down, the second hand on the clock on the
instrument panel ticking ... The release marker
marched down and he felt the thump as the bomb bay
doors snapped open. Immediately thereafter the bomb was
released, the tone stopped, then the doors closed
again.
With the bomb in the air, it was essential that the
crosshairs on the laser designator stay
precisely on the target because the bomb was guiding
itself toward this spot of invisible light.
He took manual control of the crosshairs,
kept them right on the artillery piece beside the old
fortress. ,
The aspect angle of the target was changing, of
course, as the airplane flew over it and beyond. Now
it was behind the plane, the crosshairs right on the
target.
Then, suddenly, the antiaircraft artillery
piece disappeared in a flash as the
five-hundred-pound bomb struck it dead
center.
Thirty seconds later the gun on the south side
of the building was hit by Judy Kwiatkowski's
weapon.
"Very good, Night Owlsea"...Battlestar said. "The
next target is the tank nearest to the main gate.
I think one bomb will discourage the tankers. Four
Four, I want you to bomb the main gate. Tell
me if you see it."
"Four Four has the target."
"How long until the weapons hit?"
"Give us ten minutes to go out and make another
run."
'Ten minutes will do fineea"...Jake Grafton said,
then turned to Rita.
"After the bombs hit the tanks and main gate, I
want you to land on the roof. The guys in back will go
out shooting and take care of the snipers. Let me go
talk to Eckhardt and Toad." Both officers were
riding in the back of the Osprey with the grunts.
Jake unstrapped and got out of the copilot's seat.
In a moment'Lieutenant Colonel Eckhardt
climbed into the seat and used the infrared scope.
"See the snipers"..."...the admiral asked. "I want
you and your people to shoot them or capture them,
whatever."
"Yes, sir."...The colonel got out pf the seat.
"Ten minutes, Rita. Start your clock."
"Aye, aye, sirea"...Rita said, and began figuring
the best way to approach the prison.
* * *
A man from the control tower ran to find Carlos
Corrado and tell him that American aircraft were
over Havana. The people in the tower heard the news on
short-wave radio from headquarters.
"Havana."
Corrado threw away his cigar butt and got
into his flying gear.
Five minutes later he was taxiing. He didn't
stop at the end of the runway to check the systems or,
controls, but added power and stroked the burners. The
big fighter responded like a thoroughbred race
horse and lifted off after a short run.
Of course he left his radar off.
Still, the crew of the U.s. Air Force E-3
Sentry over the Isle of Pines picked up a
skin-paint return of the MiGo almost immediately.
"Showtime One Oh Two, we got a bogey
lifting off Cienfuegos, looks like he's on his
way to Havana on the deck. Try
to intercept. Over."
Stiff Hardwick had been airborne for an hour
and ten minutes. The recovery aboard
United States
would begin in exactly thirty-five minutes. This
bogey was on the deck using fuel at a
prodigious rate, and when Stiff came swooping
down from 30,000 feet his fuel consumption would also
go through the roof. Fuel would be tight. Very tight.
If he had to stroke the throttles to drop this
turkey, he was going to need a tanker.
"One Oh Two will probably need a tanker."
"Roger that. Showtime One Oh Seven"...th was
Stiff's wingman, who was orbiting a thousand feet
above Stiff "remain on station."
"One Oh Seven aye."
"Showtime One Oh Two is on the wayea"...Stiff
told the E-3 controller.
"That's the spiritea"...Sailor Karnow said from the rear
cockpit.
"Shut up, babe. Just do your thing and keep the crap
to yourself."
"You got h, dickwick. I'm behind you all the
way."
The helicopter landed in the street in
front of the televisi
on station and Mercedes stepped out.
Ocho waved as it lifted off, leaving her standing there with
her hair and skirt blowing wildly, clutching the
videotape.
El Ocho, alive and well! It seemed like a
miracle. Truly, she had thought he was dead, lost
at sea.
"I have seen the tapeea"...Ocho had shouted over the
noise of the helicopter as they rode above the lights
of Havana. "Fidel wanted Hector to lead
Cuba. His opinion will sway many people."
Yes, she nodded, fighting baok tears.
"Why did you give the tape to the Americans?"
"Vargas would have taken it from meea"...she replied.
Ocho accepted that because he knew it was true. That
tape would destroy Alejo Vargas.
"Make them show it on televisionea"...Ocho had
shouted. "We will get Hector out of prison."...He
grinned broadly, showing all his teeth. The future
was arriving all at once.
She watched the helicopter disappear into the night
sky, then turned and walked into the television station.
One of the most horrifying threats any soldier can
face is being in the bull's-eye of a modern guided
weapon. The stealth fighters were out tonight,
dropping their weapons with extraordinary precision.
The bombs came in too fast for the human eye
to follow, especially in the light conditions
prevailing in Havana this night. For the Cuban
troops surrounding the old prison, it was as if a
giant invisible sharpshooter were somewhere in the clouds
hurling bombs. The two bombs on the
antiaircraft guns frightened the soldiers and made
the crowd nervous. Watching from the Osprey, Jake
Grafton thought for a moment the crowd might stampede:
with this many people jamming the streets
that would be a human disaster. Still, he could not take the
risk the guns or tanks would open fire on the
inbound helicopter or the Osprey, both of which he
wanted to land on the prison's roof.
Through the infrared viewer Jake could see the
soldiers instinctively moving away from the tanks.
He could see men getting out of the hatch, jumping to the
ground, walking away.
On the street the crowd was also pushing back, crowding
away from the old fortress.
Minutes passed and nothing happened. The packed
rows of humanity on the street seemed to relax,
to thin as the 'p instinctively sought their own space.
Jake heard the first bomb tone come on.
An officer Jake assumed he was"...an
officerclimbed up on one of the tanks, waved his
arms at his men. his
The bomb tone ceased: the weapon was in the air.
