by Dave Edlund
“What?” Peter’s eyes were wide. “You have to call Colonel Pierson and tell him we have new information. They need to call it off.”
“Do you understand what I just said? You can’t just call it off.” Jim was firm and a little annoyed at what he saw as naiveté from Peter.
“There has to be something, some way, to let the President know that Russia is behind this.”
“Sorry Peter. I appreciate your help, but I’m not ready to say with certainty that we got it wrong. You’ve presented a good argument, but not conclusive.”
“Come on, Jim. You know I’m right. Why would Russia risk sending a submarine into U.S. waters? It only makes sense if they are intimately involved, not just a minor player.”
Jim stood and walked around his desk, leaning against the edge, arms folded across his chest. “There’s a huge difference between Russia being involved, as we know they are, and Russia being the leader. I value your opinion, and you bring a different perspective to solving this puzzle, provided you have the discipline to recognize the difference between fact and speculation.”
“Those weren’t your instructions, remember? You said that we needed to synthesize probable scenarios when sufficient facts were lacking. I didn’t imagine that.”
“You’re right, that’s what I instructed my team to do because we never have all the facts. But in this case there’s nothing. What proof do you have to support this conclusion?”
Peter didn’t answer.
“Seriously,” Jim pressed.
Fixing Jim’s gaze with his own glare, Peter chose to remain silent.
“A bottle of vodka and a lack of dead Russian scientists does not constitute proof that the government of Russia is calling the shots.” Jim dropped his arms and returned to his chair, plopping heavily with a sigh. He picked up his pen, squeezing it tightly.
Peter accepted that the conversation was over. He stood and turned to leave.
“Once we have these messages fully decoded,” Jim said, “maybe we’ll know the full extent of Russia’s involvement. But until then, I’m not going to even hint that the mission be aborted.”
Chapter 35
October 16
Airspace Over Venezuela
The Raptors were returning to their respective stations, circling above each B-2. Meanwhile, activity at La Carlota Air Base in Caracas was heating up. A Global Hawk observed three Mi-35 Hind helicopter gunships take to the air. The air defense radar had achieved a brief lock on the B-2 prior to being destroyed by a HARM missile fired from the B-2. Now it appeared that the Hinds were being vectored toward the palace by air control—not attack—radar. Since the mission objectives included specifically limiting collateral damage to civilian infrastructure, the rules of engagement allowed only targeting radar to be attacked with the HARM anti-radiation missiles.
A helicopter gunship was not considered a credible threat to the B-2, yet under the current circumstances it was possible that the Hind could get a lucky missile shot if it was vectored close enough to the B-2.
Another concern was that the three Hinds would be moving much more slowly than the fighter jets and consequently, the Hinds just might visually detect the Global Hawk and Predator UAVs flying over the airbase. These factors were the subject of an urgent meeting onboard Thor.
Clustered in front of four flat-screen color monitors depicting the unfolding events in and around Caracas and Tegui Airbase, Colonel Horn stood with arms folded tightly across his chest, debating the unfolding events with two Air Force captains.
“They could just be redeploying to the palace, expecting a ground attack,” suggested the first captain, referring to the Hind helicopters that had just taken off.
“Current rules of engagement limit our strike-first authorization to threats to our assets only.” This comment came from the second captain.
“I’m fully aware of that, captain,” retorted a testy Colonel Horn.
The first captain jumped in, concerned that the colonel was wavering on the issue, and he wanted to take down the Hinds rather than risk losing one or more UAVs. “Sir, as long as those Hinds are in the air, they represent a threat to our assets.”
Colonel Horn had not looked at either of his officers during the short debate, preferring to study the monitors. “Agreed. The Hinds represent a low but unacceptable threat.” He shifted his attention to the two captains. “Still, I don’t want to pull off the Raptors. They are each down to three Slammers plus Sidewinders, and we can’t rule out the possibility that more fighters will be scrambled. We’ve bloodied their nose, but this fight isn’t over.”
“We can use the Predators,” offered the first captain. “We’re controlling the UAVs from Thor. They’re too slow to keep up with the Hinds, but if we act quickly, we can reposition this one,” he pointed at a blue triangle on the screen, “into the projected path of the Hinds. We should be able to shoot ’em down before they figure out what’s going on.”
“You really think one Predator can get all three Hinds?” challenged Horn.
“We’ll have the advantage of surprise. The Hinds won’t be expecting a frontal attack with laser-guided munitions. The Raptors have only fired radar-guided missiles.”
“I like your thinking, but it’s a stretch of the rules of engagement. Get General Hendrickson on the line. I’ll need authorization for this.”
“Yes, sir!”
Colonel Horn continued to stare at the screens, focusing on the action around La Carlota Air Base. The IR image being relayed from the Global Hawk showed two fuel trucks racing toward a squadron of parked helicopters. An inset screen in the lower right corner showed the radar imagery of the three Hind gunships advancing toward the Miraflores Presidential Palace. Just then the captain returned. “General Hendrickson is on the secure line,” he said, motioning toward a handset on the bulkhead below the monitors.
“Colonel Horn, sir. We have a low-level threat. Three Hinds, direct course for the presidential palace. I am recommending that we take them out.”
“Helicopter gunships aren’t much of a threat against the F-22s, and they’d have to get pretty close to the B-2 to hope for even a lucky shot.”
“We’ve considered that, General. There are also the Hawks, and we think they might get a visual and engage.”
General Hendrickson thought for a moment, weighing the options. “Okay, but I don’t want the Raptors pulled off station unless absolutely necessary.”
“Understood. We will engage with Predators.”
“Okay, Colonel. You are authorized to take down the Hinds.”
“Thank you, sir.” He hung up the handset and then turned to the captain who had suggested the plan. “Get that Predator into position; I want those gunships out of the air!”
Controlled by two airmen through a satellite data link, the pilot flew the Predator toward the flight of Hinds as if he was flying a model airplane. Except that unlike flying a model airplane, he couldn’t actually see the aircraft he was piloting. All flight data and positioning was relayed via sensors onboard the Predator as well as radar data from Thor. As the separation decreased to four miles, the second operator controlling the weapons system acquired the three helicopters and targeted the closest. The laser-guided Hellfire missile was originally designed to penetrate tanks but would perform equally well on armored gunships.
Onboard the lead Hind, the pilot had just scanned over his instrument panel. Engine function was normal, fuel load was more than adequate, heading was true. He looked forward through the clear canopy into the night sky. Against the black horizon he saw a bright flash. If it had streaked across his field of view, the pilot would have thought it a meteor or space junk falling through the atmosphere. But this bright spot seemed to waver around a fixed point directly in front of him, and it seemed to be getting larger.
It took two seconds for the pilot to comprehend what he had just seen—a delay that would prove fatal.
“Viper One to Viper flight. Incoming missile launch! Evasive
action!”
The Hinds separated and ejected flares to decoy incoming heat-seeker missiles. Viper One jerked the cyclic stick to the left, causing his aircraft to bank sharply and lose altitude.
Homing in on the reflected laser beam, the incoming Hellfire was rushing toward the Hind at nearly Mach 2. The laser designator aboard the Predator was locked onto Viper One, so it continued to track the helicopter, even through its evasive maneuvers. Moments later, the Hellfire slammed into the Hind and exploded. The night sky was instantly illuminated by a brilliant white flash. The force of the explosion rippled through the airframe, fracturing the engine mounts and severing fuel lines and hydraulics. As the twin engines, still turning at high RPM, broke free with a grinding of metal, the Hind plunged and then exploded in a fireball.
“Viper Two to Viper One, over?” The radio was silent.
“Command to Viper flight. Radar tracks a slow target bearing two-seven degrees, closing on your position, approximately two miles. Likely a drone, engage and destroy.”
“Viper Two to Command. Engaging target two-seven degrees.”
The pilot in Viper Two banked his Hind to the right and flipped two switches to activate the thermal-based targeting system and power up the missile pod. Viper Two and Viper Three were armed with Chinese-made TianYan-90 heat-seeking air-to-air missiles.
“Viper Two to Viper Three. I have lock on target, firing.” In the cockpit of the Hind, the pilot raised a red-colored guard with his thumb and then depressed the button launching the missile.
At the same instant on board Thor, the two airmen controlling the Predator had achieved lock on the next Hind, Viper Two, and launched a Hellfire missile.
Viper Two and Viper Three saw the bright flash as the Hellfire’s solid propellant rocket motor ignited.
“Missile launch! Evasive action!”
The pilot of Viper Two shoved the cyclic to the right and slightly forward, causing his aircraft to move sharply in the same direction and drop altitude. Now it was a race between the Hellfire and the TianYan-90, each traveling in opposite directions toward their respective targets.
s
The airman piloting the Predator saw it first. “Incoming missile. Fired from lead Hind.”
“Uh, roger that,” replied the airman responsible for targeting and launching weapons from the UAV. “Looks like we fired at the same time.”
“So much for surprise.”
“Doesn’t look good for the Predator,” said the airman, pointing to the inset radar image. It showed the blip representing the incoming hostile missile closing the distance to the Predator faster than the Hellfire was closing on the Hind.
Seconds later the data link from the Predator went dead as the small UAV was blown into a million pieces.
s
Viper Two was flying at maximum speed on a course 90 degrees from its original heading. In the periphery of his vision, the pilot registered a bright flash. His larger and faster Chinese-made missile had won the race.
“Command to Viper Two, Viper Three. Target destroyed, resume course for presidential palace. Maintain military power.”
s
Colonel Horn was not pleased. “I want those Hinds down, Captain,” he barked.
“We don’t have any other Predators in position to intercept. Recommend vectoring Knight One to intercept with Stingers.”
“Do it.”
“Thor to Knight One. Two Hinds approaching your position bearing two-four-four degrees, altitude 12,000. Range ten miles and closing. Engage with Stingers. Repeat, do not use Slammers. Over.”
“Roger,” replied Knight One. “Engage with Stingers.”
Knight One banked his aircraft onto heading two-four-four and dropped to 12,000 feet. He was approaching the Hinds head-on.
When Knight One was three miles from the Hinds, the pilot had a solid infrared lock on the massive turbine engine of the nearest helicopter, blazing hot against a cool night sky. He opened his weapons bay to fire the Sidewinder, and when he did his aircraft became visible to radar. He was just about to launch the missile when the helicopter jinked to the right and dropped altitude, discharging flares as it did. The second gunship did the same, fleeing in the opposite direction.
Clearly the Hind pilots were both skilled. They had taken evasive action and the missile lock on the nearest Hind, Viper Two, was broken. The Raptor overshot the helicopters as Viper Two continued its turn, completing 180 degrees. He was now pointed in the direction he thought the attacking aircraft had fled, but his thermal targeting system did not reveal any obvious targets.
Still, there was a slight thermal image against the cold sky. Good enough, he thought. He fired another TianYan-90 missile. It was a quick shot, without lock, and the missile missed. But it was close.
“Thor to Knight One. Bogey has fired on you. Probable heat seeker. Uh, Colonel suggests you splash these guys and return to station.”
On board Thor, Colonel Horn was growing more frustrated by the minute with the trouble these Hind helicopters were causing; especially in light of the relative ease with which his strike aircraft had previously dispatched a dozen modern fighters.
Knight One turned his aircraft sharply, using its vectored thrust. Relying upon radar guidance from Thor, he was on a course to intercept the Hinds from behind.
With his weapons door closed, Knight One approached the two helicopters under the cloak of invisibility. Bleeding off speed, Knight One came to within half a mile before opening his weapons door. At this close range, missile lock was almost immediate. Knight One fired the Sidewinder. With very little warning and a short flight time for the Sidewinder, the helicopter simply could not outmaneuver the heat seeker. The explosive charge detonated within the turbine engine, shattering the engine cowling, shredding the turbine blades and adjacent fuel and hydraulic lines. The Hind tumbled to the earth, out of control.
Having successfully defeated two missile attacks, Viper Two’s luck ran out.
The lone remaining Hind pilot was courageous, but not stupid. He knew he stood next to zero chance of defeating the unseen intruder; he departed for his home base. Knight One did not pursue.
s
The Spirit of Florida and Spirit of Hawaii had, by now, completed their missions. Their job done, the two B-2s closed the external doors, regaining invisibility, and departed north, leaving the theater of engagement.
“Thor to strike force. This is Colonel Horn. I want to congratulate you on a job well done. All surveillance shows Venezuelan Air Force is standing down.”
The F-22 Raptors escorted the larger B-2s until they were well out of Venezuelan airspace and the sky was clear of threats, confirmed by the E-3 Sentry still on station. Nevertheless, the Raptors remained with the two strategic bombers until they were 700 miles north of Caracas. The B-2s continued north to rendezvous with the KC-130 tanker over the open ocean north of the West Indies and south of the Bahamas. The pair of escorts turned southwest and returned to Hato International Airport on Curacao.
Chapter 36
October 16
Washington, D.C.
The massive rear-projection screen was divided into quadrants—each quadrant displaying a different virtual false-color image of the unfolding operation over Venezuela. The upper right quadrant displayed the entire theater, using blue icons for friendly assets and red icons for enemy assets overlaid on a detailed map of the region. The icons moved in real time, due to an encrypted data downlink from the orbiting E-3 Sentry. The other three quadrants of the projection screen displayed enlarged images of the confrontation: the presidential palace and the two nearby air bases.
The E-3 was receiving surveillance data, not only from its own suite of radar sensors, but also from each Global Hawk in the theater of operation. This stream of data was collated and assembled in milliseconds into the most comprehensive and detailed real-time overview that Secretary of Defense Hale had ever seen of an active theater of battle.
Secretary of State Paul Bryan was mesmerized
by the real-time images of the conflict. Everything was going well, and he silently breathed relief when the last of the American aircraft safely departed Venezuelan air space. He had been present, at Hale’s invitation, in the War Room in the basement of the White House since the beginning of Operation Checkmate. Yet he felt like a fish out of water. Around him everyone else was busy. There were the Joint Chiefs and their aides and a gaggle of officers from each branch of the armed forces conversing on phones, working at computer terminals, entering and leaving the room. It looked to be rather chaotic to Bryan’s novice eye.
Militarily, the mission was judged an unqualified success. No U.S. airmen were lost, and no manned aircraft was struck by enemy fire. The only loss of U.S. assets was one Predator UAV—most likely blown to pieces, and no one thought there was much chance the Venezuelans, or anyone else for that matter, would be able to gain any classified knowledge from the wreckage. In comparison, the Venezuelan air defenses suffered significantly greater losses. Numerous radar targeting systems were destroyed, six Su-27 fighter aircraft and six Mirage jets were destroyed, and two Mi-35 Hind helicopter gunships were shot down.
Both the principal air base in Barcelona and the presidential palace had been targeted, Bryan cogitated. There could be no mistaking the message. If we had chosen to, we would have placed precision-guided bombs on those targets.
Now it was a matter of waiting for the anticipated call of indignation and protest from the Venezuelan Foreign Minister Roberto Maldonado. Bryan did not have to wait too long.
The incoming phone call was forwarded to the War Room. Bryan’s secretary, Marge, paged first to alert him that the call was from Caracas.
“Good evening Mr. Maldonado. What can I do for you?”
“This is an outrage! You know very well the reason for my call!”
“Do I?” Bryan answered innocently, a hint of a slim smile taking shape. Had this not been so serious, he might have chuckled.
“The United States has carried out an unprovoked act of aggression against the sovereign Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela!”
