Fallout

by James W. Huston

  Major Khan stood next to his F-16 watching the ordnancemen work feverishly to get the fin set and laser-guidance group out of the fifty-gallon drums in the back of the trucks. Men from the trucks stood guard, facing outward with their night-vision goggles on and assault rifles ready, waiting for the attack they expected at any moment.

  Khan’s bomb was finally ready, with its ominous laser-guidance nose and large fins in the back. The ordies pushed the dolly under the belly of the F-16 and lowered the bomb rack to receive it. It was hooked up, and they cranked the bomb rack, now with its thousand-pound laser-guided bomb attached, back up to the belly of the F-16.

  The Pakistanis pushed the heavy lift to the second truck, and the second bomb was slowly lifted out and lowered toward the dolly.

  Suddenly a jeep casually rounded the corner of the hangar a hundred yards away. The senior guard, the head of the night security detail, was driving the jeep with two other guards in it. He was puzzled when he saw numerous men standing on the tarmac next to the F-16s. He stopped. The guard in the passenger seat stood up and began examining the group with his binoculars.

  Khan immediately recognized what was happening and began shouting at his men who needed no additional encouragement. Several of them began running toward the jeep, firing.

  The senior guard threw the jeep into reverse and reached for the radio transmitter as three bullets hit him. He jerked back and then forward and lay dead on the steering wheel as the jeep backed around aimlessly until it slammed into the hangar wall. The other two men in the jeep jumped out with their weapons and began returning fire. The fire from the eight men was too much, and the other two guards were quickly hit. The Pakistanis reached the jeep and ripped the radio out of the dash. They examined each of the guards to see if they were dead, then shot them again at close range to be sure. They turned and sprinted back to Khan.

  * * *

  Raymond stared through his binoculars into the dark sky. He’d bought them through a catalog. They were enormous, like something from the signal bridge of a Navy ship. They had hundred-millimeter lenses and were long, heavy, and black—the best binoculars he could find with “low-light” lenses. He’d rigged a camera monopod stand for them so that he could rest their weight on the ground as he sat on his knoll looking up into the sky each night.

  Raymond was very pleased with the hill he’d found. It gave him a panoramic view of the section of Nevada toward Area 51 and Groom Lake, as well as a comforting view of Tonopah over his shoulder. He was three hundred feet above the airfield and a mile away.

  The wire from an earphone descended into the large pocket of his jacket, where his portable radio was tuned to the lowest position on the AM dial for Orel Spellman. Raymond heard what sounded like sharp crackling over the radio, but he quickly realized he’d heard it in the ear that didn’t have the radio earpiece in it. It sounded like gunfire, but he couldn’t imagine what it really was.

  The air base was always quiet in the middle of the night. There was no activity, very little maintenance, and virtually no movement. The pilots who lived off base were long gone before 10:00 p.m., and those who stayed on base had nothing to do outside after 10:00 p.m. Raymond was accustomed to seeing the security jeep drive around the base periodically, and the other lights here and there. But no movement except for the guards. And certainly not the sound of gunfire.

  He turned to look at the base but couldn’t see much. He wanted to swing his enormous binoculars around to look in the other direction, but he didn’t want to move the monopod from the small indentation in a flat rock between his legs, which allowed him to gaze eastward toward Area 51. And the noise he’d heard might not have been a gunshot. It was certainly crisp enough and could have been a hunter of some kind somewhere in the hills—but at night? And multiple shots? Could be some kid shooting at coyotes with a night scope and an illegal automatic rifle. Wouldn’t be the first time. But it sounded as if it had come from Tonopah. He decided not to look. He continued to gaze into the sky and at the horizon toward Area 51, until he heard the unmistakable sound of several automatic weapons firing simultaneously. His heart jumped. He pivoted toward Tonopah, pulled his binoculars around and trained them on the airfield. He moved the lever in the middle of his binoculars to bring the air base into focus. He saw several men standing by the F-16s on the flight line near the hangar, then several others running toward the security jeep. He saw muzzle flashes in both directions. His mouth went dry as he realized that the guards were trying to stop someone near the F-16s, but those they were trying to stop were getting the better of the guards. He carefully focused his binoculars to see the shapes in the partial darkness. Most of the light was on the far side of the people, leaving him a view of shadows and darkness. He watched several men run over to the guards in the jeep and shoot them at close range. The sound of the final gunshots reached him long after the vivid picture of the guards’ bodies jerking in response to the close-range fire. He nearly vomited. His breath came in gulps.

  Raymond’s shaking hand reached down to the ever-present cell phone hanging off his belt, one of the large, fat, older-style phones that he liked because they most closely resembled a radio, which gave him some sense of security or authority. He pulled the phone off his belt and hit speed dial “1.” He waited anxiously as the phone rang. Finally it connected. “Mr. Henry? Mr. Henry?”

  Luke answered groggily. “What?”

  “Sir, it’s Raymond.”

  “Raymond who?”

  “Raymond Westover, sir, from the air base. The café.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Sir, there’s something terribly wrong at the base.”

  “Like what?” Luke said, sitting up and clearing his mind.

  “Somebody is shooting. It looks bad. There are a bunch of automatic weapons being fired.”

  “What? What did you just say? Repeat what you just said,” Luke demanded as the adrenaline coursed through his body, bringing him into a state of instant alertness.

  Raymond studied the picture through his binoculars. He found himself whispering. “I don’t know. Somebody’s shooting. I think the Pakistanis—they’re by their airplanes with a bunch of trucks—and they’re shooting at the security jeep. They killed the guards, Mr. Henry, sure as hell—”

  “What?” Luke cried.

  “Looks like they’re loading something onto their airplanes. I think they brought something onto the base in those trucks. And more men, with a lot of guns—”

  “Can you still see them?”

  “Yes, sir. Looks like they’re done with the first two airplanes and are working on the third.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “Loading something on the planes.”

  “Can you tell what? Where are they loading them?”

  “Underneath. It’s long, has a funny nose, and it’s kind of thick at the back.”

  “Missiles?”

  “Can’t tell.”

  “Is it fat or thin?”

  “Fat, sir. Way fat.”

  “Shit, Raymond. Those are bombs!” Luke’s mind raced. “Can they see you?”

  “No, sir. No way in hell. I’m on a hill off the base. I was just watching the night sky. Like I always do.”

  “Call Vlad and Stamp—they’re at the BOQ—and Thud. Do you have all those numbers?”

  “Yes, sir. They’re all programmed into my cell phone.”

  Luke jumped out of bed and began putting on his flight suit. “I want you to listen carefully to me, Raymond. I want you to tell Vlad to find whatever men he can and get the four airplanes set for the missile shoot this morning ready to go. They’re already gassed and armed, but we need to get them started. I have no idea where the hell these guys are going, but we’ve got to stop them. Tell Vlad I’ll be there as fast as I possibly can. We may not have much time after these guys get airborne. I’ll be there in twelve minutes.”

  “Sir, I thought your house was twenty minutes away.”

  “I won’
t be going the speed limit.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll call them right away. How can I reach you?”

  “Let me give you my cell phone number.”

  “I have that, sir.”

  “Call me as soon as you’ve called everybody else. And let me know what they’re doing. Can you still see them?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What are they doing now?”

  “They’re loading something on the wings. Out at the end.”

  “Are they skinny or fat?”

  “Skinny.”

  “Sidewinders. Shit! Where the hell did they get Sidewinders?”

  “Probably out of the same trucks.”

  “As soon as we hang up, and as soon as you call those other pilots, call me right back. I’ll be in my car.” Luke quickly slipped on his flight boots and wrapped the laces around them as he cradled the phone awkwardly against his shoulder.

  “What’s going on?” Katherine asked sleepily.

  Luke looked at her quickly. “The Pakistanis are going nuts on us. They’re loading bombs aboard their airplanes. They just killed the guards.”

  “God, no,” she said, throwing back the covers and jumping out of bed. “Can I do anything?”

  “Yeah. Just a second. You got that, Raymond?”

  “Got it. I’ll call you right back. And if you need me, here’s my cell number.”

  Luke wrote it down. “Tell Vlad to call me on my cell phone.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  Luke hung up. He grabbed his watch and his wallet and turned to Katherine with the lamp now on. “Call the FBI. Call the FAA. Call the Air Force. Call the Navy. Call anybody you can think of who has any ability to get in front of these guys. The Pakistanis have gotten laser bombs onto the base and loaded them onto their F-16s. They have Sidewinder missiles and are going somewhere. I don’t know where. Just get the conversations going. Nobody’s going to believe you. But I want them to start hearing this so that when I call them on the radio or talk to them on the phone, they’ll have heard it first from you. Tell them we are not shitting them. Something real bad is going to happen very fast. If there are any Air Force fighters anywhere on alert within five hundred miles of Tonopah, tell them to get airborne with missiles and start looking for F-16 radars. I’ve got to go.”

  He dashed out of the room, grabbed his cell phone from the recharging cradle, and headed toward the garage.

  17

  The Pakistani ordnancemen had finished loading the thousand-pound laser-guided bomb aboard the third F-16 and were putting the last Sidewinder missile on the wing rail. Rashim stood by the fourth jet, the last one in the line. He watched the operations intently and glanced around anxiously every few seconds. They began lowering the steel cables into the fourth truck. The drivers and riders formed a perimeter with their assault weapons, watching for any movement, any new guard. They were well aware that there were other guards on the base who were there to guard the MiGs and the missiles. They expected them to come to reinforce the jeep guards, who might have radioed for help before being overpowered.

  It was still thoroughly dark. The Pakistanis were growing restless. They had estimated fifteen minutes to load the bombs onto the F-16s, and they were now approaching twenty-two minutes. Major Khan strode up and down by the F-16s, growing more aggravated and anxious each minute. He knew exactly what time the sun would rise and exactly what time it would start getting light enough to drop. It was at that moment he wanted to strike. With each passing minute it would be brighter at the target, and the advantage would go to those who would undoubtedly come to stop them.

  The lift bent again under the weight, and Rashim’s bomb was pulled from its cradle in the last truck, placed gently on the dolly, and hooked to the bomb rack underneath the F-16. It was slowly cranked up against the belly of the airplane, and the Sidewinders were carefully placed on the tips of both wings.

  Khan nodded vigorously at the other pilots as the loading of Rashim’s armament was nearly complete. They scrambled quickly into their airplanes and closed the canopies.

  * * *

  Raymond speed-dialed Vlad’s BOQ number and listened while it rang. It went from the fifth to the tenth ring with no response. Raymond began cursing under his breath when Vlad picked up the phone.

  “Da . . . yes?” Vlad answered, barely awake.

  “Vlad! This is Raymond—”

  “Raymond who?” he asked angrily, his head pounding.

  “Area 51 Raymond.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Mr. Henry told me to call you. I’m sitting on a hill outside the base, and the Pakistanis are up to something. They’ve killed the guards and are loading bombs on their airplanes. Mr. Henry told me to wake you up and tell you to get the MiGs with the missiles on them started and ready. He’s on his way. We’ve got to get Stamp and Thud up and go after them.”

  “What? The Pakistanis? Where did they get bombs? Chort!” he screamed. His anger was suddenly aggravated by a chilling fear as Gorgov’s words came back to him.

  “A whole bunch of guys with assault rifles. They have night-vision goggles and are armed for bear—”

  “How did they do this?”

  “Sir, I’m just telling you what Mr. Henry told me to tell you. He asked that you get those MiGs started.”

  “They will hear us! They will send their armed guards over to the MiGs!”

  “I don’t know about that, sir. I’m just following Mr. Henry’s instructions. I have to call Thud and Stamp right now, sir.”

  Vlad gathered his wits. “I will get Stamp.”

  “He’s in a different building—”

  “I am going over there now.”

  “Yes, sir,” Raymond said. “Here’s my cell phone number if you need anything from me.”

  Vlad hung up.

  Raymond wasn’t taking any chances. He dialed Stamp’s BOQ room anyway.

  * * *

  The Corvette’s tires protested as Luke wheeled onto the highway and accelerated at full throttle heading south. The car quickly passed through eighty miles an hour, then a hundred. Luke’s headlights were nearly useless.

  He picked up the cell phone lying on the seat next to him and dialed the tower at Tonopah. There was no answer. He hadn’t expected anyone to be there but tried on the off chance some of the tower employees who’d be working the missile shoot in the morning might have come in early. He dialed Thud’s number. It rang several times, and then Michelle answered. “Hello?”

  “Michelle?”

  “Luke?”

  “I’m headed to the base,” he yelled over the loud air rushing by. The top was down, and the wind was thundering past his head. “Is Thud on his way already?”

  “Yes. Raymond called him a few minutes ago and told him to get to the base right away. What’s going on?”

  “How long ago did he leave?”

  “About three minutes.”

  “I’ll catch him there.” He hung up and immediately dialed another number. It was Vlad’s room at the BOQ. There was no answer. “Damn it.”

  He dialed 411.

  “Directory assistance, may I help you?”

  “Get me the Federal Aviation Administration.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I do not have access to Washington, D.C., numbers—”

  “Local FAA. Local flight service station. The local anybody affiliated with the FAA.”

  “I have the Federal Aviation Administration local office in Reno.”

  “Fine.”

  “Here’s the number, sir.” She got off the line as the automated number was read to him by a computer.

  He tried to steer while flying along the Nevada highway and dialing the phone. Finally it rang. He watched his lights bounce up and down on the highway as his tires went over minor bumps and changes in the road. The phone continued to ring at the Reno FAA office. A machine picked up after about ten rings: “You’ve reached the offices of the Federal Aviation Administration. Our business hours—“ Luke hung u
p.

  He redialed 411. “I need the number for the Air Force. Try Nellis Air Force Base.”

  “Yes, sir. Here is the general information number for Nellis Air Force Base.” The computer read the number to him. He dialed it as he angled around the sharpest curve of the entire journey. His tires squealed slightly through the turn, but he felt stable. “Come on, come on,” he said out loud.

  “Nellis Air Force Base, Sergeant Matthews. This is a nonsecure line. May I help you?”

  “Sergeant! My name is Luke Henry. I’m the owner of a fighter school at Tonopah. We have a serious problem that you need to get somebody on immediately. Four of the students at my school, Pakistanis flying F-16s, have gotten hold of some laser-guided bombs and are taking off now from Tonopah. I have no idea where they’re headed, but they’re going to drop them on somebody. It might be Nellis—”

  “Is this a bomb threat, sir?”

  “No. I don’t have a bomb. I’m telling you about some people who do have bombs. They’re in airplanes. F-16s. We need to get some fighters airborne immediately. You’ve got to help with this.”

  “Where are you calling from, sir?”

  “My car.”

  “Have you had anything to drink, sir?”

  “No, you idiot! I haven’t had anything to drink! There are four F-16s loaded with laser-guided bombs and Sidewinder missiles that are going to be launching out of Tonopah soon, if they haven’t already, and they could be heading your way. I need your help in stopping them. We need to get your alert fighters airborne, if you have any. Does Nellis have alert fighters?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I’m not at liberty to discuss our alert posture or what steps we might or might not take in response to any threat that does or does not—”