Eyes of the Hammer

CHAPTER FOUR

The battered van rumbled up the ramp off the Northway. Fifty feet from the exit it pulled into the parking lot of a used-motorcycle shop. The headlights illuminated the gate in the chain link fence that surrounded the shop's motorcycle graveyard. The driver, a large, bearded man wearing a denim jacket emblazoned across the back with Harley-Davidson, stopped the van, got out, and walked over to unlock the gate. He returned to his van, drove into the yard, and parked in the dark shadows behind the shop.

After resecuring the gate, he opened the back of the van. Ten dark figures, bristling with weapons, slipped out. The leader of the group, a short, slim man, shook the driver's hand. The driver got back in the van and settled in to wait.

The ten silhouettes moved to the rear of the yard. The fence there was slightly different from the one that enclosed the other three sides of the shop's parking lot. It was chain link topped with barbwire. An old, rusted sign hung on it. After years of neglect in the harsh Adirondack winter, the sign was barely legible: "U.S. Government Property, Keep Out."

The leader of the band, identified as Riley in the few whispered conversations, gave a command. One of the figures detached himself from the group. Weapon slung over his back, he opened the fence with bolt cutters. Quickly the ten men squirmed through. The last man laced the cut links back together using parachute cord. In the dim light, the fence appeared whole again.

Riley nodded to himself. So far, so good. He tapped the man behind him and, as the signal was passed back, moved out, leading the way. The group crossed the dirt road that ran the perimeter of Plattsburgh Air Force Base, and entered the blackness of the four square miles of forest that bordered the runway on its western side. Their target was nestled in those woods.

Riley switched on his night-vision goggles. Through them, he immediately spotted the previously unseen infrared chem light that marked their designated path. Riley led his men to the first chem light, sliding through the trees and underbrush with the skill of a man used to such nighttime forays. Approaching the glowing dot that indicated the light, he spotted another one beckoning him onward through the woods to the northeast.

Following the trail of lights, the group of armed men moved like wraiths through the dark forest. Nine hundred meters from the fence, at the last chem light, Riley spotted to his right front the on-off flickering of an infrared (IR) light, indicating someone flicking the IR switch on a pair of goggles as a signal.

Riley moved forward to the man wearing the goggles. Reaching the guide, he turned and, touching the man behind him, signaled the group to move into a tight defensive perimeter. The signal was silently passed back, and after a brief rustling of leaves the entire team was settled down, weapons pointing outward.

Riley put his head next to the guide's and whispered. "What you got, Partusi?"

"Same as the photos. Nothing much has changed. Leave these guys here and I'll show you."

Riley signaled the rest of his party to stay in place, then he moved forward with Partusi another seventy-five meters. He didn't need the night-vision goggles as the ambient light grew brighter. Reaching the edge of the woods, he peered out. The compound was big — larger than he had expected from the pictures — almost three hundred meters by one hundred. It was completely enclosed by a chain link fence topped with barbwire. Riley was studying it from the woods that paralleled the south side, looking long-ways through the compound.

Every hundred meters along the fence stood a guard shack. It was obvious to Riley that the shacks were designed more as places for the guards to stay out of the weather than as defensive positions. Riley could make out movement in the nearest one.

On the right side of the compound, the eastern side, Riley saw the lone tall guard tower reaching fifty feet into the night sky. In the glow of the arc lights that illuminated the compound, he could discern the muzzle of an M60 machine gun poking over the sandbags on top. His eyes continued their inspection.

"Damn," he hissed to Partusi. "When did that thing get moved in?" Riley indicated a four-wheeled armored vehicle inside the fence, underneath the tower. "I thought that stayed over by the main post with the reaction force."

Partusi shrugged and whispered back, "Our asset said sometimes it do and sometimes it don't. Tonight's a don't."

Riley nodded. They had prepared for this possibility anyway, along with many other contingencies. Across the center of the compound Riley counted the massive berms. Each over sixteen feet high, they squatted in two rows of five, with a road between them running north to south. From their asset's briefing, Riley knew that the side of each berm facing the road consisted of a massive iron door ten feet high by twelve feet wide. The other sides and top were covered in earth, masking the six feet of steel-reinforced concrete underneath, which protected the contents.

Riley turned back to Partusi. "Give me the rundown on your surveillance."

Partusi pointed as he quietly briefed. "Got a man in each guard shack. That's eight guards to start off with. Six have Ml6s. Two are armed with M203 grenade launchers — the one there in the southeast corner and the third one up on the west side. The tower's got an M60 machine gun with two men up there. The Avenger, that's what that armored thing under the tower is called, got a crew of three. An M60 is in the turret as its main weapon.

"We also got a Chevy Blazer, with two air force police in it, driving the compound perimeter road about every thirty to forty-five minutes. They really ain't checking too carefully. The guard changed at 2000 so we got this crew until 0400. Nothing much else."

Riley nodded. Everything was just as the civilian base worker they had recruited as an intelligence asset had told them it would be. Thirteen guards on target. Possibly two more in the Blazer. A reaction force of thirty men over at the main airfield that could be on target in six minutes, give or take a couple.

Partusi continued. "The ground sensors are there. Just before dark the air police in the Blazer drove off the dirt road and onto that grassy strip between the road and the fence to check them. They seem to be working. No remote cameras, but the sensors must be relayed back to the reaction force. There's a phone and radio in the tower. The Avenger probably got a radio too; you can see the antenna on the turret. I'm not sure about the guard shacks. Probably landline to the tower, but they haven't been doing any checks that I could tell.

"No air activity since a quarter to ten. Had two F-11’s land then. You can't see the runway from here but it's over to the northeast, beyond those trees up there."

"What about the grating?"

"All taken care of."

Riley considered the situation. He looked at the glowing dial of his watch. The team still had four hours before they did the job. After giving Partusi some final instructions, he went back to the rest of the team. Gathering them in close, he briefed them on the information that Partusi had imparted. Finishing that, he updated the tactical situation.

"Everything stays as planned. Except I want you, Haley, to take out that armored vehicle under the tower right away. Miller, you hit the guard with the M203 in the southeast corner with your first shot. I've already detailed Partusi to take out the other 203 on the west side with his first shot."

He looked around at the faces darkened with burned cork. "Any questions? Now you all know that the air force takes this nuclear stuff real serious. So when the time comes, let's do what we came here for and get the hell out before they even know what hit them."

An army two-and-a-half-ton truck with New York National Guard stenciled on the front bumper rumbled up to the main gate of Plattsburgh Air Force Base. The air policeman on duty stopped it, checking the ID cards of the two men in the front. As he matched the pictures on the cards to the two faces in the front seat, he queried the driver, "Where you heading?"

The driver gestured toward the back of the truck. "We're dropping off unused field rations at your warehouse from our annual training."

The guard waved the truck through. He glanced at the back as it went by. The canvas covering was down and he couldn't see in. He was a little curious as to why they were dropping off rations so early in the morning. The guard shrugged as he turned his attention back to the road. Part-time soldiers, he thought. Probably had to be back at their regular jobs in a couple of hours. He felt a little sorry for them having to be up so late.

Riley signaled the six men forward. They slithered into a dirt drainage ditch that linked up with a creek farther back in the woods. Riley led the way in the opposite direction, crawling through the mud in the bottom of the fold in the earth toward the fence. After passing through the culvert under the perimeter security road and coming out the other side, Riley peered ahead to where the drainage ditch passed under the fence.

This potential weak spot in the perimeter had not been overlooked by the designers of the compound. A metal grating allowed water to drain out but blocked entry to anything bigger than a small squirrel.

However, this avenue of approach had an additional advantage besides being out of the line of sight of the guards. The security specialist they had consulted had given them an 80 percent chance that the bottom of the ditch wouldn't be lined with sensors as was the rest of the perimeter, since the type of ground sensors used here by the air force tended to short out when constantly wet. The fact that Partusi had successfully completed his task the previous night confirmed that the ditch wasn't wired.

Riley crawled up to the grating, ignoring the mud that soaked the front of his shirt and pants. He reached up to the iron bars and carefully pulled on them. Partusi had done a good job. The hacksawed metal parted under his tugging. He glanced over the lip of the ditch toward the nearest guard shack twenty feet away. There was no indication that anything was amiss. Placing the grating aside, Riley led the way in, taking the left fork as the ditch split around the end of the road.

Powers, sitting next to the driver of the army National Guard truck, checked his watch. The truck was parked next to the ready building for the pilots of the squadron on alert — or where the pilots would be if there was an alert. Presently, the building should be empty except for a duty officer.

Peering ahead, Powers could see the raised, corrugated tin roof covering the four F-lll fighter bombers that were parked in the alert ready area. Fueled and armed, the aircraft were ready to fly in the event of an alert. From the asset's briefing, Powers knew that the pilots were not in the building but on a fifteen-minute recall confined to the limits of the air base.

Powers could also see two air police Chevy Blazers parked at opposite corners of the ready area with their engines running and lights on. Two more guards on foot patrolled the area.

Off to his left, three hundred meters away, Powers could see the airfield's control tower piercing the night sky. Below it, to the right, stood the short, squat building that housed the airfield defense reaction force. Several vehicles were parked outside.

Powers calmly checked his watch again. Only a few more minutes.

They'd made it inside without being spotted. That in itself was a major accomplishment. Like a snake, with Riley as the head, they low-crawled in the knee-high grass toward the second bunker up on the west side. That was their target.

As he edged forward, Riley felt the seconds go by, willing each one to last a little longer. Every inch they managed to crawl forward undetected was that much less they'd have to make under fire. He slid up to the first berm, shivering in the surprisingly cool August night air. He had never expected to make it this far without being spotted. He glanced at his watch. Any second now.

Shots ripped through the calm. The initial crack of the sniper rifles was lost in the roar of a machine gun spitting flame into the compound from the darkened tree line.

Riley and his comrades leapt to their feet and ran toward the next bunker. They still hadn't been spotted as the incoming rifle and machine gun fire riveted the guards' attention to the outside of the compound. Already, six of the perimeter guards were out of action. The attacking forces' machine gun in the wood line was dueling with the one in the tower. A roar and flash seared the night sky in the vicinity of the eastern wood line. Riley knew that indicated Haley had fired the Viper antitank rocket. The armored vehicle was out of commission.

Riley made it to the target bunker. Quickly, three of his men went into the routine they had rigorously practiced for the last three days. One taped detonation cord, known as det cord, along the seams of the doors, taking care to keep the cord from crossing itself. The other two men followed along, hooking in charges at premeasured points and priming them.

Riley and the three others fanned outward, ten feet from the massive doors to provide security. They were in position just as a reinforcing guard came running down the road between the berms from his northern guard post. The hapless air policeman was shot before he even realized there were intruders on the inside of the compound.

The M60 in the tree line won the battle with the tower as the gun up there went silent. An air policeman ran out of the immobilized Avenger with an M60 on his hip, blasting away at the tree line. Another started climbing up the tower to try to put that gun back into action.

Riley shook his head. Too many John Wayne movies. He raised his AK-47 and fired, picking off the man climbing the tower. The supporting fire from the wood line raked the hero with the machine gun on his waist, who tumbled forward to the ground. Riley was impressed. Nice performance.

The men rigging the demolitions were done. The det cord was tied into a short section of time fuse, which in turn was attached to a fuse igniter. The man with the igniter glanced at Riley, who nodded. The man pulled the ring and the fuse was lit.

"Let's go!" Riley yelled and gestured toward the southern fence. He pulled up the rear as the men ran for the hole. The outgoing fire from the compound was diminishing, with just a few surviving guards still returning fire. As Riley and his crew were spotted heading for the fence, two of the guards shifted fire. One of Riley's men was hit. The man didn't even notice and kept running until Riley stopped him and had two others carry him.

As Riley slid back through the hole, the time fuse finished burning and the explosives behind them went off with a bang.

The firing to the south had started two minutes ago. Powers patiently watched as the reaction force poured out of the building next to the tower. The air police jumped into three Blazers and two trucks and headed across the runway less than three minutes after the first shot. Both the Blazers at the aircraft ready site turned on their sirens and roared off to join the procession.

Powers pounded on the wall of the truck behind him, then opened the right door and hopped out. Men tumbled out of the back of the truck. Quickly, Powers counted heads. Fourteen. All present.

"Let's do it." He gave a thumbs-up to the driver and turned toward the aircraft. His men spread out behind him. At a slow jog they moved across the open tarmac, closing the distance between themselves and the F-111s. The truck slowly followed behind them.

The two air police on foot patrol watched the approaching men warily. They'd heard the firing off to the south and were confused by the two unexpected developments. One policeman tentatively raised his Ml6 to his shoulder and called out, "Halt!"

The reply was a roar of gunfire from the approaching men.

Riley experienced a slight feeling of relief. They were in the wood line and running, but two men had been shot. Carrying them slowed down the entire procession. Riley could hear the sirens of the reaction force behind him. He wasn't sure if the air police would chase them through the woods. He doubted it. Once the air police figured things out, they would probably try to circle around using the base perimeter road to beat the intruders to the fence. Riley was confident that his team could make it to the motorcycle shop before the air police were aware of what was going on and made it to the point where they'd entered the air base.

Another six hundred meters and they'd be at the fence.

Powers guided the truck as it backed up to the F-111. He nodded to himself as he checked his watch. With six men they could easily remove one of the bombs slung under the aircraft and heave it into the back of the truck.

Riley piled his men into the van and ran around to the front. He threw his web gear onto the floor and slammed the door shut. "Let's hit the road."

The driver roared out of the parking lot and turned toward the Northway.

Riley held up a hand. "Whoa! Slow down, man. We don't want to get stopped by cops."

As if that was the cue, the flashing lights of a state police patrol car came on a hundred meters behind the van. The big man turned to Riley. "What do I do now?"

"We stop."

The two-and-a-half-ton truck pulled off the flight line and onto the road heading toward the main gate. Powers allowed himself a brief smile, but it was wiped off his face as the driver slammed on his brakes and Powers's head barely missed the dashboard.

"Shit!" Powers looked up. Two air police cars with lights flashing were straddling the road in front of the truck. With drawn pistols, the drivers stood behind the vehicles, aiming at the truck's windshield.

Riley watched the state trooper approach the van warily. The driver rolled down his window. Riley slouched in his seat trying to appear inconspicuous — a hard task considering his darkened face and dirty camouflage fatigues. He crammed his AK-47 under the seat and tried wiping some of the burned cork off his face with his shirt sleeve.

"Would you step out, please?"

The driver obliged. Riley slid lower in his seat.

"You, too, over there on the right."

Riley sighed. He opened his door, got out, and walked around the van. The policeman stared hard at his appearance. The trooper's right hand unclipped the tie-down on his pistol. His fingers rested warily on the butt. "Open the back."

The driver shot a pleading look at Riley. Riley shrugged and nodded. Shaking his head, the big man led the state trooper around to the back. He unlocked the door and swung it wide open.