Flight Of The Old Dog pm-1

by Dale Brown

  "Maintaining sixteen thousand five hundred proceeding direct Tacon.

  We'll file a VFR flight plan with Coaldale Flight Service.

  "Genesis, you have your instructions," the controller shot back.

  "Enter holding as directed."

  "Passing over the Coaldale VORTAC, General," said.

  "Nuts to that," Elliott said, and switched the mode 7600, the radio-out I.F.F advisory. "Climbing to two zero, crew," he said over interphone.

  "John, dial up "He's gonna be pissed," Ormack said as he changed the TACAN frequency to steer themselves to the next n point.

  "If he never gets our flight plan, he'll never know are unless he scrambles interceptors against us," Ell' "If he get our flight plan, it won't matter. If he sc fighters… well, we don't have a tail number.

  even look much like a real B-52."

  "Genesis, this is Los Angeles Center-the voice was ragged-you are violated at this time. Turn to heading-" Elliott switched off the radio.

  "I'll keep the emergency radio-out squawks going until we're out over water, asked. "He may be pissed but he'll clear the airspace "Not the best way to begin," Luger said to McLa the downstairs compartment.

  McLanahan gave a shrug. He opened his chec, began to activate the radar, satellite navigation system, and the ring-laser gyro. A few minutes later the radar was warmed up and ready for use.

  Luger meanwhile was plotting a fix on a high-altitude airways chart he found in a flight publications bag behind his seat.

  "Any jet charts in there?GNC charts?Anything?" McLanahan asked.

  "No, standard FLIP bag," Luger told him.

  "Great. Just great. Well, we do have a flight plan. There should be Red Flag bomb range training data in here.

  McLanahan checked that the correct mission cartridge was inserted into the reader, then flipped the READ lever. Twenty seconds later the flight plan, target coordinates, fixpoints, weapon coefficients, and terrain elevations for the entire southwest United States were resident in the master computer.

  He then checked the gyro, nav computer, and satellite global positioning systems.

  "The ring-laser gyro and satellite systems are ready to go," McLanahan said. He turned the satellite navigator to SYNCHRONIZE."We need a present position fix to align the gyro and start the nav computer.

  After that it'll take a minute to start navigating on its own.

  As Luger took radar fixes and began a rough D.R log on the margins of the enroute charts, McLanahan waited for the satellite to lock on.

  After two minutes the SYNC ERROR advisory light was still lit.

  "Okay," Luger said, putting his plotter down. "We're on a pretty good heading to Talon intersection. How's it going over there?"

  "Bad to worse," McLanahan asked. "I just realized why. The satellite GPS needs a synchronizer code."

  "And naturally we don't have one."

  "Naturally," McLanahan said. He punched the Scorpion missile radar on to TRANSMIT and switched it to its original navigation radar mode. He looked into the scope, watching the Pacific coastline come into view in one hundred mile range, A then in frustration switched it back to STANDBY "It's hard to take a radar fix without a radar chart or description of the fixpoints," he asked. "The ring-laser gyro will probably align with an overfly fix or a D.R position, but I don't know how accurate the heading will be.

  "Bottom line-Luger to the rescue!" Dave asked. "You were a psychic, partner. You needed a nav right from the beginning.

  McLanahan flipped his interphone switch. "Want an update on the situation down here, General?"

  "I'm afraid to guess. Well, if we don't have a satellite communications channel or I.F.F mission squawk, we certainly don't have a GPS code. No GPS, no reliable gyro. What else?"

  "How about no charts and no target and fixpoint descriptions?"

  The interphone clicked dead for a moment. Then: "Well, do the best you can.

  "You bet," McLanahan asked. "We're deaf, dumb, blind, and lost, but we'll do the best we can."

  WASHINGTON, D.C

  "All right. Let's have it," the President said, wearily.

  General Curtis nodded and continued, pointing to a map of the California coast that was projected on the rear-wall screen in the White House Situation Room. "Yes, sir. "He pointed to the Dreamland area. "As you know, an attack was staged on the project base.

  Approximately a dozen individuals were involved.

  "Good lord, things are going to hell already. "He turned to Jack Pledgeman, his press secretary. "What about the press?"

  "They know about it, of course," Pledgernan told him.

  "The Air Force comment was standard 'no comment. "It's no secret in southern Nevada that Dreamland is a highly classified research area.

  Speculation runs rampant, of course, but the press has no inkling of the projects we're conducting there. I'm sure they don't know about the Old Dog or the runway at Groom Lake. The biggest problem, in my estimation, will be the casualties, Eight military and three civilians," "Put a clamp on that, too," the President asked. "I'll write a letter to the families regarding the sensitivity of the project they were working on and the importance of secrecy. The families must know that their family members were involved in highly classified work for the government. They'll be notified of what happened in due time.

  Clear, Wilbur?"

  "Yes, sir," Curtis replied.

  "This is not a formerly classified project," the President emphasized.

  "We keep a clamp on things right now. Control of this project starts right here, " He turned again to Curtis.

  "General, what's the status of the Old Dog test team?"

  All eyes turned to the Chairman Of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

  "Colonel Anderson, the chief operational designer of the Old Dog, was killed in the attack…"The President's shoulders slumped.

  "Lewis Campos, the civilian designer of the Scorpio, defensive armament interface and the airmine tail defense system, was also killed."

  "Well, who the hell is flying that B-52?"Secretary of Defense Thomas Preston asked.

  "The aircraft commander is now Lieutenant-General Bradley Elliott, the Old Dog project director.

  "Elliott?" the President asked. "How did he get on board?"

  "General Elliott was there when the attack started," Curtis told him.

  "When Colonel Anderson was killed he got on board and he and Lieutenant Colonel John Ormack, the crew co-pilot, taxied the bomber out of the hangar and launched it."

  Curtis checked his notes: "General Elliott's aide, Lieutenant Harold Briggs, reported that Elliott was wounded in the right leg during the attack. All of the other members of the test team are aboard. He also reported that the bomber suffered damage taxiing out of the hangar-lost four feet of the left wingtip and one external fuel tank.

  "X g "Are we in contact with the plane?" the President asked.

  "Yes, sir," Curtis asked. "So far, only nonsecure U.H.F contact. They launched without any classified code documents.

  What we are trying to do right now is code a message to the crew to get them to set a three-digit address code into their satellite transceiver. Once we're hooked up that way, we can transmit instructions."

  "Where are they now?"

  "They're orbiting one hundred and twenty miles off the coast of Big Sur at high altitude, as far off the jet airways as possible. Elliott is obviously trying to hide his plane as best he can."

  "Why is he still in the air?" asked Thomas Preston. "It's loaded down with weaponry, modified to the hilt-it should be back on the ground immediately."

  "I believe General Elliott feels that in broad daylight there's nowhere the plane can land without attracting attention. The Dreamland runway is usable but the hangar was destroyed and there are newspeople all over the place."

  "Any alternate landing sites for the plane?" the President asked.

  A, "There are several possibilities," Curtis said, "and the Old Dog still has eight hours of fuel. Two airf
ields on the Red Flag restricted area are prime sites, although they're not nearly as secure as Dreamland. A few possibilities in Seattle, Washington, and Alaska."

  The President leaned back in his chair. "We can't send the Old Dog instructions without risking eavesdropping or discovery. Meanwhile, we have two other fully armed bombers on their way to Russia… If Elliott isn't in danger, then he can wait until tonight and land the plane somewhere where it can be concealed. Preferably back in Dreamland or Southern Nevada. "The President closed his eyes and said to his press secretary: "Jack. Ideas on how to call this?"

  "We'll call it a terrorist attack on a deactivated Air Force research facility. The base was being dismantled by military and civilian workers, a shadowy terrorist group with ties to Qaddafi struck the facility, believing it still to be active.

  "We may never know the real truth about where the attackers came from or how they managed to slip through the base defenses," Curtis said.

  "We've established that they were flying an American-made cargo plane, but so far the wreckage has yielded few clues as to its ownership. All of the bodies have been shipped to DIA labs in Washington for dental and fingerprint analysis and examination of personal effects, but whoever the hell organized the attack was damn careful to cover his tracks. There were Caucasians as well as Orientals, and all of them wore American-made clothes. Except for a piece of metal we found, that appears to have come from a Soviet-made bazooka, there's really nothing to suggest, let alone prove, Soviet involvement "Who else would want to attack that base?" Preston asked.

  "I've asked myself the same question, Mr. Secretary, but so far the evidence against the Russians is almost entirely circumstantial-" The President cut him off. "We'll go with the terrorist story for now and revise it if we have to. "He turned again to his press secretary.

  "Jack, don't forget those letters to the families.

  I want them on my desk A.S.A.P" "Half-hour, Mr. President," Pledgeman said, and left the room.

  From behind closed eyes the President asked, "Anything else, gentlemen?" No reply. "Any Soviet reaction?"

  "Nothing, Mr. President," Marshall Brent asked. "Probably waiting for us to accuse them. I'll be meeting with Karmarov shortly," The President turned to General Curtis. "Status of the B-1s, General?"

  "Dead on time, sir. They'll be getting their first refueling over Canada right about now."

  The President was silent for a moment. Curtis was positive the President was going to cancel the B-1 sorties when he finally said: "I'll be upstairs in my office. Keep me advised of their progress every half hour. I'll monitor the mission from there.

  "Yes, Mr. President."

  "And get Elliott and his… his Old Dog on the ground.

  Have them keep their plane hidden as best as possible. They can wait for a night landing, but that's all. I've got three planes too many flying already."

  "We'll send the Old Dog up to Seattle, sir," Curtis offered as he headed for the door. "They've got the room and the right people to disarm it-" "Disarm it?" the President said. Everyone in the Situation Room froze. "Disarm it?What the hell is it armed with, General?"

  "Sir, General Elliott's plane, if you remember, was a testbed experimental aircraft.it.. - it probably has all of the weaponry the Excaliburs have-the air-to-air missiles, the-" They don't have any nuclear weapons on board, do they, General?" Tom Preston, the Secretary of Defense, asked. "No one authorized- "No, sir," Curtis said quickly. He turned to the President.

  "General Elliott's B-52 was conducting tests on the Striker Tv-guided glide bomb. He is probably carrying one of them."

  "Well, make damn sure that plane is disarmed as soon as it lands, " the President said.

  "We don't need another screw-up. "The President didn't wait for Curtis' muted "Yes, sir," but stormed past the Marine guards and headed for the elevator.

  Curtis waited until the others had left, then headed for the Situation Room communications center, where communications experts were working out a transmission routine for the Satellite Communications code, SATCOM.Once Elliott had the code and had set it into his SATCOM receiver aboard the Old Dog, Curtis could talk to the crew. But first he had to figure out how to give the code to the crew without compromising the code itself.

  He walked into the communications center. "Well?"

  "Transmitting now, General," the chief of the center, reported. "It'll be picked up by the SAC Emergency action Network in a few minutes, and it'll continue until ordered to stop."

  "Good. You know that the crew has no decoding documents, no secrets."

  "Yes, sir. They shouldn't need any. We have direct voice backup routines being put together if necessary."

  Curtis nodded. "Word from the Excaliburs?"

  "Ops normal message three minutes ago from both birds, Chr(34)+ the chief said.

  "Still hadn't finished refueling."

  Curtis accepted the full printout of the Excalibur crews messages and put it in his briefcase. He sighed, louder than he intended.

  "Keep me informed. "And wondered what next could go wrong.

  "Genesis, this is Los Angeles Center."

  General Elliott put down the can of water Dave Luger had found in a rations container downstairs and readjusted his microphone. "Go ahead, Los Angeles.

  "Your emergency flight plan has been received," the controller said.

  "Your call sign is now Dog Zero-One Fox. Yo are cleared to orbit as required. Acknowledge.

  Elliott looked quizzically at Ormack. "Strange call sign, Chr(34)+ Elliott said.

  "Dog Zero-One Fox acknowledges, center," Elliott replied over the radio.

  "Any other messages, Los Angeles?"

  "Negative, Zero-One," the controller replied. "Radar sen ice terminated, cleared to contact oceanic flight following."

  "Zero-One Fox, thank you. "Elliott picked up the olive drab can of water from the crew survival kit and took a sip he stared out of the cockpit windows.

  "Well," Elliott said, "we're cleared-but to where?How For how long?"

  "They'll try to contact us-somehow," Ormack asked. "We're monitoring all the SAC Command Post frequencies SATCOM, all the emergency frequencies, and the S.A Emergency Action Alpha monitor periods on high-frequency radio. Maybe they haven't decided what to do yet.

  "Well, I've decided," Elliott said, rubbing at the pain spreading in his right calf. "We've got to land this beast tonight. If they don't tell us where, we'll pick the place.

  Tonopah, Indian Springs-wherever we need to go. "Over the ship's interphone, he said, "Crew, we've received notification from Center that our call sign is now Dog Zero-One Fox."do McLanahan said: "Any word on what we're supposed to "Not Elliott asked. "Just keep monitoring your yet, assigned frequencies. We should hear something soon.

  , Can someone take HF for a while?" Luger asked. "The static is driving me nuts."

  "I'll take it," McLanahan said, reached across and took the 0 high-altitude general aviation chart that Luger was using to copy the high-frequency radio messages on. He glanced at his watch. "Three more minutes until Alpha monitor. "He switched his interphone panel waver switch to the HF setting and winced as he turned the switch on.

  He fumbled for the S volume knob. "Sorry I volunteered. You got three-eleven, I remember.

  Here's the log I made up.

  Luger looked over the mountain of radio messages on the 9 U.H.F alternate SAC command post frequency "Just routine messages," he asked. "What are we looking for?"

  "Anything," McLanahan asked. "A clue. Something unusual.

  "Can't they just say, "Hey you guys, set A-B-C in SATCOM "Then everyone who hears the message sets it in their printers. It's not secure anymore."

  "Or, "Hey, Dog, land at Tonopah'?Oh, never mind. Same reason." "Real smart boy," McLanahan asked. "Alpha monitor i period — " He shut off all the radio switches except HF and pressed the headset pads closer to his head to hear better the Strategic Air Command emergency action message broadcasts.

  Alpha monitor
was the primary time period for worldwide Strategic Air Command messages over the high-frequency radio spectrum.

  "How's the fuel look, John?" Elliott asked Ormack.

  "Still about seven hours at this throttle setting," Ormack said, checking his homemade flight plan filled out on the back of a piece of cardboard- "We can still fly across the country twice if we need to, "My butt won't hang in there that long, Elliott said.

  "How about your leg?"

  "Still smarts," Elliott said, gently touching his calf.

  ight publications holder behind his Ormack reached into a fl seat and pulled out the North America IFR supplement. "I've got the frequency for McClellan Global Command Control," he told Elliott. "I'll give them a call, tell them we're exiting the ADIZ.- Over the interphone he asked, "Anyone using the HF?"

  "The Muck's copying a message," Luger replied. He glanced over at McLanahan, who was intently listening to the static-charged radio message, occasionally tapping a pencil on the characters he was transcribing.

  "Let me know when he's finished," Ormack asked. "Any problem with keeping up with our position?"

  "No, sir."

  "I'll need some more endurance figures in a minute. I'l probably need an ETA to a fix somewhere when I call McClellan.

  Ask and ye shall receive," Luger said, and looked over again a It McLanahan, who had just switched his interphone knobs to their normal positions.

  "HF is yours, Colonel," Luger asked. "Nav clearing off to the sextant.

  Hey, Muck, I gotta take a sun shot. You wanna do the honors or count me down?"

  "I've done the last three shots on the sextant," he said.

  "Gimme the watch. "As Luger got up to head to the upper deck to take the sextant positions, McLanahan grabbed his arm. "Anything unusual about any of these HF messages you copied, Dave?" He tapped his pencil on the long lines of numbers and letters, together with the time of transmission ant the call sign of the command post that made the transmission "No, the usual number of characters, no special order o anything. Of course, we can't decode the messages."