Assault on Alpha Base Read online

  Leaving the vestibule, they reached an outside door. Sunshine flooded through the window, heating the floor where the light fell.

  McGriffin hesitated before going outside.

  “Go ahead, Major. Once you passed through the wringer, you were officially inside Alpha Base.” He opened the door for McGriffin. As they stepped outside, Fellows pointed out a heavily guarded gate. Barbed and razor wire covered the entrance. A tunnel of empty space two hundred feet deep, fifty feet high, and one hundred feet across was carved into the wire.

  “That’s the only other way to get in or out of Alpha Base. We only use it when we’re moving nuclear weapons. When it’s open, Alpha Base is put on alert.”

  McGriffin squinted at the gate to where the four fences came together. At the intersection, razor wire rose in an intricate three-dimensional mesh. The tunnel was large enough to accommodate the flatbeds carrying nuclear weapons. The gates on either side of the tunnel were never open simultaneously.

  McGriffin picked out a few of the other landmarks. A low building marked alpha base command post/red room stood next to two other buildings: enlisted barracks and officers’ quarters. The enlisted barracks were ten times bigger than the officers’ quarters. That made sense—there should be at least a ten-to-one ratio of enlisted to officer here.

  Fellows tugged on McGriffin’s elbow. “I’ll take you on a quick tour of the area before we go to the command post.”

  They climbed into a jeep marked command section. As McGriffin buckled in, Fellows reached down and flipped a switch. “IFF—Identification Friend or Foe,” he explained. “We track every object within a radius of five miles of Alpha Base on radar unless they have one of these IFF devices. That’s classified confidential, by the way, Major. If we didn’t have the IFF’s, we’d be going crazy tracking all of the security vehicles.”

  “So you were able to track my car?”

  “That’s one advantage to working out here. We can’t be caught in a surprise inspection. We always have plenty of warning for anything that comes our way. A computer automatically masks out any blips from an IFF source, effectively making the image invisible to radar.”

  As they started off, McGriffin shook his head. “It’s nice that you have IFF’s that work. They’re different from the ones I’ve used when flying; I wouldn’t use one of our IFF’s in this place if you paid me.”

  “How’s that?” yelled Fellows.

  McGriffin leaned toward Fellows so the lieutenant could hear him over the engine. “I have an Army buddy who works in a Hawk unit—you know, the ones that provide anti-air support for the ground troops? They’re supposed to use the IFFs to tell the good guys from the bad guys in a war. Well, this guy says they’re so unreliable, they’re going to go ahead and shoot at anything that flies over their Hawk sites.”

  “So what do you pilots think about that?”

  “That’s why I’m a trash hauler and not a fighter pilot—I don’t worry about it.”

  Fellows patted the IFF. “Well, these are state-of-the-art, and we haven’t had any problems with them. Not yet, anyway.”

  He slowed the jeep as they drove up to a bunker. The bunker was unguarded, but it looked formidable. They climbed out and walked toward the bulwark. A concrete driveway led up to the bunker. A searchlight, shielded with a grid of steel, sat on top of the concrete wall. The bunker’s face jutted out from a mound of dirt. Fellows placed a hand on the steel door as McGriffin poked around the exterior.

  “The door’s made of four-inch-thick steel, originally manufactured as siding for battleships. The concrete walls are eight feet thick, reinforced with rebar, and built to survive a direct hit by a twenty-thousand-pound bomb.”

  “How do you open it?” McGriffin pounded on the steel. It didn’t vibrate or budge to his blow.

  Fellows motioned him over to a small steel box embedded in the bunker’s side. He leaned against the box. “We’ve gone to a holographic keying system. It’s impossible to break into.”

  McGriffin lifted his brows. “Impossible?”

  “There’s over a billion trillion possible combinations available from the interference patterns in the holograph.”

  McGriffin whistled. Fellows swept his arm across the view of the crater. “We have the capability of storing most of the nation’s stockpile of nuclear weapons here. And that’s what the Department of Defense is heading toward. I guess they want to save money by consolidating the storage sites; that, and keeping the Russkies happy.”

  McGriffin leaned against the steel door and gazed across the expanse of Alpha Base. It seemed so calm. The sand was quiet, undisturbed by even the presence of insects. A slight chopping from unseen helicopters was barely audible. If not for the presence of the bunkers and ubiquitous four fences, the scene would have been straight out of a John Wayne western.

  McGriffin put a hand in his pocket. “Do you think it’s a good idea to have the entire national stockpile under one roof?”

  Lieutenant Fellows looked startled. “Huh? I don’t know. I mean, I’m just a lieutenant, not a general. I’ve never thought about that.”

  “Well, what do you think?” pressed McGriffin.

  “You saw the guards. Even the air space around Alpha Base is restricted. We’ve got RAIDS—that’s a Radar Airborne Intrusion Detection System— coupled with anti-aircraft missiles using Passive Optical Sensing Technology. The POST Stingers have orders to shoot down anything that flies overhead.”

  “Isn’t that a little radical?”

  Fellows looked grim. “It’s kind of like protecting the White House. We’re at the top of all Notes to Airmen. We have a five-mile buffer zone with searchlights, radio warnings, and flares to wave off planes if they get close. If they keep heading for us …” He shrugged.

  A warm gust of wind whipped around the two, kicking up sand. McGriffin glanced at his watch. “Sounds like you play hardball, Lieutenant.”

  “We’re dead serious, sir.”

  “I guess that answers my question about a single repository.” They turned and headed back down into the crater to the jeep. “I was just a little concerned last night when that rabbit made it through two of your fences.”

  “On the contrary, sir, if a rabbit can’t get through our defenses, then nothing can.”

  McGriffin glanced at his watch again. “I appreciate the time you’ve spent, but my shift at the base command post begins in a little over an hour and a half. Do you mind if I get back to you on that tour of your command post?”

  “I think the Red Room would be more interesting—it’s where we keep our nuke mock-ups, kind of a show-and-tell. Do you have your CNWDI clearance yet?”

  McGriffin frowned, then remembered that CNWDI stood for Critical Nuclear Weapons Design Information. “Yeah. I was briefed into it yesterday.” McGriffin climbed into the jeep. “Sounds interesting. Maybe you guys can throw some excitement back into my life.”

  Fellows started the engine. He popped the vehicle into gear and they lurched off. “If you’re into rabbits, then you’ve already experienced all the excitement you’ll see.”

  As they drove back in silence, McGriffin hoped that Fellows was right.

  Wendover, Nevada

  The sheet fell away from her breast as she rolled over to her side. She placed a hand on his chest and smiled at him.

  Britnell started giggling, then laughed as she rolled on top of him. He pulled her down and they kissed.

  Minutes later, she propped her head up on an elbow. “We’ll have to do this again sometime.”

  Britnell stretched. “Anything you want, babe. I’ll give you the world if you want.”

  Vikki murmured, “Anything?”

  “Yeah. Anything.”

  She hesitated, then drew a finger across his chest. She really wanted to pull him in, string him along longer … so if she asked for something innocuous, she could build up to the important things. “You know, it might help if I could get a hold of a Wendover phone book. It’s really a hassle to cal
l base information all time. It would really come in handy when we make appointments with your contracting division.”

  “No problem.” He closed his eyes.

  Vikki reached over and flicked off the light. She rolled to her side and snuggled up against him, smiling.

  Chapter 8

  Thursday, 9 June, 1223 local

  Wendover, Nevada

  “You’ll have to check out the staging area by yourself. I’ve got to go to Baja.”

  “Why?” Vikki Osborrn pushed back her hair. “I’m getting close to finding all we want to know about Alpha Base, including the call signs and map. We can’t afford to blow it now. Can’t you wait to go?”

  Anthony Harding stood silent for a moment. He sounded weary. “I have to finalize the plans with this mercenary group that NUFA dug up.”

  Vikki eyed Harding as he walked across her apartment. An old television sat in one corner, facing a threadbare couch and a coffee table. A card table and three folding chairs made up the rest of the room. Ashtrays held just as much residue from marijuana as from tobacco, and the double bed in the bedroom was unmade, with clothes were strewn over boxes.

  She raised an eyebrow at Harding. Here she was, prostituting her body, giving herself to Britnell, all for a higher cause. The zeal that she and Harding had once felt was gone now, and even their lovemaking was replaced with a mechanical, almost predictable, rhythmic grinding.

  Britnell’s caresses brought back the fervor—but it was tempered with the knowledge that she was no better than some slut on the main strip. It almost made her vomit to go through with it.

  But it was that elusive higher law—the end justifies the means—that kept her smiling while courting Britnell. Through all his groping, she kept that one goal in mind: she’d put up with anything to get rid of the nukes, or at least be able to prove to the rest of the nation how easy it was to steal one.

  And now Harding wanted to go cavorting off and leave her to finish his work.

  Harding placed his hands on the back of the couch. “While I’m away you’ve got to find a landing strip in the mountains, one big enough for a C-130, so it will have to be at least a mile long. Plan to get up there, spend a few days to find what we need. I’ve got to hammer out the assault plans.”

  “No. If we’re going to pull this plan off, I’ve got to keep seeing Britnell. His ego is too fragile. If I leave now, he’ll go to pieces. Even for a few days. Can’t you do it when you get back?”

  Silence. Harding held up his hands. “Britnell can wait.”

  Vikki bit her lip. She couldn’t believe that he was dismissing the whole reason for what she was doing. She spoke with an edge to her voice. “If we steal those nukes, the U.S. will take so much heat they’ll be forced to upgrade security, hopefully even get rid of most of their arsenal. If NUFA wants to bring the country to its knees, this is the way to do it. And that means working through Britnell.”

  “Look, these mercenaries are running the assault,” Harding snapped. “They can’t fly in here unless we find a staging area. They’re the key—not Britnell. And they’re pretty dammed serious about it, too.”

  “Screw the mercenaries. If they’re threatening you, then they don’t really care about the nukes. Remember why we got involved with NUFA in the first place: to get rid of the nukes. That’s the only thing that counts. Let’s do what we came to do.”

  Harding slammed a hand against the wall. They remained silent for some time, staring at each other.

  Jumbled thoughts roared through Vikki’s mind. The nukes, she thought. There’s nothing more important than getting rid of the nukes. If that wasn’t true, then she wouldn’t be leading Britnell on—having sex with the airhead every moment they were together.

  Or Harding, as it was turning out. The sacrifices were piling up, but the end in sight seemed ever smaller, constricting.

  Harding spoke with his back to her. He picked up his bags. “Do what you have to. But remember, no staging area, no raid. It’s as simple as that. I’m going to Baja.”

  Wendover AFB, Utah

  “So this is a Jolly Green Giant.”

  The flight-suited man whirled and shot a glance at McGriffin’s name tag. “That’s right, sir. Actually it’s a highly modified Super Jolly Green. I’m Captain Manny Yarnez. I’ll be taking you up today.”

  “How do you do, Manny. Bill’s the name.”

  Manny returned McGriffin’s handshake with a firm grip. Red-haired and lithe, Manny’s infectious grin sparkled. The airman who had escorted McGriffin out to the flight line backed away to the staff car.

  A flight-suited master sergeant who looked at least five years older than McGriffin walked around the craft, completing a preflight checklist. He nodded to McGriffin as he passed.

  Manny squinted at McGriffin’s pilot wings. “Fixed wing?”

  “C-17’s for thirteen years.”

  Manny whistled. “Must be nice. We get our share of Globemasters through here.”

  McGriffin looked wistful. “I’ve noticed.” He started to warm up to the chopper pilot.

  Manny motioned for McGriffin to follow him around the craft. He walked behind the master sergeant, quickly looking over the blades and ensuring all panels were closed. Manny reached inside the cockpit and hauled out a flight log. He scanned the names and dates, then nodded to himself. “Looks like we’re in luck. She’s good for another ten hours.”

  McGriffin looked along the helicopter’s side. The skin looked strange in the sunlight. It was dull black, devoid of any shine. The rotor assembly was encased in the same material. Examining the skin closer, he couldn’t even see where the sun reflected. He rubbed a finger against the fuselage; the skin was ice cold. “What have you guys painted this with?”

  Ducking back around to the opposite side, Manny swung up into the craft. McGriffin hesitated, then followed. Manny said absently, “It’s a radar absorber. It cuts our cross section down to almost zero. That, the exterior design and the electronic countermeasure gear add about five hundred pounds to our weight. The drawback is that the paint also absorbs heat like crazy but doesn’t radiate it, so it heats up fast inside. That keeps us from being a sitting duck for infrared sensors, but we lose five pounds from sweating every time we fly.” He motioned for McGriffin to climb into the jump seat behind the pilot’s seat. Strapping himself in, he turned and grinned back at McGriffin.

  “They’re adding all kinds of bells-and-whistles to our birds. I guess they’ve forgotten we’re supposed to be rescue. They tried to redesignate us as SH-53’s, but we nearly revolted. If they wanted stealth capability, they should have bought some more B-2’s and left us alone. But that’s politics for you.” He scanned flight line. “As soon as Lieutenant Nederman gets out here, we’ll be ready to blast off.”

  McGriffin leaned forward in his seat. “Sorry about the short notice. I’m trying to hit most of the units on base while I still have some free time.”

  “S’all right. Have you been up yet?”

  “Not here. I have a private pilot’s license, but haven’t gotten a chance to check out a plane. In fact, that sounds like a good idea. I’d appreciate you showing me around the whole base.”

  “Good. We’ll give you the VIP tour then. Just sit back and enjoy.”

  A young lieutenant climbed on board, interrupting Manny. Manny shot a glance over his shoulder. “You ready, Bill?” Manny didn’t wait for McGriffin’s answer. Flicking on his mike, he gave a thumbs-up to the master sergeant in the rear of the craft. The flight engineer flipped on the helicopter’s auxiliary power unit; a whine split the air. Manny turned; he had a twinkle in his eye. “Let me know if you get airsick.”

  McGriffin snorted. Me? Airsick in a helicopter? He was going to like this guy.

  Friday, 10 June, 0925 local

  Baja, Mexico

  The ocean was two miles away, but Harding could hear the deep sound of waves crashing against the craggy coastline. Humidity permeated the air. The dirt landing strip ran past the Cessn
a, stretching out until it ended in a jumble of boulders. The sky was cloudless, and the blueness was so deep it reminded Harding of the flight down here when he looked out the window and saw the Sea of Cortez stretching out below. Miles above any pollution, when he looked up he had felt as if he could see the stars.

  It was a wild jumble of sunshine, desert rocks, shimmering heat, and ocean. Baja was an untamed paradise.

  Harding stood by the single-engine airplane that had flown him from Orange County’s John Wayne Airport. A helicopter and two small planes were secured at the opposite end of the runway. A large four-engine plane, painted solid black, sat fifty yards away. It was a military transport, but it bore no identifying markings. Harding couldn’t place the model, but it looked like a C-130.

  To his left stood a mock-up of an Alpha Base storage bunker. Tin siding substituted for concrete walls, but the effect was the same: it presented a monolithic fortress to conquer.

  A set of four fences ran on the other side of the bunker. The facility was not to scale, but it gave the terrorists something to practice with.

  They were alone, the nearest people tens of miles away. Do’brainese guards ensured their privacy, driving back approaching fishermen and enterprising four-wheelers coming down from the north.

  Standing in front of Harding, General Ashtah looked resplendent in his Do’brainese uniform: gold piping, flashy ribbons, jaunty cap. Harding snorted; the general also looked like a tin soldier. Old and wheezing, the officer acted as if he were in the midst of his last hurrah.

  A group of fifty men lounged behind the general, eating assorted fruits and laughing quietly among themselves. They sprawled over rusting jeeps. A few managed to find some shade under the aircraft’s wing. For the most part they seemed content to rest instead of work. A few pointed comments drifted from the group.

  One man stood apart from the others. Erect and impeccably dressed in a creased khaki uniform, the man appeared to be the real leader of the group; he carried himself differently from the Do’brainese general who now had Harding’s attention.