Stony Man - Triple Strike Part 10

"They call me Jack," Hammer stated, taking his hand. "I'm pleased to be here, wherever here is."

Katz smiled. "This is just a little CP operation we threw together for this mission."

Hammer also didn't know what "this mission" was, but he now knew better than to ask. He was tired of being told that he didn't have a need to know.

"I'm Hermann Schwarz," the man behind the biggest bank of commo gear said, waving. "Everyone calls me Gadgets." Hammer raised his coffee cup in salute.

"The other guys are busy right now, so you probably won't meet them for a while."

Hammer's rough count was coming up with a dozen guys a.s.sociated with whatever this was. But again, he didn't have a need to know.

"You want me to tell the Farm that they're here?" Schwarz asked Katz. "Go ahead."

Hammer tried not to be too obvious as he sipped his coffee to cover his listening in to Schwarz's short conversation. The woman's voice on the other end intrigued him. He couldn't quite see women working with this gang of commandos and spooks.

"You present a bit of a problem to us, Jack," Katz told Hammer after showing him to a chair beside the single desk in the room. "Usually we don't let out-siders get this close to one of our operations. But since you got yourself dragooned, as it were, I guess that we'll just have to accommodate you for a little while more. In fact you'll be seconded to us for the duration."

"If you don't mind," Hammer replied, "I'd like to check that out with my chain of command first. They're going to want to get a-"

"That's already been taken care of," Katz inter-rupted him. "As of the time we pulled you out of that fortress, you've been on detached duty with us. I have a hard copy if you'd like to see it. It's signed off by the Air Force chief of staff.

"That's so we can keep you quiet," Katz explained when he saw the look on the pilot's face. "This thing isn't over yet, and we have to maintain absolute security until it is. As the pilot of a cla.s.sified aircraft, I'm sure you understand things like that."

Hammer took a deep breath. If he didn't understand it, he sure as h.e.l.l was going to pretend that he did. He was just a down-home fighter jock, and spook games were a little out of his league, but it looked like he was locked in and had to ride it out. "Okay," he said. "I'11 play."

"Good. Gadgets will show you where you can bunk down and get cleaned up. Let me know if there's anything you need, and I'll have it sent over ASAP."

Hammer leaned back in his chair. "Well, there is this waitress at the officers' club."

Schwarz laughed and Katz grinned. "You're go-ing to fit in well around here."

Stony Man Farm AARON KURTZMAN WAS happy to hear that McCarter and the Air Force major had made it safely back to Italy with their hijacked Hercules and its cla.s.sified cargo. The loss of the Night Owl would have been devastating to the security of the United States. Now, all they had to do was to get the Stony Man team to someplace where they could be extracted by chopper without the threat of a gauntlet of deadly Strella missiles.

There was something about those Strellas that had been nagging at the back of his mind. It was true that since the breakup of the old Evil Empire, ex-Soviet weapons were showing up more and more on the arms black markets of the world. But even the Russians weren't so money hungry that they wanted to see weapons like that get into the hands of Islamic fanatics.

With the trouble the new Russian state was having with their own Muslims, they were very leery of who got hold of weapons that could so easily be turned against them. They hadn't forgotten what the American Stinger missiles in the hands of the mujahideen had done to them in Afghanistan. One of the old Soviet generals had even said that they were the single thing that had tipped the balance against the Russian army and had forced its withdrawal.

Regardless of Russian concern, it was true that a few Strellas had slipped out, particularly a batch or two from an unguarded armory in what had once been East Germany. But for Iran to have enough of the valuable weapons on hand to be willing to issue them to the freedom fighters in Bosnia didn't make sense to Kurtzman. The missiles were there for a reason, and it bothered him that he didn't know what it was. There was a big piece to this puzzle that was missing, and he hated missing pieces.

After discovering that the mysterious Islamic commandos at the fortress were Iranians, he had been able to match them to the political a.s.sa.s.sinations that had taken place in Bosnia since the signing of the so-called peace accord. The a.s.sumption was that this was the Iranian contingent's primary mission. That by killing enough Serb and Croat leaders, the Bosnian Muslims would have an easier time of gaining control of the fragmented state and could impose their will on the non-Muslim population.

He still thought that was a valid a.s.sumption, but it didn't explain the antiaircraft missiles. The problem was that the a.s.sa.s.sination of leaders in that re-gion was a game as old as time. Even the War to End All Wars had been started by the a.s.sa.s.sination of a political figure in Sarajevo in 1914, the Arch-duke Ferdinand of Austria. But he wasn't sure that a.s.sa.s.sination alone would swing the balance far enough to the side of the Muslims to make an appreciable difference this time.

It wouldn't hurt the Muslim cause to have fewer capable men opposing them-that was true. But he knew that for every man who was killed, another one would stand up in his place and vow to carry on the fight. The only way to dramatically shift the balance of power in the region was genocide pure and simple. The Serbs had gotten a good start on that with the concentration camps and ma.s.s killings that had taken place during the war. As evil as it had been, a few thousand men, women and children more or less sim-ply didn't make any difference in the real world.

For these Iranian commandos to make a radical difference in the politics of the region, they would have to kill tens of thousands of Serbs and Croats, and there simply weren't enough of them to do that. Unless, of course, they planned to use weapons of ma.s.s destruction, as they had come to be known. Calling up a menu, he clicked on a file to take a look at the latest information he had on weapons of ma.s.s destruction in the Middle East.

It was only by the grace of G.o.d and the courage of mortal men that the only member of the nuclear club in the region was the state of Israel. The Israelis had nuclear weapons, and they had made sure that all of their bellicose neighbors knew about them. This was the primary reason that the Jews and Arabs had quit going to war every couple of years as they had done in the riffles, sixties and seventies. If the state of Israel felt threatened enough, it was well-known they would use their nuclear weapons to de-fend themselves.

But while the Arab states didn't have nuclear weapons, it didn't mean that they didn't have weapons of ma.s.s destruction. There were other ways to kill large numbers of people without using nuclear bombs. Chemical and biological weapons worked just as well if they were employed properly. Iraq's biological-and chemical-weapons programs were a proved factor. Only the threat of nuclear retaliation had kept them from using them during the Gulf War.

What was less well-known was that the Iranians also had a sizable chemical a.r.s.enal. Back when the Russians had been supporting them, they had sent scientists to Tehran to set up a chemical-weapons- development program. In particular, an East German team from a chemical firm in Dresden had spent more than a year there setting up a state-of-the-art facility for the manufacture of nerve gas and blister agents like mustard gas.

Scrolling through the latest intel updates, he looked for reports of unusual activity at the known Iranian chemical-weapons storage sites. These were all hidden facilities camouflaged to look like anything but weapons-storage areas.

When Kurtzman found what he had suspected, he ran the tapes of the past few months' worth of recon-satellite pa.s.ses over the facility. Like nearly everyone else in the world, the Iranians knew when America's spy birds were overhead and made sure that they didn't do anything that would look suspicious while their cameras were watching. But often what they didn't do when they could be seen was as informative as what they did when they couldn't.

For instance, for the past several months at the Jeziel storage facility, the Iranians hadn't done anything that would look bad on tape. In fact they had gone to great lengths to ensure that everything would look normal to the s.p.a.ce spies. But since the place was being pa.s.sed off as an agricultural machinery factory, it didn't make sense that no one was working during daylight hours. It also didn't make sense that the same half-completed tractors were in the same place for run after run.

But if this was a chemical-weapons facility, it would make sense that it would have a growing pile of junk in back that on the highest magnification turned out to be the original packing crates for Russian high-explosive rockets. And tire tracks of heavy trucks leading to the airfield nearby were always fresh. An enhanced oblique camera shot showed him the distinctive tall tail of a C-130 parked in the big hangar at the airfield, and there was no need to fly tractors anywhere in Iran.

When Kurtzman was completely satisfied that he had his answer, he picked up his phone and hit the speed dial. "Hal," he said when it was picked up on the second ring, "I think you need to come down here and look at something. And bring Barbara with you."

WHEN BROGNOLA AND PRICE arrived ten minutes later, it was apparent that Kurtzman had rousted the rest of the cybernetics team, as well. They were all at their workstations, and the high-speed printers were spitting out paper as fast as it could be loaded into them.

"What do you have, Aaron?" Price asked.

"I think I've found out why those Islamic commandos are hiding out in Bosnia."

"Couldn't this have waited until the morning briefing?" Brognola growled. "Unlike you, I have to get some sleep every now and then."

"It could have waited, yes," he admitted. "But I thought that you'd want to get this to the President as soon as you could." "Get what to him?"

"The information about the kanian chemical weapons that have been transferred to Bosnia."

That woke up Brognola in a hurry. "How about starting from the beginning, Aaron? Some of us haven't been awake all night doing whatever you've been doing."

As Price headed for the coffeepot, Kurtzman started relating how he had spent the night. When he was done, Brognola looked considerably more hag-gard than he had when he first walked in. "How soon can you have hard copy on all of that ready for me?"

Kurtzman glanced at the printers. "It should be ready any moment now."

'Tll get the chopper ready," Price said.

"I already notified the pilot," Kurtzman stated, "and he's standing by."

"The Man is going to love this," Brognola muttered as he was handed the heavily laden briefcase with the security-handcuff lock.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

Bosnia

The Stony Man team had found a secure hiding place in the rocks while they waited for extraction. Their mountain refuge gave them good all-around vision of the approaches and had a natural "back door" if they were discovered. It was a good place to hunker down until Katzenelenbogen could put together their return flight.

"That's about the last of the MREs," James said as he crumpled the brown plastic wrapping of his meal and stuffed it in his a.s.sault pack.

"If we get too hungry," Hawkins suggested, "I've got a pretty good recipe for bootlace soup. My daddy always said that it came down from his great-granddaddy, and that the Army of Northern Virginia really liked it. He even said that Bobby Lee himself stopped by one day and had some."

'Tll put my gym-sock stew up against it any old time," James said. "It was the hit of the Chicago neighborhood where I grew up."

"The problem with using old sweat socks as a soup base," Hawkins said seriously, "is that you get that residual rubbery taste from the shoes and have to use too much pepper to cover it up."

"Everyone knows that stone soup's best," Encizo said, putting an end to the argument. "But you need to have a village nearby to get the condiments it re-ally needs. I can remember one time when I wasw"

"Can it, guys," Manning radioed from his look-out. "We have another patrol moving toward us, and it looks like it's the mountain men this time."

They had gotten away clean from the hijacking of the C-130, but the opposition hadn't been content to let it rest there. Ever since they had gotten back to their hiding place, both vehicle and foot patrols had been working the forest day and night. The Iranians had been joined by men in dark olive battle dress and carrying ropes on their rucksacks. The new force had the look of locals and, from the ropes, they had to be trained mountain troops.

The Stony Man warriors knew that it was unlikely that the Iranians would try to climb the rocks to get to them. But the locals were a different story. They would have no fears of rocks and sheer cliffs.

Picking up their weapons, the commandos moved to their prepared positions to see what developed this time. Their ammunition situation wasn't critical yet, but they were down to only a third of their basic load and couldn't afford to get into a long firefight.

Aviano Air Base, Italy CARL LYONS and Rosario Blanca.n.a.les were on the afternoon of their second day of watching the west-em approach to the air base from their hilltop observation point. After making a map study of the area surrounding the air base, Katzenelenbogen had decided that any attacker would come from that direction because of the easy access to the road networks. They would want to get in and out of their attack positions quickly, and the roads were best to the west.

Figuring that the terrorists would want to strike at night, Lyons and Blanca.n.a.les had stayed awake the night before and now were taking tums sleeping dur-ing the day. On an a.s.signment like this, it was essential that they get their rest whenever they could. Blanca.n.a.les was sacked out in the back of the van this shift while Lyons kept watch. His eyes were on autopilot, scanning every vehicle that pa.s.sed in traffic, when he saw a large van in the right-hand lane slow and pull off the road.

"Heads up, guys," he called the CP over the corem link. "I've got what looks like a moving van, or something like that, pulling over to the side of the road. It's not a normal parking area, and there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the mack."

"Maybe the driver's just got to take a leak," Schwarz called back. "They have to do that in Italy, too, you know."

"Four men have gotten out," Lyons continued his report. "No, make that six, and they're opening up the doors in the back of the truck."

"This is it!" Lyons shouted when he recognized what the men were pulling out of the van. The shape of a mortar base plate couldn't be mistaken for anything else. Not when the tube and bipod were brought out a second later and fitted to it. "They're setting up a heavy mortar."

Blanca.n.a.les had woken in the back of the van and was scrambling to get into the pa.s.senger's seat as Lyons fired up the engine and shifted the transmission into first gear.

It took but a few seconds for the gunners to lay their weapon and drop the first round down the robe. The mortar fired with the characteristic coughing thump, and the first 120 mm mortar round was on its way, arcing through the sky. It hit at the end of the flight line, and the gunners cranked the traverse wheel to bring the weapon to bear on the hangars.

By the time the second mortar round was in the air, a dozen more men stood up along the base perimeter fence at the end of the runway with RPG-7 ant.i.tank rocket launchers on their shoulders. Since the chain-link fences would detonate the rocket warheads if they tried to fire directly through at the fence, they angled the launchers up to fire over the fence like artillery.

The 85 nun RPG warheads didn't carry the explosive charge of the larger 120 mrn mortar rounds. But since they were shaped-charge warheads designed to penetrate tank armor, they made good bunker bust-ers. Also they had a good antipersonnel effect when they detonated against concrete and sprayed the fragments like shrapnel.

On the flight line, the Italian pilots of the pair of F-16 Fighting Falcons on ramp alert raced for their planes at the sound of the first explosion. The ground crews had already started the jet engines, and as soon as the pilots were strapped in, they pulled their throtties past the stops into afterburner, released the brakes and took off screaming down the runway.

The RPG gunners heard the whining scream of the turbines and shifted their aim to the fighters trying to take off. Trailing dirty white smoke, a volley of half a dozen rockets arched over the fence for the runway. The gunners' aim wasn't precise, but enough of the rockets. .h.i.t the tarmac to do the job.

One of the shaped-charge warheads detonated right in front of the lead F-16. Jagged chunks of concrete were sucked into the fighter's intake, and the engine exploded.

"Seven Niner, punch out! Punch out!" the control tower screamed at the pilot.

The pilot needed no prompting and had already pulled the bang-seat handle. The zero-length ejection seat rocketed him high enough into the air that his chute could open and return him to earth.

The pilot of the first fighter was still in the air when his wingman took a direct hit on the left wing.

The ant.i.tank warhead cut through the aircraft's main spar like a hot knife. When the wing folded, it knocked out the landing gear on that side, and the F-16 slammed sideways onto the runway at well over a hundred miles per hour. This time, the pilot had presence of mind enough not to eject and risk getting killed from the seat rocketing him into the ground.

All of this happened in the first 120 seconds of the attack. It took another 120 seconds before any of the base security forces responded. By that time, the fuel tank farm was blazing, one of the ammunition bunkers had exploded and more than a dozen planes on the flight line had been destroyed or damaged by sh.e.l.l fragments.

Now, though, sirens were wailing all over the base, and men were running for their alert stations. Helicopter gunships were cranking up, and fire tracks were racing to try to put out the fires before the flames spread. One of the trucks drove into a falling mortar round and was blown off its wheels.

The stunned security forces tried to return fire at the RPG gunners outside the fence, but they were met with a hail of AK fire from the second group of terrorists who had been lying in wait for them. The advantage lay with the attackers, who had taken cover in the drainage ditches.

ON THE HILL overlooking the carnage, Lyons and Blanca.n.a.les were racing for the terrorists with the 120 mm mortar. ff they could put the tube out of action, they could limit the damage that was being done.

As Lyons drove, Blanca.n.a.les loaded a 40 mm grenade into the breach of the M-203 grenade launcher he had borrowed from Schwarz. For this kind of work, his 12-gauge SPAS just didn't have the range or the firepower.

IN THE STONY MAN CP, Katz and Schwarz had their hands full. When Lyons sent the warning about the mortars, Katz immediately called the base security office, but had been put on hold. In frustration, he tried to get through to the UN PROFOR headquarters, but hadn't been able to talk to anyone in charge. The man on radio watch didn't speak enough English to understand what the problem was and kept shouting that they were under attack.

Major Hammer had been catching up on his sleep when the first mortar explosion brought him out of his bunk. Racing into the main room, he saw Schwarz diving for cover inside the sandbag bunker that had been built against the far wall. When Katz yelled at him to do the same, the pilot didn't argue.

"We're coming up on that mortar," Lyons called into the CP. "Can you get someone up here to back us up?"

"I'm afraid that you're going to have to handle that one yourselves," Katz answered.

"We're in the process of doing that right now," Lyons said, "but we could use a little help."

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Stony Man Farm AARON KURTZMAN'S voice broke in over Barbara Price's intercom. "Barb, Katz just called, and the air base in Aviano is being attacked." "I'm coming."