Crossing Savage (32 page)

Chapter 33

October 16

Airspace over Venezuela

I
n the cockpit of the
Spirit of Hawaii,
the threat warning receivers were blaring, indicating that multiple targeting radars were seeking a lock. A moment later the tone changed, indicating that radar lock had been achieved. Captain Landon in the
Spirit of Florida
was having a similar experience.

“My fun meter is pegged,” quipped the copilot to Major Anderson.

“Spool up the HARMs. Fire when ready,” ordered Anderson. Anticipating the order, the copilot had already started to power up the AGM-88 HARM anti-radiation missiles secured on a cylindrical pod within the body of the B-2. With the bomb bay doors open, it was only a matter of seconds to achieve lock on the closest targeting radars and launch four missiles. The first HARM unerringly homed in on the radar signal from an air defense battery at Tegui Air Base. Ten seconds after launch, the missile exploded on the radar dish, destroying its targeting and tracking capabilities.

The Venezuelan soldiers at Tegui Air Base had trained well. Once they had radar lock on the unidentified—and presumed hostile—aircraft circling their base, they managed to launch two surface-to-air radar guided missiles.

Inside the
Spirit of Hawaii,
the warning tones changed again, indicating that two radar-guided SAMs had been fired at them. “We've got incoming,” announced the copilot.

“Let's hope the HARMs get there first; we're a sitting duck up here,” replied Major Anderson through gritted teeth. Three seconds later the remaining three HARM missiles struck home. Without the guidance radar, the SAMs launched at Anderson's bomber veered off course and flew out over the ocean, eventually falling harmlessly into the water when their fuel was expended.

“White King to Black King. Hold position.” Anderson was reminding Captain Landon that their orders were to hold over their respective targets, bomb bay doors open for two minutes. The seconds dragged by, and it seemed more like hours than minutes. To make it clear that the B-2s were not intimidated by Venezuelan defenses, the bombers were to open their bomb bay doors a second time five minutes later.

“Roger, White King. We're being lit up. Engaging with HARMs.” Clearly Landon's bomber was not having an easier time of it.

Onboard Thor, six airmen were monitoring the principle Venezuelan airbases from separate stations. Information was constantly streamed to the airmen from the Global Hawks as well as from Thor's own radar system. A sudden flurry of activity at Tegui and Base Aérea El Libertador at Palo Negro signaled that fighters were being scrambled.

Colonel Horn, the ranking officer onboard Thor and the commander of operations, addressed the Raptor pilots. “We have two flights being scrambled. Rook One and Rook Two, we've got visual and IR from the Hawk showing a flight of six Flankers scrambling from Tegui Air Base. We currently have them on taxi from the revetments. Should be airborne in one minute. Priority threat. You are cleared to engage. Copy?”

The lead Raptor pilot, call sign Vegas, answered. “Rook One to Thor. That's a Roger. Six Flankers scrambling from Tegui. Clear to engage.”

“Affirmative,” was the confirmation from Thor.

“Knight One and Knight Two. Six Mirages scrambling from Aérea El Libertador; will be airborne estimated fifteen seconds behind the Flankers. Clear to engage.”

“Roger. Clear to engage six bogeys,” was the brief acknowledgement from Knight One.

Vegas and his wingman, call sign Moose, sprang into action. Vegas announced his next move. “Rook One and Rook Two, slaving targeting computers to data link.” They would use the data link from the AWACS to select and lock onto the targets. That way they didn't have to turn on the targeting radar onboard their aircraft, which would make them instantly visible to the enemy. Although they would become visible to radar momentarily when they opened the doors to the internal missile bays, that was unavoidable.

The airman on Thor continued tracking the six Sukhoi advanced fighters as they scrambled down the runway, two at a time, and took to the air. The fighters slowly climbed at first, choosing to gain speed rather than altitude, and then with afterburners blazing each aircraft pulled up into a near vertical climb to quickly gain maneuvering capability.

Once the six Flankers cleared the ground and gained altitude, the AWACS radar easily achieved lock on each bogey. On his radar screen, the airman moved a tracking ball and designated each target as Bogey One through Bogey Six. The designation remained with each flanker even as the blip representing the individual aircraft moved across the screen, providing a unique label to aid targeting and avoid firing two missiles at the same aircraft. This information was transmitted over the encrypted data link to Rook One and Rook Two.

“Rook One to Rook Two. Target bogeys four through six. I'll take bogeys one through three,” Vegas ordered his wingman. Only seconds into their flight, the six Flankers were within missile range of the Raptors, the so-called no-escape zone.

Vegas and Moose were flying in the general direction of the six bogeys, so no course correction was necessary. The radar lock on the six bogeys was fed directly into the AIM-120D Slammer missiles on each Raptor. With an initial target lock provided by the data link, Vegas and Moose simply fired three missiles each. Seconds after leaving their aircraft, the missiles' internal targeting radar activated and took over flight control as the missiles screamed toward the bogeys at four times the speed of sound. It would take less than fifteen seconds for the missiles to reach their targets.

At 500 feet above the ground in the cockpit of the lead Flanker, the pilot was immediately assaulted by a loud signal emanating from the plane's threat warning receiver. The unique warning tone indicated his plane had been locked by targeting radar. The pilot pulled the nose up more sharply, approaching a vertical climb, and maintained full military thrust. The powerful engines of the Sukhoi screamed, shoving the pilot back in his seat, and a supersonic cone of incandescent exhaust stretched behind the aircraft.

The sun had set almost an hour ago, but as the pilot gained altitude the western horizon showed a faint reddish glow. He angled his plane toward the glow and ejected chaff and flares. Still the warning blared in his helmet. He jinked his plane right and then left, his head thrown violently in the opposite direction, and ejected more chaff.

Almost obscured by the sounding alarms, his wingman radioed. “Where are they? Banking right!”

The lead pilot glanced at his radar. It showed several inbound missiles. They were coming fast, but no launch aircraft were visible. Given the distance the missiles were fired from, the pilot concluded they must be radar guided. With the afterburners on and nearly on level flight, his Su-27 was supersonic. But the blips representing the incoming missiles were approaching very fast. He ejected more chaff to confuse the radar guidance system and jinked left, then he pushed the stick forward to gain more speed. The ground was rapidly approaching.

The pilot noticed that one of the blips separated from the cluster. It was the missile locked onto his aircraft. As the blip nearly merged with the center of his radar display, he pulled back on the stick and entered a high-G turn. He would only have one chance to shake the pursuing missile.

Blood drained from his head and he squeezed the muscles in his abdomen to maintain consciousness. The threat warning alarm screamed louder as he ejected more chaff bundles. But the Slammer used a sophisticated radar system combined with a powerful computer, and it could interpret the Doppler return from the reflection coming back from the chaff as well as the Flanker. Recognizing that the chaff was nearly motionless relative to the aircraft, the Slammer's “brain” ignored the chaff cloud.

The Flanker pilot sensed the missile was close now and he pulled even harder on the stick, forcing the Flanker to turn tighter. The periphery of his vision darkened before turning black. Momentarily, he felt like he was looking through a tunnel with just a small circular patch of light before his eyes. Then that, too, turned black and the pilot's body fell limp as he blacked out in the 10 G vertical turn.

A second later, the AIM-120D missile exploded ten feet behind his aircraft. The fuel pouring into the engine formed a huge fireball and the entire plane was engulfed in flaming debris. The pilot never regained consciousness as his smoldering body plummeted to the earth.

Any doubt that their country was under attack was eliminated, along with the Russian-made Sukhoi fighters. In a matter of minutes, the commander of Tegui Air Base had lost six of his best pilots, over 200 million dollars' worth of aircraft, and all of his targeting radar. The base commander wisely decided to report to his commanding general before taking further action.

“Rook One and Rook Two. Splash six Flankers. Good shootin',” reported the airman onboard Thor.

After firing three missiles each and becoming invisible again to radar, Rook One and Rook Two banked left on a northerly vector and climbed to 30,000 feet to resume providing a protective cap over White King.

While Rook Flight was engaging the Sukhoi Flankers, Knight Flight was similarly locked in a dogfight with the six Mirage jets. Not as advanced and maneuverable as the Flanker, the Mirage was nonetheless a very capable and deadly fighter in the hands of an experienced pilot.

“Knight One to Knight Two. We'll do this by the book,” announced the lead pilot as the two Raptors dropped altitude and swept in behind the six Mirage jets. “Knight Two, target bogeys one through three. Knight One will engage bogeys four through six. Use data link from Thor for lock. Fire when ready.”

“Roger,” was the reply from Knight Two, followed a second later by, “Fox Three,” the code phrase indicating that the pilot had just launched a radar-guided missile.

“All Slammers tracking true,” the airman on Thor updated the Raptor pilots. “Bogeys taking evasive action. Lots of chaff. Splash one!” Following a tense few moments the voice came back over the radio. “Thor to Knight One, Knight Two. Splash six bogeys. Good work, gentlemen.”

“Roger Thor,” answered Knight One calmly. “Request vector to Black King.”

“Roger. You burned some distance—you are approximately fifteen miles northeast of Black King. Course one-nine-three degrees. Go to altitude 30,000 feet. Repeat, altitude three-zero.”

“Roger Thor. Course one-niner-three, altitude three-zero,” confirmed Knight One.

Having closed their bomb bay doors, the B-2s were invisible once more. But in less than five minutes they would again open the doors, and once more they would become targets of opportunity for two very long minutes.

Chapter 34

October 16

Sacramento, California

“Come in,” Jim answered
the knock on his office door. Peter pushed the door open and stuck his head in.

Jim didn't look up. He was concentrating on the papers lying on his desk, one hand tapping a pen to some tune Peter didn't recognize.

“Do you have a minute?” Peter said.

Jim looked up. “Sure, have a seat.” He motioned to a chair in front of his desk.

“How's the experimental work progressing?”

“No breakthroughs yet, if that's what you mean. Dad's frustrated. I think he expected more encouraging results, especially after all we've been through.”

“These things take time,” said Jim.

Peter nodded. “Look, that's not why I'm here. Something's been buggin' me ever since we came back from Ecuador.”

Jim blinked, but otherwise showed no emotion.

“Remember that cabin where the card table was set up?”

“Yeah, what about it?” said Jim.

“Did you notice the bottle of vodka on the table? It was open, and only half full.”

Jim shrugged. “So?”

“By itself, it means little. But then yesterday Dad mentioned a scientific paper related to abiogenic oil formation. It was published eleven years ago by two Russians—Valentin Ivanov and Alexander Larin.”

Jim leaned back in his chair. Clearly, whatever Peter had to say was going to come out slowly.

“In fact,” Peter continued, “most of the early work on theories of non-biological routes to petroleum formation came from Russian and Ukrainian scientists. So I had a short conversation with Lieutenant Lacey this morning, and she confirmed my suspicions.”

After waiting a moment for Peter to continue, Jim prompted him. “And those are?”

“The Russians.”

“Sorry Peter, but you've lost me.”

“Lacey told me that of all the confirmed and suspected victims that she has tied to this conspiracy plot, none are Russian. Doesn't that strike you as odd, given the leading role Russian scientists have played in pioneering this field of science?”

“No, not if the most promising work is now coming from the West.”

“I discussed that with Lacey, and we both agreed that it's a plausible explanation. So we looked at the number of citations of recent publications authored by the confirmed victims. You need to understand, it's a generally accepted practice that the most important and influential scientific papers are frequently cited as references to related studies.” Peter wanted to be sure Jim understood what could be construed as an egotistical quirk of scientific publishing. To have your research broadly referenced by your piers was perhaps even more prestigious than accomplishments of the original work. It amounted to public recognition of achievements by others working in the same field, competing for the same pot of funds.

“Okay. Makes sense,” said Jim.

“Well, if you're right, there should be a high number of citations of the recent papers published by
all
the victims. But that isn't what we found. In fact, many of the victims had no scientific publications at all.”

Jim's expression remained passive. “Go on.”

“I keep coming back to that vodka bottle. Not quite in keeping with Latin American revolutionaries. I'd expect tequila or whiskey.”

“You're suggesting that Russian advisors were at the training camp?”

Peter leaned forward. “Yes, I'm suggesting Russian advisors were there, because I'm suggesting Russia is
behind
this plot.”

“We're still working through the intel, the encryptions are strong, and much still hasn't been deciphered. But nothing points clearly to Russia as the principle actor,” Jim countered.

“I understand that it looks like Venezuela is calling the shots, but it's too easy. And it doesn't account for Russia's involvement on Chernabura Island. You need to pass this along to Colonel Pierson. It's important.”

Jim hesitated. “I'm gonna to be candid. The President has authorized military action against Venezuela. The operation is underway even as we speak.”

“What?” Peter's eyes were wide. “You have to call Colonel Pierson and tell him we have new information. They need to call it off.”

“Do you understand what I just said? You can't just call it off.” Jim was firm and a little annoyed at what he saw as naiveté from Peter.

“There has to be something, some way, to let the President know that Russia is behind this.”

“Sorry Peter. I appreciate your help, but I'm not ready to say
with certainty
that we got it wrong. You've presented a good argument, but not conclusive.”

“Come on, Jim. You know I'm right. Why would Russia risk sending a submarine into U.S. waters? It only makes sense if they are intimately involved, not just a minor player.”

Jim stood and walked around his desk, leaning against the edge, arms folded across his chest. “There's a huge difference between Russia being involved, as we know they are, and Russia being the leader. I value your opinion, and you bring a different perspective to solving this puzzle, provided you have the discipline to recognize the difference between fact and speculation.”

“Those weren't your instructions, remember? You said that we needed to synthesize probable scenarios when sufficient facts were lacking. I didn't imagine that.”

“You're right, that's what I instructed my team to do because we never have all the facts. But in this case there's nothing. What proof do you have to support this conclusion?”

Peter didn't answer.

“Seriously,” Jim pressed.

Fixing Jim's gaze with his own glare, Peter chose to remain silent.

“A bottle of vodka and a lack of dead Russian scientists does not constitute proof that the government of Russia is calling the shots.” Jim dropped his arms and returned to his chair, plopping heavily with a sigh. He picked up his pen, squeezing it tightly.

Peter accepted that the conversation was over. He stood and turned to leave.

“Once we have these messages fully decoded,” Jim said, “maybe we'll know the full extent of Russia's involvement. But until then, I'm not going to even hint that the mission be aborted.”