Brown, Dale - Independent 04

by Storming Heaven (v1. 1)

  Eleventh Brigade, from Fort Bliss, El Paso, Texas, had deployed six of Witt’s Third Battalion Patriot missile batteries in the area—two at Carswell Air Force Base, west of Dallas-Fort Worth, two at Naval Air Station Dallas to the south, and two batteries at Fort Worth-Alliance Airport, north of the city of Fort Worth. Each battery had four Patriot missile launchers—half the normal number, because so many airports in the nation had to be covered—and each launcher contained four missiles.

  In addition, there were four platoons of Hawk medium- range surface-to-air missiles spread out on the outskirts of Dallas-Fort Worth, twelve launcher units for a total of thirty-six Hawk missiles; and eight Avenger units, stationed at each end of the four runways kept active at DFW, for a total of sixty-four short-range Stinger missiles. Patriot Communications Relay Groups scattered all across Tarrant and Dallas counties ensured tight coordination between the Patriot batteries and Witt’s battalion MICC, which controlled all the Patriot, Hawk, Avenger, and Stinger surface- to-air missile sites surrounding Dallas-Fort Worth Airport. In turn, Witt’s command center was tied directly into the overall Air Defense Force Commander, an Air Force officer she did not know, orbiting over El Dorado, Texas, in an E-3C Sentry AW ACS (Airborne Warning and Control System) radar plane. Although Witt could launch any of the missiles defending Dallas-Fort Worth, primary responsibility of launching missiles at any one of the major airports in the south-central United States—Dallas-Fort Worth, Houston-Intercontinental, Houston-Hobby, Memphis, Tulsa, Nashville, and New Orleans—or directing any fighters on intercepts, was in the Air Force officer’s hands.

  Witt finished a walkaround of the catwalk around the control tower, checking the weather, checking the airport, and catching a glimpse of all the HAWK and Avenger units deployed around the huge airport. Far to the south, she could see two F-16 Fighting Falcon fighters leaping into the sky from Naval Air Station Dallas, then peeling away to the east with afterburners roaring. Air defense units, fighters—this was something you’d expect to see in Beirut, or Baghdad, or Tel Aviv—not Texas. What was going on in this world when a single terrorist could hold a nation hostage like this, force it to restrict the rights of its own citizens in order to defend itself?

  Witt returned to her little headquarters—consisting of several banks of radios, computers, and radar repeater— just as the secure radio crackled to life: “All Tiger units, all Tiger units, stand by for a poll of the air defense force.”

  Witt reached over and picked up a telephone, which was wired directly into her MICC van down below: “Tiger 100, report.”

  It looked huge from the outside, but the Master Information and Coordination Central van was barely big enough for three persons inside. The Battalion Engagement Officer, Captain Jim Connor, sat on the left in front of a large twelve-inch digital radarscope, surrounded by switchlights, indicators, and a keyboard; he was responsible for making the decision on whether or not any missile unit in the battalion would fire on a hostile target, and for taking over as Battalion Force Commander if communications between the Air Defense Force Mission Commander on board the AWACS radar plane were lost. The Battalion Fire Unit Technician, Master Sergeant Mike Pierini, sat on the right, with a virtually identical radar setup as the Engagement Officer. Pierini was responsible for identifying all targets on radar and classifying them as friendly, hostile, or unknown (if the crews aboard the AWACS plane had not already done so), assisting the Engagement Officer, and maintaining communications with the battalion’s missile units.

  Between them was a dot-matrix printer, and above that the LED readouts and status displays of all the rounds remaining of all the missile units under Witt’s command. Reading off the status display, Connor responded: “Ma’am, Tiger 100 shows all units in the green: Ninety-six Patriot, thirty-six HAWK, and sixty-four Avenger Stingers ready. All units acknowledging HOLD FIRE command.”

  “Very well, Tiger 100, out.”

  Aboard the E-3C Sentry AWACS Radar Plane

  Orbiting Over El Dorado, Texas

  Army Lieutenant Colonel Valerie Witt might have been incensed to learn that the overall Air Defense Force Mission Commander for the south-central United States was about ten years younger than she, had five years less time in the military, and was only an Air Force major, but that described William “Kid” Kestrel, the Mission Crew Commander (MCC) aboard Tiger Nine-Zero, the E-3C Sentry Airborne Warning and Control System radar plane. Kestrel was short, blue-eyed, fair-haired, and slight, and he looked even younger than age thirty-eight—he looked far younger than anybody else on the twenty-two-person AWACS crew, although he was probably the oldest.

  Kestrel was one of eleven Air Defense Force Mission Commanders airborne at that moment aboard E-3C Sentry radar planes, covering the entire continental United States—the others were stationed over Elizabeth City, North Carolina, Allentown, Pennsylvania, and Indianapolis, Indiana, covering the northeast; Gainesville, Florida, covering the southeast; Des Moines, Iowa, covering the Midwest; Cimmaron, New Mexico, and Billings, Montana, covering the Rocky Mountain region; Mormon Mesa, Nevada, and Porterville, California, covering the southwest; and Lakeview, Oregon, covering the northwest. Flying one-hundred-mile racetrack patterns at twenty-nine thousand feet, the E-3C Sentry, with its powerful AN/APY- 2 Overland Downlook Radar mounted on a thirty-foot saucer rotodome atop the converted Boeing 707 aircraft, could detect and track any aircraft in flight for three hundred miles in all directions.

  After one aerial refueling three hours ago, Kestrel’s crew had been on station now for eight hours, with four more hours to go before another plane would launch from Tinker Air Force Base in Oklahoma City to take their place. Under normal circumstances, this might be boring work. Air traffic had subsided to a fraction of its normal levels after the government ordered that all aircraft flying within the United States had to take off and land at airports with control towers, had to file an IFR (Instrument Flight Rules) flight plan, and had to be under positive radar control at all times—and of course, the prospect of having several tons of high explosives dropped on your head inside an airport terminal kept a lot of people from flying as well.

  But a lot of civilian and commercial aircraft that stayed on the ground were replaced by other aircraft: military fighters, escorting airliners all over the United States. The best estimate said that over two hundred F-16 ADF and F- 15 fighters of the Air National Guard’s total inventory of three hundred air defense fighters were airborne at any one time, shadowing any aircraft, big or small, that violated any of the new flight rules or did or said something suspicious. Every airport in the United States with a five-thousand-foot concrete runway and jet fuel available probably had a fighter land there at one time or another in the past twelve hours.

  On Major Kestrel’s radarscope, it appeared that he had , every one of the military planes in his airspace—and he needed them all, because it also seemed that all the flakeoid pilots, bad radios, garbled transmissions, incorrect assumptions, and lost flight plans were rattling around in his assigned sector. Last night, the first full night of the new emergency flight rules, was the worst—but now it was dawn and the wrong decisions, rule violations, confusion, and just plain dumb-shit moves still showed no signs of letting up.

  “All Tiger units, all Tiger units, this is Tiger Control with a poll of the air defense units,” Kestrel began. Satellite communications downlinks allowed him to speak with units many miles away as if he were orbiting right over them. “Tiger 100.”

  “Tiger 100, all units in the green, all units acknowledge HOLD FIRE command,” Colonel Witt at Dallas-Fort Worth Airport responded.

  “Tiger 200.”

  “Tiger 200, all units in the green, all units acknowledge HOLD FIRE,” the battalion commander at Houston-Hobby International reported, which also secured Houston-Intercontinental Airport. The poll continued with all of Kestrel’s assigned units at New Orleans, Memphis, Little Rock, Oklahoma City, Tulsa, Jackson, and Springfield. Not all of these locations had Patriot missile
s stationed there, but all had at least two Avenger-Stinger units and one HAWK missile unit, all controlled by Kestrel in the E-3C AWACS.

  “Well, everybody’s in place, and it looks like we survived the night all in one piece,” Major Bill Kestrel told Admiral Ian Hardcastle and Lieutenant Colonel A1 Vincenti, as they observed the progress of the emergency operation. Since Dallas-Fort Worth was one of the busiest in the nation, and since Cazaux’s last attack in Memphis was not far away, it was a logical target, and a lot of planning, personnel, and hardware had gone into defending it. It was the perfect place to watch how the system was running— and the perfect place to watch potential problems occur. “But I’m seeing signs of pilots testing the system already.”

  “What do you mean, Kid?” Hardcastle asked.

  “It’s a pilot thing, I believe,” Kestrel replied, giving veteran F-16 pilot Vincenti a mischievous smile. “Airline pilots need to be on time—their jobs depend on it—so they stretch the rules, probe the boundaries of the new authority. See* here’s a good example.” Kestrel reduced the range on his scope to show better detail. “This USAir flight from Little Rock is a 757 and he thinks he owns the sky. He’s an hour late, but so what?—everybody in the system is at least an hour late. But he’s real cranky. First, he won’t stay on the Blue Ridge Four Arrival—he wants vectors to runway 35 Left final. We closed 36 Right and 35 Left, the runways closest to the terminal, so naturally that’s what this bozo asks for. ATC says no, we want him out to GACHO intersection, fifteen miles out, and we want him on the ILS glideslope.

  “Now he’s really pissed, and he’s making mistakes. He’s screaming onto the localizer, going like a bat out of hell. He’s cutting the corner, see?—he’s never going to reach GACHO intersection. He’s still going 250 knots, which is legal but not very smart since he’s got about a ninety-degree turn coming up in a few seconds. Ninety-nine-percent chance he’s a good guy, but he’s doing bad-guy stuff. I got no choice.” He hit the intercom button to his Senior Director—although the Senior Director was sitting right beside him, the intercom call alerted the entire crew to what he was doing—and said, “Active scramble on target ID uniform-seven-one-one-three, two F-16s. Continue the hold- fire on all batteries but tell Tiger 124, 125, 146, and 148 that ID number U7113 is a possible hostile. Tell Tiger 112 that a 757 will be flying real close from the east. I want all units to hold fire—don’t get excited to see that idiot barreling in.”

  Kestrel pointed to his scope. “See that? He’s blown through the localizer inbound course, still going like a bat out of hell—good thing he’s not running up someone’s ass. Now watch.” Kestrel pointed to a spot at the top of his scope, and sure enough, a white rectangle with the words emer appeared and began blinking. “They all do that—they argue, get excited, make a mistake, then realize what they’ve done and squawk emergency. Look, he’s practically into Naval Air Station Dallas’ airspace, overflying the Patriot missile site. Jesus ...”

  “So what can you do?” Hardcastle asked.

  “I’ve got no choice, Admiral,” Kestrel said. “But it ain’t gonna fly. Listen . . .” He pressed another button on his communications panel: “Dallas East Approach, this is Tiger Control, that USAir Flight, ID U7113, is in violation. I need him kicked out to Scurry VOR until we can get a fighter visual ID .. . affirmative, U7113 ... deviated more than two miles off assigned course within twenty miles of Dallas-Fort Worth Airport.” Hardcastle and Vincenti could hear the approach controller, and he did not sound happy at all. “I’ve got two F-16s airborne from NAS Dallas now, and I’ll declare him MARSA with the USAir flight at this time ... I know he’s declared an emergency, Approach, but he’s in violation, he still hasn’t gotten back on the localizer . . . what’s your controller number, ma’am? . . . fine, my commander will call your supervisor. Request you advise that flight that he is an air defense item of interest and that if he violates the flight parameters again, he will be fired upon without further warning ... yes, damn it, I’m serious. Tiger out.”

  He clicked over to another channel with an angry stab on the button: “All Tiger units, this is Tiger control, ID U7113 has declared an emergency and is being cleared to land on runway 31 Right at Dallas-Fort Worth. Interceptor units are airborne from NAS Dallas. At DIVVR intersection, repeat, at DIVVR intersection, all Hawk and Avenger batteries are released tight, repeat, at five miles out, all Hawk and Avenger batteries are released tight.” He switched channels again, this time to the VHF GUARD emergency frequency, which was linked to a repeater station near Dallas-Fort Worth Airport: “Attention all aircraft, attention all aircraft, this is the United States Air Force airborne defense controller Tiger, we have an air defense item of interest landing on runway 31 Right, Dallas-Fort Worth Airport, warning, do not violate your flight clearances or you may be fired upon in the interest of national security. Repeat, all aircraft, do not violate your flight clearances or you may be fired upon without warning. Tiger out.”

  Kestrel turned to Hardcastle and Vincenti and said, “Okay, gents, I’ve just given the order for the short-range air defense systems to open fire on the inbound 757 if he strays more than a mile off course within five miles from the runway, more than a half-mile within two miles of the extended runway centerline, or more than one thousand feet toward the terminals within one mile. Meanwhile, the F-16s will try to join on him or orbit nearby until he’s turned off the runway. This jet jockey is screwing up by the numbers, and now he—and his passengers, don’t forget—are looking down the barrel of about twenty-four missiles and two F-16 Fighters with missiles and guns of their own. Just plain stupid. He can die at any time between now and about two minutes from now, and you’ll have a major disaster on your hands.”

  It was a very tense wait as they watched the final two minutes of the approach. The F-16 fighter joined on the 757 when the airliner was about two miles from touchdown: “Tiger Control, Tango X-Ray-311 flight, target looks clean, no open panels or devices, wheels are down. I see passengers in the windows. Looking good ...” There was a short pause as the F-16 pilot configured his own plane for landing. He would fly to the right and above the airliner as long as he could, away from the Hawk and Avenger missile units arrayed between the runway and the east terminals of Dallas-Fort Worth Airport. “Control, -311 going around.”

  “Control, this is Tiger-148, I’ve got a visual on the target,” reported one of the Avenger ground units, stationed at the approach end of the runway and tracking the airliner all the way on a telescopic infrared camera. “He’s looking good, wheels and flaps down . . . Control, the target has touched down ... Control, I see thrust reversers and spoilers, looks like a normal rollout... Control, he’s turned off onto the high-speed taxiway one-north, moving onto taxiway 21 ... Control, security units are on the scene. Request permission to disengage. Over.”

  “Attention all Tiger units, this is Tiger Control, all batteries hold fire, repeat, all batteries hold fire. Target ID U7113 is down. Tiger Control clear.” Kestrel slid off his headset after telling his Senior Director he was going off the air for a few minutes, then motioned to Hardcastle and Vincenti toward the back of the AWACS plane: “I gotta take a break.”

  Hardcastle and Vincenti followed Kestrel to the galley, where Kestrel hit the lavatory and stayed in there for what seemed like a long time. When he finally emerged, his face still damp from the water he had splashed on it, he slugged down a couple of antacid tablets with a grimace. “It’s gonna be a long day, I can see that now,” he muttered.

  “Very good work over there, Major,” Hardcastle offered.

  “That routine happens about twice, maybe three times an hour, gents,” Kestrel said to Hardcastle and Vincenti, as if he hadn’t heard Hardcastle’s compliment. The strain really showed. “The pilots declare an emergency, and all our rules go out the window. All the air traffic controllers want to do is get these guys on the ground, so they clear them for landing before we can check them out. It’s wearing my crews down real fast, and this is only the second
day.”

  “But aren’t your crews accustomed to this?” Hardcastle asked. “You’ve got some Desert Storm veterans on your crew. In the Middle East you were flying thousands of sorties a day, controlling hundreds of aircraft.”

  “In Desert Storm, and in most controller situations, most of the targets on the scope are good guys, and we’re on the lookout for the bad guys,” Kestrel explained. “Here, every target is a potential bad guy, right up until he turns off the runway after landing. Furthermore, all of our ‘bad guys’ are flying right toward the spot that we’re assigned to defend—and we have to let them! That’s pretty unheard-of in the AWACS game. We’re used to playing on a much bigger scale—here, most of the real tense action occurs close to the ground and close to the defended spot, where if something goes wrong we don’t have a lot of time to react—”

  “Nothing personal, Major, but I’d rather burn out a few AWACS crews rather than see Cazaux bomb another terminal,” Vincenti said. “Air defense is a shitty game, but we gotta play it.”

  “I hear you, Al, and I can’t argue with that—it’s our job and we’re going to do it,” Kestrel said. “I’m getting an ulcer because some flyboy wants to land five minutes earlier than his buddies—fine. But I wonder if that pilot realizes that if he does so much as wag his wings toward the terminal when he’s on final approach, sirs, one of those kids riding in the Avengers is going to pull the trigger and send two Stinger missiles into an airliner full of civilians. It’s something you guys from Washington are going to have to deal with if this thing drags on and a mistake happens. Either we turn up the heat and catch this Cazaux bastard right away, or you’ll have to tighten up the rules a bit more, before we start flaming a lot of innocent Americans.”