Chapter Two
Qayyarah Airfield West
30 Miles South of Mosul, Iraq
2 Days Earlier
2200L
“Alright,
gents, we got the call,” the man said, standing in front of their makeshift
briefing room. It was an assortment of
folding chairs in front of a white sheet being used as a projector screen. The dusty room had wooden raised floors and
stucco walls. They had been using it as
their operations center since arriving in country two days prior.
Spectre took his seat in one of the front folding chairs as
the other dozen men gathered around.
They were a mix of special operators with full beards in desert tactical
clothing and clean shaven pilots in tan flight suits with shoulder holsters
supporting their issued M9 9MM handguns.
The man waited for everyone to sit down as he quickly
reviewed his notes. Although Charles
“Ironman” Steele was nearly fifty-five years old, he didn’t look a day over
forty. He had spent most of his career
flying F/A-18s for the Navy, with a brief tour embedded with the SEALS as an
Air Liaison Officer and embedded Joint Terminal Attack Controller. Despite being the director of the
organization and spending most of his time behind a desk or mission-planning
computer, Ironman was still able to keep up with even the most lethal operators
of the group.
He was in charge of an elite group called Project
Archangel. Comprised of former pilots
and Special Operations Forces members from all services, Ironman reported
directly to the Secretary of Defense.
Officially, they were Department of Defense contractors. Unofficially, they were the SECDEF’s go-to
unit when the President needed plausible deniability in matters involving
delicate foreign relations. Specializing
in self-sustained surgical strike and counterterrorism operations, the group
could be deployed anywhere in the world without a need for U.S. Military air or
ground support.
In fact, Project Archangel was best known for its ability to
provide its own Close Air Support and Airborne Intelligence, Surveillance, and
Reconnaissance. With a fleet of Embraer
A-29 Super Tucanos, MH-6 Little Bird Helicopters, UH-60 Blackhawk Helicopters,
Pilatus PC-12s configured as U-28s, and MQ-9 Reaper Unmanned Aerial Vehicles,
Project Archangel employed some of the best combat pilots in the world.
A former F-16 pilot, Spectre had been hired by Project
Archangel a year prior. Ironman
approached him at the funeral of Spectre’s ex-fiancée after he and his friends
infiltrated an abandoned air base in Cuba and recovered an F-16 that had fallen
into the wrong hands. Six months later,
Spectre found himself in the cockpit again, flying the A-29 Super Tucano after
completing a rigorous training program.
The group required all pilots to receive comprehensive armed and unarmed
combat training before beginning the aircraft checkout. Despite Spectre’s black belt in Krav Maga, an
Israeli fighting system, he was required to demonstrate proficiency in the same
tactics and techniques as the former Special Operations Forces operators.
“As you know, five days ago, a team of U.N. Chemical Weapons
Experts was captured by Syrian Opposition Forces along with the Sarin and VX
gas canisters they were attempting to destroy,” Ironman said as he advanced the
PowerPoint slide on his laptop.
Spectre remembered all too well the gruesome images of the
four team members – three men and one woman – being tortured and killed by
supposed “Freedom Fighters” of the Al Nusra Front. The video had been broadcast by Al Jazeera
hours after it had been uploaded. In it,
the rebels accused the inspectors and international community of taking the
side of a despotic ruler who had used those same chemical weapons on his own
people. They vowed to take the weapons
themselves to fully ensure they could never be used again.
The problem with that, in the eyes of the United States
Intelligence Community, was that it was widely believed that the Syrians had
never used chemical weapons against their own people. The Opposition Forces, infiltrated by Al
Nusra and Al Qaeda, had used them in an attempt to draw the United States into
another regional conflict – this time against the Syrian government.
Knowing the U.S. didn’t have the stomach for putting boots
on the ground in another drawn out regime change, the leaders of the Al Nusra
Front would use American and coalition airpower as its own air arm. Once the regime toppled, they would be able
to install a more sectarian, Islamic government as they had done in Egypt and
Libya.
“This morning, we managed to locate the four transport
vehicles just north of Al Hasakah in Syria.
This is a stronghold of Al Nusra and Syrian Opposition Forces. We believe that the weapons will be
transferred tomorrow to separate transport vehicles and be distributed
throughout the region. HUMINT sources
also suggest that some of those weapons will be smuggled into Iraq and Turkey
for use against the U.S. Embassy.” He
advanced past slides showing possible routes through Syria.
“Tonight, we will secure the weapons,” Ironman said, pausing
as he advanced to the next slide. The
screen had changed from a black and white aerial surveillance photo of truck
transports to an image of an Arab man with a thick, dark beard. “And our secondary objective will be to
capture this man, Tarik Al-Usra. He’s a
mid-level commander of the Al Nusra front in this region. Questions so far?”
Ironman looked around the room with his usual intense stare
and furrowed brow. To anyone that hadn’t
worked with him, Ironman was an intimidating hardass. His shaved head and general lack of neck made
him look like an NFL linebacker.
However, to everyone that had known and worked for him, Ironman was a
great leader who cared for his people with a huge soft side for his two
daughters back home.
“Shorty will be the mission commander tonight. The floor is yours,” Ironman said as he
nodded forward and took his seat in the front row.
Spectre chuckled to himself as Jake “Shorty” Roberts
stood. At 6’4”, the man was anything but
short. He had spent most of his military
career flying MH-6 “Little Bird” helicopters and UH-60 Blackhawks for the
Army’s 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. Known by most as the “Nightstalkers,” they
were the Army’s most elite helicopter unit, flying missions around the world in
support of Special Forces and made famous by the movie Blackhawk Down in which
a UH-60 was shot down during the Battle of Mogadishu.
“Thanks, Ironman,” Shorty said as he took his place at the
front of the room. He stroked his bushy
“deployment stache” as he set up his notes.
“Our expected launch time is 0100 local tonight. Weather reports clear skies and no
significant weather forecasted. We will
launch in two waves. Wave One will be
two Little Birds, each with two four man teams of operators, callsign Chariot
11 and 12.”
Spectre took notes on his kneeboard card as Shorty went
through the lineup. It was his second
deployment with the team and his first time back in Iraq since he had been
grounded by the Air Force after an Emergency Close Air Support mission in the
F-16.
Six years prior, he and his flight lead had been retasked to
support a Troops In Contact scenario with a convoy that had been ambushed. After the Joint Terminal Attack Controller
was killed, Spectre was forced to provide Close Air Support to the convoy using
an unqualified controller while his flight lead was refueling with the tanker. He had saved many lives, but the violation of
the Rules of Engagement set by the deployed Operations Group Commander at the
time cost him his career.
“Coach” Louhan grounded him and sent him home after sending
a damning e-mail to the Chief of the Air Force Reserve Command. The result was a reassignment to a non-flying
billet and a pledge that Spectre would never fly an AFRC aircraft again. Instead, Spectre resigned and found
employment in a gun store while his fiancée continued flying with his former
squadron, the 39th Fighter Squadron “Gators.”
It was only mildly satisfying to Spectre that Coach was most
likely rotting in some Federal Prison, having been convicted of selling secrets
and sensitive information to a Cuban Intelligence agent. The man
deserved much worse than a country club prison. He had cost Spectre his career and his
relationship with his fiancée.
“Wave Two will take off when Wave One reaches our makeshift
Forward Operating Base near the Syrian Border.
This should give the two Little Birds time to refuel before entering
hostile airspace. Wave Two will consist
of a Super Tucano, callsign Venom 21, and a PC-12, callsign Magic 31,” Shorty
said as he clicked through more slides.
“Spectre, you’ll be solo on this one as Venom 21,” Shorty
said, nodding to Spectre. Spectre nodded
as he continued to scribble notes. The
A-29 was a two seat turboprop light attack aircraft. For more complex missions or missions
requiring surveillance, another pilot would often act as a sensor operator in
the back to allow the pilot to focus on flying and keeping his eyes out of the
cockpit and on the objective. Spectre
didn’t mind going solo though. He had
spent most of his career as a single seat fighter pilot doing all the aviating,
navigating, and communicating by himself.
He was used to it.
“Once Chariot flight has refueled, Venom 21 will escort them
into Syrian airspace at low altitude.
Magic 31 will sniff ahead for any surface to air threats, and if
necessary, provide Electronic Attack against the Syrian Air Defense. Latest intel reports the Eastern Region is
down, so it should not be a factor, and the Pilatus can focus on confirming the
location of the chemical weapons using onboard sensors.”
“What about manpads?”
Spectre asked, referring to man portable shoulder fired surface to air
missiles.
“Our ingress route is clear and it’s in a fairly isolated
area. Plus, we have the element of
surprise. Should be fairly low threat.”
Spectre continued taking notes. He didn’t like trusting that one of the most
advanced Integrated Air Defense Systems in the world was inoperative during a
civil war. The Syrians were equipped
with some of the latest in advanced Russian Surface to Air Missile Technology,
and the rebel fighters even had American Stinger surface to air missiles,
provided earlier in the war by the CIA.
The good news, however, was that even if the Intel analysts
were wrong and the Eastern Sector was still working, their Pilatus had an
impressive electronics and jamming suite that could handle even the most
advanced IADS. The only thing the
Pilatus couldn’t do was protect Spectre and the other aircraft from the
Stingers, but each aircraft had its own robust self-protection suite with
flares designed specifically to defend against manpad threats.
The Pilatus PC-12 was a single engine turboprop civilian
aircraft. For Project Archangel, it was
a workhorse. With advanced sensors and
intelligence gathering equipment, it was a self-contained spy plane, but it
also included advanced jamming Electronic Attack pods that could jam even the
newest in Active Electronically Scanned Array radar technology. And to top it off, it could even land on
unimproved airstrips and drop off or pick up operators from the field. It was a jack-of-all-trades.
“Once the Pilatus has confirmed the location of the weapons,
code word ‘MaryJane,’ the Little Birds will drop off the two teams to visually
confirm serial numbers and destroy the weapons.
Venom 21, you’ll transition to armed overwatch while Chariot 11 and 12
hold to the east. Once the weapons are
accounted for and destroyed, expect a hot extract and exfil as the Syrian Rebel
fighters wake up and realize what’s going on.
But we should not be in country for more than thirty minutes from the
moment we cross the border. Any
questions?”
“What’s the EPA for this mission?” a voice behind Spectre
asked. He didn’t have to turn around to
recognize the voice of Joe Carpenter, his long time friend and former Air Force
JTAC. He had known Carpenter since
college, but the two had gone their separate ways since. Spectre had opted to find a job flying
fighters for the Air Force Reserve while Carpenter had joined the Army and
became an Army Ranger. Years later,
Carpenter transferred to the Air Force, where he became a JTAC while searching
for a more aviation-oriented career.
Along with close friend, Marcus Anderson, and an up and
coming Air Force Office of Special Investigations Special Agent, Carpenter had
helped Spectre assault the Cuban Air Base and steal back the missing F-16 while
rescuing his fiancée. And when Spectre was
asked to join Project Archangel, Spectre made his acceptance contingent upon
bringing Carpenter along as a JTAC.
Carpenter couldn’t refuse the generous pay and high-speed missions using
the latest technology.
“The Evasion Plan of Action is fairly standard,” Shorty
replied. “Avoid populated areas, lines
of communication, and contact with indigenous personnel. Proceed east to the desert and find a hole-up
site where you can establish communication.
If able to establish comms, we’ll work a pickup plan with on-scene
assets. If unable, make your way to the
border. We’ll find you and work out a
Combat Search and Rescue.”
“And if captured?”
Carpenter pressed.
“The Syrian Opposition Forces are comprised of factions
friendly to Al Qaeda and Al Nusra forces.
You saw what they did to the U.N. inspectors. I know it’s not what you want to hear, but
don’t get captured. Any other
questions?”
Shorty waited as pilots and operators around the room shook
their heads.
“Alright then, let’s roll,” Shorty said as he closed the
laptop and grabbed his files.
As the pilots and operators grabbed their mission materials
and shuffled out of the small room, Spectre was stopped by Carpenter.
“Hey, Cal, wait up a second,” he said, pulling Spectre to
the side as the others cleared out of the room.
“What’s up, Joe?”
“Are you going to be ok man?” Carpenter asked. His brown eyes showed the concern of a long
time friend and colleague.
“We’ve done this before, Joe. I’ll be fine,” Spectre replied. It was his second deployment as a pilot with
Project Archangel since completing his indoctrination and training. Before going to Iraq, he had spent most of
the last month in the Horn of Africa chasing down Somali pirates and disrupting
Al Qaeda training camps flying both the A-29 and PC-12.
“I’m not talking about that.
I’m talking about Iraq. I’m
talking about what happened in Basra,” Carpenter pressed.
Spectre paused for a minute.
His deployments to Iraq had haunted him for years after leaving the Air
Force to work for his long time friend and Krav Maga sparring partner Marcus
Anderson in his gun store in Florida City, FL.
The recurring nightmares only got worse after his fiancée went missing
in an F-16 during a routine training exercise.
He just kept reliving the career changing moments over and over, as if
his mind were stuck searching for answers for why his life had changed so
suddenly. His last deployment to Iraq
had changed him forever.
“This is different,” he replied, shaking off the
nightmares. “I’m different.”
Carpenter looked Spectre over for a minute. At just over six feet tall, Spectre was just
barely taller than Carpenter was, and except for his lighter brown hair and sky
blue eyes, Spectre could have easily passed for Carpenter’s brother.
“Alright man. If you say
you’re good, I believe you. Just let me
know if you need to talk. I don’t think
the boss brought beer into this country, but I’ll buy you a Rip-It.”
“Thanks, brother,” Spectre replied as the two exchanged a
fist bump.
