"Zero-Zero Section, descend to two hundred feet MSL," Shin Kazama
called to his planes. Two F-5E Tiger IIs and two Israeli-made Kfirs
waggled their wings in response and followed his F-20 Tigershark into
a steep dive.
They were to approach their targets at as low an altitude as
possible to avoid detection by ground based enemy radar. The relatively
featureless terrain of the Asran desert allowed the low flying fighter-
bombers to maintain a heady 600 knot speed to discourage anti-aircraft
cannon fire. Each pilot listened carefully in his headset for the tell-
tale sound of the Soviet-era 'Firecan' radar that might herald computer
tracking 57mm anti-aircraft guns ahead.
Shin had other things to worry about as well. Rumors were
circulating around Area 88 concerning the possibility of the Anti-
Government forces purchasing a Russian IL-76 'Mainstay' AWACS plane. If
it was true, then their approach had already been detected long before
their dive to the deck. Interceptors could already be on their way,
and lacking airborne radar and controller guidance of their own, they
would never know until it was too late.
_______________________________________________________________________
J. Austin Wilde and Fission Park Press proudly present:
AREA 88: ANGELS OF BLOOD AND FIRE
Mission 02:
DAY OF THE WEASEL
-Part One-
By J. Austin Wilde, K.B.C.S.
Super Critical Reactor Axe Man,
Fission Park Press
wildeman@psn.net
http://www.psn.net/~wildeman/
The characters and situations of Area 88 are
the creation and property of Kaoru Shintani.
"Angels of Blood and Fire: Day of the Weasel"
is dedicated to Greg "Uncle Fester" Sandborn,
who has done his country proud as one of the
SLEAZY WEASELS
_______________________________________________________________________
Shin brought his mask up to his face and took a deep breath of
pure oxygen. There was no point in worrying, he told himself. They were
ten minutes from the strike zone, and it was going to take all of his
concentration to keep from slamming his multi-million dollar jet into
the desert sand.
Their target was an oil pipeline pumping station that brought oil
from the well fields in the rebel held southern part of Asran to Libya,
where it was sent to market via tankers in the Gulf of Sidra. Colonel
Muammar Qaddaffi skimmed ten percent off the top for his services, and
the petrodollars flowed into the coffers of the Anti-Government forces
to continue financing the cursed civil war. No wonder they could afford
to buy a Mainstay.
Radar chirped in his ears. It was faint, even distorted. They were
receiving backscatter from a search radar somewhere beyond the low
sandstone ridge they would cross to hit their target. As expected, the
Anti-Government forces were protecting their vital oil assets.
"Keep your eyes open," Shin advised his section. He didn't dare
say much more over the radio, although his fear that had already been
detected was stronger than ever.
They were coming up on the rise. Each plane carried racks of low
drag iron bombs, allowing the pilots to 'throw' them over the ridge
and into their target while making their escape maneuvers. Precision
guided ordnance would have been nice, but those bombs were in the
hands of the regular air force, and McCoy's prices for a laser guided
bomb practically negated the prize money to be had in destroying the
pumping station. At least his exposure over the target area would be
limited, Shin told himself.
The two Kfirs would hang back as fighter cover and SAM lookouts
while Shin and the two F-5Es made the first bomb run. Anything that
they missed, the Kfirs would clean up while they provided cover.
Shin eased the stick back on his Tigershark, the fly-by-wire
controls smooth in his hand, and the sleek fighter responsive and
taut with his own nervous energy. The dull brown sandstone loomed
in his HUD as he climbed for his attack and put on some left roll. His
left hand shoved the throttle forward to just below the afterburner
setting in preparation for his escape turn, knowing that in the few
seconds delay between throttle motion and turbine response he would
be dropping his bombs and making his break.
"Fighters, twelve o'clock high!" Kihn, one of his section mates,
cried.
"Section abort!" Shin grunted in reply. He was already in the
middle of his run. Another two seconds wouldn't matter in the grand
scheme of things.
His target appeared starkly white against the dun colored sand
on the other side of the ridge. The sight of an olive drab SA-6 mobile
Surface to Air Missile launcher nearby brought a curse to his lips as
he lined his bomb pipper up on the reinforced concrete pumping house
and released. As the bombs fell away, his radar warning siren began
sounding in his ears.
Minus several thousand pounds of bombs, the Tigershark rolled
sharply and rose swiftly above the desert floor. Shin craned his head
up to look above for the enemy fighters. He caught a glint of metal
out of the sun directly above him.
The first cannon shells began streaming around him as he snap
rolled in the opposite direction and went to full afterburner. Far
behind him came a series of explosions as his bombs slammed home in
and around the pumping house. The rising black column of smoke went
unnoticed in Shin's cockpit mirrors as he tried to escape the diving
MiGs, but the bright orange flash of a SAM didn't.
"SAM warning!" Kihn called out.
One of the F-5Es caught the missile in the undercarriage and
exploded. Had he been just a few feet lower, the missile wouldn't
have had time to arm itself. His wingmate caught some shrapnel in one
of his engines and turned for the safety of the ridge.
Shin couldn't believe they would launch missiles with their own
aircraft in close proximity. They were either a bunch of undisciplined
yahoos or they were utterly ruthless bastards. He hoped it was the
former.
"Disengage and return to base," Shin ordered the remaining
members of Zero-Zero Section. **But first things first.**
A MiG-23 had apparently become separated from his wingman in the
confusion, and Shin was the type of pilot to notice these things. He
pulled a Split-S and brought the nose of his fighter up to face the
wandering MiG. His radar began to chirp in his ears as it began
searching for the plane.
A scant second later his sophisticated radar had his quarry in
sight, telling the seeker heads on his wingtip mounted Sidewinder
missiles where to look. The Sidewinders called back that they had the
MiG's engine heat etched indelibly in their single-minded little logic
circuits.
He released a missile as his radar warning sounded again. The SA-6
launcher must have decided that he was next. As Mick often said in
similar situations, it was time to get out of Dodge.
The Kfirs were already engaged with three MiG-23s. The remaining
F-5E was streaking north for home. Keeping one eye on his fuel gauge
and the other on the outgoing Sidewinder, Shin dove for the safety of
the ground and the ridge of sandstone to screen him from the SA-6
launcher's radar. His missile struck the MiG cleanly, knocking it out
of the sky sans its left wing.
The strident tone of his radar warning alarm ceased abruptly as
the weathered crag of sandstone blocked the SAM launcher's radar beam.
He panted for breath in the respite, knowing that as Section Leader he
couldn't leave the area until the rest of his section was clear. His
Kfir pilots were experienced dogfighters, and the MiG-23s they were
facing were definitely not the Anti-Government air forces's own group
of mercenary pilots - better known as the Wolf Pack.
One of the MiGs exploded from a point blank cannon burst to the
fuselage. Another scissored clear of Kihn's afterburner charge with
only a streamer of white smoke trailing from a wingtip. The third
decided he was outmatched, and broke for home.
"Pursue?" Kihn called to him.
"Return to base," Shin replied. "We don't know how many chasers
they've got headed this way, and we certainly don't have the fuel for
it."
"Roger that."
* * *
Mick Simon stood out on the flight line waiting for Shin's section
to come home. The sight of a lone F-5E approaching from the south and
trailing smoke disturbed him. He waited anxiously until two Kfirs and
Shin's Tigershark appeared on the horizon.
Shin was the last to land. Mick waited at the revetment as he
taxied his Tigershark into it. The single engine began to spool down as
the canopy went up.
"What happened?" he asked the Japanese ace. "That was supposed to
be a milk run and you came back missing a plane."
"Hamilton caught a SAM in the belly," Shin replied sullenly. "It's
not my problem if he's unlucky."
Mick stepped back at Shin's icy retort. Sometimes he forgot how
personally his friend took all of this.
"Forget I mentioned it," he said by way of apology.
"It could have been worse," Shin sighed as the plane captain
safed his ejector seat and then unstrapped him. "They knew we were
coming. We were jumped by four MiG-23s right as we were making our
first run. If they had showed up a few moments sooner, they would
have had us."
Mick let a low whistle.
"Ground spotter get you?"
Shin shook his head as he climbed down the boarding ladder.
"No. The intercept was right on. All they were lacking was their
timing, and even that was close. Someone vectored them in. Someone who
knew where we were practically the whole time. The nearest rebel air
base was too far away for an airborne patrol to just happen to be in
the area; they had to have been scrambled for the purpose of
intercepting us."
Mick cocked his head to the side as they walked towards Saki's
office to file the mission report.
"You think the rebels really have that Mainstay?"
"Maybe not a Mainstay," Shin admitted. "But they had something
watching us. I kept getting little bits of radar noise, but nothing
strong enough to really pinpoint."
"I just don't see how they could keep something that big in the
air all the time and without us being able to spot it," Mick said
evenly.
Lieutenant Colonel Saki Vashutarl's office was on the ground
floor of the control tower. The black haired prince was facing the
window looking out onto the flight line when they entered. He seemed
not to notice them at first.
"Zero-Zero Section Leader Shin Kazama here to report, sir," Shin
announced formally.
"I heard about Hamilton," Saki replied. He turned around. "His
death announcement will go out tonight at evening muster."
"I take full responsibility, sir," Shin said tautly.
Saki nodded absently. He knew the realities of running a mercenary
air force, and the truth was that many of the pilots who signed up for
wealth and glory in Asran's armed forces tried to compensate for their
lack of combat skills and training with bravado. Shin Kazama was not
the first civilian-trained pilot to ever end up in the hell of Area 88,
and he certainly wasn't the last. If anything, he was surprised that
Hamilton had lasted as long as he did.
"Go ahead and make your report, Shin," he said to the pilot.
Shin cleared his throat and did so. Saki listened intently to
every detail. In addition to his duties as Commanding Officer and
liason to the Asran Royal Air Force, he was also the base's
Intelligence Officer.
"So it's your opinion that the rebel forces have some sort of
airborne radar platform in operation?" he asked.
Shin nodded.
"I do, sir."
Saki nodded. "I didn't want to believe the rumors myself, but
after this we'll have to operate under the assumption that the rebels
do in fact have one or more AWACS aircraft available to coordinate
their interceptors and strike units."
He sat down at his desk and looked very tired.
"It's going to make things even tougher for us," he said.
"Hey, no problem, Saki," Mick chuckled. "Get me a Phoenix missile
or two, and me and my Tomcat'll take care of your AWACS troubles."
Saki looked up at Mick.
"I'd consider it, except that in order for them to operate far
enough away from us to avoid direct detection, you would have to fly
through the heart of rebel held Asran, and they would see you coming
the whole way. It would be a suicide mission."
Mick laughed. "It's never stopped you before, Saki."
Saki brushed the remark aside.
"We have more important matters than chasing an AWACS plane that
may or may not be out there," he said to them. "We'll discuss it at
evening muster."
The two pilots looked at each other and took Saki's last as their
cue to leave.
"Man, I can't believe how that guy gave us the brush off," Mick
complained to Shin as they walked to the recreation building. "I'm
practically jumping up and down to go get that damn AWACS plane and
make our lives a lot easier, and he basically tells me to get lost."
"Maybe Saki really does have something important for us," Shin
reflected.
Mick shrugged. "Maybe, but still! Just think of the prize money
to be had for downing something like that."
"I have to agree with Saki, Mick. It sounds more like suicide.
For a Mainstay to orbit so far from us as to avoid radar detection, it
would have to be flying racetracks around the southern border of Asran.
We'd have to fly through a wall of interceptors and SAMs to get close,
and the thing has to be loaded with ECM gear to jam your missiles."
"I'm gonna get that bastard," Mick muttered. "And then Saki can
kiss my ass."
"I don't see how," Shin remarked.
Mick stopped in mid-stride, leaving Shin behind. The Japanese ace
turned around and faced the blonde haired pilot.
"What is it?" Shin asked.
"I've got a plan," Mick said cryptically. "I'm gonna go see McCoy.
Go on without me."
"What is it?"
Mick shook his head.
"Nope. I'm not sure I can get what I need, so I'm not going to say
anything until I know."
Shin frowned. "Whatever."
It seemed that a dark cloud passed over him then, and he shivered
in spite of the desert heat.
* * *
"Captain Kanzaki, is there a problem?"
Kanzaki started from his reverie and faced his First Officer. The
Yamato Airlines 747 Jumbo Jet was cruising above the Mediterranean Sea
just out of Cairo.
"Not at all," he remarked. "Take over for awhile. I need to
stretch my legs."
The First Officer nodded. They had only left Cairo twenty minutes
ago, and this was a non-stop to London!
"Yes, sir."
When Kanzaki was safely out of earshot from the flight deck, the
Flight Engineer turned to the First Officer with a concerned look.
"What's the matter with the Captain?" the First Officer asked.
"He gets like this whenever we fly in this part of the world," the
Flight Engineer replied. "Frankly, I don't blame him. What with the
civil war in Asran just southwest of us, it can get pretty dangerous
for civilian air traffic. The Captain was almost killed by a fighter
from Asran just a few months ago while flying this same route."
The First Officer paled.
"Y-You mean a fighter from Asran attacked a Yamato Airlines jet?"
The Engineer nodded gravely.
"I heard about it from a friend who was on board. A shell from a
machine gun grazed the cockpit window... I guess they don't talk about
it much outside Yamato's European branch."
The First Officer returned his attention to the outside of the
plane, scanning the skies for fighters. He said nothing when prompted,
and so the Engineer returned to his duties.
Satoru Kanzaki gulped down a scotch and soda and tried to relax
in the upper deck lounge. Shin Kazama might still be alive out there,
and might even now be on his way in a supersonic fighter jet to finish
the job he had started. And this time Ryoko wasn't on board to hold his
fire.
"Goddamn you, Shin Kazama," he swore into his empty glass. "I
destroyed your life two years ago in Paris; why can't you stay dead?"
He looked out the window to the banks of towering cumulous clouds.
There was no tell tale dot of a fighter closing to attack, but that
didn't mean that he wasn't out there somewhere.
"Goddamn you, Shin..."
* * *
Saki cleared his throat for attention, and the evening muster
began. Roll was called. Only Hamilton wasn't present, and by sundown
everyone knew what had happened to him.
The cigarette smoke drifted lazily in the evening heat as the
prince went over the results of Zero-Zero Section's raid.
"Reconnaissance photos indicate that the pumping station took two
direct hits, with the remaining ordnance damaging secondary targets
such as the pump spares and the powerhouse," he announced. "The entire
pipeline will likely be down for at least two months."
"That mean the rebels are out of money now?" scar faced Benson
asked. This was followed by various murmers of approval and dismay.
Some were tired of the fighting and wanted to cash out while they were
still alive and in one piece. Others were new and wanted to get in on
the action.
"Hardly," Saki replied bitterly. "The Libyan government is
reported to have backed a plan to build a second pipeline farther to
the south where it will be better protected from our attacks.
Construction has only just begun, but with over seventy percent of
Asran's oil reserves in the rebel held part of the country, the rebel
forces aren't having any problems getting credit extended to them."
"So we're still in business, guys," the heavyset and bearded Greg
replied. "Don't worry about that."
Saki rapped on the podium for attention as everyone let out a
nervous laugh.
"It has been brought to my attention that the rebel forces may
have one or more long-range radar surveillance and command/control
aircraft in use along the extreme southern border. This is still
unconfirmed as of this time, but I think it prudent that Section
Leaders plan their missions with this in mind."
"Why don't we go after them?" Iron Arm Campbell asked.
Saki frowned. **If Mick is behind this...** He searched for the
blonde haired American and found him standing next to Shin and the
gleaming bald pate of the base's California Surfer Dude, Randy. Mick
affected a look of beatific innocence for his benefit.
"We have other concerns at the moment," Saki replied sharply.
"There is a target of more immediate priority. First off, I need to
know which of you has experience in SAM suppression, or 'Wild Weasel'
operations as you former NATO pilots might refer to it."
The very mention of the word 'SAM' had everyone clamming up. Some
pilots even refered to Surface to Air Missiles as 'Mister Sam' out of
respect for their deadliest enemy.
"It will save me the trouble of going through the copies of your
service jackets included with your enlistment contracts to find out,"
Saki added. Pilots who came to Area 88 were often times fleeing from
something in their past, and privacy and anonymity was critical to
keeping a flying circus like this operational. By even mentioning the
service jackets, the assembled pilots knew Saki was deadly serious
about something.
Hoover Kippenburg, known to some as the Steel Knight, formerly of
the German Luftwaffe, and heir to a family dynasty of combat aces all
the way back to World War I, was the first to raise his hand. His
firmly set jaw and his perpetual eyes-half-closed expression didn't
waver in the slightest as he did so.
"I haf zom experience in zis, Colonel Vashutarl," he replied
formally. When he said it you could almost see the Blue Max he earned
in the Persian Gulf War draped around his neck, the third in his
family.
Greg was next. Several others followed. The remaining pilots gave
them respectful looks. Wild Weasel crews were either some of the
bravest guys in the world or the dumbest. Their sanity, brave or
stupid, was not in question. They were all quite obviously deranged.
Saki noted all of this, and then set up several transparencies
for the assembled pilots to look at.
"We'll be receiving several F-4G Phantoms as surplus from NATO
through the Luftwaffe," he told them. "As well as Electronic Warfare
equipment to outfit several more Phantoms already in our inventory. In
keeping with the spirit of goodwill between our country and Israel, we
will also be receiving a supply of Shrike and HARM missiles."
"What's the target?" Randy asked. "'Cause whatever it is, they're
gonna have the red carpet rolled out for us judging by the christmas
presents we're getting."
Saki nodded evenly.
"The target is a hydroelectric plant in southern Asran. The plant
provides over sixty percent of the electricity in rebel held territory.
Without it their economy, good credit notwithstanding, is crippled.
The rebels know this, and have invested most of their static air
defenses towards protecting it.
"The war is going badly for both sides, and there is no end in
sight. My uncle, King Zak, wants to end the war decisively without
bringing any more lasting destruction to the country. I know many of
you have questioned royal policy regarding the forbiddance to bomb
the oil wells, and that this would seem like much the same thing, but
a choice had to be made, and the hydroelectric plant was considered
to be the lesser of the two evils."
He pointed at the F-4G schematic on the overhead projector.
"We have two weeks to equip the aircraft and train the crews
before we strike," he continued.
"Two weeks?!" Greg protested.
"Two weeks," Saki confirmed. "As you know, the southern part of
Asran receives a great deal of rain during the late summer, and the
reservoir will swell with runoff. The King's intention is to destroy
the dam while minimizing any flooding damage and loss of life to the
people living in the valley. That means two weeks."
"It can't be done," Greg continued.
"It *will* be done," Saki said. "Prize money for Wild Weasel crews
will be at triple scale, plus a stipend of ten thousand dollars per day
and exemption from air combat patrol during training. All other crews
participating in the strike will be paid prize money at double scale
plus a successful mission bonus of one million dollars to be
distributed among the survivors."
"Triple scale?" Greg choked. "Count me in!"
He was followed by a chorus of cheers.
Saki pointed at Hoover, who nodded in silent understanding before
a word was even said.
"Hoover Kippenburg is to lead the Wild Weasel force during
training and during the actual strike mission. Those of you selected
for the mission will answer to him as if he were myself."
The pilots were silent again, and listening to him intently.
"We can expect the first deliveries in the morning. I expect to
see you all there. Pilots dismissed for the evening."
The men of Area 88 stood at attention as Lieutenant Commander
Vashutarl left.
"A million bucks, Shin," Mick said with a clap of his hands.
"Even split up, that's gonna come out to a lot of money."
"I thought you had a plan for the Mainstay?" Shin asked.
"I do," Mick crowed. "And this will actually mesh perfectly with
it!"
TO BE CONCLUDED