Rogue Forces

Patrick activated his secure cellular phone. “Boomer…” But he quickly had to take the earpiece out of his ear because of the noise. “Stand by, Colonel,” Patrick said. “Noble will be shutting down the reconnaissance system.”

“Shutting it down? Why?”

“The jamming is powerful enough that the datalink between us and the XC-57s has completely crashed,” Patrick said. “The only way we can get it going again is to shut down.”

“What good will that do?”

“The fail-safe mode for all the Losers is to switch to secure laser communications mode, and as far as we know no one has the ability to jam our laser comms,” Patrick said. “Once we power back up, the system will immediately default to a clear and more secure link. The laser is line of sight, not satellite-relayed, so we’ll lose a lot of capability, but at least we’ll get the picture back…at least, we should.”

It only took less than ten minutes to reboot the system, but it was an agonizingly long wait. When the picture finally returned, they saw only a small slice of what they were accustomed to seeing—but it was horrific enough all the same: “I’ve got three clusters of aircraft inbound—one each heading in the direction of Mosul, Irbil, and the third I’m assuming is heading for Kirkuk,” Hunter Noble reported. “Many high-speed aircraft in the lead, followed by lots of slow movers.”

“It’s an air assault,” Patrick said. “SEAD aircraft to take out the radars and communications, followed by tactical bombers to take out the airfields and command posts, close air support to stand watch, and then paratroopers and cargo planes for a ground assault.”

“What about Nahla?” Weatherly asked.

“The westerly cluster is passing to the west of us—I’m guessing they’ll target Mosul instead of us.”

“Negative—assume we’re next,” Wilhelm said. “Weatherly, organize a team and have them get the word out for everyone to take shelter. Do it any way you can—bullhorns, car horns, or yell like crazy, but get the regiment into shelters. Radio the Avengers to—”

“Can’t, sir. The Scion recon plane is back on the air, but our comms are still being jammed.”

“Damn,” Wilhelm swore. “All right, let’s hope the Avengers find good spots to hide, because we can’t warn them. Get moving.” Weatherly hurried off. “McLanahan, what about the veep?”

“We have no way of contacting his aircraft while we’re being jammed,” Patrick said. “Hopefully, once he switches to our freq, he’ll hear the jamming and decide to turn back to Baghdad.”

“Is there any way you can knock down that Gulfstream or whatever it is up there?” Wilhelm asked.

Patrick thought for a moment, then headed for the exit. “I’m headed for the flight line,” he said, adding, “I’ll get your comms back.” Patrick hurried outside, hopped into one of the Humvees assigned to his team, and sped off.

He found the flight line in utter chaos. Soldiers were standing on Humvees shouting warnings; some had loudspeakers; others just beeped the horn. Half of the Scion Aviation International technicians were standing around, unsure of whether or not to leave.

“Get into shelters, now!” Patrick shouted after screeching to a halt outside the hangar, leaping out, and running for the command center. He found Jon Masters and Hunter Noble still at their consoles, trying without hope to counter the fierce jamming. “Are you guys nuts?” Patrick said as he started grabbing laptops. “Get the hell out of here!”

“They’re not going to bomb us, Muck,” Jon said. “We’re Americans, and this is an Iraqi air base, not a rebel stronghold. They’re going after—”

At that moment he was interrupted by triple sonic booms that rolled directly overhead. It felt as if the hangar was a giant balloon that had been shot full of air in the blink of an eye. Computer monitors, lamps, and shelving flew from desks and walls, bulbs shattered, walls cracked, and the air suddenly fogged over because every speck of dust in the entire place was blasted free by the overpressure. “Hol-ee jeez…!”

“I’m hoping that was a warning. Don’t try to launch any aircraft, or the next pass will be a bomb run,” Patrick said. Under the desk with one of the laptops displaying the laser radar image from the XC-57, he studied it for a few moments, then said, “Jon, I want that Turkish plane knocked out.”

“With what? Spitballs? We don’t have any antiair weapons.”

“The Loser does. Slingshot.”

“Slingshot?” Jon’s eyes narrowed in confusion, then understanding, followed by calculation, and finally by agreement. “We gotta get close, maybe within three miles.”

“And if the Turks catch the Loser, they’ll shoot it down for sure…and then they’ll come after us.”

“I’m hoping they don’t want to tangle with us—they’re after Kurdish rebels,” Patrick said. “If they wanted to bomb us, they’d have done it by now.” He didn’t sound too convincing, even to himself; but after another moment’s reconsideration, he nodded. “Do it.”