Force of Eagles (48 page)

“I counted eight T-72 tanks and at least six armored personnel carriers,” Furry said. “Maybe a dozen trucks.”

“Yeah. I got six tanks, four BTR-60s, Two SA-8s, and a ZSU-23-4 in the lead.” Jack’s eyes were better than his backseater’s. “They’re moving at about thirty miles an hour. Should reach the bridge in twenty to twenty-five minutes. Good thing Doucette and Ramon got it…” But he wasn’t thinking about the bridge. In his mind was the smoking wreckage that was their ejection module.

“It’s a shallow stream bed and the water’s low,” Furry told him. “It should be an easy crossing.”

“We better tell Lifter. Time they got out of there. Us too, almost bingo.” Bingo—the low fuel level that would force them to return to the KC-135 for an inflight refueling…

*

Kermanshah, Iran

Carroll and Mustapha pulled the last of the rubble away and crawled through the low opening, wiggled under a reinforced concrete beam that had fallen into the basement and were at the door to Mary’s cell. “Mary,” he called, testing the door. It was locked.

“In here.”

He jerked at the handle. Nothing. Mustapha pushed him aside and slapped a chunk of C4 explosive on the lock. He quickly wired the blast cap to the timing fuse and attached the fuse igniter. “Take cover,” Carroll warned her, “we’re blowing the lock.” She told them she was under the bunk. Mustapha pulled the ring and they stepped back. The small charge blew the lock out of the heavy wooden door.

Carroll helped Mary out from under the bunk and to her feet. For a moment, they stood there, not touching, just looking at each other.

“Why did I know you’d come?”

“Because you were here. Where’s doc?”

She motioned at the wall. “Next cell, he’s in bad shape.”

They rushed out of her cell and found Mustapha testing the door to Landis’ cell. “The wall has shifted here.” Mustapha pointed to the left side of the door. “I think the door is supporting the roof.”

“We’re going to need help,” Carroll said. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

“Bill, I’m not leaving without doc. You go get help. Oh, there’s a prison guard here named Amini. I think he’s a CIA agent and I want to make sure he’s okay. See if you can find him.” Carroll didn’t argue, he knew Mary Hauser too well.

*

“Lifter, Stormy,” Jack radioed, still twenty miles away from the airfield. Stansell acknowledged. “Roger, Lifter,” Jack continued, “the armored column moving up the highway is approximately ten miles short of the highway bridge at Mahidashi. At current rate of travel will reach the bridge in twenty minutes. We count fourteen T-72 tanks, ten BTR-60s, twelve trucks, two SA-8s and a single ZSU-23-4. I am bingo minus one.”

Stansell understood that Jack was getting dangerously short on recovery fuel and was already a thousand pounds low. “Say status of bridge,” he radioed, “and Mover Two-Three.”

“Bridge destroyed, Mover Two-Three splashed. No survivors.” Jack’s voice was dead flat.

The command post was silent as Stansell drew a line through Mover 23 on his board. So easy, he raged at himself, just draw a line and they cease to exist. I ordered them against that goddamn bridge and now…He fought to contain what he felt and returned to business. “Roger, Stormy, copy all. Understand you are bingo at this time. You are cleared off to the tanker. Be advised we have three thousand feet of runway and a fuel truck available here.”

Jack did not hesitate. “Rog, Lifter. Landing now.” Thanks to the deposed Shah and the massive economic buildup under his regime, the airports used American equipment and the fuel truck was fitted with a standard single point fuel nozzle. And thanks to Zakia, it was at the airfield.

Gregory was talking to his operations officer. “Colonel,” he called to Stansell, “here, please.” Stansell turned his attention away from his small board and the black line through Doucette’s name. “Trimler reports that it’s slow going blowing all the cell doors and expects it will take another forty minutes before he has cleared the prison. That makes that armor coming at us a threat. I plan to deploy Ratso One and Two down the road toward the highway bridge. I’m going to position a blocking force there.” He pointed to the east side of the bridge. “They hold as long as they can and then withdraw back to Objective Red.” He pointed to the intersection near the prison.

“Two Jeep teams against an armored column…”

“And reinforce them with Second Platoon, Bravo Company. I want to airdrop them, Colonel. They’re ready to load. Hell, sir, I’ll get ’em out, that’s why I’m sending Ratso One and Two ahead. They’re to pick a DZ and commandeer vehicles. We only drop Second Platoon when we’ve got something to move them in and I can’t think of a faster way to get them there. Besides, quite a few of those unfriendlies got away from the barracks and are running around loose in the town. We leap frog ’em.”

Stansell nodded. “Okay, load ’em on Mallard’s plane.” The S-3 ran out of the room, calling for Bravo Company’s captain and Mallard to join him. Gregory studied the map. He was in his element, meeting the challenge he had trained so long for. There was nothing political to interpret, no deep analysis required. It was a tactical field problem that required an answer he was prepared to give. Gregory would never make a good colonel, but he was one hell of a good battalion commander. Stansell let him go, not getting in his way.

“We’re going to need to use Spectre for a radio relay,” Gregory said, “Mahidashi is beyond the range of the PRC-77.”

“Spectre can still provide fire suppression,” Stansell said.

“On three engines?”

A pained look crossed Stansell’s face. “It’s what they get paid for.” The demon was back on him. He was ordering another crew into harm’s way and his stomach was twisting itself into knots. Oh Christ, Muddy, he thought, is this what you went through? But he wasn’t looking for approval from the shadowy figure from his past. Still, for the first time, he understood the agony of command, of what Muddy Waters must have known.

For the next five minutes Stansell and Gregory went over the ground situation while the RTO relayed the latest developments over the SatCom to the Pentagon’s command center. Jack Locke came into the room, then, his refueling completed. “A hell of a mess you have here, Colonel.” The two men shook hands while the sound of Mallard’s C-130 taking off filled the room.

The MX-360 radio the RTO had set up next to his PRC-77 crackled to life. “Lifter, this is Romeo Two-Five with Romeo Two.”

“About time,” Gregory yelled. “That’s Kamigami and Jamison!”

“Lifter,” Kamigami radioed, “you’ve got company coming your way. Expect incoming mortar fire in the next few minutes.”

“Say position of mortar teams,” Gregory answered. He jotted down the coordinates while he called for a sergeant to spread the word and for the men to take cover. Stansell was on the UHF ordering the three remaining C-130s to start engines and launch before the attack started. Jack sprinted for his Eagle, intending to do the same. “Colonel,” Gregory shouted, “have Spectre hose the shit out of these coordinates. We got problems.”

Chapter 49: H Plus 13

Kermanshah, Iran

Scamp 14 was the first C-130 to bring all four engines on line and was turning onto the runway when the first mortar round hit the airfield. Because of the short runway, Scamp 14 paused while the pilot ran the engines up to max power before starting his takeoff roll. The nose of the C-130 tried to dig into the concrete as the props wound up. Then the big cargo plane was rolling, but before its nose gear could come unglued from the ground, Scamp 14 disappeared in a fiery cloud. A mortar round had scored a direct hit.

The pilot in Scamp 13 now taxied across the runway and onto the open flat area next to the runway. After landing with the Rangers he and another C-130 pilot had driven around the field in a jeep and staked out a long stretch of dirt that could be used as a makeshift runway. He lined up and ran up his engines, sending a cloud of dirt and dust out behind him, then he started his takeoff roll. But before he reached lift-off speed a barrage of mortars walked across in front of him, he tried to dodge a crater but it was too late. The left main gear of the Hercules sank into the mortar’s crater. The crater was a minor obstacle for the gear to handle, but the left wing tip dipped too low and the number-one prop hit the ground. The plane wrenched to the left as the prop broke off the engine and smashed into number-two prop. Propeller fragments ripped into the fuselage as the pilot fought to bring the plane to a halt. The engineer pulled the emergency tee-handles on the fire emergency control panel for one and two, shooting the fire extinguishers in each engine and cutting off all fuel flow, which saved the crew.

The two props on the right were still spinning down when the five men jumped out of the plane and ran for cover…

Furry scrambled out of a ditch when he thought the attack was over and jogged for his F-15. Another mortar round exploded behind him, knocking him down.

*

“Lifter, tell Spectre to come right ten degrees and the target will be on his nose.” Kamigami was talking on his MX-360 and having Stansell relay vectors that would guide the gunship to the soldiers they had followed and who were now mortaring the field. “Also, friendlies are two hundred meters north of target on road in a dark pickup truck.”

“Roger,” Stansell replied after he had relayed the messages to the gunship. “Spectre has target in sight and are aware of your position.”

Kamigami watched the gunship set up a firing orbit around the cluster of buildings the mortar teams were firing from. “Those muthas are in some kind of trouble, Lieutenant.” Jamison wasn’t sure who the sergeant was talking about, the mortar teams or the gunship. The ZSU-23-4 was hidden not far from them and he had seen what it could do.

“We go,” Kamigami grunted, and drove slowly past a walled compound. “Now,” he ordered. Jamison sat up in the back of the pickup and raised the sergeant’s M-203, pointed the barrel skyward and fired the grenade launcher, sending a 40mm cartridge over the wall. They were sending indirect fire onto the ZSU-23-4 that had run to earth inside the walls. Jamison reloaded and fired again and again as Kamigami turned down a side street and moved down the other side of the compound. Their plan was to keep the crew of the ZSU-23-4 occupied while the gunship was in range.

In the distance they could hear the gunship work the mortar teams over, destroying the low buildings where they were hiding, then they heard the distinctive whomp of the 105mm cannon as Beasely leveled his target.

The attack on the airfield was over.

Inside the compound the ZSU commander ordered his driver to break out of the compound. The Iranian gunned the engine and smashed through the rear gate. Kamigami’s eyes were drawn into narrow squints as he watched the ZSU-23-4 clank away from him. Only this time there were no supporting troops or trucks following it. The sergeant grunted in satisfaction and followed. He had a score to settle with the ZSU commander, preferably alive. Besides, as he told the lieutenant, the ZSU was a threat to any aircraft taking off from the airfield and they had plenty of time to rejoin…

*

Mahidashi, Iran

“Spectre, Scamp One-Two.” Mallard was calling Beasely, who had joined him orbiting near the highway bridge. “Glad you could make it. Are you in contact with Ratso and what the hell is taking so damn long? We’ve been holding for over ten minutes.”

“Rog, Scamp. Sorry for the delay. Had to see a man about a mortar. Ratso is up and heading for the bridge now.” The two Hercules continued to orbit, with Beasely stacked above Mallard. Now they could see a small convoy move out of Mahidashi village toward the destroyed bridge. Three trucks, two vans and a small bus were sandwiched between the two jeeps. “Scamp,” Beasely called, “check the highway to the west. I’ve got the lead tanks in sight. Time to do some discouragin’.” Beasely broke out of orbit and started to climb, straining his three remaining engines.

“Scamp,” Beasely called, “Ratso is in position and says to drop on him.” The jeeps with their commandeered vehicles had pulled up near the bridge. Mallard could see civilians, the former owners or drivers, running back to the village. A Ranger in one of the jeeps popped green smoke, the signal to drop.

Drunkin Dunkin watched the smoke drift lazily upward. Satisfied that winds would not be a problem, he keyed his intercom. “Three minute warning.”

In the rear of the C-130 the jumpmaster stood by the left paratroop door. “Get Ready,” he bellowed. “Stand Up!” The forty-five jumpers were on their feet. “Hook Up!” Forty-five hands snapped the hook on their static line to the anchor line above their heads. “Check Static Line!” Forty-five sets of eyes took one last look at their static line and took the slack out of it by forming a bight and clenching it tightly. “Check Equipment!” Each Ranger used his free hand to jerk and tug at his equipment one last time, making sure everything was secure. “Sound Off For Equipment Check!” The last man in each stick tapped the Ranger in front and yelled, “Okay!” The signal was passed until the stick leader got it and yelled, “All Okay!”

The jumpmaster rooted himself in the door, holding on to the stanchions on each side. “One minute warning,” came over his headset. He stuck his head out and checked the approaching DZ. He could see the green smoke. Dunkin was right on. He stood back and pointed at the door with two fingers. “Stand In The Door!” The Rangers shuffled forward, two lines on each side of the aircraft.

The red jump light by each door snapped off and the green light flickered to on. “GO!” The Rangers took little hops as they went out the door one second apart. Ten men on each side had gone out when the jump light flicked back to red and Dunkin yelled over the intercom. “Red Light! Red Light! Stop Jump! Stop Jump!”

The jumpmaster stepped into the door and pushed the next jumper back with both hands. The Hercules rolled into a ninety degree left bank, pulled down and away…and the jumpmaster fell out the door as a smoke trail and tracers passed behind the C-130.