Warthog Eleven-Three-Oh-One
Part Two
by Michael G. Crawford
"Roger Tower. Navaho to runway two-niner right. Climb and maintain 3000, contact center at 135.4 after 1200. Navaho is rolling."
The ungainly green aircraft taxied forward and swung left onto the long expanse of the runway, a runway intended for the sleek gray F-18s, not this somewhat ugly straight winged abomination. But despite her looks, 301 was a sweet aircraft and he loved every minute on board her. Too bad it was going to end soon. His Air National Guard unit was being deactivated as part of the drawdown. Just when he was getting used to now being a part-time air warrior. Damn!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *The early morning air traffic controller load was low on Sunday. The traffic volume was so low in fact, that Bob Caravelle, senior controller and probably senior employee at Denver Center, yawned and waved an okay to his best TAC as she headed for the break room a little early.
Of the fifteen controllers he managed, only four were busy this morning, handling Stapleton and high level traffic with little effort. The smaller airports were surprisingly slow in the bright, clear day. So slow that his low level guys were leaning back in their chairs, and Bud Collier was moving his "sticks" with the toe of his shoe. The stick in question, symbolizing a twin beech N345TP was shortly going to go out of the Denver control area, and continue on in an uncontrolled VFR flightplan. Another successful handoff to no one in particular.
Caravelle suppressed a yawn and stood up to stretch, which was serendipity itself, since his turn at the torso placed his eyes directly on the back of the head of his rookie, Kenny Sasnen. Just as Caravelle's eyes made the bored sweep, he noticed the rookie reach up and click the supervisor call button.
Caravelle took two quick steps over and peered down at the young man's screen. An irregular blob painted the screen for just a moment and then wasn't repeated on the next pass. Kenny thumbed the "collect" button, and the sweep was now repeated in a fifteen degree wedge. Still the pattern didn't repeat very often. It was clear, however, that the bogie was moving at approximately 340 knots. The Denver Center's radar was unable to distinguish altitude, and there was no transponder to help either. Kenny was obviously stumped and tried to look confident and in control.
Caravelle tapped his young controller on the shoulder and took the man 's seat.
"Sierra Heavy Papa Niner, Denver. Turn right 220 immediate. Break. Southwest three niner, climb and maintain 8000 expedite. Break. American 320 heavy break right to 300, expedite."
Mashing down the warning button, he alerted the other controllers to check out the marked bogie and hopefully arrange things so they didn't have an air to air this morning.
Caravelle hated to take over from the young man, but in this case the young man's hesitation could cost lifes, and Bob had a pretty good idea what the irregular target painted could be.
"All flights, Denver Center. We have an unidentified aircraft near the Rio junction proceeding northeast at approximately 350 to 400 knots. Aircraft is proceeding at unknown altitude, so prepare for possible evasive maneuvers. American 320 heavy you have this traffic on your right, cannot read its altitude. Southwest three niner the bogie is at your left side, sir, and may have been in your decent path. Advise Denver if you have American 320 heavy who is at your three oclock. Break. Sierra Heavy Papa Niner turn left to 180 and maintain your current altitude. All other aircraft standby on this frequency."
Caravelle watched carefully as the random target painted the screen again and relaxed a little as he saw that the turns he had instructed took the aircraft in its vacinity out of danger.
"Denver Center, Southwest three niner with American 320 heavy in sight at my three oclock. No other aircraft in sight."
"Roger that three niner."
"Center, American 320, I have the Southwest bird all alone out there."
"Copy American 320, no other aircraft in sight."
Caravelle waited a few more minutes and as he expected the random pattern only repeated itself twice more and then was not seen again.
He stood up shaking his head and motioned young Kenny back into the hot seat. At the questioning glance, he smiled to the rookie and said, "The last time I saw that was in Vietnam. A bronco OV-10 was crossing the field just under radar, but as he was avoiding some small arms fire off to his right, he would bump up into the bottom edge of the radar envelope. So I figured this might be some hedge hopper doing the same jingo. Damn that guy's hide. If he had been at any decent altitude, we could have had a real mess out there. I am sure everyone out there is nervous as hell. Why don't you let em off the hook."
Kenny nodded, and plugging himself back in, keyed the mic button in his left hand.
"American 320, traffic is clear, resume to Orriol and hold."
"American 320."
"Southwest three niner, come left to 180 and execute missed approach."
"Southwest three niner, thanks alot" said the acid voice of professional who hated to be forced to make a "go around" on his landings...a nice delay on a day he just might have had a green light the whole trip.
"Sierra Heavy Papa Niner you are cleared to Seminole, good day."
"Thanks center, Sierra Heavy Papa Niner."
Caravelle backed away from the controller, and blew out his breath. He now had to go write a damned bogie intercept report. He sure would have liked to have gotten a sighting on the bogie, probably some idiot tooling around on VFR through the Denver controlled airspace. Idiots that kill people. Where do they learn to fly? He sighed to himself as he started to pull the appropriate forms out of the document drawer. Shit he hated this kind of paperwork. It always managed to bite your ass before you got through with it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *Dialing the NOE sensitivity down a little, Captain Fred Andrews, Jr. grimaced as the A-10 Warthog bounced in the rough, turbulent air across the smaller hills surrounding the Denver area. Well they were like hills...except they grew on the high sides of the Rockies as they cut their way through Colorado.
The A-10, a rather ugly looking by well loved close air support attack bomber, was easily at home in this environment as was Captain Andrews. Strictly speaking, flying Nap Of the Earth in non-combat cleared areas was forbidden and the act would have gotten the young Captain bounced out or grounded for a very long time. But in this particular case, the Captain didn't much care.
If he knew that the air traffic controller had spotted him, he might have felt some concern, however, he was listening to "guard" not the center frequency. His attention was also on the horizon, not looking up at the silver wings arcing their way across his path some 3000 feet or more above him.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *"The Air Force announced today that an A-10 Attack Aircraft, armed with 500 pound bombs and machine guns is feared to have gone down in the Denver Area. The Aircraft was last seen taking off from its base near Tucson, at 8:40 am Pacific Standard Time. The flight plan was to proceed to the Peotea Flats gunnery range Northwest of Denver. However the aircraft did not join up with the other planes in the squadron. The name of the pilot has not been released."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *Captain Davies looked closely at the map on the small thighboard strapped to his right leg. Flying dead reckoning was really alot of fun, especially when you were low and slow in a jet powered bombing platform like the A-10. If he augured in, it would make a rather large crater...enough to take out a good city block and that was being conservative. Even the small amount of fuel left on board, would magnify the explosion...gas fumes made bigger bangs than raw fuel. Either way, he wasn't planning on augering in. A nice quick landing at the site marked on his map. Then he could tuck away the hot little attack plane in a hidden hanger and that would be that.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *Several days later, Randy Bruckmire, BATF supervisor in Denver listened to the news reports on his way into work.
"Air Force officials are still puzzled by the disappearance of an Air Force A-10 attack aircraft. Several eye witness reports have indicated that aircraft was seen in the Denver area on Sunday, flying at an extremely low altitude. Robert Caravelle, Senior Controller at Denver Center, the area's radar control center was asked about that report,
"...well its always possible. We vectored some aircraft away from a possible low flyer on Sunday, however there was never, at any time, a danger to the public. Commercial aircraft only fly at that low an altitude on takeoff and landing. and Our Sunday low flyer was well away from the approaches to any of the smaller airports and Stapleton."
"Have you reported you sighting to the Air Force, Mr Caravelle?"
"Well Susan. I wouldn't call it a sighting...more like a possible. But to answer your question, we always report undentified aircraft through channels, and in this case we also pushed through a cross channel report to the FAA's military liason for the district. We are espeically viligant on low flyers since they are breaking the law by flying through our controlled area."
"Do you think you saw this mysterious wandering A-10?"
"Mysterious? I don't think so Susan. Maybe a bit lost, but certainly not mysterious. A jet aircraft flying at better than 300 mph can cover a lot of ground. Of course a pilot straying that far off course is remote, but totally out of the realm of possibilities. The fact that the Air Force is focusing on the area North of Denver would seem to indicate the reports are at least believable. We may never know why the pilot strayed so far from his orginal flight plan."
As the report ended, Brackmire shook his head and tuned out the rest of the morning news as he fell into the short commute traffic stupor he had been practicing for the last five years.
Reaching work, he parked his Dodge 4x4 in two parking spots at the Federal building, flashed his badge at the guard at the door, waved his badge at the guard manning the metal detector and ignored the loud double beep and short whoop the infernal device made as he marched through.
He had entered by the public entrance today, because he had been called to the office of the FBI Supervisor in Charge, Mannie Morelli. Mannie was a tall, shockingly pretty brunette, who, after becoming SAC, had finally began to dress like a woman. Prior to that, he was told, she wore conservative cloths that, while not necessarily hiding her figure, certainly were not condusive to a decidely feminine physique. In fact, he had been told that prior to attaining Field Command responsibility in the FBI, she looked pretty damned butch. Short plainly cut hair, severe and snarly looks were her uniform.
Her successful busts of two separate bank robber rings in Texas had made her star rise, and her assignment last year to the Denver office obviously gave her a chance to mellow out and be more herself. And she had taken to it well.
She was a popular figure in the Federal building, and any criminal activity in the greater Denver area which got the attention of the FBI usually meant a gaggle of press people anxious to ask the new SAC her opinion. This small bit of celebre' seemed to meet Mannie's new found role in life as well as in profession, and as one of her closest new friends, Randy was happy to see her eating it up. Her predecessor ducked the limelight so often, the press had taken to calling him "The Phantom".
In any case, Randy's summons to the SAC's office had been left on his machine at home, indicating something important was up.
He grinned at Julie, the SAC's personal assistant, and at a nod knocked on the door.
"Come" was the answer, and Randy reminded himself that Mannie was a former Marine Lieutenant and some habits never really go away.
"Private Brickman reporting as ordered, Sir" he said bracing like a recruit hoping to get a grin out of Mannie.
"Sorry Randy, I guess that's not the best office protocol, huh?"
"No Sir." Then he broke out a grin himself and said, "Saw you on the 6 oclock last night. Pretty impressive. I like the way you stomped on that silly Susan Breakman. She is such an idiot. They should have sent Jessica Landers or Bobbie Igorman to interview you. Jessica's sharp and Igorman would have been all over you. Breakman sounded like a fan, not a reporter."
"Well its hard to fault her, Randy. She is a rookie reporter and I sense she is just dieing to get on the ride along program. Public Affairs tells me she has applied every month since joining the station. I have to give her credit though, she found out about the program way before we started slotting in the heavies. If we had to be fair on this deal, we'd have taken her first. You've met Igorman? Good. He's ex-army. He quit college when the draft was over and tried to get the Tribune to send him to Vietnam...hoping to get his Pulitzer I suppose. He did some good reporting over there. He makes me feel so young!"
Randy looked the SAC over for a moment, and decided that it was simply that, not some romantic feelings rising up in the heart of Denver's most well known eligible lady. Not that anyone seemed to get past her guard, but he kept wondering how long she could stand out on that particularly lonely island. At age 32, she was the youngest female SAC in the country, the only single one, and probably the fastest rising. She would sit out at least two years in this office, but after that, assuming nothing terrible happened, she'd be in the big leagues.
"Well I liked his writeup on the Waco deal. Did you know he flew himself out there, and the Trib wasn't going to take the piece? Can you imagine the Trib branding him too right wing? Wierd. Liberal publishers seem to think right wingers are anyone with boots on, for Chrissakes. Anyway, what's up", he asked, deciding they had their small talk out of the way. He liked to lead the FIBBIES, it made him feel a little more in control of his life.
"You remember me telling you about Eddie Hawkins, the guy I worked with in the JAG's office?"
Randy indeed recalled the stories she had shared about her days in the U.S. Marine Corps Judge Advocate Generals office...the military legal eagles for the Marine Corp.
"He's the guy that defended the Marines that busted up those National Guard guys over at Snowmass?"
"Right. Well anyway, after he left the Corps, he wound up with an Annapolis buddy, a Desert Storm vet who had been assigned to beef up Security in U.S. facilities before the war started. The two of them are principals in a security firm here, and ...we talked about the new security directives? I guess I need to fill in some detail on that too...the bigger regional offices were asked to work with the FBI's counter-terrorism group and improve security on the regional headquarters buildings. Us smaller offices were given assignments to local security outfits to get their consulting done. Eddie and his buddy Carl whined about minority business...Carl's this emmense black guy...and so we managed to get them as our consultant team. Since the decision was made in Washington, I get to work with Eddie without worrying about anyone whining about hiring a friend.
"In this case it really doesn't matter cuz they get paid flat rate by the OMSB, so who would care anyway. We met a couple of months ago and they agreed to do a security survey and make reservations. Like most of the sites in the new security program, we were told we needed both airborne and point surveillance to reduce the likelihood of terrorist threat to the building and employees. The most expensive recommendation other than the new deco-tank traps out front, was the addition of security spotters in buildings surrounding this one. So we now have a dozen guys on rooftops looking down at the streets. The plan also has an escalation policy that brings in National Guard pukes to guard the security folks when things are in Class 1 mode. TERRCON 2 is what puts us there, and today we are at TERRCON 3. That's because of the anniversary of the Oklahoma bombing and Waco incidents. The reason I wanted to talk to you is that we are about to go to TERRCON 2 according to a buddy back in D.C."
Randy suppressed a shiver. TERRCON 2 meant a clear and present danger of Terrorist attack. TERRCON 1 meant it was in progress. So the threat had escalated from possible to probable, and he hadn't paid attention enough to get clued in. Because he was one of the few allowed to carry arms in the building, he was a member of the emergency response team, and trained regularly with the local FBI anti-terror team. So did Mannie for that matter, her .45 was covered by the ever present business suit jacket. His shoulder holster was probably ten times more comfortable then her backpack, but she never went anywhere without it. In fact, when he questioned her about...what person in their right mind goes around armed all day...she had replied that she had been under arms since she was eighteen, so she felt naked without it. A lawyer with a gun was always a chilling thought, he grinned despite the image, and so he knew she was serious about her responsiblities on the team as well as her day-to-day duties.
FBI folks were, like BATF, just cops of a different flavor, so it was not only justifiable, but understandable as well.
"The long and the short of it is that I woke up to a call from the AD "...Randy knew this was one of the Assistant Directors in the FBI Top Brass, "...with the news that the C.A.M. is expected to take some kind of action to highlight the anniversaries. We have absolutely no details of what's planned nor even if Denver's the target. It seems likely, however, that we are ground zero for whatever they are cooking up."
"Oh great. Just what we need. That jerk Mendoza will be struttin' around like the owns the place". Phillipe Mendoza was the E.R.T. leader and seemed to enjoy fortelling doom at every opportunity. The man was nefarious for his ERT drills, emphasizing the strange if not silly possibilities rather than the more logical medical emergencies the building might suffer. Everyone went along with the paranoid son-of-a-bitch more because of their own nervousness since Oklahoma, but also cuz...well...he also threw great bashes after a hairy exercise. The paranoid some how also knew how to play hard as well.
"Well he means well. And I gotta tell you. His analysis of the terrorist attack scenarios were damn close to Eddie's. I was pretty impressed. Course Mr. M. wanted a Bradley hidden in a new garage built out of a conference room downstairs, but I expect he just wanted a new toy."
Randy grinned at that one. Sheez the guy was predictable. "Well, I do feel safer erring on the paranoid side. But what can the Colorado Armed Militia do here in Denver. Their ranches in upstate are on our watch list, and believe me we have more than enough help in that job." Randy was referring to the BATF's own surveillance team which had, of late, been joined by the FBI's counter-terror team in double manned, round the clock watches.
"Well I don't know...there is just no data here. However, as expected the mean Mr. M. has decided that he's in TERRCON 2 already. He copied me on a request to the mayor to let him close off Seventh street so we have no traffic going pass us."
The Denver Federal building was just a ways down from the Denver mint, and was surrounded on three sides by large buildings. Seventh Street ran along in front, offering the only opportunity to drive up a car bomb, the most likely form of attack on the government offices.
"I just found out that the guys on the roof..." Randy wondered if the acronym was "GOTR" or just "GOR".
"...are also tasked with another team that watches the Mint, us and them being the two logical strike targets. So..."
Randy knew what was coming. With TERRCON 2 coming, he would have new tasking for his BATF guys...not only watching C.A.M., but also taking turns on additional building security.
"Ahh Mannie" he began to plead.
"Sorry big guy, but I don't have any choice. Look at it this way. If the U.S. Attorney General and Justice sign onto a TERRCON 2, then we'd be idiots not to respond with an increase in warm bodies on the street. You've gotta admit it makes more sense."
"Yeah right. All I see is overtime hits to my budget, and a few less hours of sleep for everyone, including yours truly. I don't have a enough guys as it is. Hell I'll be manning shifts myself, Mannie. I know you like this exciting shit, but I just wanna go home at my normal 7:00 pm. Barbara's gonna kill me." Randy's on again, off-again romance with the city's assistant mayor seemed to cause him more worry than the job lately, and Mannie had recommended dumping her once to get her to toe the line.
"It'll do her good to share you a little more. She 'bout owns you know, Randy. Is that what you guys call pussy whipped?" she said with a mock expression on her face...she knew damn well it was.
"Yeah but I get most of the benefits of this deal" he said with a grin. Both he and Mannie had strict no frat policies in their on the job life, so it had never occurred to the two single people to let their relationship go beyond a few drinks together once in awhile to bitch about the beauracracy.
"Pig. Anyway, you don't work for me. So just think it over, check with Andy..." his boss at BATF, "...and let me know what you can give us to help out. I don't have to tell you its important..."
"Oh hell I know its important. I'm just whining. It's my perogative as a pre-historic piglet."
Mannie grinned at that and Randy exited her office already wincing in pain at the effect on his team's schedule. What a nightmare.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *"The Air Force remains at a loss over the disappearance of an A-10 jet aircraft, thought to have last been seen in the Denver area. Officials have not ruled out foul play however, a U.S. Air Force Colonel Noyce is quoted as saying, "Hypoxia is a possible cause. This is the loss of a pilot's facilities due to the slow loss of oxygen during flight. Malfunctioning in aircraft breathing gear in combination with high altitude flight could easily be the cause of this tragic loss." When asked if the A-10 mission included high altitude flight, the Colonel would not reveal mission parameters citing possible classified information, and referred this reporter to the public affairs officer. In other related news..."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *General Abraham Ellis Cartwright, the man in charge of Norad's underground... well perhaps more adequate under-mountain...domain, walked along the brightly lit corrider as several junior officers argued with each other about the possibilities. The fact that they were arguing in front of their commander did not escape the General's attention, nor did the fact that anyone woudl seriously propose that a U.S. Air Force pilot would knowingly steal a multi- million dollar aircraft. It was such a stretch for a career officer like Cartwright, that he believed he could dismiss the notion outright. However, the Secretary of Defense was not so adament, and thus the argument between the two officers. He let it go on, because, as a good manager, he wanted to hear both sides of the argument, and his officers, while in heated disagreement occasionally stole sideways glances at the General to ensure the liberties they were taking were still within the range of conduct currently acceptable to the General. They both knew from long experience that the General could be quite unpredictable. They carefully treaded along this path, knowing full well that once begun the General would be resigned to hear it out, yet also knew his patience could be worn down, and the flashover point was at times reached quickly. One had to watch for the subtle signs quickly.
The General's aide, a Lt. Colonel, watched the two Brigadier's argue their points amazed at how long the General had let the music play. He was knew at his job, the ninth aide to the Major General. The MAN continued to go through aides rather quickly.
Then the aide almost missed the General run his right hand through his short cut hair, and thus was nearly surprised when there was silence. Ahh, hah! There was one of the clues.
"Okay gentleman. That should do it. Let me see if I have this right." He stopped in the corridor and began ticking off points on his fingers,
"One. The warthog is an excellent aircraft at above 14,000 feet. Two. Peacetime training rules require oxygen at altitudes above 11,000 feet as a precaution. Three. The mission profile, while not specifically calling for AGI above 11,000 feet, never-the-less was in an area where the terrain extends into the oxygen only altitudes. Four. The aircraft's transponder was operating as it left its base. Five. The pilot did not check into his form-up prior to the transition to the training area. And Six. The pilot in question has a long and excellent record, so he wasn't prone to irrational behavior nor was he a rookie. This all leades me to believe that all the possible non-malicious reasons for the loss of this aircraft, other than a stupid accident caused by unknown reasons are sheer bullshit. The guy augured in or he stole the plane. If he augured in, and the flash in satellite photography is perhaps indicitive of this however is not so compelling. The absence of a crash site does not fit the logic required to take this scenario to conclusion and therefore is little more than useless supposition."
"Tomorrow is the 19th of April. If the nuts that think that an Air Force Officer could and would steal a multi-million dollar aircraft and use it to make a point about rebellion in the U.S. based on emotional issues such as Ruby Ridge, Waco and the Oklahoma bombing, then we should be well beyond that scenario by tomorrow morning."
"And as we can't do anything about it anyway other than put out an umbrella to keep the rain off our backs, I suggest we stop wasting time over this and move on. Let the Search and Rescue folks continue their searches, and lets not go tasking another space asset to look in the Rockies. I am NOT going to expend thruster fuel on a multi-million dollar bird that is not anywhere as expendable as the multi-million dollar aircraft. I can buy more Warthogs, but LL4s are a lot hardier to get my hands on."
"Yes General" was the muted reply of the two General officers who had only seconds before argued both sides of the issues as devil's advocates. Neither believed a militia bent on delivering another anti-government message was responsible. But it had been fun to argue it out. And both realized that a few days past the deadline would make the story less and less likely. And of course a crash site would also take the wind out of that particular sail as well.
The general, alwasy liking the last word, "I really wish the PAO would tell those damned reporters that Cheyenne is designed to withstand nuclear attack, certainly impervious to a frippin A-10. Unbelievable ignorance and sheer stupidity!"
The aide nodded, taking a mental note to mention it to the young Captain tasked with putting out the "good word" to the local press. He wasn't sure the parking lots that surrounded the secure facility were as well protected, but an attack wwould have to occur during morning or evening rush hour to really do any damage.