by Dale Brown
of thundering wind and violent sound. Brad Elliott was thrown
to the right as his head and upper torso took the entire brunt
of the hurricane-force winds ripping through the blasted left
cockpit windows.
Through her screams of terror and shock, copilot Major
Nancy Cheshire's training took over. She was battered by the
hurricane-force slipstream and shocked by the explosions rip-
ping through her plane, but she managed to focus on her one
and only priority: flying the airplane. Everything else had to
wait. Still two hundred feet above the South China Sea, the
EB-52 Megafortress was still flying and still accelerating, so
she held on to those two facts with every ounce of her skill,
experience, and strength. The wings were still attached, three
of the plane's four engines were still running and still produc-
ing smash, and they hadn't hit the rock-solid ocean yet-and
it was her job to keep it that way.
"Guard your throttles!" she heard a voice thunder. Just as
she laid her hands on the throttle quadrant, Patrick McLanahan
reached across the center console and began unbuckling Elli-
ott's lap belt and parachute harness straps. "You okay,
Nancy?" McLanahan shouted over the windblast.
"Yes!" she shouted back. She didn't dare take her eyes off
her instruments, but out of the comer of her eyes she saw
McLanahan detach Elliott from his ejection seat, drag him out
of the pilot's seat, lay him down on the deck between the
pilot's seats and instrument console, hook up his oxygen mask
and interphone cord, turn his regulator to oxyGEN 100%, and
begin checking his wounds.
"How is he, Patrick?" Cheshire asked.
"He looks okay," McLanahan replied. "A few cuts on the
left side of his face and shoulders." He quickly wrapped band-
ages from a first-aid kit around the worst-looking wounds.
Thankfully McLanahan had thought to detach the man from
170 DALE BROWN
his seat rather than simply undo his shoulder straps, because
now Elliott had a parachute on and at least had a fighting
chance to eject or do a manual bailout if they got hit. "How
are you doing up there?"
"I feel like I'm suddenly flying an ambulance plane rather
than a bomber."
"Can the wisecracks, co," McLanahan snapped-but he
was happy that Nancy Cheshire was still cracking wise. If she
was too quiet or too serious, it was an indication they were in
serious trouble! Satisfied that Elliott was breathing on his own
and secured the best he could be, he crawled back into his seat
and called up the aircraft systems 5tatus page on his super-
cockpit display. "Number four's shut down, no further fire
indications," he announced, acting as copilot while his only
other surviving crew member flew the plane. "Successful fuel
system transfer, successful hydraulic and electrical shunts.
Auto transferring fuel from the fuselage and mains to the
wings, because I think we're leaking fuel."
"We're on the deck at mil power and four hundred knots,
and I think that's all we're going to get out of her," Cheshire
added. "We've lost the left-side windscreen and all of the left-
side controls and indicators. At least it's warm out there."
"Defense is tits-up," McLanahan reported after doing a
status check on the defensive suite. "All weapons went into
emergency safety shutdown with the engine fire. I'm going to
-reset everything. Radar should be up in ninety seconds. If we
still have weapons, they'll be up in two minutes. Nav systems
successfully reset and reloaded. All weapons went into emer-
gency safety shutdown."
"What about those fighters out there, Muck?" Cheshire
asked.
we can see him and track him on the attack radar, there's
a chance," McLanahan said as he started to check his own
equipment. But a few seconds later: "I've got no-go lights on
all internal and external weapons, Nance-they might've been
hit by a bullet -or damaged- by the fire. Looks like we got squat.
Left turn heading zero-four-five, co. We're heading right for
Taiwan. If we got any help out there, that's where they'll be.
I'll do another restart, but I think my stuff is dead."
"Any contact with the Taiwanese air force?" Cheshire
asked on interphone.
McLanahan tried all the radios. "Negative," he responded.
FATAL TER RAI N 171
"The electromagnetic pulse from the nuclear explosions shut
down all the radios. Nothing's getting through."
"We won't make it," Cheshire said. "That Chinese fighter
is probably lining up on us right now. Without weapons or
countermeasures, he can slice us up at his leisure."
"I'll jettison the wing weapons pods so we can get max
performance," McLanahan said. Moments after punching off
both wing pylons: "Hey, I've got a green light.on the bomb-
bay Striker missiles! The wing weapons pods must've been
damaged from the explosion on the number four engine-jet-
tisoning the bad missiles cleared the continuity faults on all
the other missiles. But there's still no way we're going to hit
a fighter with a three-thousand-pound Striker missile. . . " But
that didn't stop him from repowering the Striker missile rotary
launcher and getting the eight remaining missiles on-line.
"Radar's up!" McLanahan shouted over the screaming
windblast coming through the Megafortress's shattered left
windows. "Bandit six o'clock, five miles!"
11 Nail him!" Cheshire shouted on interphone. "Launch the
Strikers! "
"Got him!" McLanahan shouted. He touched the fighter
symbol on his supercockpit display, which designated the tar-
get, then hit the control stud on his trackball pad and spoke,
"Launch commit Striker."
CAUTION, NO AIR-TO-AIR WEAPONS AVAILABLE, the attack
computer responded.
"Override that caution," McLanahan ordered the computer.
"Launch commit Striker."
WARNING, WEAPON SELECTION OVERRIDE, WARNING,
WEAPON PERFORMANCE HAZARDOUS, RECOMMEND LAUNCH
ABORT... RECOMMEND LAUNCH ABORT ...
Just then, they felt the Megafortress's tail slide to one side,
f ollowed by a heavy buffeting. "Jesus, I think we're hit!
Cheshire shouted.
"Launch," McLanahan ordered.
WARNING, LAUNCH COMMIT STRIKER, BOMB DOORS OPEN-
ING.
"Wings level!" McLanah.-n shouted. "Gimme a slight
climb." Cheshire raised the nose and leveled the wings. As
she did so, she felt the rumble of the aft set of bomb-bay doors
swinging up into the bomb bay, i and a Striker missile was
ejected into the slipstream. The missile dropped two hundred
-
11
172 DALE BROWN
feet, wobbily stabilized itself, then ignited its first-stage rocket
motor. Just as the bomb doors slid closed, another electrical
spike drove through the EB-52's electrical system, sending the
good systems back into reset.
The Chinese Sukhoi-33 pilot had just rele
ased the trigger on
his fighter's cannon after a three-second burst from the left
rear quadrant at about a half-kilometer distance when he saw
the big 2,900-pound missile ignite its rocket motor. The mis-
sile shot straight ahead, climbed almost straight up, then
looped backward and down right toward him! He got off a
quick one-second burst at the bomber before dropping decoy
chaff and flares and breaking hard right away from the missile
and plugging in full afterburner power.
Guided by the Striker's onboard radar, the Striker missile
heeled sharply, ignoring the tiny clouds of chaff dropped by
the fighter. With incredible precision, the Striker missile lined
up on the Sukhoi-33's tail and cruised in. The Chinese pilot
made a last-ditch dodge to the left, but even the high-
performance jet was no match for the speed of the big Striker
missile at full thrust. The explosion completely vaporized the
fighter-nothing recognizable was left to hit the water.
"I'm blind again," McLanahan shouted on interphone. He
started to roll the trackball across the screen to highlight the
target-again, nothing. "I think I lost my system, Nancy," he
said. "I'll try a reset. Let's hope this last asshole runs out of
gas or-"
Suddenly, Cheshire screamed, "Fighters! Twelve o'clock!
Right in front of us! Launching missiles! My God!" She could
clearly see the twin trails of air-to-air missiles leaving the wing
hardpoints of the plane in front of them, streaking directly
toward them-it was as if the missiles were aiming directly
for her! It was like watching a demonstration video of an air-
to-air-missile launch. Nancy Cheshire closed her eyes and
waited for the impact, waited for the explosion, waited for
death ...
... so she didn't see the missiles streak just a few dozen
yards overhead, past the Megafortress, and hit the last Chinese
Sukhoi-33 carrier fighter, seconds before it opened fire on the
EB-52 from close range.
When she found herself still alive, Cheshire opened her
eyes. There before her, making a graceful left turn to parallel
her course, was another EB-52 Megafortress! The second Me-
FATAL T ER RAI N 173
gafortress, paired with hers, had come off the refueling anchor
when the shooting started and had just arrived in the area. "Oh
my God, it's Kelvin and Diane's crew," Cheshire breathed.
"When the shooting started, I forgot all about them coming
on station. They must've just come off the tanker and headed
right down here when they heard the shooting start."
I IWhat a beautiful sight," McLanahan said to Cheshire. He
was behind her again, checking on Elliott. "Get on their
wing-it looks like they're headed back to the air refueling
anchor."
"You got it," Cheshire agreed. "How's Brad?"
Elliott's oxygen blinker looked OK, so he was breathing;
McLanahan checked for any signs of chest trauma or bleeding,
and found nothing. Elliott's eyes were closed, but when
McLanahan gently touched his eyelids, the veteran three-star
aviator opened his eyes. "Quit fucking with me, nav," Elliott
groused.
"Are you okay, sir?"
"I feel like I've got a two-thousand-pound bomb on my
chest," he responded. "The windblast must've knocked the
wind outta me."
"Any other pain? You're not having a heart attack on me,
are you, sir? You took one hell of a slam by that windblast
when the cockpit windscreen let go."
"Hey, I'll compare EKGs with you any day, Muck," Elliott
grumbled, trying to sit up against the starboard bulkhead. "We
okay? 11
"Kelvin Carter showed up and saved our bacon right at the
nick of time," McLanahan said. "We're on his wing, heading
back to the anchor."
Elliott nodded. He looked a little pale, and his oxygen
blinker showed a slightly shallow, labored breathing pattern.
McLanahan removed a flight glove and tried to take Elliott's
pulse, but he shook McLanahan's fingers off his wrist. "Get
away from me and help Cheshire fly the beast," Elliott said.
"I'm fine. It's her flying you need to keep an eye on now."
"Har har," Cheshire said.
"Brad. . ."
"Get out of my face, nav. I'm fine," Elliott said.
Deciding that there was nothing more he could do for his
friend and aircraft commander now, McLanahan nodded. He
retrieved both his and Elliott's flight jackets and covered the
174 DALE BROWN
pilot up with them. "I'll check on you in a few," he said.
"You better not wake me up trying to play nurse," Elliott
said, giving his young protdg6 a thumbs-up. "Get back to your
seat. And Muck ... I mean, Patrick?"
leah, Brad?"
'We had to take on those Chinese warships, didn't we?"
Elliott asked. "We had to help defend those ships, didn't we?"
The pain in his eyes was obvious-but whether it was from
his injuries or from having doubts about his actions, Mc-
Lanahan couldn't tell.
"We had to do something, Brad-we're not out here flying
around for nothing," McLanahan replied.
The smile in Elliott's eyes seemed to light up the cockpit,
despite the windblast damage. "You're damned right, Muck,"
Elliott breathed behind his oxygen mask. "You're damned
right."
THE WHITE HOUSE CABINET Room,
WASHINGTON, D.
TUESDAY, 3 JUNE 1997, 1927 HOURS ET
"Mr. President, there is no one on Capitol Hill more aware of
the need for extreme security than me," the new Senate Ma-
jority Leader, Barbara Finegold, said, as the group settled in
for the meeting in the White House West Wing's Cabinet
Room, "but eventually you have to release some information
to the congressional leadership. Now might be the perfect time
to do it. "
' 'Senator, as I told you before this photo op began, there is
nothing else I can tell you," the President said, with a forced
smile. "I have procedures I need to follow too, and I have to
wait on the results of the security review."
I see," Senator Finegold said, letting out an audible ex-
asperated breath. The seating had been rearranged after the
press had departed, so now Finegold, the forty-eight-year-old
former Los Angeles mayor and third-term senator from Cali-
fornia, was seated across from the President, instead of two
seats from him as in the official press photos. On her side of
the table was House Minority Leader Joseph Crane and several
FATAL TERRAIN 175
other prominent House and Senate Democrats. Seated to Pres-
ident Martindale's right was Vice President Ellen Whiting,
Secretary of Defense Chastain, House Majority Leader Nich-
olas Gant, Senate Minority Leader Michael Fortier, and White
House Chief of Staff Jerrod Hale; on the President's left was
Secretary of State Hartman, Joint Chiefs of Staff chairman
Admiral George Balboa, National Security Advisor Philip
Freeman, CIA director Layne W. Moore, and A
ttorney General
Robert M. Procter.
"Great meeting, everyone, thank you," the President said.
Chief of Staff Jerrod Hale stood, a signal for the rest of the
President's advisors to start heading for the door, but the Pres-
ident said, "We have a few minutes more. Any other questions
I can answer for anyone?" Hiding his impatience, Hale stood
beside the door and listened intently to every word.
"Mr. President, I'm afraid this might require some Senate
Arms Services Committee hearings to determine exactly what
happened in the Persian Gulf," Finegold forged on, "and to
respond to the question brought up by the media and by several
well-known military experts as to exactly how the radar sites
in Iran were destroyed. If it's true that the only way those sites
could have been bombed was by an American stealth bomber
secretly flying all the way across China and Afghanistan, as
has been speculated, I think the congressional leadership needs
and has a right to know."
"You certainly have the right and the authority to call such
hearings," the President said. Although Kevin Martindale had
been successful in regaining the White House by a slim mar-
gin, he had not been as successful in helping to keep a majority
in the Senate, and Barbara Finegold was a powerful and wor-
thy adversary. Tall, dark, immensely popular, with a fashion
model's face and figure, she was already being touted as a
shoo-in for her party's presidential nomination in the year
2000, outstripping the former administration's vice president
and a host of other male candidates. "We will cooperate all
we can-"
"But the White House would insist on closed-door hear-
ings," Secretary of Defense Chastain interjected. "All records
would be placed in the highest classification level possible."
"Given the current events concerning China," Secretary of
State Hartman added, "we think that's the most prudent ave-
nue to take."
176 DALE BROWN
"Fine-I agree," Finegold said. "Then you agree to co-
operate in committee hearings?"
"I might remind the President that the Pentagon's security
review on the events in the Persian Gulf hasn't even been
