I was the crew chief on that F- 15 that got shot down, but send Bob Brake over here and I'll buy him a beer."
"It would have been different if things were for real," McLanahan said, taking a deep pull of the draft. "You would have nailed us from thirty miles away with one of those new Sidewinders or an AMRAAM, but you don't get any points for a beyond-visual range shot. "McLanahan took another swig of beer. That's why it's all just a big game, he thought.
Just a game.
As he ambled over to the bar and found himself an empty seat, his thoughts took a depressing turn. He had been in the Air Force, what?
Six years now. And he had never dropped a live bomb on a target. Each time that he had pressed his finger down on the pickle switch, it had been a concrete blivet that dropped out the botab bay doors.
Not that he should complain. The whole point of what he was doing was to defend his country, after all. If defending it meant undergoing exercise after exercise, then so be it. He couldn't help wondering, though, what it would be like to drop a bomb under true "game" conditions. He felt like a fireman who is waiting to be called to his first fire, dreading and welcoming it at the same time.
McLanahan looked up from his beer to find a pretty young brunette in civilian clothes seated next to him. She was talking to another woman who had long blond hair tied up in a bun. On the blonde's uniform lapel were lieutenant's insignia.
"Excuse me, ladies," McLanahan said, his voice slurring a bit. "But can I interest either of you in a game of darts?"
The blonde smiled. She looked at her friend. "Wendy," she said, "why don't you give it a try?I never could shoot those things. "The brunette demurred. "I don't think so," she said.
"Besides, what chance would I have competing against the King of Bomb Comp himself. "She fixed McLanahan with a bemused took, as if all the honors he'd received counted little in her estimation.
McLanahan mistook the look for active interest and charged forward.
"Well, if I'm the King of Bomb Comp, then I'm willing to let you be my Queen. "He clinked his beer mug against hers and made a toast. "To .
.. what was it?Wendy.
To Wendy, Queen of Bomb Comp and a credit to the United States Air Force."
Wendy smiled. "Actually, I'm employed by an independent contractor.
We build and test ECM gear."
"Well, we won't hold that against you," McLanahan said.
He glanced at the blond lieutenant.
Wendy looked at McLanahan for a moment as if deciding something, then rose from her seat and straightened her dress.
She reached out her hand. "So nice to have met you, uh-" McLanahan told her his name. "Yes, of course. Patrick. Well, it was nice to meet you. But I must be going."
She waved to the blonde. "Catch you later, Cheryl," she asked. "Stay out of trouble, okay?"
"I'll try," Cheryl said, but something in her eyes told McLanahan she had no intention of doing any such thing. As Cheryl looked at him over her beer mug, McLanahan thought of the woman who'd just left.
FIGHTER WEAPONs TRAINING RANGE, NELLis AIR FORCE BASE, LAS VEGAS, NEvADA 19 -ISO IV 19
Two days after the Bomb Comp festivities ended, LieutenantGeneral Elliott rode with General Curtis in a blue Air Force four-wheel drive truck, bouncing and skidding on dark, dusty, pitted desert roads.
Elliott was wearing short-sleeved olivedrab fatigues and a blue flight cap. Curtis was wearing a conservative gray suit and tie, even in the dry desert warmth of the early evening. The sun had set a few minutes earlier beyond the beautiful mountain ranges of the high Nevada desert.
"It's incredible," Elliott said, closing the top secret file he held in his hand. "Absolutely incredible."
"And those are the things we're sure of," Curtis said.
"Those are the things that'll be presented in the United Nations. I believe-and I'm alone on this so far-that the Russians have an extremely advanced, fully operational laser defense system in place, right now. As a matter of fact, I believe it's been operational for months, ever since the Iceland summit."
"This is amazing. The Russians are further ahead of us in beam defense than anyone ever imagined. So what do we do?
Go to the United Nations?Ask them to shut the thing down?"
"That's one option we're pursuing," Curtis replied, loosening his tie against the lingering heat. "But I've been authorized to explore two other possible responses. "He paused. "Ice Fortress is one of them."
Elliott looked surprised, but nodded thoughtfully."seat SWI certainly will get people's attention," he asked. "But it's a sitting duck, if that laser is as capable as you say it is."
"They wouldn't dare shoot down a manned space platform," Curtis declared.
Elliott shook his head. "Tell that to the widows and widowers of that downed RC-135, sir."
Curtis glared at Elliott, but said, "Ice Fortress is different."
"You bet, sir," Elliott replied. "It's worse. "They rode on in silence. Elliott added: "Besides, wasn't Ice Fortress cancelled?I know the Vandenburg control center is closed."
"It was cancelled," Curtis said, "but not because it wasn't feasible.
We had to cancel it because of that damned treaty we signed. It's frustrating. The Russians can shoot down one of our RC- 135s, but we can't violate a treaty. We come out losers both ways. "His angry voice seemed loud enough to be heard by the sentries at the guard shack a hundred yards ahead of them.
"I haven't heard anything about the incident," Elliott remarked.
"Everything seems very quiet."
"The situation politically has stabilized somewhat," Curtis asked. "The White House is hoping this whole thing will just fade away. I'm sure the President will be more than happy to let the matter fizzle out, take the Russians' excuses and minimal reparations. The President is really counting on Secretary of State Brent to defuse the whole affair."
"But the Russians aren't offering excuses or reparations, are they?"
Elliott asked, stretching his aching muscles.
"Hell, why should they?"Curtis asked. "They're holding all the damn cards. We, the military, whine and bitch that the Russians are shooting down our spy satellites. Half the White House doesn't believe us-and the other half doesn't want to believe us. "He paused for a moment, then added, "I'm sorry about the RC- 135 crew, Brad. I know you worked with them in the past. I'm sorry those crewmembers died.
"I'm sorry, too, Curtis," Elliott asked. "Those men and women were doing their job, their duty, something they trained hard to perfect.
Their murder was senseless-premeditated, cruel, and senseless."
Elliott shook his head and tried not to think of the friends he had lost. "So," he said finally, "Ice Fortress is one option. And you're out here to see what else we have up our sleeves."
"Putting you in charge out here was the best move the Defense Department ever made, Brad," Curtis asked. "What we needed was a guy who never said it can't be done. A guy happy to lock horns with Congress or anyone else who stood in the way of developing new ideas.
Now, I need you to find some for me. I want-" "To take out this..
.
this site," Elliott said quickly, glancing sideways at the driver.
"Attack it."
Curtis was somewhat taken aback. "No one said anything about 'taking out' anything, especially in goddamned Russia."
He smiled. "Jesus, Brad, you're a sonofabitch."
General Elliott smiled back at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, then leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder.
"We'll walk from here, Hal. Meet us back at the guard shack in an hour.
The truck ground to a halt, and the driver, a young second lieutenant wearing fatigues and carrying a small Uzi submachine gun, trotted around to General Curtis' door and held it open for him. Both men stepped out.
"You won't get lost from here, will you, General?"the lieutenant asked Elliott in a low enough voice to keep Curtis from hearing.
"
Straight down the road, about four hundred "This is my desert, Hal," Elliott growled. With a smile he said, "Get out of here. Make sure they have fresh coffee at the guard shack, and don't drink it all." The young officer saluted, trotted back to the driver's seat, and drove off.
"This, sir, is Dreamland," Elliott said, beaming. He spread his hands out across the desert as he spoke. "Ideas become reality here.
Theories become machines. Men like you don't come here just to visit-you come here to get answers."
Elliott's mind was racing-it was exhilarating for Curtis just to watch.
"Kavaznya. Heavily defended, I'd say, according to your intel.
"That would be an understatement," General Curtis replied.
"They converted their small supply airfield into a full-scale year-round base.
"Rule out a carrier task force, then," Elliott said, nodding.
"They'd be blown out of the water thirteen hundred miles north of Japan. The Russians would see a flight of F-15s and their tankers long before they reached Kavaznya, and you might need two squadrons to beat past the defense and take that complex out. "He looked at Curtis.
"Bombers. Heavy bombers. B-1s, perhaps?"
"What else would I get from an old SAC warhorse?"Curtis said, smiling.
Elliott went on: "We don't want the Russians to think we just declared war on them. One bomber, launch three, but pick the best for the attack. One lone penetrator, even against heavy defenses, has a chance. Especially a B- L" "My thoughts exactly."
It was Elliott's turn to smile. "You didn't come here to shop, did you, sir?You came to buy. Cash and carry. Price is no object. All that stuff."
"I wanted to see your little playland here, too," Curtis said, "but I knew you'd have what I'm looking for."
"I don't have a B-1 here," Elliott said as they approached the guard shack. "But I've got something... you won't believe.
"I knew you'd put on a show for me," Curtis asked. "But where the hell are we?"
"We're in Nevada, sir," Elliott said, scanning the horizon with the corners of his eyes. It was an old Navy seadog trick taught to him by his father: the corners of the eyes can detect motion easier than the center, because of the lesser concentration of light receptors at the edges."in the middle of nowhere.
That's the Groom Mountain range over there," Elliott said, pointing to the twilight-streaked horizon. "You can just barely see Bald Mountain over there. Papoose Range is over there to the south. We are on the northwest corner of Groom Lake."
"Lake?"Curtis said, kicking up a cloud of hard-packed sand and dust.
"Dry lake," Elliott explained. "Properly tested and reinforced. It makes a natural and easily concealed three-mile-long runway. "Elliott scanned the horizon, breathing in the fresh, clean, slightly chilling air. "Dreamland. They walked for a while longer. Suddenly, two streaks of light could be seen several miles in the distance, diving and turning over the nap of the rugged mountains. A moment later, two ear-shattering sonic booms rolled across the desert floor and echoed up and down the valley.
"What the hell was that?"Curtis asked.
"Red Flag," Elliott said with a smile. "Probably a couple of FB-111s on a night terrain-following sortie out there on range 74.Going max afterburners and supersonic at two hundred feet."
"But that was so close," Curtis asked. "What about-" "Relax, relax," Elliott asked. "They were at least fifteen miles away. Besides, those bomber pukes know better than to come any closer to Dreamland. The airspace from ground level to eighty thousand feet is absolutely prohibited from overflight-civilian, military, anybody. It's an instant aircrew violation and a security debriefing they'd not soon forget-I'd guarantee that.
Finally, after a few minutes of searching, Elliott spotted the low, dimly lit guardhouse and steered Curtis and himself toward it. "I come out here once a week," Elliott said, "and I still have trouble finding the damn guard shack."
"I don't think your sky-cops would let us wander around out here for too long," Curtis observed.
"True," Elliott asked. "They'd send a German shepherd to fetch us back."
A few moments later, they all ived at a small concrete block building.
The shack had one large bullet-proof double-paned glass window in front, one door, and numerous gunports around it on the other walls. A twelve-foot-tall fence stretched on either side of the building, and the fence was topped with large, silvery coils of sharp barbed wire.
Three fully rigged Air Force security guards emerged from the building and quickly and quietly surrounded Elliott and Curtis. All three were armed with M-16 rifles, one with a mean-looking M-203 grenade launcher attached to the underside of his rifle barrel. A German shepherd dog was led out and began sniffing around the two visitors. The dog took one sniff of Wilbur Curtis and sat down directly in front of him, no more than six inches from the tips of his shoes.
" Don't move, sir, " the dog handler asked. "Is your identification in your breast pocket?"Curtis nodded, once, very slowly.
The guard removed Curtis' wallet while another guard quickly pat-searched him.
"Should I raise my hands?"Curtis asked.
"He means 'don't move , sir," Elliott said, as his ID was examined.
"Bambi there weighs over a hundred and fifty pounds and could probably drag you up a vertical ladder."
"Bambi?"Curtis felt his body stiffen as he looked at the dog.
" I didn't know you were carrying a weapon," Elliott said to Curtis as the guard pulled a nine-millimeter automatic from a shoulder holster.
Curtis grunted, afraid to move his lips any further. The dog was led reluctantly to Elliott for a quick search, and then taken away.
As the two generals drank steaming cups of coffee just outside the guard shack waiting for their ID verification, Curtis surveyed what little visible landscape there was inside the compound. Inside the tall fence, the area was completely dark leading to a row of three hangars. No lights at all were visible anywhere. The large hangars were flanked by several smaller ones. A wide ramp emerged from the opposite side of each hangar, and stretched out over the horizon.
"Why no lights inside the compound, Brad?"Curtis asked after their IDs were rechecked and they were cleared inside the fence.
"Oh, they have lights on, sir," Elliott asked. "All infrared.
To the guards with their sensors and sniperscopes, it's just as clear as day. The darkness also helps the Dobermans."
Curtis gulped. "Dobermans?"
" Yes, unattended guard dogs. They're more effective if they're allowed to prowl, and they're very shy of lights. They all have laryngectomies, too, poor devils. If they spot you, they won't even give you the courtesy of a warning bark before they go for your throat.
" Curtis looked around nervously.
"They're not around now," Elliott asked. "At least, I hope they've recalled them. We'd never know what hit us if they haven't.
They reached the back entrance to the hangar after another hundred-yard walk. "One at a time," Elliott said. They heard a buzzing sound, and Elliott grabbed the doorhandle, pulled the large metallic door open, and stepped inside. A few moments later, Curtis heard the same buzzer and did the same.
Curtis was standing in a long corridor. The walls of the corridor were clear, thick plastic on all sides, even the floor, and Elliott was just stepping out of the second half of the unusual walkway. More security guards studied Curtis carefully as he walked down the corridor and stopped at a plastic door.
He was aware of a large cannon-like device tracking him as he walked along, humming like a dentist's X-ray machine. The remote-controlled lock buzzed, and he stepped into the second half of the plastic hallway Another door later, he joined up with General Elliott.
"Well, that's new even to me. "Elliott asked. "An X-ray chamber.
Must've put it in just in the past few days. It checks for implants.
That X-ray device, I'm told, can find microdot transmitters embedded in your teeth, fingernails--even your intestines.
"Hmm. I'm not sure how much good it will do," General Curtis asked. "I bet the Russians have Dreamland scoped out from six different angles.
A jackrabbit probably can't screw in this desert without some Soviet spy satellite watching him.
"Well," Elliott replied, "they might know about all the activity going on around here, and all the security, and maybe even have snapshots of you and me taking a stroll. But, at least for now, they don't know anything about... this!"
They emerged from the security chief's office into the main hangar area. Curtis let out a gasp.and even Elliott, who had seen this plane in nearly every step of its metamorphosis, felt a thrill of pride and anticipation as he studied the immense form before them.
Dale Brown - Flight Of The Old Dog Page 6
