Scorched Earth

by George Galdorisi

  The eight Hellfires launched from the two Little Birds streaked toward their targets at Mach 1.3, close to one thousand miles per hour. Each missile’s millimeter-wave radar seeker locked on to what it saw straight ahead: the boxy chassis of the trucks strung along the highway traffic circle. As each missile closed its target, its semiactive laser homing guidance system took over.

  The integrated blast fragmentation sleeve warheads all hit within seconds of each other, shredding the trucks and taking out most of the fighters as hot shrapnel cut through their bodies. A few moments later, secondary explosions turned the massed trucks into a towering inferno.

  * * *

  “Great shooting Carnival,” Rodriquez said as he saw the explosions and fires less than a thousand yards ahead of where their lead Humvee and the rest of the convoy were temporarily stopped.

  Both Little Birds had made a 180-degree turn to stay out of the blast pattern, had done another one-eighty after a minute, and were now just south of the JSOC convoy, and heading north along Highway 1 again. Both aircrews were ready to take out whatever enemy fighters had survived the carnage, their fingers on the triggers of their fifty-caliber GAU-19 machine guns.

  “Sir!” It was Purvis on the net. “We saw lots of secondary explosions and there will likely be more. Maybe you want to jump off Highway 1 and take another route—”

  “Quiet on the net. This is Phillips!” came the loud shout over the tactical net. Seconds later, “Mr. Dawson, the Global Hawk’s picked up a large number of men, probably at least two dozen, fanning out in an arc of about one hundred eighty degrees from the ISIS compound, going down most of the major streets leading south. A few are in trucks. They’re stopping every so often, digging, and then moving south again—”

  “Shit!” Rodriquez exclaimed. “I’ll bet anything they’re laying down IEDs to guard the approaches to their compound. Once Laurie sends us the link we’ll have to swing way around to the east or west and approach the compound from another direction.”

  “There isn’t time, Hector. By then they’ll have killed Lieutenant Bruner. We’ve got to find a way to break through—”

  “Mr. Dawson!” It was Purvis. “Sir, we can take out the trucks on the main thoroughfare leading to the ISIL compound and then rip up the road with our GAU-19s. That should take care of all or most of the IEDs sir.”

  “Negative, Carnival. The first group of trucks had a lot of RPGs and these backstop trucks likely have them too. If you had more Hellfires, it would be a close fight anyway. But their RPGs outrange your GAU-19s. You know that—”

  “But sir,” Purvis protested. “We’re about out of options.”

  “We may be, but sending you and your wingman into a meat grinder isn’t one of them. Stand off and take station behind our convoy.”

  The convoy remained stopped, their Humvee engines idling, as Dawson and Rodriquez looked at the Global Hawk feed and just shook their heads. The minutes until the evening news ticked down inexorably. But four Humvees back, Laurie Phillips typed furiously, writing a message in the chat room window she had open with the 13th Intelligence Squadron at Beale Air Force Base.

  She waited only a few minutes before the 13th IS controller responded to her request to pass what she wanted them to do with the Global Hawk up his chain of command. What popped up in her chat window wasn’t encouraging. It said: “Ma’am, are you shitting me?”

  * * *

  Shakir al-Hamdani was out of breath from the exertion of running down four flights of steps. He burst into al-Dosari’s second-floor office and rasped, “I can’t raise al-Nahas. But I climbed up the roof and looked toward the traffic circle where he set up blocking positions—”

  “What did you see? We heard the explosions. What’s going on?” al-Dosari asked.

  “The entire area is ablaze. The Americans must have attacked our fighters.”

  “Can you see anything else? Is their convoy still approaching?”

  “I can’t see it. They’re probably waiting for the fires to die down before proceeding—”

  “Have your men finished their work? If they destroyed that barrier we set up, the few trucks we have left guarding the roads leading here won’t be able to stop them.”

  “My men should be nearly finished. I sent them out with scores of IEDs. Anything trying to drive over any of those roads will be blown to bits.”

  “Good, we don’t have much time left before we broadcast our hostage’s execution. We need to hold off our attackers at least that long.”

  Al-Hamdani paused to frame his reply. He had wanted to suggest this earlier and didn’t, but now the situation was critical. “We can carry out the execution now and then send the feed to Al Jazeera and post it on YouTube later. Everything is ready and we can do this immediately. It will make no dif—”

  “NO! And don’t bring this up again,” al-Dosari barked. “I want to do this live to show the Americans we control their news cycle, not them.”

  Al-Hamdani didn’t reply and began to leave al-Dosari’s office, but the ISIS leader called out to him. “Have the remaining trucks pull back from the blocking positions. We’ll need them to help us move out of this building immediately after the execution.”

  Al-Hamdani just nodded. He felt no need to tell the ISIS leader he had already begun doing just that, using their few remaining trucks.

  * * *

  “Mr. Dawson, Phillips here.”

  “Go ahead, Laurie.”

  “Sir, you can wave this off if you want to, but I can’t see any other way to clear a path to the ISIL compound. I’m working with the controllers at Beale and they’re going to push my idea up to their higher headquarters. But to be honest sir, they weren’t warm to it, even after I explained the urgency of the situation. I think we may need Mr. Williams to weigh in on this—and quickly.”

  “Weigh in on what Laurie?” Dawson asked, sounding exasperated. Phillips had a role—an important role—in this operation, but she couldn’t help him with his current crisis.

  “This is what we can do, sir,” Phillips began, “and I think it will take Mr. Williams to make it happen,” she continued as she poured out her plan to a stunned Dawson.

  * * *

  Williams considered himself blessed to serve the nation and the president as Op-Center’s director. But if he had one regret, it was that unlike his Navy career, where he was leading from the front—as a ship’s captain multiple times, as a carrier strike group commander, and finally as a numbered fleet commander later in his career—at Op-Center his role was not to lead from the front. Here, his role was to send other men and women forward while he remained behind at his headquarters.

  The call from Dawson had charged him. He banged out a short POTUS/OC Eyes Only memo and then reached for the phone. His first call would be to the Air Force chief of staff, and the second one would be to the CENTCOM commander. Both calls would be to their private lines.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Central Mosul, Iraq

  July 24, 0145 Arabia Standard Time

  On the ground, just south of the traffic circle, the convoy was still stopped when the call from Carnival crackled in Hector Rodriquez’s headset. “Go ahead, Carnival.”

  “The trucks north of here we spotted earlier are all pulling out of their blocking positions. It looks like they’re heading back toward the ISIL compound.”

  “Roger that, Carnival.”

  His number two looked toward his boss as Op-Center’s ops director considered their options. Finally, Dawson spoke. “Okay, Hector, that’s good news … but it doesn’t solve the IED issue. There haven’t been any secondary explosions for several minutes. Think there will be any more?”

  “Don’t think so, boss. I think we can push forward a bit. Maybe as far as here,” Rodriquez said as he pointed at his tablet, indicating a position where Highway 1 turned due west.

  “Let’s move out then,” Dawson replied. Then tapping their driver on the shoulder, “Sergeant, head for that smoldering truck
on the far left. We’ll push through the wreckage right there.”

  * * *

  The RQ-4B Global Hawk is the premier unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV) used by the U.S. military for large-area surveillance. Taking over the missions provided for decades by the U-2 manned aircraft, the Global Hawk uses a high-resolution synthetic aperture radar as well as long-range electro-optical/infrared sensors to provide all-weather eyes in the sky. Able to survey as much as 40,000 square miles of terrain a day, it’s little wonder the U.S. Air Force considers the RQ-4B its best unmanned aircraft and has invested well over ten billion dollars in this capable UAV.

  Most people think of UAVs as small craft—and many of them are. But the Global Hawk is a beast. Almost fifty feet long and with a wingspan of over one hundred and thirty feet, a fully loaded and fueled RQ-4B weighs in at over sixteen tons—close to the weight of a similarly outfitted U.S. Navy F/A-18C/D Hornet. Nor is the Global Hawk cheap. A single RQ-4B costs over a quarter of a billion dollars.

  The cost of a Global Hawk—as well as the unprecedented nature of the request—gave those at the Air Force’s 13th Intelligence Squadron and 548th Intelligence Group pause, and all they could tell those trying to rescue Dale Bruner was that they would forward the request up their chain of command. Unbeknownst to them, there’d soon be orders flowing down that chain.

  A short time later, the Global Hawk was ten miles south of the JSOC convoy, lining up on a long straightaway and descending rapidly out of 58,000 feet.

  * * *

  Shakir al-Hamdani knew they could only hold the Americans off for so long and that his leader wanted their hostage executed precisely when the U.S. evening news programs began their broadcasts. After he left al-Dosari’s office, he hurried down to the room where the execution would take place. All was in order, and his fighters who would operate the cameras and sound equipment lounged casually and smoked cigarettes. Then he went to the room where two of his fighters were standing guard over the bound, gagged, and hooded Bruner.

  “Take him into the room now. Leave him as he is, but put him on the carpet, kneeling. We don’t have much time.”

  * * *

  As the convoy snaked its way around the smoldering wreckage of the ISIL trucks, the 75th Ranger Regiment driver of the last Humvee heard the Global Hawk’s Rolls-Royce AE 3007 turbofan engine first. Dimly, then more clearly as it passed just west of them, the RQ-4B came into view, bore-sighted on the road leading directly to the ISIS compound. The bird streaked by the convoy at less than two hundred feet altitude at close to its top cruise speed of three hundred fifty miles per hour.

  As they moved slowly up Highway 1, everyone in the convoy watched as the massive bird touched down precisely where the road they were heading for jagged north from the east-west-running Highway 1. They watched the bird disappear between buildings as it mowed a path through the exploding IEDs, each blast slowing the RQ-4B only slightly as it careened ahead at high speed.

  Overhead, the two Little Birds watched from an altitude of five hundred feet. Finally, the Global Hawk ground to a stop as it impaled itself on a building. The massive UAV was near the end of its mission time and had but a small fuel reserve—just enough to get it back to its secret aerodrome in Qatar—so there were no fuel-induced secondary explosions.

  “What can you see, Carnival?” Rodriquez asked.

  “I’ll get a bit closer if I can, but it looks like the bird got to within a few hundred yards of the compound. It cut a hell of a swath along that street. It’d be hard to believe any IED along the way wouldn’t detonate. I’d say it’s safe to drive up to where it stopped and maybe to go on foot the rest of the way.”

  “Roger that, Carnival.” It was Dawson. “This is Dawson on tactical. You all heard Carnival’s report. Will drive up to right behind where the Global Hawk’s stopped. Major, it’s your show from there—just like you rehearsed.”

  “Roger that, sir; we’re ready,” Volner replied.

  “Carnival, can you cover the assault and clear us a path with guns?”

  “That’s what we do, sir,” Purvis said.

  “Great. How much time can you give us on-station and still have enough fuel to get back to your FARP site?”

  There was a long pause before Purvis replied. “Forget the FARP site sir. We’ll give you all we’ve got until the fans stop turning,” Purvis said. “Seeing as how we don’t care much about destroying aircraft this morning, we’ll do what we came here to do, and then we can blow our birds up once we rescue the lieutenant. Then we’ll just catch a ride back with you folks.”

  “Damn, I love these guys,” Rodriquez said to no one in particular.

  Dawson overheard him and replied, “I do too, Hector; I do too.”

  * * *

  The Global Hawk crash was enough to drive Mabad al-Dosari out of his office and send him running up to the roof of his compound. When he arrived, there were a half a dozen of his fighters pointing and gesturing at the hulk of the Global Hawk. Al-Dosari took one look at the wreckage and headed for the stairway.

  * * *

  The Humvee convoy drivers had maneuvered around the burning wreckage in the traffic circle and were now ready to work their way up the road along the path the Global Hawk had cleared. “This is Dawson. We think the Global Hawk has detonated all the IEDs along the road to the ISIL compound, but we can’t be certain. I want the second vehicle—that’s Major Volner and Master Guns Moore—following no closer than twenty yards behind me; after that, the rest can bunch up. I want each driver to follow my path as exactly as possible. Questions?”

  There were none.

  “Carnival, cover us as we press forward. I know we’re going to attract attention.”

  “Carnival, roger.”

  * * *

  Al-Dosari ran into his office to grab the screed he intended to read as he executed Bruner. Al-Hamdani was there to meet him.

  “What happened?” al-Dosari asked. “This aircraft was aimed right at our compound. Was it an American suicide plane?”

  “I don’t know,” al-Hamdani replied. “But the American convoy is coming this way, up the same street where this suicide plane tried to land—”

  “They won’t get far; you told me your men seeded the street with IEDs,” the ISIS leader interrupted.

  Al-Hamdani knew his leader was under enormous stress and wasn’t thinking clearly. He had heard the explosions as the American suicide airplane—or whatever it was—caused multiple detonations of IEDs as it careened up this street. But now wasn’t the time to correct him. “Perhaps,” he began. “But I’ve ordered most of my remaining fighters out into the street with all the heavy weapons they can gather. They’ll pick off those vehicles before they get far.”

  “Fine!” al-Dosari barked. “But we still need to evacuate this building right after we kill our hostage. Do you have enough men here to drive the trucks to our safe house?”

  Now al-Hamdani thought the Islamic State leader was losing it. There were scores of family members living in the compound and only a few trucks remaining. “I … I’ve begun shuttling them there already. We should have most of them moved in less than an hour.”

  “Good.”

  “Let’s go do what you mean to do,” al-Hamdani said. “I have him in the studio under guard, and it’s almost time.”

  * * *

  As he led the convoy forward, Brian Dawson heard the Little Birds zooming overhead at low altitude.

  “Oh, we got a lot of ’em,” Purvis said to his copilot.

  “Roger, target-rich environment.”

  “Carnival trail, Carnival lead, you take the right side of the street, I’ll take the left.”

  “Roger that, lead.”

  The two AH-6G helicopters dropped down to fifty feet off the deck and slowed their speed to eighty knots. As they picked up men on the street, they shot short squirts of their GAU-19 three-barreled machine guns. Capable of firing one thousand fifty-caliber rounds per minute, the GAU-19 is a deadly antipersonnel weapon. As t
he intense fire began to cut down their comrades farthest south along the road, the remaining fighters scrambled for cover wherever they could find it.

  * * *

  “What’s that?” al-Dosari shouted as he heard the roar of the Little Birds and the bark of their machine guns.

  “I don’t know,” al-Hamdani replied. “Our men will handle it. We just need to finish our job here.”

  * * *

  “Carnival’s wheeling around for a second gun run.” It was Purvis.

  “Roger, Carnival, we’re pushing forward,” Dawson replied, his hand on the shoulder of the Ranger driving the Humvee. “Stay in the center of the road, sergeant … Keep your speed up … That’s it … Steer a bit this way,” he coached, trying to trade off speed in an effort to avoid any IEDs that might have survived the Global Hawk’s crash landing.

  “Mr. Dawson, we’re ready to move out on foot on your order.” It was Volner calling from the second vehicle in the convoy.

  “I want to push forward a little farther—” Dawson began to reply, when a deafening explosion rocked his Humvee. The vehicles in trail screeched to a halt as they watched the lead truck leap into the air, come crashing down, and roll over on its side.

  “Lead’s down,” Volner shouted over the tactical net. Then turning to Moore, “Master Guns, we need to dismount now. You know the assault plan. The driver and I will take care of Mr. Dawson and the others in the lead truck.”

  “Moving out now,” Moore replied. Then, “This is Moore on tactical. We’re moving out on foot now. Form up on me.”

  * * *

  “You all dismounting?” It was Purvis.

  “Carnival, the lead vehicle hit an IED,” Volner replied. “We’re going the rest of the way on foot. Can you see any more fighters in the street?”

  “Nada. Looks like the few we didn’t get retreated back toward their compound.”