Patrick McLanahan Collection #1 (123 page)

ORUMIYEH AIRPORT,
ISLAMIC REPUBLIC OF IRAN

MARCH 2008

“Group, atten-
shun!”

The group of five hundred uniformed young men and women snapped to attention, and the reviewing party marched from their waiting position in a large white tent on the edge of the tarmac. The group leader saluted the reviewing party, who returned his salute. The reviewing party turned about-face as the flags of the Islamic Republic of Iran, the Armed Forces of the Islamic Republic, the Ministry of the Interior, and the Internal Defense Corps were marched out. The presiding officer of the reviewing party saluted, as did the entire assembly, followed by the playing of “Ey Iran,” a popular inspirational and patriotic song often preferred by the military over the pro-revolutionary official national anthem “Sorood-e Melli-ye Jomhoori-ye Eslami-ye Iran.” After the song concluded, the presiding officer stepped up to a podium, and the crowd of about two thousand guests and base employees were asked to be seated.

“Citizens, friends, families, and fellow warriors, I bid you
welcome on this glorious and important morning here in Orumiyeh,” Major-General Hesarak al-Kan Buzhazi began. “I am proud to preside over this important occasion for the Islamic Republic of Iran. On behalf of His Holiness Imam Sayyed Mostafa ShÄ«rāzemi, may God bless his name; president Masoud Ahmadad; senior adviser to the Supreme Defense Council His Holiness Hassan Mohtaz, may God preserve him; the chief of staff General Hoseyn Yassini; and the commander of the Revolutionary Guards Corps Lieutenant-General Muhammad Badi, I hereby activate the First Combined Border Defense Battalion.”

There was a short ceremony, during which Buzhazi unfurled the battalion flag and tied the combat-ready ribbon atop it, then handed the flag to its new commander and saluted him. Tall and slender, with gray hair worn slightly on the longish side and with a closely cropped gray beard and mustache, Buzhazi looked much younger than his sixty-one years. He wore a dark winter-weight fatigue jacket with no insignia on it except his general's stars on his shoulders (but they were also black and hard to see from a distance), thick black fatigue pants, tanker boots, and a black visor cap with the earflaps folded up. He clasped the commander on the shoulders, kissed him on each cheek, returned his salute, and returned to the podium to finish his speech.

“I hope you all realize the significance of this ceremony today,” Buzhazi went on. His voice was deep, sharp, and clipped, and he spoke without notes. “As you know, the Supreme Leader, may God protect him, has ordained that one out of every ten citizens of Iran over the age of majority serve in the active or reserve military forces, so in case the forces of evil attack us, we can be ready. As we are a peaceful nation, maintaining a force this large is difficult and expensive, so persons not serving in the active-duty military forces are assigned to local militias, the
Basij-i-mostazefin,
what used to be called the ‘Army of the Oppressed.' I don't know about you, my friends, but I would not have liked being assigned to an army with the term ‘oppressed' in its title.

“When I resigned my post as chief of staff of the Armed Forces
of the Islamic Republic and accepted the post of commander of the Basij, I found a force of willing and energetic men and women of all ages who desired nothing more than to serve their country, both as hard-working citizens and as defenders. What they lacked was proper training, motivation, and purpose. My goal was to transform the best of the Basij into a true fighting force, capable of not just assisting the active-duty forces, but complementing them. Ladies and gentlemen, and especially my fellow warriors, may I present to you, the First Combined Border Defense Battalion, The Lions, of the newly designated Islamic Republic of Iran Internal Defense Force!”

Amidst a round of enthusiastic applause, a procession of vehicles moved onto the tarmac from the north hangar area, surrounded by security guards in armored vehicles. The first vehicle was a ground support vehicle towing a single engine, two-man aircraft; the second was a road-mobile surface-to-air missile vehicle; and the third was a mobile anti-aircraft artillery vehicle.

“My friends, let me introduce you to the three main weapon systems now being deployed with the First,” Buzhazi went on. “The aircraft is a Swiss-made Pilatus PC-6 turboprop aircraft. Normally these aircraft are just trainers—Switzerland does not build any of its aircraft to be used for combat—but we have modified them to act as close air support, photo-intelligence, and counter-insurgency attack aircraft. They even carry heat-seeking missiles to combat enemy aircraft.

“The second is an Almaz S-300 mobile surface-to-air missile launcher. It is designed to engage and destroy aircraft at very low altitude, even stealth aircraft, helicopters, and cruise missiles—it can even detect and destroy helicopters hovering close to the ground or behind trees; it also has an excellent high-altitude engagement capability, and is effective out to fifty kilometers. It is designed to deploy to isolated field locations so as to make it more difficult for enemy aircraft to target it. It is an older air defense system, but our best military engineers have upgraded and refurbished it so it is far better than new.

“The third vehicle is a 2S6M Tunguska anti-aircraft artillery system, with two 30-millimeter radar- or infrared-guided cannons, capable of a combined firing rate of five thousand rounds per minute, plus eight 9M311M anti-aircraft missiles, capable of destroying low- to medium-altitude targets out to a range of ten kilometers.”

Buzhazi applauded along with the audience as the three weapon systems were towed right behind the unit members. It truly made a very impressive sight. Behind them, security and maintenance vehicles cruised slowly along the taxiway. “These weapons represent the first time a reserve force has been given such advanced weapon systems,” Buzhazi went on. “I am proud to award this unit the combat-ready ribbon, which represents this unit's high marks in field exercises, testing, and inspections. I am pleased to present to you the officers and senior non-commissioned officers of each regiment. They are the most important element of this new, vital defense force that will ensure the security of our great nation. They have undergone a rigorous and intensive training program, trained not just to use these weapon systems but in how to best deploy them in case of national emergency, to counter whatever threat exists to our great land and defeat them. They are some of the best I have ever had the pleasure of commanding, and I am proud of each and every one of them.”

As Buzhazi read the names and watched as the men came forward, he sensed a slight disturbance somewhere distant from the audience. He turned to look over his left shoulder but saw nothing out of the ordinary—plenty of security on hand to keep any curious onlookers from straying too close to the hardware.

He read off a few more names, but still that feeling persisted, and so this time he turned fully around and studied the area. A security vehicle with blue flashing lights on the roof was escorting what appeared to be a technical maintenance vehicle, basically a medium-sized eight-ton truck with a small crane on the front to load and unload missiles and ammunition. Both were common sights—why was he feeling so uneasy? Everything looked completely…

…and at that instant, the two vehicles quickly accelerated and headed straight for the ceremony area—and now Buzhazi could see a line of security cars and armored vehicles racing out of the hangar area toward them, lights and sirens on, pursuing the two vehicles!

“Get out!”
Buzhazi shouted into the microphone. “Get out of here, now!” The crowd stood still, heads excitedly turning back and forth, but no one was moving. “I said, run!
Everyone run!”
He turned to a couple of guards who were standing about thirty meters away, AK-47 rifles slung on their shoulders. “You! Guards! Stop those vehicles!”

But it was too late. Buzhazi had enough time to run away from the podium toward the base operations building, wildly motioning for the crowd to follow him, when the truck plowed into the S-300 surface-to-air missile launcher. There was a small explosion, perhaps from a bit of gasoline ignited by a spark…and then seconds later the thousand kilos of high explosives packed into the rear of the truck detonated. Buzhazi felt himself picked off his feet by a red-hot wave of energy, along with pieces of concrete, burning fuel and metal, and body parts, and flung through the air.

 

ELLIOTT AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA

THAT SAME TIME

“You're
where?”

U.S. Air Force Lieutenant-General Patrick McLanahan smiled at the Vice President's astounded and somewhat angry tone. “I'm still at the ‘Lake,' Maureen,” he said. Even on a secure radio connection, he or anyone he knew never mentioned the name “Groom Lake” or even “Elliott Air Force Base” to anyone. The top-secret weapons and aerospace development and testing facility in the Nevada desert north of Las Vegas, named after its first
controversial firebrand commander Lieutenant General Brad Elliott, was always called “the Lake.”

“Did you forget, Patrick? We have a meeting in Washington in three hours!”

“I didn't forget,” Patrick said. “I'll be there.”

The other man in the back of the Air Force blue Suburban with him, U.S. Air Force aerospace engineer and test pilot Captain Hunter “Boomer” Noble, smiled. Everyone at the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center, or HAWC, nicknamed “Dreamland,” was wired with subcutaneous satellite transceivers that allowed worldwide two-way communications—and the ability for the government to track and listen in on that person worldwide, for life—and so he was accustomed to listening to persons talking into thin air. “Say hi to the Vice President for me, General,” Noble said. Patrick nodded, and Boomer went on checking maintenance logs and reports on his tablet PC.

“Who was that, Patrick?” Vice President Maureen Hershel asked from her office at the Old Executive Office Building in Washington, D.C.

“Boomer said hi,” Patrick said. “He's going to fly me to the meeting.”

“‘Fly you to the meeting?' Why is he…?” And then Maureen stopped. She had been briefed on this mission, several days ago—she just didn't know that Patrick would be the one flying it. “You do know what you're doing, don't you?” she asked.

“Don't worry. I'm looking forward to it.”

“Patrick…”

“I'll be there,” he asserted. “Gotta fly.”

“That's an understatement,” Maureen said. “Call if you'll be late. See you…whenever.” And the connection was broken, leaving his reply, “I love you,” unheard except by “Boomer” Noble.

Patrick stepped out of the Suburban with his flight helmet bag and took a deep breath, barely able to contain his excitement. The early-morning air was crisp and cold, with barely a hint of a breeze. The sky was completely cloudless, as it was for much of
the year in south-central Nevada. He and Boomer reviewed aircraft documents on the hood of the Suburban, signing off the various pages and transmitting the forms to HAWC's maintenance and records computers.

“The bird's code one and ready to go, General,” Boomer announced. “Let's get you to that meeting.” He looked at the three-star general standing beside him. Patrick was staring at something intently. “Something wrong, sir?”

“No…no, not a thing, Captain,” Patrick responded. A huge grin spread across his face, and he looked at Noble with an unabashedly childlike expression. “Not…a…damned thing.”

Boomer looked at the object of Patrick's amazement, nodded knowingly, and took a deep breath himself. “Yes, sir, I know what you mean,” he said. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Years ago it was known as “Aurora,” the unclassified code name for America's first hypersonic reconnaissance plane, able to fly over five times the speed of sound; at the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center that now owned all five of the prototypes, it was simply the XR-A9 (Experimental Reconnaissance Article Nine). About the size of the SR-71 Blackbird recon plane it was meant to replace, it greatly resembled the Blackbird with its thin wings and fuselage and jet-black skin. Its official unclassified nickname was the Black Stallion, but everyone around Dreamland simply called it the “Stud.”

As they walked toward the huge craft, more and more changes were evident. There were a number of odd-shaped nozzles around the nose and fuselage. This plane had no conventional aerodynamic flight controls like flaps, elevators, and ailerons—instead, the XR-A9 used mission-adaptive technology that used microhydraulic actuators to change almost the entire surface of the wings and fuselage, making every part of the airplane a lift or drag device. Unlike the SR-71, this aircraft had four engines mounted underneath the fuselage with a movable vane in the center of each elongated rectangular engine inlet and wide exhaust nozzles.

After their walkaround, McLanahan and Noble climbed up the boarding ladder along the side of the plane. “Last chance, sir,” Boomer said at the top of the boarding ladder, and held out a small round plastic container. The flight surgeon and other fliers had recommended that all flight crewmembers take anti-motion sickness medication—promethazine hydrochloride was the most common—before each flight, whether or not you had a history of motion sickness, but Patrick had steadfastly refused. “You'll thank me.”

“No thanks, Boomer,” Patrick said. “I've been airsick before, and it's not fun, but I don't like taking any kind of medication.”

“Where we're going, it's different, sir,” Boomer said. “If you don't need it you won't feel any differently, but you don't want to be hurting through your whole trip. It'll ruin it for everyone, believe me.” Patrick finally relented and took the pills. “Thanks, sir.” He held out a gloved fist, and Patrick punched it. “Have a good flight, sir. Have fun. I'll see you on the ground afterward.”