Operation Golden Dawn

by George Wallace

  Once again, Chief Jones and his team performed the delicate balancing act that brought SAN FRANCISCO to a rock solid hover 80 feet below the surface. Again ten SEALs exited the submarine in three groups. As the sun dropped below the horizon, the last SEAL broke the surface.

  SAN FRANCISCO came up to periscope depth and fired number one and number two torpedo tubes. Two torpedo shaped black objects bobbed to the surface a few yards from the waiting SEALs. They immediately swam toward the shapes. They popped open several spring releases on each shape. Inside was a small rigid hulled inflatable boat capable of carrying ten passengers. It included a powerful, specially silenced outboard motor to drive them to shore. The SEALs boarded the RHIBs and pulled them alongside a third torpedo shape that bobbed to the surface. Opening this shape, the squad loaded their weapons and equipment into the RHIBs. The three now empty shapes were scuttled into the deep water below.

  The two low black boats swung around toward the shore and picked up speed. SAN FRANCISCO turned toward the open sea and dropped from view.

  Aboard SAN FRANCISCO, the ship was humming with activity. In the torpedo room, the reload team rushed to drain the three empty torpedo tubes and reload them with TLAMs. The torpedo that was in tube 4, the normal self-defense torpedo, was back-hauled to allow a fourth TLAM to be loaded. There would be no self-defense weapon immediately ready if SAN FRANCISCO came under attack.

  The wardroom was transformed into a tactical strike planning center. Warran Jacobs and Jeff Miller led their teams of quartermasters and fire control technicians in charting the over-water portion of the TLAM flights.

  To maximize surprise, it was necessary for the TLAMs to all arrive at their targets at very nearly the same time and to be closely coordinated with LT Roland’s attack. They needed to arrive from different quadrants so that the enemy could not concentrate their defenses. Because the TLAMs required about ten minutes to launch, including gyro spin-up, targeting data download and stabilization, plus the time required to shift from launching one tube to the next, the over-water flight planning for each bird was a complicated balance of air speed, timing, and geographic constraints. At mach 0.8, over 600 miles per hour, the birds required a good deal of real estate to eat up the time differences and to get into position to attack their targets. The missiles were flying at wave top height, so this real estate could not include land. To minimize the chance of detection, the missiles could not fly near any air search radars.

  Forms and charts littered the wardroom table, spilled over onto the deck and festooned the bulkheads. Several laptop computers were in feverish use.

  The torpedomen and fire control technicians hurried to load the tubes and check the communications to the missiles. Two of the tubes were loaded with TLAM-D’s, a Tomahawk variant equipped with hundreds of small 2.2 pound bomblet sub-munitions, while two tubes were loaded with TLAM-C’s, containing a single 700 pound Bullpup warhead.

  “Sonar, conn. New contact, designate Sierra two-four-seven. Best bearing three-four-two. High speed screws. Classify warship, possible FFG 7 class.” The announcement from sonar over the 27MC caught everyone off guard.

  Sam Stuart was standing watch as OOD. He stepped over to the sonar display panel and glanced at the white track that was just starting to develop out of the snowy back ground clutter.

  “Where did he come from? He’s not one of ours,” he questioned Bill Fagan who was standing beside him on the conn.

  “We sold several FFG 7’s to the Indonesians back in the mid 90’s. It’s probably one of those. Weren’t you paying attention during the mission brief? We covered all the expected combatant platforms,” the XO replied. “We'd better tell the Skipper.”

  Stuart called Hunter, who was in the wardroom observing the strike planning, on the MJ phone and informed him of the new development.

  “He’s going to pose a problem with this strike package. Not likely he would sit by and idly let someone fly TLAMs over his head in his own territorial waters. He might even be coming in to give the terrorists some more cover. Do you have a rough range on him?” Hunter questioned Stuart.

  “Not yet sir. Wanted to report him first. Range of the day is two-five-thousand yards for an FFG 7 broadband. Performing a ranging maneuver now,” Stuart replied.

  The range of the day was an estimate of the range for a fifty- percent detection probability given the particular acoustic environment for that location that day. It gave a very rough starting point to begin the iterative process of refining the range.

  Hunter turned to the assembled group in the wardroom and said, “Plot a point at 25,000 yards on bearing three-four-two. Put a fifty nautical mile circle around it. Are we currently planning on flying any birds into that circle?”

  “Yes, sir,” Warren Jacobs immediately replied. “Our launch basket is just outside the edge of that circle. We had planned all four to fly inside it.”

  “Well, like all good plans, it has to change,” Hunter responded. “That FFG isn’t worth anything for ASW, but it does have a good AAW suite. It’s not a threat to us, but it is to our birds. We can’t afford to have any of these birds detected or knocked down. Give me your revised flight plan ASAP.” He left the wardroom and went up the ladder to control.

  “Captain, the best estimate of range based on the last maneuver is two-two-thousand yards. Looks like he is headed for the island and in a real hurry.” Sam Stuart reported as Hunter stepped into control.

  “Very well, we haven’t got time to waste watching him. Come to course zero-two-seven and Ahead Full. We need to be at this point in two hours,” Hunter said, pointing to a position 100 nautical miles to the Northwest of Nusa Funata and 50 nautical miles from their present position.

  The OOD ordered, "Helm, right ten degrees rudder, steady course zero-two-seven. Ahead Full." The sub raced for the launch basket.

  23 Jun 2000, 0048LT (22 Jun, 1648Z)

  LT Roland’s squad pointed their two RHIBs toward the shore. Making thirty knots, the ride was short but rough and wet. At full throttle, they literally skipped from wave top to wave top.

  As they neared the black beach, Roland yelled above the wind, "I see the signal, off to the left. Come left twenty degrees." He pointed toward a large log that had washed up on the beach. "Aim for that log."

  Boats had scouted the best landing place for them and placed the IR Chem-lite signal on the log. Roland removed the IR goggles as the two RHIBs roared up onto the black sand. Boats met them at the tree line as they pulled the RHIBs under cover.

  They quickly unloaded the contents of the two boats and silently followed the Chief into the mangrove swamp, leaving the RHIBs where they lay. No need to waste time hiding them. By the time any casual patrol stumbled across the RHIBs and raised the alarm, the whole island would know they were there anyway.

  Slogging through the mud and slime, they arrived at a small raised hummock where two more members of the first assault squad waited. Boats explained, “We’ve found a good, quick route to the factory. Jankowski, Cooke and Meyer are watching it now. We'd better get humping. The TLAMs are due in an hour and it'll take us almost that long to get there.”

  This time the SEALs didn’t bother with concealment or staying in the swamp. They didn’t have the time. They ran down the sides of the road right up to the point where it turned into the compound. Here they split up and moved around the perimeter from both sides.

  LT Roland placed his two Squad Assault Weapon (SAWs) marksmen so that each overlooked one of the anti-aircraft emplacements. He placed his two M-60 machine guns so that they could rake the entrance to the cave and the path leading down to the compound. Two of his team were busy planting a series of Claymore mines, detonated by trip wires, along the path down to the compound to make life just that much more interesting for anyone rushing to reinforce the factory’s defenders.

  22 Jun 2000, 0610LT (1710Z)

  Peg Hunter slowly clawed her way through the mist back to consciousness. The fear slammed back. "Where were the girls? Are
they all right? What happened?"

  She opened her eyes to find the morning sun pouring through the window, filling the unfamiliar room with a warm golden glow. Moving her head to take in her surroundings brought on waves of nausea. She lay back.

  "Take it slow, Peg," the familiar growl of Admiral O'Flanagan came from somewhere off to her left, out of her field of view. "That gas can knock your socks off."

  "The girls?" She asked querulously.

  "They're okay," O'Flanagan assured her. "Molly spent the night at the Johnson's and Megan is in the next room."

  He came into view as he walked over to the bed. The inevitable stub of an unlit, well chewed cigar firmly projecting from the side of his mouth.

  "Megan woke up a few minutes ago. She is busy attacking breakfast. Molly had a bad night. We are scheduling counseling for all of you."

  O'Flanagan turned and pulled a chair over to sit beside Peg's bed. He sat down and squirmed into the hard-backed hospital chair in a vain attempt to get comfortable. Peg figured that he was buying time, delaying the discussion of something that was more uncomfortable than a hospital chair.

  "Peg, there's something that we need to discuss," he began. "You've probably already figured out that Jon is not on exercises up in the Aleutians."

  Peg started to speak, but Admiral O'Flanagan raised his hand. "Peg, let me continue. Jon is in Indonesia doing something that is very important and very dangerous. I'm not going to tell you what it is exactly, but it is one of those missions that no one will ever know about. You'll have to trust me on that."

  The anger rose quickly. Peg exploded, "You expect me to trust you! You almost got my family killed. Don't talk to me about trust."

  "Peg, calm down." O'Flanagan raised both hands, palms out in supplication. "I know you're angry, but it won't help you, Jon or us. Just hear me out, please."

  He went on to explain the terrorist plot that had been uncovered. As the sordid plot unfolded, Peg began to grasp the implications of any part of it becoming known.

  Admiral O'Flanagan concluded, "So you see, we have to make everything look like business as usual. We have already told the press that all the activity on base yesterday was a scheduled exercise. We were testing our new hostage response team tactics with a full-scale dress rehearsal. I need you to support that story. Can I count on you?"

  He paused for a second and then threw in the low blow that she couldn't counter. "Jon needs you."

  23 Jun 2000, 0040LT (22 Jun, 1740Z)

  As SAN FRANSICO neared the launch point, the 1MC blared “Man Battle Stations Missile for TLAM Strike!” followed by the “Gong, gong, gong” of the General Alarm. The announcement and alarm were anticlimactic. Nearly everyone was already at their battle station making the preparations to launch the Tomahawks.

  A quick trip to periscope depth ensured that no one was around to see or interfere with the launch. A careful search for any sonar contacts further ensured they were alone in this particular part of the ocean. The sound of the underwater launch transients, especially the ignition of the booster rocket, carried for many miles and was unmistakable. To add to the risk of detection, once the booster was airborne, it left a smoky arrow pointing back down at the sub. It was important to make very sure that they were alone in this part of the Java Sea.

  The launch sequence began. Hunter ordered the missiles in tubes one and two made ready in all respects. A final check of the mission data loaded in those missiles verified all was loaded and functioning correctly.

  Jeff Miller reported, "Tubes one and two ready in all respects."

  Hunter immediately ordered, “Shoot tube one.”

  Miller flung the large brass firing lever to 'standby' and shouted, “Stand by,” and then flung the lever to 'shoot', shouting “Launch permissive” to the people in the control room.

  There was no hint of activity for about forty-five seconds as the gyros in the missile silently came up to speed and the missile performed a series of internal checks. When the checks were all completed, a series of electrical interlocks made contact, porting torpedo tube firing air to the torpedo tube flushing cylinder. The 1500-psi air forced the flushing piston down the cylinder, pushing high-pressure water through a series of passages, up into the after part of the torpedo tube. Meanwhile, in the torpedo tube, the missile canister had opened a series of ports around its after part. The high-pressure water literally flushed the missile out of the canister and torpedo tube. The missile accelerated rapidly out of the tube and clear of the submarine. A lanyard attached to both the missile and the canister yanked taut, igniting the rocket motor attached to the tail of the missile. The missile roared up, out of the water and into the sky.

  As the rocket engine burnt out and dropped away, a sequence of events began that transformed the missile into a small robot airplane. An air scoop dropped open beneath the missile. Two small, stubby wings scissored out from inside the missile’s body. The turbo-fan engine, now supplied with air from the scoop and ignited by a small explosive squid, came up to speed to give the missile power. The bird then dropped down to wave-top height and flew to the North, beginning its pre-programmed flight.

  In rapid succession, three more missiles joined the first one flying over the Java Sea; each one on a flight pattern designed to have them all reach Nusa Funata at the same time. Receiving encrypted Global Positioning System fixes from a constellation of NAVSTAR satellites, the missiles were constantly updating and refining their positions. With each missile having a radar cross-section about the size of a hummingbird, and with the four missiles approaching from four different directions, the terrorists on Nusa Funata did not have a chance of detecting the attack.

  23 Jun 2000, 0052LT (22 Jun, 1752Z)

  The last canister swung over and landed on the helo deck. The handling crew was still busy lashing it down as the Commander Balewegal ordered all lines cast off. The quicker he got SAWAL away from this God-forsaken island, the better. And the sooner he got rid of those three gas canisters, the sooner he could breathe again.

  It was an easy trip, really. Admiral Suluvana had assured him. Just run out to Nusa Funata and load three canisters of the NX toxin. Then deliver the stuff to the Jakarta piers. From there, the stuff would be loaded into shipping containers and join the vast stream of cargo heading across the Pacific. One night’s work and he would be a hero of the revolution. His grand-children would repeat the tales of how he wielded the terrible sword that brought Allah’s victory to Indonesia.

  The FFG’s screw churned up muddy brown-green water as it headed away from the rickety pier and out of the tiny harbor.

  22 Jun 2000, 0800LT (1800Z)

  The ugly black bird started its take off roll out. There was nothing sleek or sexy about this plane. It was designed for only one purpose, to fly to a well-defended target without being seen and deliver a nuclear weapon. The B-2 Stealth bomber, with its crew of two, headed down the 12,000 foot long runway and used nearly every inch before it lumbered into the morning sky.

  Even though it was fully loaded with fuel and carried a relatively light bomb load, the big bomber would rendezvous with four different KC-10 tankers on the long outbound flight and three more on the return trip. Resting in the onboard rotary launcher were two air-launched cruise missiles (ALCM’s). Each contained a single W-88 nuclear warhead capable of a “dial a yield” detonation of from 20 to 200 kilotons.

  The bomber gradually gained altitude until it was well above the commercial aircraft traffic. It headed out over the cold gray North Pacific and toward a launch point 500 miles North East of Nusa Funata.

  As it went “feet wet” over the Gulf of Alaska, the stealth bomber disappeared from all air traffic radars. The pilot merely switched off the IFF and the bird was invisible. The copilot shifted the radio transceivers over to special National Command frequencies reserved for just this mission. They would not acknowledge any traffic on any other frequency. The strike mission was on its way.

  23 Jun 2000, 0106LT (22 Jun, 1806Z)
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br />   The first missile climbed steeply as it crossed the beach at Nusa Funata. A camera in its belly took a digital picture and compared what it saw to what it expected from the SEAL’s pictures. The comparison was close, but not quite exact. The missile made a minor course correction to arrive precisely on target. It made one pass over the weapons facility on top of Mount Guishu, dispensing 2.2 pound bomblets in a path across the radomes. After a wide sweeping turn, it made another pass to sow a path of destruction across the command center. Another wide turn and it crashed into the missile launchers. The remaining jet fuel started explosions that instantly spread to the missiles in the ready launchers. The resulting conflagration spread to the standby missiles. Within seconds the entire mountain top was a blazing inferno.

  The troops stationed on the mountain had no idea what had happened. One second they were enjoying the quiet tropical night. The next second they found themselves in the middle of an exploding hell and they couldn't find what the cause was. Those that survived the attack panicked and ran pell-mell down the steep mountain road.

  At the same instant, the second missile verified its position and plunged through a window into the warehouse at the head of the pier. The 700 pounds of HBX detonated, obliterating the building and its contents. The APC was shoved out the door and into the water. The canisters containing the pox ruptured in the intense overpressure. The virus inside was destroyed in the heat of the explosion and fire.

  Unfortunately for the small team of guards and workers still on the pier, not all the virus was instantly destroyed. Just enough was released in an aerosol from one canister to infect them. None of the aerosol spread beyond the little pier, but their fate was sealed. They would be highly contagious in about twenty-four hours and dead in thirty-six. They had no indication of this. They only knew that Allah had spared them from the sudden death that those inside the warehouse had met.