Shadows of steel pm-5 Read online

  To Jamieson, activating the SAR and shutting off BEADS was like dipping his dick into a tank filled with piranhas—the less time in there, the better. He might not get attacked the moment he stuck it in, but the longer it stayed in there, the better his chances of getting it bitten off, and sure as hell, the piranhas would be ready and waiting for the next time he dipped it in.

  “This isn’t a standard SAR shot, AC,” McLanahan said. “Besides, the SAR computer decides how long the exposure will be, based on the mode programmed, the environmental conditions, the signal strength—I don’t control it … stand by, second shot coming up … ready … now … radar in standby, SAR routine ended, radar disenabled.”

  “A second shot? What in hell is that for? Jesus, McLanahan, that thing’s going to kill us!”

  “Threat scope’s clear, AC.”

  “Lucky for us,” groused Jamieson. “What in hell was the second shot for?”

  “Watch.” Jamieson watched the big supercockpit screen—and was amazed at what he saw. Overlaid on the chart of Hormozgan Province was a radar picture filled with tiny blips.

  “Here’s all the small cultural returns we picked up,” McLanahan explained. “Since an SA-10 or Hawk on its transporter-erector-launcher might be stationary or moving, we’ve got to check both, so all are displayed. I simply instruct the computer to search for returns that match the size of a Grumble or Hawk TEL, either in road-march configuration or in launch position … now.” In a matter of seconds, all but a handful of the dots disappeared. There were about two dozen blips remaining.

  “We’ve got a few, but not as many as before. From here, we can just pick one, and we check it out. The SAR will not pick up decoys unless they’re close to the same mass as a real missile, so inflatable decoys or decoys made out of wood won’t show. But before we search, I’ll be looking for a few other items.

  According to our intel guys, a pre-surveyed launch point will have a fence surrounding it. I’ll tell the computer to pick out any returns that look like that.”

  “This radar will pick up something as small as a fence?”

  “With ease,” McLanahan said. Sure enough, several such objects were selected. McLanahan rolled a cursor over one blip that was sitting a few hundred yards off a small secondary highway, then entered in some voice commands. The blip began to grow in size until it filled the supercockpit screen—and to Jamieson’s amazement, he could easily identify the return. “Holy shit, it looks like a cattle car!”

  “I’d say that’s what it is, too,” McLanahan agreed. It was easy to do—the image was as sharp and clear as a black-and-white photo in daytime. He entered a command and the image disappeared and switched to the next blip. After automatically enlarging again, they finally found their quarry. “We got one.”

  Jamieson was astounded. There it was, a nearly photographic radar picture of an SA-10 Grumble surface-to-air missile on its transporter-erector-launcher, similar in size and appearance to a Patriot missile system. They could clearly see every detail—its fins, the shape of its nose cone, even that the driver’s side door of the tractor truck pulling the TEL had been left open. “This is unbelievable!” he exclaimed.

  “We goddamn found a mobile SA-10 missile deployed in the field!”

  McLanahan was typing commands into his supercockpit terminal.

  “And now NSA and the Intelligence Support Agency know where it is, too,” he said. “We’re flightplanned to be in the orbit for the next fifteen minutes—let’s see if we can find some more.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, McLanahan systematically checked the blips on the supercockpit display, changing the search parameters after every search—blips on the road, blips on the rail lines, blips inside fences, blips out in the open, blips moving, blips not moving—then went back, rechecked the original size parameters, expanded them out slightly to get more returns, then searched again. In fifteen minutes, they had charted six new air defense missile sites near Bandar Abbas—including several decoys set up close to the real missile sites. The Iranians had set up a piece of steel sewer pipe on a flatbed tractor-trailer, very close to the size and appearance of the real SA-10 Grumble.

  “Threat scope’s clear,” McLanahan said. “Search radars only.

  Ready to stir up some dirt?”

  “Go for it,” Jamieson said.

  “Stand by for bomb doors,” McLanahan said. “Doors coming open …

  now …” Jamieson and McLanahan felt a rumble in the B-2A bomber’s normally rock-solid fuselage as the four massive “barn door” bomb doors opened. Just as the doors opened, a “IO” symbol with a diamond symbol around it appeared, and they heard a low, slow “Deedle … deedle … deedle …” sound in their headphones.

  “SA-100 searching …”

  “C’mon dammit,” Jamieson muttered, “launch, son of a bitch, launch!” The B-2A bomber was now at its most vulnerable position: with its bomb-bay doors open, its radar cross-section was just as large as any major aircraft. And as it launched missiles, the missile’s track through the sky would point directly back at the retreating B-2A, showing the way for enemy gunners to take a shot and bag a billion-dollar bomber.

  “Launcher rotation completed, stand by for missile launch …

  missile one away … two away …” Jamieson expected to feel a lurch or a bump or something as the 4,000-pound missiles left the plane, but there was nothing, except for the graphic depictions of shapes leaving the little bomb-bay drawing on his MDU.

  The diamond around the “IO” symbol on the threat scope began to blink, and they heard a higher-pitched, faster deedledeedledeedle warning sound. “Height-finder active!” McLanahan shouted. He put his fingers on the supercockpit screen on the buttons marked MAWS and ECM. “Launchers rotating … stand by … three away …

  four … five … six missiles away … bomb doors moving … bomb doors closed Just then, both the diamond and the “10” symbol began blinking, and a computer-synthesized voice announced, MISSILE LAUNCH … MISSILE LAUNCH … McLanahan immediately hit the MAWS and Ecm buttons. The Missile Approach and Warning System was an active missile defense system on the B-2A bomber designed to actually protect the bomber, not just jam a missile’s tracking systems. As soon as the SA-10 missile launch was detected, a small radar dome extended from a compartment near the B-2A bomber’s tail, the radar slaved itself to the azimuth of the SA-10 missile site, and the radar began scanning the sky for the missile itself.

  The MAWS’s ALQ-199 HAVE GLANCE radar tracked it, displayed its position to the crew on the pilot’s main screen, and a computer suggested which way to turn to evade it by making corrections to the terrain-following autopilot. The computer also ejected bundles of chaff—thin slivers of metal that would create huge radar-reflective clouds in the sky and hopefully decoy the Hawk radar—and also sequenced the ECM (electronic countermeasures) track breakers’ jamming signals to allow computer-controlled jammer-free “corridors” that would “point the way” for the Grumble’s radar to lock on to the cloud of chaff.

  As the SA-10 missile rose through the sky toward the B-2A bomber, the next and most high-tech aspect of the MAWS system activated—MAWS shot high-powered laser beams at the approaching missile, blinding its seeker head and overheating the missile’s guidance electronics. In less than three seconds, the Grumble was deaf and blind, flew harmlessly behind the B-2A, and then self-destructed as it began its death plunge toward the Persian Gulf.

  “Good connectivity on all missiles,” McLanahan reported. “Good signal … I’ve got flight-control surface deployment on all missiles, good guidance. They’re on their way.”

  In thirty seconds, the first attack was over—and Jamieson realized he hadn’t done a thing, hadn’t even touched the throttles, and his right hand was resting only lightly on the control stick. They’d needed no evasive maneuvers, no threading their way around terrain trying to hug the ground to hide from enemy radar, no coordinated defensive maneuvers.

  It was so sterile, so robotic�
��almost inhuman. Shadows of steel, death from nowhere, from everywhere …

  But it didn’t stay quiet for long. Seconds later, the searchradar signal had changed, and Jamieson saw a bright yellow arc on the threat scope, aimed very close to the B-2A, slowly becoming narrower and narrower until it was a line. Fortunately, the line also began to offset behind the center of the scope, meaning that it was not locked onto the B-2A. “Height finder active again,” McLanahan said. “Looks like they’re locked on to one of the JSOWS. JSOWs have responded … looks like missile number two is tracking.”

  The missiles McLanahan and Jamieson released were called AGM-154 Joint Standoff Weapons, or JSOWS. They were small, lifting-body cruise missiles that could be fitted with a variety of warheads, payloads, avionics, sensors, guidance packages, or propulsion units, so they could mix a number of these missiles on the bomber and perform many different missions. These JSOWs had special Disruptor payloads on board called “screamers” that would transmit high-frequency, high-powered jamming signals across the entire frequency spectrum and completely overload any antenna system within range. The JSOW missiles would orbit over the air defense missile and radar sites, broadcasting high-intensity “screamer” signals, blanking out radar scopes and overloading radio networks for as long as sixty-minutes—plenty of time for the Intelligence Support Agency teams to enter the area.

  The B-2A crew again heard a slow, low pitched Deedle … deedle …

  deedle … warning tone in their headsets, and saw the “10” symbol with a diamond around it: “SA-10 acquisition radar at Bandar Abbas … cruise missiles one and three locked on …” As each antiaircraft missile system came up, the JSOW missile’s seeker head would lock on, plot the emitter’s location, and reprogram its internal autopilot to fly to that point and destroy the radar.

  Another warning tone, this time with an “H” symbol: “Hawk system acquisition radar … missile four tracking … looks like the Iranians already got another Hawk set up on Abu Musa Island. They didn’t waste any time.”

  “Forget the commentary, McLanahan,” Jamieson said. “Just make sure none of those sites locks on to us.”

  “Our track breakers are in standby, search radars only sweeping us,” McLanahan reported. He typed on his keyboard, and the bomber turned slightly south. “I’m heading a bit more to the right to stay away from that Hawk on Abu Musa,” McLanahan said. “If they sneaked an SA-10 on that island, too, I want to stay far away from it. The screamers should activate in a few seconds.”

  The effect was frightening and surprising at the same time—as if on cue, every Iranian air defense site within fifty, miles opened fire. Eight SA-10, four Hawk, at least a dozen Rapier, and a handful of ZSU-23/4 and ZSU-57/2 sites appeared to be firing guns or launching missiles.

  “Jesus H. Christ, I don’t believe it!” Jamieson muttered. Out the cockpit windows, McLanahan and Jamieson could see the sky below ablaze with missiles flying aimlessly through the sky, and boiling red and yellow from the clouds of antiaircraft artillery shells sweeping the skies.

  The screamers” had activated all of the Iranian air defense site’s attack response systems, and the sites had reacted as if a massive air invasion were under way. In seconds, every missile on its launcher was in the sky, and every shell had been fired …

  and they had hit nothing but empty air. Several warships docked at Bandar Abbas had also opened fire, and they even detected an anti-ship missile launch from one of the docked ships—where that missile was headed, McLanahan had no idea. Jamieson could not believe the concentration of antiaircraft systems active right now: they were flying less than forty miles south of that massive concentration of weaponry.

  The scene looked much the same ahead as they continued eastward toward the Khomeini battle group in the Gulf of Oman—the carrier was lit up like a Christmas tree with threat radars, and the destroyer Zhanjiang, several miles farther southeast, was radiating as well. The threat scope clearly outlined the defensive box around the carrier: smaller vessels with short-range antiaircraft systems were surrounding the carrier, and the long-range systems of the larger escorts overlapped those of the carrier itself, forming several layers of antiaircraft protection for Iran’s prized possession.

  “We’ve got four ‘screamer’ JSOW missiles programmed for the Khomeini group, with two in reserve,” McLanahan summarized. “I’m getting ready for the SAR exposure.”

  Jamieson was still in shock at the reaction from the Disruptor fly-over. “I can’t believe it—they all opened up, all at once … it’ll take them two days to rearm those air defense sites!”

  “Maybe not two days,” McLanahan said, “but they’ll have to reload all those sites, maybe replace some overheated gun barrels and burned-out launchers. But just about the time they’re ready to fire again, the ‘screamers’ will reactivate, and maybe they’ll launch against them again and waste some more missiles and ammunition. Eventually the JSOWs will get hit or run out of fuel and crash somewhere, but we hope not before our guys get in, poke around, and get out again. And if we’re lucky, the ‘screamers’ caused enough overload damage to take out a few older Hawk or Zeus-23 sites. It just increases their chances of penetrating those air defenses.

  Now, let’s see if we can do it to their carrier and that Chinese destroyer.”

  Jamieson had at first distrusted McLanahan’s Disruptor weapons—he’d wanted to see a pretty big blast if they’d had to fly all this way!—but even he had to admit that this next attack, if it worked, was going to nail the Iranians really good.

  “I’ve got the final launch point fixed in,” McLanahan continued.

  “Stand by for missile launch … ready … doors coming open …

  missile one away …” One by one, McLanahan counted down the weapon releases until four missiles had left the two internal rotary launchers. With two missiles still in the bomb bays in reserve, the B-2A bomber banked hard right and headed back toward the safety of UAE airspace, away from the Iranian fleet and their deadly antiaircraft weapons.

  Following McLanahan’s programmed flight plan, the four missiles arced north of the Iranian battle group, then turned south-southeast toward the Gulf of Oman, roughly following each other in trail 500 yards apart. The “screamer” missiles began their orbits just six miles east and west of the carrier group.

  The four missiles did appear on the Iranian’s radars, but they were so small and flew so slowly that they were electronically squelched from the displays as non-hostiles.

  THE ISLAMIC REPUBLIC REVOLUTIONARY GUARD AIRCRAFT CARRIER AYATOLLAH RUHOLLAiH KHOMEINI THAT SAME TIME “Sir, Bandar Abbas air defense sector reports unidentified aircraft inbound, bearing two-five-zero eastbound at five hundred knots!” the combat information center intercom suddenly blared.

  “Bearing now two-three-zero, last reported range from us eighty-five kilometers and closing …”

  “What!” Pasdaran Major Admiral Akbar Tufayli shouted. That jarring pain was suddenly back in his jaw, tripled in intensity.

  The newcomers were over the Trudal Coast—from the direction of the United Arab Emirates! Was this another GCC attack? “What speed, what altitude?”

  “Multiple contacts … three, perhaps four formations, speed five hundred, altitude ten K meters and descending.”

  Major Admiral Akbar Tufayli, commander of the Khomeini battle group and nominal commander of the carrier air group, swung on his absolutely flabbergasted chief of staff, Brigadier General Mohammed Badi. “The threat has been eliminated, you say? Those radar contacts are on an attack profile, Badi! Those are UAE attack planes, and they are attacking Bandar Abbas and this battle group!”

  “It is … it is unbelievable, sir!” Badi stammered. “The UAE pilots or their British mercenaries do not have the skill to perform night attacks against maritime targets!” Like many Middle East countries, the United Arab Emirates hired pilots from all over the world to fly their attack planes—but no skilled attack pilot would ever consent to fly a suicide mission such
as this!

  “They have no guided weapons, only gravity bombs and the cannon!

  Surely they know they will be chopped into pieces long before they get within range to drop their bombs?”

  “That is, if we successfully stop them!” Tufayli cried. “Engage at longest possible range! Then launch the alert fighters! I want each and every GCC fighter destroyed and the wreckage strewn across the coastal plain for all those reporters to photograph! I want to demonstrate the power of this battle group to the entire damned world, right now, tonight!”

  “Hostile aircraft turning!” The Khomeini’s radar operator screamed over the intercom. General Tufayli made a mental note to tell his section chief to brief his men to remain calmer on the intercom—the operator’s voice had gone up at least one octave in the past few minutes as the unidentified attack planes closed in.

  “Range sixty kilometers, decreasing slowly, altitude now below two thousand meters.

  Heavy jamming detected.”

  “They appear to be heading for Bandar Abbas,” Badi observed, “but they could turn in our direction at any moment. No report on what type of weapon they are using.”

  “We must assume they have standoff weapons—unless they try a low-altitude suicide bombing run,” Tufayli said. He stared out the observation windows at the Khomeini’s flight deck. “How much longer on the interceptor launch?”

  “Just a few minutes, sir.”

  “Damn you, Badi, I want air cover up as soon as possible to chase down those attackers! I want those fighters airborne now!”

  “Yes, sir,” Badi acknowledged. Badi could do nothing but pick up a phone and tell the air operations commander to speed up the launch.

  Tufayli watched as crews raced for the rescue helicopters on deck forward of the island superstructure. The rescue helicopters always launched before the fighters, and took up stations beside and behind the carrier, ready to provide search-and-rescue services in case a fighter had to ditch after takeoff. “If any of those attackers penetrate within fifty kilometers of my battle group, I will execute every last air defense on this ship!”