C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
Fort Morgan
“The jets that attacked Columbia came from Homestead Air Force Base,” Jake said.
“Yes, that's the part of Florida than hasn't joined up,” Bob said.
“It's not good having them down there, in a way it's as if they have us surrounded,” Jake said.
“Why do I have the idea that you are about to make a suggestion?” Bob asked with a little chuckle.
“I don't know. Maybe because I do have a suggestion?”
“All right, let's hear it.”
“It's simple, really. My suggestion is that we take the air base out.”
“I don't know,” Bob said. “So far our military activity has been limited to reaction. What you are asking now is that we become proactive, that we initiate the action.”
“Yes. Bob, if we really are going to take our position on the world stage, we can't just sit down here and wait for things to happen. We are going to have to be more assertive.”
“I can see your point, but, I'm also a little concerned about spreading this out and causing collateral damage. It's one thing to make war against the SPS and the Janissaries, but I am convinced that ninety-nine point nine percent of the civilians are just what they have always been, Americans who want to get on with their lives. They have found themselves put into a position over which they have no control. I would hate to worsen that condition by putting them in danger from us.”
“We can play laser tag with the warplanes at Homestead, and take them out with no danger at all to the civilians,” Jake said.
“Laser tag? Oh, you mean pinpointing the targets with lasers. I've read about it, but it's not anything we had during the Vietnam War.”
“Trust me, it will destroy the targets, and it will eliminate collateral damage.”
“All right, Jake,” Bob said. “I do trust you. Do whatever you have to do to put this in motion.”
“I'll need Tom and Deon to volunteer again.”
“I can understand why you would want to use them, they've certainly proven themselves. And I'm sure they will volunteer. I just hope you aren't going to the well too many times. Especially since Deon and Julie just got married.”
“Yeah,” Jake said. “All right, I'll leave Deon behind.”
“How many men do you think you'll need?”
“Eight should do it,” Jake replied. “That would be Tom and whoever I get instead of Deon, and five more.”
“That's only seven.”
“I'll be the eighth man,” Jake said.
Bob ran his hand through his hair.
“Wait a minute, hold it. What do you mean, you? Jake, there's no need for you to go.”
“The hell there isn't,” Jake replied. “I'm the one that came up with the idea.”
“We've had advanced ground teams laser painting targets for years now,” Bob said. “You didn't come up with the idea.”
“I didn't come up with laser painting, no. But I came up with this particular op plan. Bob, I'm the best one to implement this and you know it.”
“You're a general now, Jake, and not just any general. You are the top general in our entire army. And here you are, wanting to do the job of an O-3.”
“Bob, is it that you don't want to send me because we have become close personal friends? You know damn well that can never let that be a consideration.”
“That's not true, Jake, and you know it,” Bob said, a little more sharply than he intended.
“I'm sorry, Bob,” Jake said apologetically. “I was out of line with that comment. But please don't try and talk me out of this. I need to do this.”
Bob looked at Jake for a moment, then he laughed. “I swear to God, Jake, if I thought there really was anything to reincarnation; I would swear you are George S. Patton.”
“You want to see my ivory-handled pistol?” Jake teased.
Bob sighed. “All right, Jake, if you want to go, I won't talk you out of it.”
Jake smiled broadly. “What makes you think you could talk me out of it?”
In the air over southern Florida
The floor of the C-17 had eighteen reinforced pallet positions which would enable it to carry over 170,000 pounds of cargo. It could accommodate one hundred and two fully equipped paratroopers, though now there were only eight. On the inside wall, just above Jake Lantz, the broken-letter words
HYDRAULIC LINE SERVICE ACCESS
were stenciled in black on a cadmium yellow patch. Through his buttocks, legs, and back, Jake could feel the power of the 41,000 pounds of thrust generated by each of the four Pratt and Whitney F117-PW-100 turbofan engines.
Jake had personally assembled the team and now, in the red night light of the cabin, he looked around at the others. The loadmaster was sitting on the canvas bench at the front of the airplane, connected to the pilot and co-pilot by a cord than ran from his headset to a receptacle on the forward bulkhead. Willie and Marcus had talked Jake into letting them come along, and right now Willie had his head back and his eyes closed, sleeping, or pretending to be asleep. Tom, Gilmore, Ferrell and Lewis were playing hearts.
Deon had insisted, with Julie's blessing, that he be included with the assault team and he was just sitting there, staring straight ahead.
A short time ago the airplane had encountered some very rough air and Deon had thrown up.
Ferrell laughed. “Damn, Cap'n, I didn't know we were riding with a pussy.”
The others laughed.
“Tell you what, Cap'n Pratt, I've got some bacon on me. It's raw and a couple of days old but still good. You want some? That might help,” Ferrell said.
“Ferrell, if you don't shut up, I'm going to puke all over you,” Deon said.
“You're okay, Cap'n, you're a good man,” Ferrell said. “I can't think of anyone I'd rather be with, 'ceptin' maybe General Lantz. They tell me he used to gargle with glass, just so he could chew some ass.”
Jake chuckled. “Ferrell, you are as full of crap as a Christmas goose.”
The loadmaster leaned back to call out to Jake.
“General, the pilot says we'll be over the DZ in fifteen minutes.”
Jake nodded, then looked toward his men. “Get ready,” he said, though the order wasn't necessary as they had all heard the loadmaster's comments. They would be jumping, but rather than the conventional jump with a static line and chute, they would be making a HALO jump, meaning a high altitude egress, low altitude opening. The chute they would be using was the MC-4, a paraglide chute that would allow them maximum maneuverability once it was opened.
The loadmaster disconnected his headset, then walked to the back of the plane where he reconnected. Jake could see his lips moving, and knew he was talking to the pilot, but couldn't hear him above the noise of the airplane. Again, disconnecting, the loadmaster came back to Jake.
“Sir, we're going to depressurize the cabin now,” he said.
“Helmets on, oxygen on!” Jake said to his team.
Jake put his helmet on, then turned on the oxygen. The raw oxygen reminded him of the smell of air just before a rain. With the night goggles, everything took on a green tint.
There was a noticeable change in pressure inside the cabin as the crew chief bled off the pressurization. Because depressurization took away the cabin oxygen, the crew chief had also donned an oxygen mask.
“Stand up,” Jake said. His words were transmitted by the helmet-embedded radio to the others, and his entire team stood.
“Check your equipment,” Jake said, and each man checked the equipment of the man in front of him. Jake checked Tom's equipment, then he turned around so Tom could check his.
“Listen up. Captain Jack will be the first man out, I'll be the last man in the stick, and I don't want to be more than two seconds behind Jack, so when you get to the door, don't hang around.”
The loadmaster opened the door and the noise level increased significantly. Also, because at this altitude the outside temperature was twenty-five degrees below zero, even at this latitude, Jake felt an immediate blast of cold.
The men looked at the lights beside the door. Because of the night vision goggles, they couldn't tell the difference in color, but they didn't need to. They had made enough jumps that they knew the positions of the standby and jump lamps.
The jump light came on and Tom was out the door. In less than two seconds, Jake was out as well. At first there was the familiar little drop in his stomach but as his velocity stabilized he felt nothing more than a sense of freedom. He looked around at the others and saw that all six were falling under control. Then he looked down where, far below, he could see the delineation of sea and land as the surf broke against the beach.
“Sound off,” he said into the radio.
“One okay.” Tom replied.
“Two okay,” Deon said.
Three to seven also replied. All jumpers were in the air with radios and oxygen working.
They were out over the water, but the jump had been perfectly timed so that, once they opened their chutes, they would be able to glide to shore. Looking back up Jake saw the airplane that had brought them making a one-hundred-eighty degree turn as it started back to Pensacola.
The eight men continued to streak down without a parachute. After a fall of two full minutes, Jake deployed his chute. He felt the satisfying jerk of the opening shock then started steering the chute toward land. Hitting the beach, Patterson took a couple of steps to stabilize himself. Looking around he saw that the others were down as well.
Moving quickly, the men got off the beach and ran into the cover of the trees. There, they gathered their equipment bags, then buried their chutes.
As they approached the air base through the darkness of night, and then the shadows of early morning, they could see the beacon light flashing white, white, green. They kept off the main road and followed a trail through the woods, finally breaking out on the far side of the base, well away from the control tower and administration buildings. There was only one runway to the airport, 05 and 23, which was 11,200 feet long. At least ten F-16s were parked alongside the runway, though none were in revetments.
“All right, you know what to do,” Jake said. “Tom, you, Willie and Lewis take out the radar. Deon, you, Ferrell, and Cates take out the aircraft. Marcus, you come with me. We'll take out the SAM sights. Get to your objectives, get in position, set up your lasers, and wait.”
Tom, Willie, and Lewis moved away from the others then set up their laser targeting equipment to await contact. As they waited, they lay in a ditch to minimize the chances of being seen. Both were wearing camouflage paint and an insect repellent to help with the swarm of mosquitoes that were hovering over a standing puddle of water.
C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-ONE
“Phoenix, Lancer over.”
The call came over the small radio they were carrying. Phoenix was Jake's call sign.
“Get ready,” Deon said. “I think things are about to happen.
They heard Jake's response. “
This is Phoenix, go ahead.”
“Ready to tag?”
“Roger, ready to tag. One and two, tag now.”
Deon painted all ten F-16s with his laser, then activated a transponder code.
“Lancer, do you have a reading?” Jake asked.
“I roger alpha one, delta one, kilo one,”
Lancer replied.
“That's affirmative.”
“Keep your heads down,”
Lancer said.
“Get ready,” Deon said to the others.
Suddenly four F-22 Raptor jets appeared, almost as if from nowhere. They passed over Deon's head, low and fast, the sound following them so loud that Deon could actually feel the shock wave. Rockets spewed forth from the wings of the four aircraft, then laced into the parked F-16s. As the four Raptors pulled up, all ten F-16s went up in huge balls of flame, and heavy, stomach shaking explosions rolled out across the field. At the same time the F-16s exploded, there could hear explosions in two other parts of the airfield.
There were a total of six Raptors that conducted the strike, four on the aircraft and the other two on the Sam and radar sites. Now the six jets reassembled into formation and pulled into an almost ninety degree climb, roaring up on twin pillars of fire from their two F-119-100 turbofan engines. Within seconds they were so high that all that could be seen of them were the little bright points of light that were their engines.
With the roar of the raptors gone the only sounds remaining were the sounds of the many fires the attack had started.
“Ha,” Willie said. “I guess we waxed their ass pretty good.”
“Yeah, I'd say we did,” Tom replied.
Â
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At that very moment, Mike Lindell and Clipper Bivens were half an hour out over the water. Although Lindell was the command pilot, Clipper was flying.
“There's the signal,” Clipper said, seeing a flash on his screen. “We're thirty minutes away.”
Mike put his hands on the cyclic and collective. “Right, I've got it,” he said.
Â
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On the ground Jake's team had already rendezvoused at the prearranged pickup point and they were now having their breakfast of MREs when they heard the popping sound of approaching rotor blades.
“Damn,” Cates said. “I thought they were half an hour away yet. How'd they get here so quick? I'll wave them in.” He started out into the small clearing.
“Wait a minute,” Marcus said. “That's not a Blackhawk.”
“How do you know?”
“I would recognize the sound of a Blackhawk in my sleep,” Marcus said. “That's not a Blackhawk.”
Cates laughed. “You're full of crap. I'm goin' to wave 'em in.”
“Get back here, Cates, Marcus is right,” Jake said, but his warning was too late. The helicopter suddenly popped up above the tree line and fired machine guns. Cates went down, then they saw the helicopter pass overhead, stand on the tip of its rotor blades, then come back, spitting fire from its guns.
“Son of a bitch! That's a Russian helicopter!” Jake said.
The helicopter was an MI-28 attack helicopter, bristling with a weapons array. It was also known also as a Hind.
They waited until the helicopter made its second pass, then Deon darted out into the clearing, intending to drag Cates out of the line of fire. He saw, right away, that it wasn't necessary. Cates was dead.
As the helicopter came back on a third pass, Deon ran hard back toward the tree line, even as the bullets were kicking up dirt on either side of him. He barely made it in time, diving over a bush, and rolling out of the way as the helicopter passed overhead.
“Are you hit?” Jake called.
“No, sir.”
“There's no way our guys can pick us up with that son of a bitch here,” Jake said. “We're going to have to bring it down.”
“How are we going to do that, General? All we have are pistols,” Lewis said.
Tom Jack smiled and held up his finger. “Not exactly,” he said. Reaching into his equipment bag, he pulled out a short tube and rocket.
“Whoa! You brought along a Stinger?” Deon asked. “Damn, Tom, you're my man!”
“I can't get him from here, though,” Tom said. “I'm going to have to get out in the clearing.”
“Commander, that's not too smart,” Lewis said.
“Lewis, are you calling a superior officer dumb?” Tom asked.
“What? Uh, no, sir,” Lewis started, but when he saw Tom laughing, he added, “Just stupid, sir.”
Tom chuckled, then stepped back out into the clearing as the helicopter was pivoting around for another pass. He stood there with his right arm behind his back, while his left arm was extended with pistol in hand.
“What the hell is he doing?” Marcus asked.
“It would be my guess that he is suckering them in,” Deon said.
The helicopter flared to a stop, then hovered there for a moment, as if the pilots couldn't believe they were being challenged by one man with a pistol.
Suddenly Tom dropped the pistol, then brought the Stinger around, put it on his shoulder, and aimed.
Seeing that, the pilots realized they had been tricked. They dropped the nose, added power, and pulled collective as they tried to accelerate out of danger, but it was too late. Tom fired, and the missile flew forward, punching through the rotor blades and exploding in the engine compartment. The helicopter blew apart in midair, then crashed to the ground in flaming pieces.
“Phoenix, this is Hillclimber, do you read?”
Jake grabbed the SINCGARS (Single Channel Ground and Airborne Radio System) to respond. The radio used a transmission security key to generate a frequency hopping mode, preset by time of day supplied by a GPS receiver. This enabled them to talk in the clear, without fear of having their transmissions intercepted.
“We read, Hillclimber.”
“Phoenix, pop smoke.”
“We just did, Hillclimber.”
“The only smoke we see is coming from what looks like a pretty big fire.”
“Yeah, that would be us. But if you want, I'll be a little more conventional for you.”
Jake pulled the pin, opened his hand to let the spoon pop free, then he tossed a smoke grenade to the side. Almost immediately it began gushing out smoke.
In the helicopter, Clipper was looking ahead toward the huge pillar of smoke when he saw a small, twisting rope of green smoke beginning to rise.
“Phoenix, we have green,”
Clipper said.
“Roger green, Hillclimber. Be advised, we have one KIA.”
“Understand you have one KIA?”
“That's affirmative.”
“There they are,” Clipper said, pointing to a small opening ahead.
Lindell setup his approach, lowering pitch and decreasing power. As the rotor blades began to cavitate down through their own rotor wash, they started to pop loudly. Looking off to the left they saw the burning remains of a helicopter.
Lindell set them down, then waited as Jake and his team hurried toward them. Two of them were carrying a third man and the door gunner got out to help bring the body aboard.
“Everyone is in, Mr. Lindell,” the crew chief said.
Lindell pulled pitch and the Blackhawk made a very steep climb out, then turned and started home.
Kuchenwerkstatt Gasthaus, Hamburg, Germany
“Have you eaten here before?” Aleksander Mironov asked.
“No, this is my first time,” Bryan Gates said. He looked around the dining room and saw only two other tables occupied. “There aren't many here.”
“It's always quiet during the day. They do most of their business at night. That's why Sorroto and Golovin chose this place to meet.”
“Bitte?”
the waiter said as he approached the table.
“You must let me order for you,” Mironov said.
“All right.”
“Gebratenen Lamm, Bratkartoffeln, Artischocken-herzen, und Ihre besten Wein, bitte,”
Mironov ordered.
“Sehr gut.”
“I've never been that big on lamb,” Bryan Gates said. “But if you say try it, I will.”
“You won't be disappointed. The Kuchenwerkstatt is known for their lamb.”
“How is my friend Nicolai Petrovich?”
“He is recovering well,” Mironov said. “He wanted to do this himself, to have . . . what is it you Americans say? Closure?”
“Yes, closure.”
“But I assured him that the job would be done.”
“I thought when we got rid of the last . . . shipment, that there wouldn't be another,” Bryan said.
“Nothing has been moved yet. That is why Golovin is here to meet with Sorroto. They are here to make the final arrangements.
“Yes,” Bryan said.
Their meal was delivered, and for the next few minutes they ate with enjoyment.
“Are you sure about how you are going to do this?” Mironov asked.
“Yes. Why? Are you having second thoughts?”
“No, I'm not having second thoughts about doing it. Just about how you plan to do it.”
“I'm the one taking the risk. All you have to do is drive the getaway motorcycle.”
“But what you have planned, my friend. It is unheard of.”
Bryan chuckled. “No, it isn't. Not at all. Haven't you ever seen the movie
The Godfather
?”
“No.”
“When Michael Corleone kills Sollozo, he does it right in broad daylight, in the middle of Louis's Restaurant. The gunshots were so loud that it scared the shit out of everyone else.”
“And that's what you are counting on?”
“Yes.”
Mironov shook his head and chuckled. “Did you do things like this when we were enemies?”
“Here now, you don't want me to give away all my secrets, do you?”
“They are here,” Mironov said.
Looking through the window, Bryan saw Sorroto and General Golovin coming up the walk together.
“Will Golovin recognize you?” Bryan asked.
“No, we have never met. But I have seen his picture many times.”
“Yes, the same with me. I have never met Sorroto, but I have seen the son of a bitch's picture, many times.”
Mironov laughed. “
Da,
Golovin is also a
sookin sin
.”
“
Meine Rechnung bitte,”
Bryan said, asking the waiter for the check.
“Ja.”
“As soon as the waiter brings me the bill, you go start the motorcycle. From the moment it starts, count to ten, then race the engine to make as much noise as you can,” Bryan said.
“
Da
.”
While they waited for the bill to be brought to the table, Bryan looked over at Sorroto and Golovin. They had chosen one of the small tables and were sitting directly across from each other. The approach to the
Herrentoilette
would take someone right by their table, so he could approach without arousing suspicion.
“Look, there is a fire exit just before you go into the men's room. I'll come out through that door.”
“I'll be there, my friend,” Mironov said.
At that moment the waiter brought the bill and as Bryan paid it, Mironav left the café. A moment later, Bryan heard the motorcycle start and began to count. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a snub-nosed thirty-eight revolver and held it unseen by his side. At the count of five he started toward the table where Sorroto and Golovin were engaged in conversation so intense that they either didn't see him approach, or paid no attention to him.
At the count of ten, the sound of the motorcycle became so loud that everyone in the café looked toward the window in obvious annoyance. Bryan stopped at Sorroto's table and raised the pistol. Sorroto barely had time to register surprise before Bryan pulled the trigger. Golovin looked on in total shock, first at the black hole in Sorroto's forehead, then toward Bryan. Bryan pulled the trigger a second time, again hitting his target right in the forehead.
For a moment the other diners thought they were hearing the motorcycle backfire, then a woman looked over and saw the two dead men at the table. She screamed, but by that time Bryan was climbing onto the back of the motorcycle.
Five miles away from the Kuchenwerkstatt Gasthaus they ditched the motorcycle and climbed into a rented Mercedes. Half an hour later Bryan was on an Air Lufthansa flight for Nassau.