Major Dandridge stood at the edge of the Tonopah's
runway and stared into the distance. Behind him, the sun
was setting, but he showed no interest. His mind was fixed
on a small plot of land to the southeast: the HARBINGER
Compound.
He would have preferred to have deployed NAPATT at the
compound-- there was plenty of room on the landing pad for
the men to have set up a camp-- but General Keeney felt the
presence of troops would have disturbed the HARBINGER
research. So, Dandridge was stuck, over one hundred miles
away.
One hundred miles, he repeated to himself. That's a
lot of space. Even with the CH-53 Super Stallion
helicopter, it would take twenty minutes to reach HARBINGER.
He would have been better off at Nellis, but Keeney would
have shot down that idea, also. He felt it might draw
unwanted attention if the squad-sized element were observed
in an unsecure area.
NAPATT was a secret organization within Nellis' Air
Police detachment that's sole purpose was anti-terrorist
tactics. Thus the acronym: Nellis Air Police Anti-Terrorist
Team. The members were recruited from within the ranks of
the AP's for specialized skills ranging from electronic
eavesdropping to counter-sniper techniques. Each member
held a regular position at the post (such as guarding a gate
or patrolling the bomb range), but occasionally they would
be called together to practice as a team or receive training
in the newest methods of dealing with the enemy.
As the head of Special Project Security, Dandridge was
responsible for maintaining NAPATT's secrecy, but he had no
authority over its members. General Keeney had asked their
commander to work with Dandridge for a few days, which was a
polite way of telling the man that he was to work for
Dandridge. That was Keeney's problem: he was too damn
polite.
The man was nothing more than a politician. He kissed
up to the civilian contractors, the senators from the Arms
Committee, and the other generals on the base. That's the
only reason Gatewood was walking the streets, was because it
wouldn't have looked good for them to have disappeared the
man who had saved the Stealth program from a major
embarrassment.
Gatewood had been in communications and entrusted with
servicing the specialized radio equipment onboard the
aircraft. Because the F-117 was to be invisible to radar,
it was necessary that all components from the radios and
flight computers right down to the servo motors that
controlled fuel and hydraulic valves be constructed so as
not to create electronic 'noise.' This meant, in some
cases, totally redesigning components that had been standard
for decades rather than lose the aircraft's stealth
integrity. Unfortunately, this redesigning, meant that
several of the components didn't work as planned. They had
worked during bench testing, but when interfaced with the
dozens of other electronic systems, they would occasionally
fail.
This was the case with the computer that helped the
pilot maintain controlled flight by automatically trimming
the aircraft for optimum performance at its current speed
and attitude. From time to time, the computer would turn
itself off, leaving the pilot to manhandle the aircraft
while the computer rebooted its software. As long you were
a thousand feet above the ground when the system failed, you
were okay.
Dandridge was practicing a bombing mission with a
Paveway laser guided bomb, when his computer shut down. At
first he thought he could save his plane, but he couldn't
pull the stick hard enough to get the aircraft out of its
dive. With his speed quickly approaching mach one, his
altitude around two hundred feet, and the thousand pound
bomb that had just left the weapons bay following his plane,
Dandridge felt the only way to survive was to pull the
handles on his ejection seat and bail out. The combined
force of the detonating bomb and exploding aircraft threw
shrapnel and debris several hundred feet into the air,
shredding his parachute, ripping off his helmet, and putting
out his left eye. He broke his right leg when he hit the
desert floor.
Lieutenant Bradford had been saved the pain of laying
on the sand, body shattered, blood pouring from his head,
uncertain if Air Search and Rescue would arrive in time.
He'd been saved the surgery, traction, and long days of
recovery knowing he'd never fly again. He was lucky. He'd
been practicing a low altitude, high speed run when his
computer failed. His flight recorder showed he was seventy
feet above the ground. The hill he hit was one hundred
thirty feet tall. It was all over in one blinding flash.
Dandridge was still suffering from his crash.
Oh, they say Gatewood was a hero. He recovered enough
of Bradford's radio to realize that just before impact, a
five cent capacitor had suddenly discharged and burned
itself out. The surge of power was enough to cause the
computer to initialize and kill Bradford. They praised the
Sergeant for what Dandridge saw as negligence on the part of
the communications section. They should have known, they
should have caught it sooner. A couple of crashes sooner,
as far as he was concerned.
But Keeney didn't see it that way. To him, Gatewood
had done a great service, because he had saved the General
from having to ground the aircraft and admit there was a
serious problem. Once the flaw had been corrected, the Air
Force began a policy of denial, by refusing to admit the
problem had ever existed. The pilots of the 37th Tactical
Fighter Wing were even ordered to stop calling the aircraft
the Woblin' Goblin.
When Gatewood's mind went into its flat spin, Keeney
was willing to do nearly anything to make a certifiably
insane man happy. He was afraid Gatewood's friend's at
Stealth would whine about his treatment or that someone
might see him as callous or uncaring. It all could have
been handled so easily, but he blew it.
Keeney was so concerned for his image, with getting his
next star, and landing a consulting position with a
contractor after retirement, that he was jeopardizing
HARBINGER. Men like him made Dandridge sick. They didn't
belong in the Air Force, they belonged in San Fransisco.
But Keeney was in charge. Keeney had put him in
Tonopah. One hundred miles away...
Just for the sake of argument, let's say Dartmouth was
crazy enough to try something. If he walked across the bomb
range on foot, slipped into the HARBINGER compound, and took
a photograph of something he shouldn't, the Air Force could
deny it as a fake. But Dartmouth knew that, he wasn't
stupid-- Dandridge would give him that much credit.
The only way for the reporter to undeniably prove
anything as fact, he had to obtain cold, hard evidence.
That meant going into the compound, finding what he needed,
and getting it out intact. The Major had spent enough time
at the compound to know that it would be easy for one man to
cut his way through the wire, get in, and get out before the
guards knew what had happened. Even if the guards were to
detect his entry, Dartmouth could wreak havoc on the
compound with grenades and gunfire long enough to make good
his escape. With NAPATT a hundred miles away, he'd have
twenty minutes before reinforcements arrived. A lot of
things can happen in twenty minutes.
But he'd still get caught.
Once Dandridge and NAPATT did arrive, they'd get him.
He could take in half a dozen of his lunatic friends, and
NAPATT would still kick their ass. Twenty minutes was time
enough to get out of the compound, but it would take several
hours to escape the range on foot. Even with a four-by-
four, the best they could hope for was fifteen miles; and
that wasn't enough to get them off Air Force land before
Dandridge arrived.
And when he did, Dartmouth would have hell to pay.
The only way he could pull this off would be if he had
a helicopter. With a private helicopter, such as a Hughes
500 or a Bell Jetranger, he could be thirty to forty miles
away in twenty minutes. If Keeney had given him the Stealth
fighters, or even the interceptors, Major Dandridge wouldn't
have to be concerned about this singular detail. He could
only hope Dartmouth wasn't smart enough to figure it out, or
that he didn't know someone that was.
The Major started toward the hangar that held the CH-
53. The situation sucked; but it was the only situation he
had. At least Dandridge's job allowed him one additional
step that didn't require Keeney's approval. As there was
the possibility of a terrorist attack, and the OH-58 was
still patrolling the range, Dandridge had ordered the
chopper armed to defend itself if fired upon.
Of course, no one would know who fired first.
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