Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 02 (78 page)

 
          
“Shouldn’t
we have heard from them?” J.C. asked a few minutes later. He had fitted a
night-vision visor over his eyes to help him pick out the rugged peaks and
valleys surrounding them in the rapidly growing darkness.

 
          
“Few
more minutes,” McLanahan told him. He had the satellite transceiver unit set on
the strike frequency as briefed back at Dreamland; because of the high terrain
all around them, UHF or VHF communications would be impossible. “Then all hell
will break loose.”

*
 
*
 
*

 
          
It
wasn’t like the old days, Major Kelvin Carter told himself. It was a damned
sight better.

 
          
He
was sitting in what could best be described as the inside of a computer
surrounded by multi-function, multi-color computer monitors, LED readouts and
synthesized voices. The cockpit windscreen undulated with laser-drawn images
describing search radars, terrain and performance data. The big two-horned yoke
and massive center-console throttle quadrant were gone, replaced by static
force side-stick controls, a special control stick that did not move but sensed
the amount of pressure being delivered and commanded the appropriate input to
the flight controls, and electronic mini-throttles.

 
          
He
was sitting in what probably was the most advanced electronic cockpit outside
DreamStar’s—the cockpit on the upper deck of Dog Zero Two, the second
experimental B-52 M-model Megafortress Plus.

 
          
She
was a more potent weapon than her predecessor, Old Dog. Every possible system
in the aircraft, from flight controls to navigation to weapons, was controlled
by computer—and many of those systems could be activated or monitored by voice
commands, helping to reduce workload even more. The Megafortress Plus had been
virtually rebuilt from the spine up with advanced composite materials, even
lighter and stronger than fibersteel.

 
          
But
her most outstanding feature was her weapons fit: she had been redesigned to
carry almost every missile or bomb in the Air Force inventory. In her role as a
defense suppression “super escort” battleship, as on this mission, she carried
enough weapons to equip a dozen tactical aircraft—and she could carry those
weapons almost eight thousand miles without refueling.

 
          
For
self-defense, the Megafortress Plus carried fifty aft-firing Stinger “air mine”
missiles, which had a range of almost two miles and could be steered by the
fire-control radar operated from the gunner’s position, and six AIM-120C
Scorpion air-to- air missiles, three on each wing pylon, for defense against
fighter attack. She also carried a wide array of electronic jammers and decoys
to confuse or shut down enemy radars. Her terrain-following capability, where
she could automatically fly any desired altitude above ground “hands off,” was
also a valuable self-protection feature.

 
          
For
destroying enemy radars and weapon sites, the Old Dog Two carried four AGM-136
Tacit Rainbow anti-radar drones, two on each wing external pylon, which would
home in on enemy radars from long distances. These were planned for use against
the four known fixed-radar defense sites along the flight route. For unexpected
threats she carried six AGM-88 HARM High-speed Anti-Radar Missiles on a rotary
launcher in the aft bomb bay, designed to destroy mobile anti-aircraft guns or
missile sites.

 
          
For
attacking the KGB airbase itself, she carried four AGM- 130 Striker glide bombs
in the forward bomb bay, which could be launched from as far as twelve miles
away against the aircraft hangars or other high-value targets at Sebaco. To
destroy runway, taxiways and parking ramp she carried two cluster- bomb
dispenser drones on the rotary launcher in the aft bomb bay, small winged
vehicles that would fly around a preprogrammed or designated spot and scatter
(one hundred) twenty-pound bomblets over a wide area, cratering concrete and
destroying aircraft or vehicles unlucky enough to be there at the time.

 
          
Twenty-two
attack weapons, plus the fifty mini-rockets in the tail—the weapons on Old Dog
Two could outfit four or five modern F-15
^or
F-111 fighter-bombers.
The aged B-52 bomber—this particular airframe first rolled off the assembly
line in 1963—had been given a new lease on life, ensuring its usefulness in a
major combat role beyond the year 2000.

 
          
“One
minute to start countermeasures,” the navigator, Captain Alicia Kellerman,
reported. The call shook Carter out of his reverie. It was so easy to slip into
a sort of hypnotic trance flying this beast—it was as quiet as an airliner and
as comfortable as the leather recliner back in his own living room.

 
          
Carter
checked the threat radar display projected onto his windscreen after first
tearing his attention away from the sight of the iridescent dark green sea
rushing past as they skimmed only a hundred feet above the
Caribbean
. A green dome not far in the distance signified
their first electronic barrier, the surveillance and GCI radar at Puerto
Cabezas, the large combined Soviet-Nicaraguan airbase on the Nicaraguan
northeast coast. They were aiming right for the northern edge of the dome, but
because of the interference from the sand dunes and marshes of Punta Gorda they
were able to fly just under the radar coverage. But in less than sixty seconds
they would lose the protection of even that low spit of land.

 
          
Carter
hit the voice-command button on his control stick. “Set countermeasures release
switches to consent,” he said in a slight
Louisiana
bayou accent, reaccented and measured to
make it easier for the voice-command computer to understand his voice. It was a
humorous problem back in the early years of the project, he recalled—he refused
to believe
he
was the problem when
the computer continually rejected his commands during testing.

 
          
“Pilot’s countermeasures release consent.”
the computer confirmed. Then to warn the rest of the crew about the move, the
computer came on shipwide interphone and announced,
“Caution, pilot release consent ”

 
          
“Coming
up on SCM point, crew,” Kellerman said.

 
          
“Caution, radar navigator release consent,”
the computer said.

           
“You’re all a bit early,” the
electronic-warfare officer, Captain Robert Atkins, said.

 
          
“If
it hits the fan up here,” Carter said, watching the green radar sky slowly
inching down on top of him, “I don’t want to be fumbling with switches.”

 
          
“Amen,”
radar navigator Captain Paul Scott chimed in.

 
          
Just
then Carter heard,
“Caution, electronic
warfare release consent. Warning, weapon release consent complete.
” The
last safety interlock belonging to Robert Atkins had been removed.

 
          
They
were sixty miles from the coastline, about seventy-five miles northeast of
Puerto Cabezas. This part of the mission, was almost as crucial as the attack
phase. For the next one hundred twenty miles until they reached the Cordillera
Isabella mountains in north-central
Nicaragua
, they were vulnerable to attack—no
mountains to hide in, only marshes and featureless lowlands—and they would be
in range of the powerful search radar at Puerto Cabezas. Although the exact
strength of the defenses was unknown they had been briefed to expect SA-10
air-defense missiles, MiG-29 and MiG-23 fighters to be operating in the
no-man’s land before them.

 
          
But
at least this sortie had been planned to challenge those defenses. They were
not relying on air cover, nor were they taking advantage of overflying friendly
territory. This mission was designed as much for effect as well as results—the
idea that a large American strike aircraft could make it across
Nicaragua
and strike a heavily defended target was
planned to demoralize and confuse as much as it was to destroy.

 
          
The
green radar dome had almost touched them. “I show contact with that search
radar any second,” Carter called out. “Clear all weapons for release. Station
check and report by compartment when ready.”

 
          
Nancy
Cheshire performed the pilot’s station check, choosing not to rely on the
computer to check switch positions but doing the checks visually. She was the
first female test pilot at HAWC and one of the first ever anywhere, and the
public attention she had attracted three years earlier at the beginning of the
Megafortress Plus program had threatened to undermine her goal to be the best
pilot in the organization.

 
          
“Offense
ready,” Scott reported.

 
          
“Defense
ready,” Atkins responded.

 
          
“Station
check complete, Kel, warning light coming on,”
Nancy
reported as she hit the
EJECT
press-to-test button. The last
item on the list.

 
          
Carter
looked at the small, red-haired woman for a moment, studying her face
underneath her lightweight flyer’s helmet. “How you doing over there?” he asked
cross-cockpit.

 
          
She
looked back at him. “I’m scared to death, Kel.” But she sounded more angry than
scared. “And why don’t you ask anyone else if they’re scared?”

 
          
“Because
you’re my copilot,” Carter shot back. “That’s
all.
Hell, I never know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong...”

 
          
His
attention was pulled away from his copilot as he watched the green dome descent
over his aircraft like some unearthly fog. “
Caution
,
search radar, ten o’clock
the computer
reported.

 
          
“I’ve
got a second search radar,
ten o’clock
, estimated range sixty miles,” Atkins
reported. “Search and height-finder . . . looks like our shoreline SA-io.
Hasn’t found us yet, though.”

 
          
“Take
it out, EW,” Carter said. “Jam the search radar—I don’t want to be tracked by
anyone out here over water. Kory, send a warning message on the HAWC satellite
net. Tell ’em we’re coming.”

 
          
“Roger,”
Master Sergeant Kory Karbayjal, the crew gunner and defense systems officer,
replied, flipping down the SAT- COM keyboard and punching commands to send the
preformatted message out on the satellite channel.

 
          
“Kel?”

 
          
Carter
turned to
Cheshire
.

 
          
“Thanks
for asking,” she said, giving the control stick a slight shake.

 
          
Carter
nodded, lowered his oxygen visor and checked his system. “Get on oxygen.” She
raised her mask.

 
          
“Stand
by for missile launch, crew,” Atkins said. “Radar programming complete. I need
a hundred feet, pilot.”

 
          
“Rog.”
Carter pulled back on the control stick, manually flying the Megafortress Plus
a hundred feet higher. “Set.”

 
          
“Rainbow
away,” Atkins called out.

 
          
The
Rainbow was the AGM-136 Tacit Rainbow air-to-ground missile, a subsonic winged
drone aircraft with a small jet engine that could seek out and destroy enemy
radars. If the enemy radar was operating, it would home in and destroy it with
a one-hundred-pound high-explosive warhead; if it did not detect a radar it
would orbit within ten miles of the target area until a signal was detected,
then fly toward it and destroy it. So even if the enemy radar was shut off or
moved, the missile could still seek out and destroy.

 
          
Carter
shielded his eyes from the sudden glare of the AGM- 136’s engine exhaust as the
missile appeared briefly past the long pointed nose of the Megafortress Plus,
banked left, then disappeared into the darkness. Just then the green-radar
warning “sky” projected onto the windscreen changed to yellow.