Iron Gate

by Richard Herman

  Maggot started the mission brief. ‘Good morning. I’m Captain Stuart and this is the mission brief for Operation Dragon Blue, the third employment of the United Nations Quick Reaction Force — the QRF. First, let me introduce the Blue Force ground commander, Colonel Valery Bouchard of the French Foreign Legion.’ The colonel who served as de Royer’s aide stood and nodded. Maggot caught the traces of a grin on Pontowski’s face as Bouchard sat down. He knows something about that man we don’t, Maggot decided.

  The first overhead slide flashed on the screen behind Maggot. ‘Yesterday afternoon, widespread rioting broke out at Kimberley. Sticking to their long-standing tradition of nonviolence and noninvolvement, the South African government has asked for our help.’ A titter of laughter worked its way around the room. The government’s refusal to use its own forces was a subject of much derision and laughter. ‘Our objective is to insert the QRF at Kimberley Airport at first light this morning. Once on the ground, Colonel Bouchard’s legionnaires will move into town, establish the UN presence in force, and restore order. Reports indicate this is a civil disturbance and we do not expect any organized resistance.’

  The second slide flashed on the screen. ‘Here are the Rules of Engagement,’ Maggot said. ‘Please note and remember number one. You cannot initiate fire and can only return hostile fire when directly fired upon. There are no exceptions to this rule so I’d suggest you tattoo it on your butt for handy reference.’ He paused to let it sink in before continuing.

  *

  De Royer is going to have a fit when he hears I went along, Pontowski thought as he climbed on to the flight deck of Kowalski’s Hercules. But he’s not here to tell me no.

  On the cargo deck behind him, Bouchard and a ground control team of eighteen legionnaires were sitting on the parachute jump seats dressed out in full equipment for a combat drop. ‘Welcome aboard, Colonel,’ Kowalski said. ‘Hopefully, we’ll be able to land at Kimberley and not have to do an airdrop. Colonel Bouchard wants to go out at 500 feet, which is not something I’d want to do.’ Pontowski agreed with her. Bailing out of a C-130 at 500 feet over the ground at 130 knots was not conducive to a long life if your main canopy malfunctioned. But it did get the jumpers on the ground fast — one way or the other.

  Kowalski went through the start engines routine and all four turboprops were on line when two Warthogs taxied past. Maggot was in the lead A-10 and gave them a thumbs up. Kowalski taxied out behind the Warthogs and waited while Maggot and his wingman, Gorilla Moreno, went through a quick check at the end of the runway. Crew chiefs darted under the two A-10s, pulling safety pins off the ordnance and checking for any leaks or loose panels. More thumbs up from the ground crew and the two Warthogs taxied on to the active runway and took off with twenty-second spacing.

  Operation Dragon Blue was underway.

  *

  Saturday, March 28

  Kimberley, South Africa

  *

  The sun had broken the eastern horizon and most of the airfield was still in heavy shadow as the two Warthogs flew down final approach. Twice, Maggot’s voice came over the radio. ‘Kimberley Tower, how read this frequency?’ Twice, there was no answer. Maggot leveled off, displaced to the right of the main runway and overflew the field at two hundred feet. He glanced at the control tower to see if he could get a visual signal from an Aldis lamp. Broken windows and black smoke scars warned him that the tower was not going to answer his radio calls. ‘Gorilla, go tactical,’ he transmitted.

  Gorilla broke off and flew over the main terminal and parking lot as Maggot talked to the C-130 that was five minutes behind them. ‘Lifter, we got two trucks parked on the runway and no signs of life in the control tower.’

  ‘How do the taxiways look?’ Kowalski asked.

  ‘Vehicles are parked all over the place,’ Maggot answered. ‘No signs of activity but you ain’t gonna land here.’

  ‘I’ve got people stirring out in the parking lot,’ Gorilla transmitted. ‘We woke somebody up.’

  On board the C-130, Kowalski turned to Pontowski. ‘Decision time,’ she said. ‘We can’t land and if we’re going to drop the control team, we need to do it fast, before the welcoming committee wakes up. The jumpers are hooked up and ready to go.’ She gave the jumpmaster the three-minute warning while Pontowski made a decision.

  ‘Do it,’ was all he said.

  ‘Roger that,’ Kowalski replied. She leveled off at 500 feet and riveted the airspeed at exactly 130 knots indicated. The navigator started the countdown to the green light. ‘Looking good,’ Kowalski said.

  ‘Green light,’ the navigator said. The copilot hit the switch for the green light by the rear jump doors and the legionnaires shuffled rapidly out both sides of the C-130.

  ‘All clear,’ the loadmaster said over the intercom.

  ‘That was quick,’ the copilot said.

  ‘You should see the colonel move,’ the loadmaster replied. ‘The jump light started to flicker green and he went. Almost no reaction time at all. The team went out right behind him back-to-belly like an express train.’

  Pontowski rotated the wafer switch on his intercom to UHF Transmit. ‘Maggot, fly cover,’ he radioed.

  ‘They’re already doing it,’ Kowalski told him. ‘It’s part of the plan Maggot laid out. Until Colonel Bouchard gets set up on the ground, we’re an airborne command post.’

  I’m getting in the way, Pontowski thought. Let them do their job. I should have stayed on the ground at Ysterplaat.

  Kowalski flew one orbit over the field allowing him to see what was happening. Below, the legionnaires were out of their parachutes and pushing one of the trucks off the runway. The UHF radio crackled with Bouchard’s heavy accent. ‘Lifter, this is Blue Force. We are on the ground and taking ground fire from the roof of the terminal building. The approach end of the runway will be clear in two minutes.’

  Pontowski was amazed at how cool and collected he sounded. Suddenly, he envied Bouchard who was in the thick of the action while he played spectator.

  ‘Colonel, are we cleared to use the Hogs for fire suppression?’ Kowalski asked.

  ‘Affirmative,’ Pontowski answered, feeling at last a little useful.

  Kowalski cleared Maggot and Gorilla for a strafing run on the terminal building. Pontowski wrote on his clip board, noting the time and circumstances leading to his decision to employ the Hogs. He watched as Maggot rolled into a low-angle strafing pass, expecting to see reddish-brown smoke billow back from the Warthog’s nose when Maggot triggered the A-l0’s 30mm cannon. No smoke.

  ‘Off dry,’ Maggot transmitted. ‘The roof is jammed with people. Lots of women and children. It looks like they were sleeping there. I can’t sort the bad guys.’ The Warthog’s slow speed and Maggot’s super-sharp vision had saved them from a massacre. ‘Gorilla, buzz ’em. One pass only. Maybe that will keep their heads down.’

  ‘Just like Van Wyksvlei,’ Gorilla replied. ‘Heck of a way to fight a war.’ He firewalled his throttles and buzzed the roof of the terminal, clearing it by ten feet. Maggot crossed behind him at a ninety-degree angle while Gorilla repositioned for a second run. ‘How much longer do you think this will work?’ Gorilla asked.

  ‘Blue Force,’ Kowalski radioed, ‘are you still taking ground fire?’

  ‘A little,’ Bouchard answered. ‘The runway is clear. I want to start landing the C-130s.’

  Kowalski cleared the three Hercules carrying the main force of the QRF over to Bouchard’s frequency. ‘Maggot, Gorilla,’ Kowalski transmitted, ‘we need to discourage any shooters still in the terminal. Can you hose down the ramp in front of the terminal and kick up a lot of smoke and debris?’

  ‘Can do,’ Maggot replied.

  Pontowski said nothing. He found some consolation as Kowalski maneuvered the C-130, giving them a grandstand seat to the action. The first C-130, piloted by Jake Madison, touched down as Maggot strafed the ramp and set a truck on fire. It created a smoke screen of sorts between the terminal and the la
nding C-130. The next C-130 was on short final as Madison taxied clear of the runway. The ramp of his Hercules came down and legionnaires streamed off. They fanned out and ran for the terminal as Gorilla positioned for a second strafing run.

  Kowalski radioed Bouchard, asking if they were still taking ground fire. Bouchard responded with a brisk: ‘Negative ground fire.’ Kowalski called Gorilla off and sent him into a nearby orbit as the second C-130, piloted by Brenda Conklin, landed. The third C-130 was one mile behind.

  ‘Those legion guys don’t mess around,’ Kowalski told Pontowski. ‘Bouchard just declared the airport secure. We’re cleared to land.’ She maneuvered her Hercules to fall into trail behind the third C-130 that was on short final. It was a routine approach and landing.

  The loadmaster from Madison’s Hercules marshaled the C-130 into a parking spot. The props were still spinning down when Pontowski climbed off, looking for Bouchard. But the ramp was amazingly quiet and only the burning truck remained as evidence of the battle. ‘Where are the legionnaires?’ he asked.

  ‘There’re a few still in the terminal and a couple in the control tower,’ the loadmaster answered. ‘The rest are headed for downtown. They commandeered a bunch of vehicles and were gone. Colonel, I got to tell you, those Frogs do move.’

  ‘No can say “Frogs”,’ Pontowski grumbled as Kowalski joined them.

  ‘Sir, the terminal is secure,’ she said. ‘You can go in if you wish.’ Pontowski grumped an answer. ‘Colonel,’ Kowalski continued, ‘we were briefed to return to Ysterplaat as soon as possible.’

  Pontowski cleared her to take the four C-130s back to Cape Town and headed for the terminal. He passed the burning truck and had to jump over the three-foot-deep trench Maggot’s cannon shells had dug in the cement when he had walked a long burst up to the truck. Inside the terminal, janitors were already cleaning up the mess and four bodies were lying in a corner, covered by a blue tarp. Two legionnaires patrolling the lobby approached and saluted. ‘Good morning, Colonel Pontowski,’ the oldest said. ‘Can I help?’ He spoke with an American accent.

  ‘American?’ Pontowski asked.

  ‘Corporal Rogers,’ the legionnaire replied, introducing himself. The bewildered look on Pontowski’s face made him smile. ‘There are a few of us. In the Legion, only the officers are French. Everyone else supposedly is a foreigner because of a law that prohibits Frenchmen from fighting outside France. That’s why they have the Foreign Legion.’

  ‘But the officers?’

  ‘They are allowed to volunteer under a special exemption. It’s the fast track to promotion for them.’

  ‘Why did you join?’ Pontowski asked.

  ‘I was in the U.S. Army for awhile, sir. But I wanted in on the action and not put up with all the bullshit.’ He grinned. ‘The Legion is all business. Like when we hit this place, we did it running and sorted out the players real quick.’

  Pontowski looked around the lobby. ‘I can believe that,’ he said. ‘Any casualties?’

  ‘Not on our side,’ Rogers told him.

  *

  ‘Liz,’ Sam said, ‘listen.’ The two women strained to make sense out of the sounds echoing in the street below. ‘Soldiers!’ Sam shouted. They ran to the edge of the roof. Sam breathed more easily, shedding the tension that had been building during the night. ‘The blue helmets ... they’re United Nations.’

  ‘It’s about time,’ Gordon said. ‘We need to get into the street for some coverage.’

  Sam hesitated. ‘I don’t know ...’

  ‘Sam, it never got that bad. Look how they waved at us yesterday. I don’t think the situation is as bad as you thought.’ Sam gave in. As always, her camera was ready to go and within moments, they were outside in the street.

  ‘Get this,’ Gordon said when she saw a squad of eight blue-helmeted soldiers coming down the street. Sam framed the shot and used the shotgun microphone for natural sound as the legionnaires moved past, their riot shields at their sides. A looter came out of a store, her arms full of clothes, and almost bumped into the soldiers. The sergeant yelled at her and pointed to the store with his baton. The woman threw the clothes back into the store and ran, a big smile on her face.

  Sam used her zoom lens to record the chaos in front of the soldiers. ‘Pan behind them,’ Gordon said. Sam swung her Betacam in the direction Gordon was pointing. The street behind the legionnaires was quiet. Gordon spoke into her microphone. ‘The United Nations peacekeeping force has arrived and is patrolling the streets of Kimberley. The ease of restoring order indicates this was not a major civil disturbance but an isolated demonstration at the Big Hole followed by random looting.’ She switched off the microphone. ‘Let’s follow them. We’ll be okay.’ They ran after the soldiers.

  ‘Can you talk to us?’ Gordon asked one of the legionnaires, jamming the microphone in front of his face. The man grunted an answer in French. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I don’t speak French. What country are you from?’

  ‘Country?’ The man was puzzled. ‘My country ... La Légion Etrangère.’

  ‘What?’ Gordon replied.

  ‘He’s from the French Foreign Legion,’ Sam told her.

  ‘That’s not a country,’ Gordon said, still keeping pace with the soldiers as they swept the street and turned on to a main boulevard leading to the town’s center. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked the NCO leading the squad.

  ‘L’hôtel de ville,’ the sergeant answered.

  ‘City hall,’ Sam translated.

  The aircraft pulled up to 1200 feet and entered a racetrack holding pattern to the left while his wingman stayed low and behind him. ‘Alpha Group,’ Maggot called over the UHF radio. ‘How copy this frequency?’

  ‘Read you loud and clear,’ Bouchard answered. ‘How me?’

  ‘You’re coming through broken but readable,’ Maggot replied. ‘Say target, threat, and friendlies.’

  Bouchard read off his position coordinates. ‘We only have one — I repeat, only one — target for you. The target is in the valley southwest of my position. It is a military compound next to a village. No threat observed. But expect small-arms and Grails.’ Grail was the NATO name for the Russian-built, shoulder-held surface-to-air missile that had become the generic description for the threat. ‘Friendlies are in the village.’

  ‘Not good,’ Maggot replied.

  ‘Can you strafe first?’ Bouchard transmitted. ‘Hit the far side and work towards the village.’

  Maggot paused before answering. Bouchard wanted to warn the villagers by walking the attack towards the huts, giving the occupants time to escape. And like Bouchard, he did not want to kill innocent people. But he knew the odds. The best tactic to maximize his own survival was to bomb first and strafe later. Was he willing to take the risk?

  He made his choice. ‘We’ll strafe first.’ The decision felt good. Automatically, he scanned his HUD Control panel and selected the air-to-ground gunsight. He rolled to the left and quickly scanned the area before rolling out. He repeated the maneuver to the right. He was not joyriding but creating a mental picture of the terrain that made sense to him. He had never flown in the area before and he needed visual clues to help him maintain situational awareness in the heat of a strafing or bomb run.

  ‘You’re cleared in,’ Bouchard radioed.

  ‘Rog,’ Maggot answered. Now he had to sort out the attack with his wingman, Buns Cox, and the second element of two inbound A-l0s. ‘Buns, go tactical. Ninety cross, separate, reverse to reattack behind me.’ Maggot was using a verbal shorthand to describe their tactics. Next, Maggot radioed the inbound aircraft. ‘Skid, copy all?’

  ‘Copied all,’ Skid Malone replied.

  ‘If we can’t clear the village,’ Maggot said, ‘we’re taking our bombs home.’

  ‘Roger that,’ Skid answered.

  ‘I’m in,’ Maggot radioed, firewalling his throttles and heading for the valley. His wingman, Buns, angled off until he was 4000 feet to the right and slightly in trai
l. Maggot dropped to 300 feet above the deck to use terrain masking for concealment. Instinctively, he double-checked his weapons panel again, insuring the master arm switch was up and he was in WD-1, the mode that gave him a gunsight display in his HUD. A ridgeline loomed in front of him. He pulled back on the stick and rolled 135 degrees as he came over the top and the valley spread out before him. He pulled the Hog’s nose toward the ground and rolled out. ‘Holy shit,’ he breathed. Ahead of him was the most target-rich environment a Warthog pilot could dream of.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ Buns radioed. ‘Unfuckin’ believable.’

  Instinctively, Maggot fixed the village’s relative position to the target and hills. It wasn’t something he thought about, it just happened. The picture he carried in his mind became more complete.

  Maggot was aware of running figures as he rolled in on the outer edge of the supply dump. The sight picture in the HUD was good: dive angle seven degrees, airspeed 315 knots, and the analog range bar inside the gun reticle circle at the top of the HUD was unwinding past 6000 feet. He made it look easy, but it wasn’t. When the pipper dot inside the gun reticle circle was on a target, he depressed the trigger to the first detent and held it, engaging the PAC — precision attitude control.

  The autopilot stiffened the stick and held the gun aim steady with the pipper centered on the target he was going to destroy. He was a mechanic going about the business of death and destruction, making the decision as to who would live and die.

  But the defenders on the ground had other ideas. At first, a single stream of tracers reached out for him. Maggot overrode the PAC and jinked a little before restabilizing. His finger started to tighten on the trigger. The ground in front of him erupted in a mass of tracers and sticks of flames — Grails — converging on him. Maggot jinked hard, breaking off the attack.

  Bouchard watched as Maggot flew through the wall of flak and missiles. Flares popped out behind the A-10 as Maggot slammed his big fighter down to thirty feet above the deck. The second A-10 crossed behind Maggot at ninety degrees, its cannon firing. Bouchard was absolutely certain both Warthogs were hit. Suddenly, Maggot’s Hog pulled up in a steep climb and Bouchard was certain Maggot was going to crash. But he was wrong and Maggot ruddered his aircraft around and brought its nose back on to the defenders. ‘Merde,’ Bouchard breathed.