Nightwatch

Chapter 17

“American military 747, this is my last warning. You are to immediately return with me to Simferopol Airport or suffer the consequences.”

Coach’s frustration was obvious as he pushed back his chin mike and spoke to his copilot.

“Lucky, whatever it takes, stall him. I’ll get the good Colonel on the horn, and get a definitive answer on how the hell they want us to handle this mess.”

Lucky flashed Coach a “why me?” stare, and paused for a moment before addressing the radio.

“Come again, Foxbat leader? Your last transmission was incomplete. I suggest that you switch frequencies to NATO band …”

Ever appreciative of his copilot’s ingenuity. Coach activated the intercom.

“Colonel Pritchard, it’s Major Foard. Unless you have any better ideas, I’m afraid we’re gonna have to change our flight plan from Andrews to Simferopol.”

“Can’t you stall them just a little bit longer?” Pritchard’s amplified voice sounded pleading.

“The Chairman’s still trying to get in touch with the Ukrainian Defense Minister. And we’re having one hell of a time making contact, because it appears they’re in the middle of some kind of coup down there!”

“Sir,” countered Coach, “coup or no coup, we’re about to get an AA-6 air-to-air missile up our keister. As air crew commander, I say it would be more prudent if we sorted this whole thing out down on the tarmac at Simferopol.”

“He’s not buying it. Coach!” interrupted Lucky.

“He says he’s gonna shoot!”

Coach abruptly ended his intercom conversation to concentrate on the crisis at hand.

“What’s our lead Foxbat’s range?”

“Twelve and a half miles and holding steady, sir,” replied the navigator from the rear of the cockpit.

“That’s well within the AA-6’s IR envelope,” informed Jake Lasky.

“With an approach speed of Mach 4.5, we’ll be toast before we know what hit us.”

“American military 747,” the radio boomed, “unless you turn at once for Simferopol, I have no choice but to take you out.

Be informed that I’m initiating armament sequence and launch countdown.”

“At least we can’t say he didn’t give us plenty of warning,” noted Coach, who found himself without options.

“It’s time to turn this big lady around for some Ukrainian cooking.”

As Coach reached out to deactivate the autopilot. Lucky readjusted the scan of the instrument panel’s radar screen. He requested maximum range, and had to do a double take upon spotting a formation of four new contacts, rapidly approaching from the south.

“We’ve got some more company coming!” he excitedly revealed.

Coach looked at the radar screen, and a smile lit up his face as the three MiGs suddenly broke off their pursuit and turned back to the north.

“Looks like Comrade Dubrinski has had a sudden change of heart,” observed the grinning pilot.

“Nightwatch six-seven-six,” broke in a crisp voice over the radio.

“This is Captain Brantley Williams, your Fighting Falcon leader. How can we be of service this evening? Over.”

Back in the 747’s Operations Team Area, the arrival of the U.S. Air Force F-16s was met with shouts of relieved joy.

Nightwatch was now free to continue on the long flight back to Andrews, and as it initiated a wide-banked turn to the west, Brittany Cooper had to reach out and steady herself on the side of the workstation she was standing next to. On the other hand, the woman seated behind this console didn’t appear to be the least bit fazed by the sudden turn. Oblivious to her straining seat harness. Red continued to attack her keyboard, her glance locked on the assortment of data filling the console’s flashing monitor screen.

“Iron Man One,” she said into her chin mike. “This is Nightwatch six-seven-six. I have a Priority One transmission. Over.”

Brittany knew that this call was being directed to yet another U.S. military airborne command post. Iron Man One was their current TACAMO alert aircraft. While Nightwatch was a U.S. Air Force platform, TACAMO belonged to the Navy. Its original mission was to offer survivable communications to the strategic submarine fleet. For over three decades, and using several types of aircraft, TACAMO had proved itself an invaluable asset, utilizing a five-mile-long antenna to transmit VLF broadcasts to submarines deep beneath their patrol zones.

With the addition of a new state-of-the-art airframe, TACAMO had recently expanded its mission. Iron Man One was the first TACAMO platform to be outfitted with the so-called “Looking Glass” operations suite. Looking Glass was originally an Air Force program, run by the Strategic Air Command, that offered survivable command and control of nuclear-armed ICBMs and land-based bombers.

Aboard Iron Man One, the normal TACAMO communications personnel were joined by a command battle staff. This emergency action team was responsible for transmitting Emergency Action Messages, the unlock codes for America’s nuclear warheads. In addition to releasing these codes, the battle staff had the capability of actually launching an ICBM from the air, should ground based command and control be compromised.

“Admiral Warner,” said Red into her mike, “I have General Spencer on the line.”

The moment the two senior officers began conversing. Red cut off the verbal feed, and she looked up to address Brittany.

“That should keep him out of my hair for a couple of minutes.

Now what’s all this about those MiGs hightailing it back home?”

“It seems that our saviors are a group of F-16 Fighting Falcons out of Incirlik,” Brittany told her.

“They were originally scrambled to assist Checkmate One, and arrived seconds before that lead Foxbat was threatening to blow us out of the skies.”

“I’m sure glad we weren’t forced to land at Simferopol, Commander.

From what I could tell from the Ukrainian Defense factor, or part of the plan so as to disenable us from reaching and perhaps siding against the coup’s leadership,” mused Brittany.

“Though I caught only a portion of the Chairman’s conversation with the Defense Minister, it actually sounded as if the Ukrainians were blaming us for both the attack on the motorcade, as well as the coup attempt that followed. And that’s why they sent up those MiGs.”

A loud electronic tone sounded from Red’s computer, and she immediately broke off her conversation with Brittany, typed a flurry of commands into her keyboard, and spoke into her chin mike.

“Yes, Admiral … I understand, sir … I’ll see what I can do about it, sir.”

Red cut off her mike, and, still able to hear the audio feed over her lightweight headphones, she began attacking the keyboard.

“Damn static,” she cursed, more in annoyance than in anger.

“You’d think that with all the big bucks we spend on this high-tech gear, the least we could get is a clear telephone conversation.”

Brittany sensed her frustration, yet realized that establishing secure communications via satellite between two airplanes — one flying over the Black Sea, the other off America’s East Coast-was no easy feat to begin with.

“Admiral Warner, keep your cool, dude,” mumbled Red to herself, in reference to the conversation she was continuing to overhear.

“Even if you are Chairman, the man’s still a General.”

Brittany didn’t have the foggiest notion what Red was referring to. She watched her complete the final filtering process before removing her headset and looking up at Brittany, a mischievous look in her eye.

“Though I could get a court-martial for sharing this with you, it seems our esteemed Chairman just read General Spencer the riot act.”

“Whatever for?” asked Brittany, her curiosity piqued.

Red’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper.

“With your clearance, you’d probably find out anyway. But promise me you’ll keep it between us.” then that Warner went ballistic. It seems Spencer played a SIOP option. He had Iron Man One transmit an EAM to one of our Tridents, authorizing a limited nuclear strike against Ukraine, should Nightwatch have been downed. And all he wanted to do was properly revenge our deaths, and Warner goes and cuts his head off!”