Assault on Alpha Base (12 page)

“The call sign checks out, sir,” interrupted Zolley.

“Checks out with whom?”

“With the weekly list, sir.”

“But not necessarily with what left Pete Field.” McGriffin placed a hand on the back of his chair.

“What are you saying, sir?” said Zolley slowly.

“Did you ever see
A Gathering of Eagles,
Chief?” Frowning, Zolley shook his head no. “I must have seen that thing a hundred times at the Academy— they were always pumping us full of that Air Force rah-rah bull during Basic summer. Anyway, there’s a spot in that movie where the wing commander loses his job because of an Operational Readiness Inspection. He wasn’t prepared for what the readiness team threw at him.” McGriffin nodded his head. “I’ll bet ten to one that’s what STRATCOM has done. They’re throwing us a ringer—probably got an ORI set up to catch us napping.”

“Major McGriffin.” Staff Sergeant Sanchez stood and held a hand over the receiver.

“Yes?”

“Sir, Peterson Field says no C-130 from there is anywhere near Wendover.”

“Are they sure?”

“Absolutely. They had planned a sortie and even scheduled an arrival time of 2300, but they’re having a freak snowstorm and all of their birds are grounded.”

McGriffin slammed a hand against the back of his chair. The command post grew quiet at the exchange. He nodded to Sanchez. “Thanks, Sergeant; I remember it
can
snow in June there.” He turned to Zolley. “Well, what do you think?”

“I kind of like your Operational Readiness Inspection idea, sir. But if the 130 said it’s from Pete Field—and yet Pete doesn’t know anything about it …” He trailed off.

“Yeah,” said McGriffin. He spun the chair around and plopped down in the seat. Drumming his fingers on the desk, he suddenly asked Zolley, “Did base ops get a look at the tail number on that 130?”

Chief Zolley’s brows lifted. “They didn’t say. Good idea, sir.” A minute later he put the phone down. “They can’t see anything. He took a long roll on landing, then when he taxied, lingered near the helicopter apron. When he refueled, it looked like he was all black—he insisted he could refuel for only fifteen minutes before leaving, too. He’s just been cleared for takeoff.”

McGriffin closed his eyes. “All black. It could be a Blackbird—one of the special ops birds at Hurlburt; but those guys still play by the rules.” He opened his eyes and swiveled around. “Any chance it could have been something out of Tonopah, Area-51?”

If the command post was silent before, it was as lively as a morgue now. Tonopah was the highly classified air base a few hundred miles north of Las Vegas, rumored to house the Air Force’s newest “black” programs—that’s where the stealth fighters and bombers started out, and other things that the Air Force never admitted existed.

Zolley slowly shook his head. “No way, Major. We
always
get advance notice about anything from there coming our way. We lock the runway up so tight, not even the rattlesnakes can get in or out.”

McGriffin threw a glance at the clock. “They’re cleared to take off in five minutes—maybe I should raise Colonel DeVries …” He trailed off.

Just having a plane land and take off was nothing to get excited about. So why should he worry?

Because of Alpha Base.

Wendover might be hicksville compared to Tacoma, but Wendover AFB had a heck of a lot more dangerous “assets.” Like the free world’s largest repository of nuclear weapons.

“Chief, have base ops call the 130 back. I want to ask them some questions.”

Zolley spoke up once he raised the tower. “The aircraft refuses to acknowledge them, Major. There is incoming traffic, two jets on final, coming up in the next four minutes—the 130 is cleared to roll after the jets land.”

McGriffin drew in a breath.
Five minutes. The command post is right on the runway
—
a staff car could race out to the taxi pad and get a visual on the tail number in two minutes. There’s plenty of time.

He made up his mind. “Chief—you’ve got the command post while I’m gone. Keep in contact with me at all times. I’ll take one of the encrypted cell phones.”

“You’ll have to use an open channel, Major. The secure units are on the blink.”

“What else could go wrong?” No one answered the rhetorical question. “All right, I’ll use the jeep radio.” The clock blinked, showing four minutes until takeoff. “Contact the helicopter squadron. Tell them about the C-130 loitering around their apron, and have one of their guys meet me out there. I’m off.”

As they cycled the door, he remembered leaving his hat on the desk. He fleetingly remembered a horse’s rear colonel chewing him out in front of the base gym when he had failed to put on his hat. McGriffin had thought at the time: you command what you know. Wearing a hat had been a big deal then.

Now he didn’t even think about going back to get it.

Chapter 15

Saturday, 18 June, 2241 local

Wendover AFB

Harding ducked into the personnel carrier. He instantly popped back up with two rifles. He tossed one of them to Vikki. “Get the hell out of here. Cover the APC.” He yelled down inside the personnel carrier: “Punch out the back. We’ve got visitors.”

He pushed Vikki off the vehicle. She tumbled against the side and managed to land on her feet. She started to curse him, but realized that if they were fired upon, the APC would draw bullets like a magnet.

Keeping low to the ground, Vikki sprinted to a small depression. Crouching, she brought her rifle up and swiveled toward the approaching headlights.

In the dark the APC appeared as just another murky object. The headlights scared her. Maybe it’s just a random check, she thought. If it were a full-scale attempt to stop us, all hell should have broken loose.

Unless Britnell hadn’t told her everything.

She grew suddenly chilled at the thought. What if Britnell hadn’t played straight with her—what if he’d been leading her on, gathering snips of information, and dealing with the brass on Wendover? What if they knew about all the information she had gotten from Britnell—the map?

She dismissed the thought. Britnell had been too open, too vulnerable with her. She
knew.
Besides, he couldn’t have discovered their plans.

Vikki grasped her weapon tightly and followed the headlights through the gun sight.

A minute passed … as the lights grew closer, she heard music blaring from the vehicle. The car weaved down the road, screeching to a halt fifty feet from the APC. Laughter, clinking bottles, and smells of pot and liquor drifted from the car.

Vikki brought the rifle down.
Kids!

Saturday night was international date night, and Wendover AFB was not excluded, especially from military brats. Vikki relaxed.
If those damn kids would only get the hell out of here...

The laughter grew louder as car doors opened. “... I got to take a whiz. I’ll be right back.” A figure staggered to the hangar. Vikki peered through the darkness. She made out the features of two girls and a boy in the car.
Two couples.
It could have been her, twenty years ago, on a double date back in Colorado...

A teenager’s voice called from the hangar. “Hey, look at this!” The laughter in the car abated.

“Hurry up. We don’t have all night.”

“A moving van. Holy cow, it’s an abandoned party wagon!”

The hilarity inside the car increased. The occupants spilled out and picked themselves up. Weaving to the van, they met their compatriot. They wandered around the van, inspecting the cab and giggling in low whispers.

“Oh, wow. I don’t believe it—”

“Do.” Colonel Renault and ten of his men materialized in front of the kids, weapons leveled.

“Oh, shit.” One of the teenagers wavered.

“Not another word from any of you.” Renault waved his rifle at the two couples. “Climb inside the back of the truck. Move it.”

The men opened ranks and formed a conduit to the moving van. They roughly pushed the kids up inside. One of the girls started sobbing.

“Shut up,” snarled Renault.

The teenager who first climbed out of the car picked himself up and nursed an injured elbow. “Hey, what the hell do you sky cops think you’re doing? Roughing us up—who do you think you are?”

Renault floored the youngster with his rifle butt. He glared at the rest of them and jumped from the van. Crying came from inside.

Vikki ran up just as Harding arrived. She brushed back her hair, then looped it back into a knot so it wouldn’t get in the way. “Tie them up and get the hell out of here. We’re running late.”

Renault remained silent. He looked at Harding.

Harding narrowed his eyes. “Well?”

“Your call, Dr. Harding. Ms. Osborrn is right. We’re starting to cut it close. We can’t afford to wait around here any longer.”

Harding wet his lips. Even in the dark Vikki could tell that his face was flushed. “Let’s get going. We’ve come too far to back down.”

Vikki turned to one of Renault’s men. “Tie up the kids and get back to the APC.”

The man didn’t budge. “Colonel?”

Renault raised his brows at Harding. “Well?”

Harding nodded, seemingly oblivious to Vikki’s presence. He whispered, “Get rid of them.”

Vikki put an edge to her voice. She addressed Renault’s men again. “You heard him, tie them up—”

“I
said,
get rid of them.”

“What!” Vikki looked incredulous.

Harding stared down Vikki. “We can’t let a bunch of damn kids ruin this.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Anthony? You’ve got four kids in that van, crapping in their pants, scared out of their wits we’re going to kill them. If we tie them up, there’s no way they’re going to get loose in less than an hour. By then we’ll be smack in the middle of Alpha Base—”

Harding cut her off with a wave. “And what happens if in two minutes after we leave they’re found by a security police patrol? We
can’t
afford to screw up.”

“But these are just kids …”

“What’s more important, dammit? This operation or a couple of kids’ lives?” Harding whirled and pointed at Renault. “Get rid of them.” He stomped off toward the APC.

Vikki stood in a daze. She couldn’t believe her ears. It was one thing for her to kill Britnell—the poor slob didn’t deserve to live, the way he’d used her, leeched off her, but killing four kids?

Twenty years ago it could have been her.

The girls must have been shot first, because it was a male scream that pierced the dark.

She walked numbly to the personnel carrier. Men rushed past her, climbing back into the APC through the back access.

Renault passed her, then slowed, allowing her to catch up. He pulled on a short cigarette. “Welcome to the club, Ms. Osborrn.” She didn’t answer. Renault continued, “Dr. Harding’s decision to kill those kids was just as hard as yours to kill that airman earlier tonight. Don’t damn him because of it.”

“But that security police fascist
deserved
to die—”

“Nobody
deserves to die, Ms. Osborrn. So don’t go playing God. That airman wasn’t some roach you step on, grinding out of existence without a thought. People kill for different reasons—because the victim ‘deserves to die’ isn’t one of them. On my team, my men kill because I tell them.”

“What about you, Colonel? Why do you kill?” Vikki asked coolly.

Renault threw his cigarette down and ground it out with a heel. “I kill for money, so I guess that makes me a capitalist. What’s your excuse?”

He unshouldered his rifle and walked faster, leaving her behind him.

Vikki drew in several breaths. Reaching the APC, she swung up, adrenaline pumping her full of newfound energy. She tossed her rifle to the men inside. “Let’s get the hell out of here. We’ve got a crater full of nukes waiting.”

Sealing the hatch above her, she wiggled to a free spot. Renault squeezed in the driver’s compartment. She ignored him.

Renault flipped up the television screen. The ground around them glowed an eerie hue, shown as black-on-white contrast from infrared sensors mounted outside the APC. Piped in through optic fibers, the IR imaging highlighted everything around the APC for hundreds of yards.

Vikki watched the IR screen as Renault started off across the desert. He kept away from the access road and other hot spots showing up on the screen. Harding tapped her on the shoulder.

“Do you want to man the IFF?”

“Sure.” Vikki exchanged places with him. Sitting that close to Renault had made her self-conscious. Moments before, he had struck at a nerve she couldn’t quite define.

The Identification Friend or Foe unit kept her busy, making the trip to Alpha Base seem shorter. Harding crammed next to Renault, listening to Alpha Base radio frequencies.

Vikki looked over Renault’s shoulder at the map Britnell had given her. She spoke up. “We’re entering the active zone, five miles from Alpha Base.”

Renault replied without looking at her. “Just keep us away from the sensors and we’ll worry about everything else.”

A light on the IFF flickered faintly. “Try heading north,” Vikki said. Renault responded instantly. The light on the IFF disappeared.

Harding turned and shot her a glance. She couldn’t read his eyes—they were still glazed from the killing he had ordered not five minutes ago. Vikki set her mouth. She was still in this—she hadn’t changed her views. Renault had reminded her of that. But now she wondered if Harding had changed, and what he was doing this for.

2242 local

Wendover AFB

McGriffin ground the jeep’s transmission as he tried to shift into second. Finally finding the gear, he immediately changed to third. He blasted away from the command post and sped toward the flight line. Cutting across a parking lot, he bypassed the loop that normally would have taken him on a path running by base operations.

He flipped on the jeep radio and tried to raise the command post while driving with one hand. “CP, this is Mobile One—can you get me cleared for the flight line?”

Chief Zolley’s voice came over the airwaves. “Roger that, Mobile One. They’ll be keeping an eye out for you. The security police will provide an escort. Do you wish to call an on-base emergency at this time?”

McGriffin ran a stop sign. Punching the accelerator, he sped on through the intersection, just missing a Ford Bronco. Calling an on-base emergency would be the equivalent thing to calling an in-flight emergency if he were flying. Basically, the crap would hit the fan and he’d have immediate, unqualified support from all units on base. And everybody and his brother breathing down his neck.

McGriffin keyed the microphone. “Hold that call, Chief. But if anything happens, then don’t hesitate hitting the panic button.”

McGriffin steered past the helicopter squadron. Bursting across the invisible boundary that delineated the parking pad from the apron, McGriffin shot onto the taxiway.

He threw the microphone in the passenger seat and grasped the steering wheel. If he’d been on an operational flying base, he’d have been spotted by now, challenged by an M-16-toting security policemen who guarded the birds on the flight line. As it was, he was all alone except for an escort that should be catching up with him.

He didn’t have to worry about hitting an aircraft—they’d be so brightly lit it would be impossible to miss. Once on the active runway, he wouldn’t have to worry about colliding with one of the helicopters.

The C-130 sat at the end of the runway, a mile and a half away.

A jet screamed overhead—a T-38 supersonic trainer—followed by another. They pulled a landing, greasing onto the runway with hardly a bounce. McGriffin guessed they were instructors from one of the undergraduate pilot training bases, off on a nighttime cross-country mission.

The C-130’s engines roared. It started moving. McGriffin continued to race down the runway. He kept far to the edge, careful not to stray close to the lumbering craft. He needed to check the tail number, but he wasn’t stupid.

The C-l30 roared past, its red taillight faintly illuminating the vertical stabilizer. McGriffin squinted through the darkness. The tail was painted black. He couldn’t see any numbers or identifying marks. As the plane receded from him, McGriffin downshifted and watched it lift into the air.

Something struck him. The C-l30 was stretched, longer than the typical AMC birds. He wasn’t sure if the special ops planes were stretched or not. He hit the steering wheel as he drew to a stop.

“Great.” Fumbling for the radio, McGriffin keyed the mike. “Command Post, this is Mobile One. I couldn’t get a visual on them.”

“That’s a rog, Mobile One.” A security police car pulled up beside him, lights flashing. Two armed enlisted men decked out in their camouflaged battle-dress uniforms stepped from the car. McGriffin quickly spoke into the radio. “Chief, you got a positive ID on my actions out here, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir. We gave the SP’s everything but the code words, which we could not say over open channels. Is there anything wrong?”

“I don’t think so. In any case, I’ll be heading back as soon as I’m through. Stand by.” He looked up at the security policemen.

They saluted. “Evening, sir. Can we see an ID?” They stood warily back. One of them held his M-16 at a ready angle.

“Sure.” McGriffin returned their salute and pulled out his white military common access card.

One of the men studied it then handed it back. “We received a request to escort a command post vehicle out to the flight line, Major. The NCOIC wants to know what the hell—sorry, sir—what in the world is going on.”

McGriffin pocketed his card. “Nothing now, I’m afraid. I was just following up on something hot.”

McGriffin slumped against the back of his seat and looked up at the stars. Wheeling high overhead, they burned bright in the crisp night.

The sergeant jerked his head at his partner, then turned back to McGriffin. “You’ll have to follow us off the flight line, sir.”

“What? Sure.” McGriffin straightened in his seat. Things still didn’t seem right. He knew what he should do: head back to the CP and find out what in the heck
was going on.
No bombs bursting in air, no ORI
—
everything is calm. Except for that activity near the chopper squadron, the C-130 might never have been here.
It didn’t make sense. He picked up the microphone. “Are you still there, Chief?”

“Yes, sir. Everything all right?”

“Salubrious and copacetic.” He had a sudden twinge in his gut; might as well combine pleasure with business, he thought. “Chief, I’m going to swing by the chopper squadron and check things out, then hit the Hole in the Ground before coming back. Want me to bring back a grease burger?”

“You know how I feel about those things, sir.”

“Right. I promise to finish eating it before I get back.” He clicked off and looked up to the security policemen. “Mind if we head out by the chopper squadron? Base ops reported some activity near there.”

“If you want, Major, but we’ve already checked it out.”