by Dale Brown
“Missiles destroyed,” Nancy said, so calmly and self-assuredly that Dannon looked at her to see if she wasn’t hypoxic or semiconscious. “Good work, Huck.” She widened the range on their supercockpit displays to check for any additional launches. None were detected, so she sat back in her seat. “Man, I love this job.”
ON THE GROUND NORTHWEST OF
HAMADAN, IRAN
THAT SAME TIME
It was the most exhilarating twenty minutes of his life, Hal Briggs thought as he continued his run through his assigned circuit. Just one more Shahab-2 launch site, about three miles ahead, and he could head to the exfiltration point. He had destroyed about sixteen launchers and scores of other vehicles with the incredible Cybernetic Infantry Device’s weapon backpacks, and a few simply by the sheer strength and speed of the CID unit itself—and he was sure he had killed several Revolutionary Guards troops he had encountered at the launch sites or along the way by merely frightening them to death.
“Condor One, Odin,” Colonel Kai Raydon aboard Armstrong Space Station called via the secure satellite link.
“Go ahead, Odin,” Hal replied.
“You look like you’re having more fun than a human should be allowed to have, son.”
“I shoulda got me one of these things years ago!” Hal exclaimed happily.
“Well, I got a present for you, One, so don’t waste all your ammo or power—I think we found the laser.”
“Great! Load me up and I’m on it.” Seconds later Hal studied the route to the new target. It was at a military airfield about twenty miles east of the Strongbox, twenty miles northeast of Hamadan, just west of the town of Kabudar Ahang. It was a very large complex, with two three-mile-long parallel runways and one two-mile-long runway roughly perpendicular to the first. Satellite images showed a “Christmas tree” alert parking area on the north side with hangars for eight fighters; a large weapon storage area on the northeast side; and the main part of the base on the east side, with barracks and housing for several thousand personnel and ramp space for about a hundred aircraft.
“Check out the big revetment on the southwest side, One,” Raydon said. On the southwest side of the base midway along the southernmost parallel runway was a large aircraft parking area surrounded by twenty-foot-high earth and sand walls. “They made a mistake and operated the radar just as one of our recon satellites crossed overhead and got a direct bearing on it—the radar is sitting in the parking lot near that building southwest of the revetments. We got some excellent pics of the vehicles in the revetment, and I think it’s the laser. Looks like they made the sucker road-mobile. Genesis, are you looking at these pics?”
“Affirmative,” Patrick McLanahan responded from the White House Situation Room. “I’m downloading the pics to a higher-res monitor so I can zoom in and study it closer. But you could be on to something, Odin. If they made the Kavaznya laser mobile, they could set it up anywhere on earth and threaten any aircraft and any satellite with it, and it’d be impossible to locate. But I’m also concerned about them ‘mistakenly’ turning on the radar—that could be a trick to lure us into a trap.”
“We’ll be in position in about ninety minutes to get a moderate oblique ISAR shot of it,” Raydon said. “In three hours I can get a perfect overhead shot. The NIRTSats are good, but we need better resolution to be sure.”
“We’re not going to wait three hours, guys—I can be there in forty minutes or less,” Hal said. “Condor Two, if you’re up for it, I want you to finish up my circuit. Just one target left.”
“Roger, One,” Brakeman acknowledged. “I’m switching my circuit to Condor One’s…got it, I’m on the way.”
“One, this is Three, wait up,” Charlie Turlock radioed. “I’ll cover you. I’ve got one more launch site to go and then I’ll rendezvous with you. Two and Four can finish their circuits, get picked up at Foxtrot, and then meet us at point Mike for exfil.”
“Three, I’ll be heading toward the airfield, but I’m not going to wait up,” Briggs said. “I’ve got one partial and one full backpack and battery pack. Looks like the whole south side of the airfield is wide open space. I’m going in.”
“It smells like a trap to me, guys,” Patrick McLanahan said. “I see all kinds of buildings, gullies, and revetments south of the perimeter fence—they can hide an entire armored battalion in there. Remember the Russians have been helping the Iranians the whole time—we might as well be fighting the Holocaust all over again in Iran.”
“Condor One, this is Stud One-Three,” Hunter Noble radioed. “I’m beginning deorbit procedures and I’ll be on the ground in fifteen minutes. I’ll be rearmed and airborne again in less than an hour, and thirty minutes after that I’ll place a spread of SPAWs on that spot. You don’t need to risk it—I’ll take it out for you.”
“Negative, One-One,” Hal said. “I can be there and out by the time you launch. I’ve been kicking Iranian ass all morning—I’ll take out this laser site for breakfast and join you back at the Lake for a steak dinner celebration tonight.”
“Condor One, don’t be a hero,” Boomer radioed. “I can take it. Assemble your troops and get the hell out of there.”
“Hey, stud, mind your manners,” Hal said. As soon as he saw Brakeman on his electronic tactical display heading for the last Shahab launch site, he started running toward the Hamadan military airfield. “I’m taking out that laser emplacement. If I miss or didn’t get it all, you can clean it up for me—but I’m not gonna miss. Worry about that last Shahab-5 site you missed instead. Deal? Condor One out.”
It took less than thirty minutes for Hal Briggs to reach Hamadan Air Base. The entire south side of the base was alfalfa fields and olive and date orchards, with a few rocky hills scattered about—Hal could see the base’s perimeter fence from five miles away. The scanners aboard the Cybernetic Infantry Device robot detected all of the outbuildings, irrigation pipes and pumphouses, guard shacks, the perimeter fence, the mobile radar vehicle, and the large building next to the revetment where the mobile laser was placed. Hal was able to compare the latest NIRTSat imagery with his telescopic view of the actual area and was able to correlate everything. “I’ve got a good eyeball on the objective area,” Hal radioed. “I can’t see the laser yet, but I see the radar and the few troops they have guarding the place. Piece of cake, guys. Are you guys getting all this?”
“We’re getting it, One,” Patrick responded. The sensor data from Hal Briggs’s CID unit was being uplinked to the Air Battle Force’s network and to Silver Tower, so it could be shared by virtually the entire American military. “I can see a few patrols nearby, and those buildings look like they can hold several platoons and armored vehicles. The other Condor units have completed their circuits and are awaiting pickup at Foxtrot. Hold off for twenty minutes and they can join you to assault the area together.”
“In twenty minutes I can polish off these turkeys and be at point Mike by the time you guys arrive,” Hal said. “I’m going in. Meet me at Mike. Condor One, moving out.” He took one last scan of the area, made sure his grenade launchers were chambered and ready to fire, and dashed off.
Hal hit thirty miles an hour across the fields and orchards, and within a minute he was within sight of the perimeter fence. His sensors picked up movement to his right—a Russian-made BMD light infantry support vehicle, firing its puny 7.62-millimeter coaxial machine guns at him. Hal fired one high-explosive round and silenced it quickly and cleanly…
…and he immediately detected and struck two more BMD vehicles to his left, with one 70-millimeter tank round missing him by several yards and an AT-3 anti-tank missile whizzing just a few yards away from his head. He picked up speed, reaching almost fifty miles an hour now. The BMDs and their weapons seemed as if they were standing still. He hit another BMD even before the aged Soviet-era light tank could get a shot off at him.
“That was three Russian armored vehicles on you, One!” Patrick radioed. “I think it’s a trap! Back on out of there and
wait for the others.”
“Helicopters!” Raydon shouted over the command channel. “Two…three…four helicopters lifting off from the base, heading your way, One!”
“Bug out, Hal!” Patrick shouted over the satellite link. “It’s a trap! Get out of there!” Hal could start to pick up the masses of armored vehicles and aircraft converging on him, but he was determined not to let the laser site stay intact. Just two more miles, less than three minutes at his current speed, and he could wipe out every standing building, vehicle, or human within range of him…
A hail of high-velocity, heavy-mass shells hit him from the right side, unexpectedly toppling him over. It was the first time in his short stint as pilot of a CID that he had ever been down on the ground. He wasn’t hurt, and his systems seemed fully functional, but he was down—that was something he was not accustomed to. He immediately got to his feet, spotted the weapon system that had hit him—an ancient ZSU-23/4 quad 23-millimeter mobile anti-aircraft gun system, elevated down low to engage him—and he fired two high-explosive rounds into it, blowing it clean off its tracks.
“Hal, get out of there, now!” Patrick shouted. “We can take the site from the air! Get out!”
Hal took one more scan and thought he detected the laser itself inside the revetment. It resembled a Shahab-3 mobile missile launcher but was at least twice as large, with four service vehicles nearby with umbilical cables attached to it. “I’ve got the laser in sight, Genesis!” Hal called out. “Range less than one mile! I’m going in!”
“Hal, I said pull out!” Patrick shouted. “Your ammo is low! Withdraw now and switch backpacks! Do it, now!”
Hal fired two fragmentation and then two high-explosive grenades at the laser unit…which depleted the grenade stores on the backpack. He commanded the spent backpack to drop away. As he ran at almost top speed, he swung his last remaining grenade-launcher backpack off his arm and onto his back…but running so quickly, he couldn’t make it latch into place. He jumped the base perimeter fence in one effortless leap and landed in a low crouching position, less than three hundred yards from the laser site. He readjusted the backpack, felt it latch into place, and received a good “READY” indication in his electronic visor. He quickly aimed at the laser truck…
…and at that instant he was hit by an SA-19 “Grison” missile from a Russian 2S6M Tunguska self-propelled air defense vehicle. The SA-19 was a radar-guided anti-aircraft missile with a secondary anti-tank role. It had a two-stage solid-motor missile with a maximum velocity of a half-mile per second and a ten-pound high-explosive/fragmentary warhead with a contact and laser-triggered proximity fuze. Hal was blown clear off his feet and twenty feet in the air by the tremendous force of the hit.
“Hal!” Patrick shouted. “Do you read me? Hal!”
“I’m…I’m okay,” Hal said. He saw and heard several warning messages and tones, but his dazed mind couldn’t sort them all out. He climbed unsteadily to his feet. He could feel cannon shells peppering his body, but they weren’t doing a fraction of the damage as the…
…and at that instant he was hit by a second SA-19 missile, fired from less than a half-mile away. He was blown head over heels in a cloud of fire and smoke. He was still alive, but his electronic visor was dark, and he could barely hear, let alone decipher, all the warning tones beeping and buzzing in his helmet. He struggled to his hands and knees, trying to command the CID system to clear the faults and let him see again. More cannon fire raked his back, and he felt the concussion as the grenade launcher backpack blew apart.
“Hal, hang on!” Patrick shouted. “PAVE DASHER is on the way, ETE five minutes. Hang on!”
“No…no, don’t come near here,” Hal breathed. He couldn’t make any of his limbs move. For the first time since training and employing the Cybernetic Infantry Device, he felt like he actually was all along—a human being riding inside a hydraulically operated machine, instead of a running, killing, destroying, avenging superman. “I got hit by some big-ass gun and missile thing, a Tunguska I think. It’ll chew up the PAVE DASHER into little bits for sure. Don’t let it come near here, Muck.”
“No! We’re bringing in the Vampires! They’ll take out all the air defenses with the Wolverines and the PAVE DASHER will be able to cruise in and pick you up. Hang in there, Hal. They’re just a few minutes out.”
“Hey, Muck,” Hal said weakly. “We’ve had one hell of a ride, haven’t we?” He could hear Patrick yelling something over the satellite link, but that too was fading, getting darker and weaker by the moment. “We kicked some ass together, didn’t we, boss? I remember…I remember when we first met, Muck. You were the clueless captain, no idea what was happening or what you got volunteered for. I took pity on you, man.”
“Hal! Can you hear me?” he could barely hear Patrick yelling. “The Wolverines are sixty seconds out, and the Dasher is three minutes out! Hang in there, buddy! We’re coming to get you!”
“Now look at you, you sorry mick genius. You’re the boss, Muck, the fucking guru, feared and hated even more than old man Elliott himself.” Hal noticed that his electronic visor was working again, and he also found he could raise himself up by his arms. He looked toward the revetment…and saw that the object they thought was the laser that had destroyed Nano Benneton and the XR-A9 Black Stallion was actually just a trailer loaded with steel pipe and tubes. They had moved the laser long ago, probably right after they had commenced their attacks on the Strongbox’s deployed Shahab missiles, and put this clever decoy in its place.
Hal’s arms lost all their strength, and he rolled over on his back in the hard sandy soil. The 2S6M Tunguska anti-aircraft vehicle was about fifty yards away, its twin 30-millimeter cannons and two loaded SA-19 missile launchers aimed right at him. Hal used the remaining few watts of power left in the CID robot to raise one hand and flash the Tunguska his right middle finger…seconds before the cannons opened fire and forever turned out his lights.
The Wolverine cruise missile made short work of the Tunguska and all other Iranian defenders within five miles of the spot seconds later, and minutes afterward the MV-32 PAVE DASHER tilt-jet aircraft swooped in. Charlie Turlock herself ran out of the jet’s rear cargo ramp, quickly found the shredded remains, and carried him aboard. With two Wolverine cruise missiles providing cover from anymore defenders from the base, the MV-32 lifted off and headed west toward the Iraqi border.
CHAPTER 9
THE WHITE HOUSE OVAL OFFICE,
WASHINGTON, D. C.
“The situation in Iran is far more complex and dangerous than the media is portraying, Mr. President,” Director of Central Intelligence Gerald Vista said. He was briefing the President and his national security team on recent events in Iran following McLanahan’s operation the day before. “All the media seems to be showing are happy Iranians celebrating the destruction of the Revolutionary Guards. But it’s not quite that simple.
“The army is patrolling the streets of the major cities, and there is a dusk-to-dawn curfew, with violators being shot on sight. The curfew was set up because of reports of Revolutionary Guards soldiers in plain clothes, and displaced al-Quds and komiteh irregulars—the religious and government enforcers among the people—roaming the streets gunning down celebrating civilians and ambushing army patrols and checkpoints. There are already reports of terrorists, jihadists, and Islamic soldiers of fortune on their way to Iran from all over the world to help restore the theocracy.
“General Buzhazi has instituted martial law in Iran, but it’s doubtful if he has control of more than a handful of neighborhoods in Tehran, let alone control of the entire country,” Vista went on. “There are reports of squabbling between Buzhazi, military chief of staff Yassini, and members of the various former monarchies of Iran.”
“So we have an insurgency and possibly a three-way civil war brewing in Iran,” the President summarized, “with no consensus on who should govern. Meanwhile the theocrats, Islamists, and old government are in hiding and could pop up any tim
e. It’s Iraq all over again.” No one had any comments after that last remark—it was too terrible to contemplate. “Any idea where Mohtaj and the Revolutionary Guards high command might be hiding?”
“Tehran was the base of support for all branches of the government, of course, with Qom the choice of the clerics,” Vista explained. “We’ll check all the major cities, but I’d put my money on Mashhad, in the east near the Turkmeni border. Mashhad is the second largest city; it’s an important religious city because of the Emam Reza Shrine; and it has an extensive military infrastructure because it was the city farthest away from the fighting during the Iran-Iraq War. The population sextuples during the annual pilgrimage to the shrine, and that would be an easy way to get recruits and smuggle in supplies.”
“I don’t think we should be hunting down the old government in any case, Mr. President,” Vice President Hershel said. “Let the United Nations and the Iranian people deal with it.”
There was a nod of agreement around the Oval Office. “That’s fine by me,” the President said, obviously relieved. “We’ll pledge our full support for a peaceful resolution to the conflict and full restoration of democratic institutions and the rule of law, yada yada yada.” He rubbed his eyes. “I just want this Iranian thing to be over with, and I certainly don’t want to get bogged down in another ‘peacekeeping’ mission in the Middle East. Patrick? Got all your guys pulled out of there yet?”
