Brown, Dale - Independent 02 (90 page)

 
          
The
Stealth’s fighter crews were prepared for evasive maneuvers and even lower
bomb-run altitudes but they received no indications of attack as they started
their run. Instead of evading all the way to the runway, they were able to roll
into their target and stabilize for several seconds, picking their aimpoints.

 
          
Each
fighter-bomber carried two Durandal runway-cratering bombs and four
infrared-imaging guided Maverick missiles. Taking ten-second separation between
planes, the first Stealth fighter raced over the main runway, dropping the
Durandal bombs along the runway centerline in two-thousand-foot intervals. The
Durandal bombs had rocket-propelled warheads in them that dug several feet into
the runway, then detonated with the shattering force of five hundred pounds of
dynamite. The underground explosion heaved the steel reinforced concrete runway
ten feet high out of a thirty- foot-wide crater, causing huge slabs of concrete
to fly out of the hole like a deck of cards thrown into the wind. Because
Verrettes had a wide parallel taxiway, the second Stealth fighter attacked that
taxiway in the same way.

 
          
Within
minutes the runway and main parallel taxiway at Verrettes were made completely
unusable to fixed-wing jet aircraft—only a helicopter or light plane could
safely avoid the craters.

 
          
The
Stealth fighter crew had their eight Maverick missile’s targets very carefully
laid out in advance. The fighter-bombers peeled off to the south of the base,
executed several clearing turns to scan for pursuit or ground fire, then turned
north back toward the base and lined up on their targets. Two missiles were
immediately designated for the alert shelters at the end of the main runway;
the rest were targeted against the larger hangars and fuel stubs where jet
aircraft had been parked when McLanahan and Powell made their reconnaissance
trip. One by one the Stealth crews searched out a target with their scanners,
locked the image in their sights and launched the Maverick missile at a one- to
two-mile range. The first F-117 would head in, fire a missile, clear the
target, execute a clearing turn and turn in toward the next target while the
second fighter made its attack. The two planes were like incessant insects,
pouncing on a target, flying away out of reach, then zooming in again and
again.

 
          
It
did not take long to expend eight Maverick missiles. The Stealth fighters made
one more pass over the base to examine the damage and consider reattacks on any
targets that had only minor damage or for targets of opportunity. Each Stealth
fighter also carried an internal twenty-millimeter gun with five hundred rounds
of armorpiercing high-explosive ammunition, but no targets of opportunity seemed
to be evident.

 
          
“Lion
Seven-One, this is Shadow Flight. Off the target and clear. We will rendezvous
and stand by for damage assessment by Lion Two-Nine. Over.”

 
          
“Seven-One
copies. Clear of traffic.” The E-2 Hawkeye would continue to scan for any signs
of pursuit as the Stealth fighters made their way out of Verrettes at treetop
level and clear of
Haiti
. Once out over the
Gulf
of
Gonave
with no pursuit, they began a climb to a
more fuel-efficient altitude and set up to refuel with the KC-135 tanker orbiting
with the E-2.

 
          
Within
two minutes the second raid of the F-117 Stealth fighter— the first had been
against the Panamanian Defense Force in January of 1990 before the capture of
Manuel Noriega—was successfully completed.

 
          
The
AV-22 made its first pass over Verrettes at high speed—nearly five miles per
minute—in case the base’s air defense units had not been completely destroyed
and had been reorganized after the Stealth fighter’s attack. With the Sea Lion
on hard autopilot, Hardcastle and Masters searched the base for signs of
activity—the winking of anti-aircraft guns, scrambled taxi lights, even
missiles being fired at them. Nothing. No lights on the base, none near the
parking ramps, no sign of activity at all. The two switched between the FLIR
scanner and regular visual checks—nothing.

 
          
Regardless,
Masters performed a hard, sweeping combat break- and-clearing turn at the end
of the runway in case they were pursued after their pass. He used the Sea
Lion’s proprotors and maneuverability to quickly change direction, swoop down
to below treetop level and skim the ground at low altitude. He headed for a
clear section of ground right behind the alert hangars—his first targets.

 
          
“Cannon
and missile pods deployed,” Hardcastle called out. “Pods armed and ready.
TADS/PNVS to enable and COMBAT.”

 
          
Masters
hovered twenty feet above ground behind the open backside of the alert
shelters, searching for aircraft, soldiers, vehicles— nothing. The two Maverick
missiles from the Stealth fighters had turned the insides of the shelters into
burnt hulks of charred wood and twisted metal. The roof had collapsed, only
small sections of the block walls were still standing. Masters searched hard
and fast for a target—and found nothing.

 
          
“Time,”
Hardcastle shouted. Masters poured the power on, sending his Sea Lion into a
hard climb over the shelter. He quickly pivoted around at the top of the climb,
pushed the nose down and zoomed back facing in the opposite direction, training
the Chain Gun on the buildings and few trees behind the alert aircraft
shelters. Again he searched for vehicles or troops that might have tried to get
behind the AV-22 while it was in its hover—nothing.

 
          
“No
aircraft in these shelters,” Masters called out. “I see no vehicles, no troops,
no bodies. The place looks deserted. This morning they had a jet-fighter
squadron here
—we saw the pictures.
They must’ve had two dozen planes here, maybe two hundred men. How could they
have packed up so fast?”

 
          
“They’ve
got to be nearby,” Hardcastle said. “Keep searching the buildings near the
runway. We’ll send out the I-Team if we find nothing else.”

 
          
Using
unexpected severe cuts and maneuvers, Masters darted from building to building
and from section to section, never being too predictable, never spending more
than a few seconds on any spot before darting away. But after a few more
minutes Hardcastle was convinced—the place was deserted.

 
          
Masters
flew the AV-22 to the opposite side of the runway from the parking ramp and
hangars and as close to a grove of trees as he could for seclusion and
protection from shoulder-fired missiles. “All right, I-Team,” Hardcastle said,
“we’ve swept the area and found nothing. We’ll roll in across the runway
between those two big hangars there, drop off the I-Team and get out again. You
guys sweep the area for a few hundred yards. We’ll orbit the periphery of the
base and check for any soldiers that might be hiding and getting ready to move
in on us. When the parking area’s secure we’ll come back and land.”

           
The AV-22 picked up about ten feet
off the ground, then raced across the runway at almost a hundred miles an hour.
Once he reached the parking area Masters pivoted the big tilt-rotor plane so
his nose was facing out toward the runway and dropped quickly down to the
pavement. The I-Team members scrambled out the rear cargo ramp, fanning out in
different directions. They raised their rifles to any opening, rooftop or
shadows they could find, ready to repel a sudden attack. When the last man was
off, the AV-22 lifted straight up a hundred feet into the darkness, then turned
and sped away.

 
          
The
occupied part of the base was not very big, and it only took a few moments to
cruise the perimeter. No sign of life. Off in the distance they detected a
truck slowly heading toward the base, but it was several miles off and at its
present speed and judging by the steep, twisting roads, would take a long time
to reach them. Masters followed the main road from the front gate to the
headquarters building, and although he did find a few abandoned vehicles with
warm engine compartments he did not see one living being anywhere.

 
          
“I-Team,
report,” Hardcastle said over the radio net. Masters cruised by the parking
area again and set down in case any of the team needed support. But the I-Team
had dispersed and there was no one else around—not even animals or birds.

 
          
“West
sweep is negative,” the I-Team leader, Arturo Cordova, reported. “I’ve checked
all hangars in this direction. They obviously left in one helluva hurry.”

 
          
“North
sweep is negative,” another member reported. “I’m in the control tower. They
left log books, notes, schedules, but no sign of soldiers or any recent
activity.”

 
          
“Collect
all the logbooks you can carry,” Hardcastle said. “We’ll make another sweep of
the runway and perimeter and meet back between the hangars in ten minutes.”

 
          
“I-Team
copies.” Cordova and his partner ran off toward the control tower to help with
the search.

 
          
Masters
lifted off and started another inspection of the trees and fence line. They
found spots where towable anti-aircraft guns could have been placed, low-walled
bunkers with separate ammunition bunkers nearby, but the pads and bunkers were
empty. “They booked, all right,” Hardcastle said. “They packed up this entire
unit and bugged out in less than eighteen hours. That’s pretty damn amazing.”

 
          
Just
then, Elliott called on the command net: “Two-Nine, this is Seven-One. Looks
like you might have company. Judging by their speed, you could have a light
fixed wing or chopper heading toward your position. His takeoff point looked
like
Port-au-Prince
. He’s got modes and codes—might be a
Haitian military or police investigator. His ETA is one-three minutes. What’s
your status?”

 
          
“The
place is deserted,” Hardcastle said.
“Nothing
here. We’re picking up a few logbooks and records they left behind.”

 
          
“Okay.
We need to start heading north with the drones to maintain contact so we need
you airborne in ten minutes. Get FLIR videotapes of the base as you head out
for damage assessment.”

 
          
“Copy
that, Seven-One.” Hardcastle looked at Masters and shook his head. “Elliott
sounds like real calm, like attacking a deserted home base is par for the
course for him.”

 
          
“He
couldn’t have known they’d bug out so fast. Still . . .”

 
          
“Still,
it makes him, and us, look like idiots,” Hardcastle said. “This was a
well-planned well-executed sortie. Only one goddamn little problem—the bad guys
already got away.”

 
          
Aboard
the E-2 Hawkeye Radar Plane, Lion Seven-One

 
          
Several Minutes Later

 
          
Elliott
sat back in his seat between the radar operator and McLanahan’s drone-control
console. He was drained, could barely stand to look at the radar scopes any
longer.

 
          
“Two-Nine’s
airborne,” the radar controller reported. “That air target is still ten miles
out, still heading for Verrettes. No other sign of pursuit.”

 
          
“Full
connectivity with all drones,” McLanahan reported. “Should be able to recover
all of them back at
Aladdin
City
.”

 
          
Elliott
nodded, rubbing his eyes wearily. “Send the Stealth fighters home,” he told the
controller. “We’ll debrief once we get back on the ground. Tell them well done.
Which is more than I can say for myself.”

 
          
“I
still can’t believe it,” McLanahan said. “A
U.S.
fighter base could probably pack up twenty
planes and disperse them in eighteen hours, weapons and all, but they couldn’t
move all of its maintenance, administrative and operational assets in so short
a time. These guys moved
everything.
Obviously they knew we were coming for them.” He paused, then added: “You
couldn't have known they would punch out so fast, general. Anyway, you
had
to go in there.” “They must have
planned to move their operation at the same time they planned to attack the
aerostat units,” Elliott said. “They figured we’d retaliate right away after
such an attack—the strike aircraft were probably the last ones to leave
Verrettes.”