electromagnetic emissions—they could even home in on the stray electronic emissions from computer screens leaking through the cockpit or observation windows.
Flying at a speed of Mach two and fired from a distance of well over two hundred miles, the Pithon missiles were devastating weapons. Even though the E-2C shut off its radar and took evasive action, the missiles “remembered” the plane’s last position and activated its onboard radar when it got within range. Then it could not miss. All four Pithon missiles plowed into the Hawkeye’s twenty-foot rotodome, stripping it from the fuselage and sending the entire aircraft spinning into the sea.
Crowley could do nothing as the third Wallbanger aircraft abruptly went off the air. He immediately turned to pursue, even plugging in full afterburner to try to catch up, but he never got within Phoenix missile range of the retreating Backfire bomber, and within minutes was forced to return to the tanker.
THE WHITE House OVAL OFFICE 25 APRIL 1997, 1321 HOURs ET
“Do we know that it was an Iranian Backfire bomber?” the President of the United States asked in a low, bitter voice. “Positive ID …?”
“We didn’t get a visual ID, sir,” Philip Freeman replied. Freeman had called the President out of a Rose Garden bill-signing ceremony, and now they were back in the Oval Office, with the President scanning a written report on the Gulf of Oman incident.
“But its size was estimated by the radar operators, and based on the range at which it was detected, it had to be a large aircraft.
Combine its speed and altitude, then add in the flight characteristics of the missiles it launched—we’re ninety-nine percent sure it was an Iranian Backfire bomber.”
“What in our inventory could do something like that?”
“The B-1B Lancer bomber has a very similar flight profile,” Freeman replied. “The F-111, F-15, F-16, or F-22 fighters could mimic a Backfire’s speed and performance, but not its range or payload.
We have nothing like the AS-4 Kitchen missile—all of our cruise missiles are subsonic.”
“What about other countries? What about China?”
“The Chinese have a bomber, the B-6D Badger, that Possibly could mimic the speed of the Backfire bomber,” Freeman said. “They have one supersonic anti-ship cruise missile, but it has a much shorter range than the AS-4 Kitchen missile—forty miles versus two hundred miles. Iraq and Libya also fly the Backfire bomber, but none are reported to be in serviceable condition, and neither country is known to possess any supersonic cruise missiles. Pakistan’s F-16 fighter might be able to mimic the speed and performance of a Backfire bomber, but it could not carry any cruise missiles with the performance of an AS-4 missile.
“Russia of course still flies the Backfire and its upgraded follow-on supersonic bomber, the Tu-145 Blackjack. Ukraine owns several Backfire and Blackjack bombers acquired from Russia, but it is uncertain if they are operational.
Russia also still possesses the AS-4, a few of the AS-6, and the AS-9 supersonic anti-ship cruise missiles.”
“You’re saying Russia might have done this?”
“Extremely unlikely, sir,” Freeman said, shaking his head. “At best, the Russians keep twenty-five percent of their supersonic bombers flyable—they were selling off their Backfire bombers to anyone in the world that might be interested, and they didn’t squawk too loudly when Ukraine claimed the Blackjack bombers.
Given what’s happened in Iran in the past few days with the establishment of martial law and the suspension of President Nateq-Nouri by the Ayatollah Khamenei, I think Iran is the most likely culprit.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “Do you want us to be positive before we go further?”
“Hell no, Philip, I’m damned positive,” the President said resolutely. “I don’t need a bomb to fall on me to figure out that this is Buzhazi’s attempt to scare us away. But you said you’re still looking for the Backfire bomber base …?”
“It should be much easier to find them now, sir,” Freeman said.
“The Navy was able to track the Backfires well inside Iran after their attack, and we’ve had many more surveillance assets in place looking for them. Jon Masters launched two constellations of tactical reconnaissance satellites himself—just gave us the satellites. Once Space Command picked out an orbit for them, Masters put them up there. He’s got every airfield in Iran capable of landing a Backfire bomber under constant surveillance.”
“Good,” the President said. “I want to meet Masters one of these days, after this is over. Now,” the President went on, fixing a serious gaze on his National Security Advisor, “it’s important to me to hit back without starting a huge, full-scale war in the Middle East. The allies and the oil companies are already jumpy enough—oil prices are already spiking. Now, I know it was this Intelligence Support Agency group that launched those ‘screamer’ missiles, but I f, want to start shutting down Iran’s ability to make war, not just harass them. What have you got?”
“We’re already sending Future Hight the entire Disruptor series of weapons,” Freeman said. “Brad Elliott’s Disruptors don’t just screw with radars and sensors—they can do a lot of damage as well.”
“I never thought I’d be saying this, Philip—it sounds like a bad movie,” the President said, “but it’s the truth: I want this to look like an accident. When Masters finds those BACKfire bombers, I want them grounded, for good— and I want it to look like an accident. If that Iranian carrier comes anywhere near the Lincoln or any American warship, I want it on the bottom of end Saudi or Turkey, I want a major military headquarters building in Tehran to grow a large jagged hole in its middle—and I want it to look like an accident. Can you do that?”
“I understand completely, sir,” Freeman said. “And, yes, I think we can.”
“Good. Keep me advised, day or night, before any operation starts, but you’ve got the green light,” the President said, straightening his tie and getting ready to head back to the reception following the Rose Garden bill- signing ceremony. “Get the forces moving, then brief me as soon as you can; I want to OK each mission before the B-2A crosses into hostile airspace.
“This operation is to be quiet, deniable, and squeaky clean, General, but most of all, I want Iran to pay for shooting down our aircraft, the sons of bitches—attacking unarmed support aircraft is the lowest act any military man can do, and I want Buzhazi to feel it right in his damned groin. Get to it, Philip.”
General Philip Freeman was almost embarrassed by the enthusiasm he felt as he headed to the White House Situation Room to issue his orders to the Intelligence Support Agency. No more “disruptions,” no more “screamers”—the President wanted Iran’s war-making machine shut down, piece by piece, and that’s exactly what was going to happen.
ANDERSEN AIR FORCE BASE, GUAM 26 APRIL 1997, 1625 HOURS LOCAL
Jon Masters didn’t knock—he never knocked. He always burst into a room, day or night, and started talking as if the conversation had already started minutes before. This time, it was in the middle of a briefing being given by Colonel Dominguez on the maintenance status of the B-2A Spirit stealth bomber.
“Okay, so we got them. What we did, General,” Masters said breathlessly, “was simple: we launched two NIRTSat boosters, each carrying four Pacer Sky digital photo intelligence satellites, over Iran. We targeted each and every Iranian airfield, civilian or military, longer than forty-five hundred feet long and one hundred fifty feet wide, capable of handling something like a Tu-22M Backfire bomber. We took pictures of each airfield every sixty to ninety minutes. Of course, the Iranians didn’t know we launched these satellites—heck, nobody knew we launched them except you and me. We hit pay dirt.”
Griffith and Dominguez leapt to their feet and followed Masters down the hall of the fourth floor of the Thirteenth Air Force headquarters building, which was now occupied by the members of the Air Intelligence Agency and Future Flight for the B-2A missions against Iran. When everyone was in place and the door closed and locked behind them, Masters clicked the button on his display controller. The large-screen computer monitor showed an overhead view of a very large airport. “They can run, but they couldn’t hide,” Masters said proudly. “Sky Masters comes through again.”
Jon Masters’s NIRTSats (Need it Right This Second Satellites) were small devices, smaller than a washing machine, but capable of photographing a dog from 200 miles in space clearly enough to discern the breed. Four photo-reconnaissance NIRTSats, code-named Pacer Sky, could be loaded aboard a small two-stage scissor-winged rocket booster Masters called ALARM (for Air-Launched Alert Response Missile), and two such ALARM boosters could be loaded aboard Masters’s specially designed DC-10 aircraft. The DC-10 would take the ALARM boosters up to 40,000 feet, then drop them one by one. The DC-10 acted as the boosters’ first-stage engine—the booster’s two stages would fly the missile up as high as 400 miles in space, where the satellites would be inserted in their proper orbit. In this way, Masters could give almost any battlefield commander a complete reconnaissance, surveillance,
