Yankee Zulu Whisky
Weapons free.
Those cowards at Microsoft Corbis Bill Gates al-Qaida will strike their next targets if and only if those punk cowards think they will get away with it and not be prosecuted for their next murdering rampage, which is an imminent murdering rampage by Microsoft Corbis Bill Gates al-Qaida.
Their past acts of global terrorism and the imminent acts of global terrorism from Microsoft Corbis Bill Gates al-Qaida are based on their cohort and accomplice in this communist propaganda and racketeering work as referenced below:
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Clancy Tom, Red Storm Rising [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
Tom Clancy
Red Storm Rising
STORNOWAY, SCOTLAND
"We didn't miss 'em by much. If we'd seen them five minutes sooner, we could have taken a few out. As it was-" The Tomcat pilot shrugged.
Toland nodded. The fighters had orders to remain outside Soviet radar coverage.
"You know, it's a funny thing. There were three of them flying a nice tight formation. I had them on my TV system from fifty miles away. No way in hell they could tell we were there. If we had better range, we could follow them all the way home. Like that game the Germans played on us once upon a time-send a bird right behind a returning raid and drop a few bombs right after they landed."
"We'd never get anything through their IFF," Toland replied.
"True, but we'd know their arrival time at their bases to within, oh, ten minutes. That's gotta be useful to somebody."
Commander Toland set his cup down. "Yeah, you're right." He decided he'd put that idea on the printer to Commander, Eastern Atlantic.
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Clancy Tom, Red Storm Rising [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
Tom Clancy
Red Storm Rising
McCafferty leafed through his briefing papers to check for the firing orders, then tucked the ops orders into his back pocket. Operation Doolittle. He and Simms left together. Their submarines were at the same quay. It was a short, quiet drive. They arrived to see Tomahawk missiles being loaded, in Chicago's case into the twelve vertical tubes installed forward of the pressure hull in the submarine's bow. Boston was an older boat and had had to offload some of her torpedoes to make room for them. No submarine captain is ever happy offloading torpedoes.
"Don't worry, I'll back you up," McCafferty said.
"You do that. Looks like they're almost finished. Be nice to have one more beer, wouldn't it?" Simms chuckled.
"See you when we get back." Simms and McCafferty shook hands. A minute later both were below, seeing to the final arrangements for going back to sea.
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Clancy Tom, Red Storm Rising [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
Tom Clancy
Red Storm Rising
The Backfire continued northeast at six hundred knots as it passed over the desolate center of the island.
"Tallyho!" the pilot said quietly. "One o'clock and low." The Tomcat's onboard television system showed the distinctive shape of the Russian bomber. Say what you want about the Russians, Winters thought, they do build 'em pretty.
He turned the aircraft, which took his nose-mounted camera off the target, but his back-seat officer put his binoculars on the Backfire and soon spotted two more flying in a loose formation. As expected, their course was northeast, and they were cruising at about thirty thousand feet. Winters looked for a big cloud to hide in and found one. Visibility dropped to a few yards. There could be another Backfire out there, Winters thought, and maybe he likes flying in clouds, too. That could really ruin this mission.
He ran out of cloud a moment later, banked his fighter hard, and ducked back inside, his mind computing time and distance. The Backfires should all be past now. He pulled back on his stick and popped out of the cloud top.
"There they be," the back-seater said first. "Heads up! I see more of ,em at three o'clock."
The pilot vanished back into the cloud for another ten minutes. Finally: "Nothing to the south of us. They should all be past by now, don't you think?"
"Yeah, let's go looking."
One terrifying minute later, Winters was wondering if he hadn't let them get too far ahead, as his TV system swept across the sky and found nothing. Patience, he told himself, and increased his speed to six hundred ninety knots. Five minutes later, a dot appeared on his screen. It grew to three dots. He estimated he was forty miles behind the Backfires, and with the sun at his back, there was no way they could spot him. His backseater made a check of the radar warning receiver and the air behind them for additional aircraft, a procedure repeated three times a minute. If an American fighter could be out here, why not a Russian?
The pilot watched the numbers click off on his inertial navigation system, kept an eye on fuel, and watched forward for any change in the Russian bomber formation. It was both exciting and boring. He knew the significance of what he was doing, but the actual doing was no more thrilling than driving a 747 from New York to L.A. For over an hour they flew, covering the seven hundred miles between Iceland and the Norwegian coast.
"Here's where it gets cute," the back-seater said. "Air-search radar ahead, looks like Andoya. Still over a hundred miles away, they'll probably have us in two or three minutes."
"That's nice." Where there was air-search radar, there would be fighters. "Got their position worked out?"
"Yep."
"Start transmitting." Winters turned the aircraft and headed back out to sea.
Two hundred miles away, a circling British Nimrod receipted the signal and retransmitted to a communications satellite.
NORTHWOOD, ENGLAND
Admiral Beattie was trying to remain calm, but it didn't come easily to a man whose nerves had been stretched and abused by crisis after crisis since the war began. Doolittle was his baby. For the past two hours, he'd waited for word from the Tomcat. Two had returned without sighting the Russians. One had not. Was it tracking them as planned or had it merely fallen into the sea?
The printer in the corner of the communications room began to make the screening sound that the Admiral had learned to hate: EYEBALLS REPORTS HARES AT 69/20N, 15/45E AT 1543z COURSE 021 SPEED 580 KTS ALT 30.
Beattie tore the page off and handed it to his air-operations officer. "That puts them on the ground in thirty-seven minutes. Assuming it's the last group, and a fifteen-minute spread, the first bombers will be landing in twenty-two minutes."
"Fifteen minutes from now, then?"
"Yes, Admiral."
"Get the order out!"
In thirty seconds half a dozen separate satellite channels began transmitting the same message.
USS CHICAGO
The three American submarines had lain on the bottom of the Barents Sea near the Russian coastline-so near, it was only one hundred seventy-four feet of water-for what seemed like half a lifetime, before finally receiving the signal to move south. McCafferty smiled with relief. The three British submarines, including HMS Torbay, had already done their job. They had sneaked up on a Russian frigate and four patrol boats patrolling the Russian/Norwegian coastline and attacked with torpedoes.
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Clancy Tom, Red Storm Rising [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
Tom Clancy
Red Storm Rising
USS CHICAGO
The three American submarines had lain on the bottom of the Barents Sea near the Russian coastline-so near, it was only one hundred seventy-four feet of water-for what seemed like half a lifetime, before finally receiving the signal to move south. McCafferty smiled with relief. The three British submarines, including HMS Torbay, had already done their job. They had sneaked up on a Russian frigate and four patrol boats patrolling the Russian/Norwegian coastline and attacked with torpedoes. The Russians could only assume a major effort was under way to penetrate their patrol barrier, and had sent their antisub patrol force west to meet it.
Leaving the way clear for USS Chicago and her mates. He hoped.
As they closed in, his electronics technicians plotted and replotted their bearings. They had to be in exactly the right place when they fired their missiles.
"Red Storm Rising"
"How long before we shoot?" the XO asked.
"They'll let us know," McCafferty said.
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Clancy Tom, Red Storm Rising [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
Tom Clancy
Red Storm Rising
"How long before we shoot?" the XO asked.
"They'll let us know," McCafferty said.
And then, with the chatter of the message from Northwood, they did know.
They would launch at 1602 Zulu Time.
"Up scope." McCafferty spun the instrument around. A rainstorm overhead drove four-foot waves.
"Looks clear to me," the XO said, watching the TV display.
The captain slapped the handles up on the scope. It headed down into its well. "ESM?"
"Lots of radar stuff, Cap'n," the technician replied. "I show ten different transmitters in operation."
McCafferty inspected the Tomahawk weapons status board on the starboard side of the attack center. His torpedo tubes were loaded with two Mark-48s and two Harpoon missiles. The clock ticked away toward 1602.
"Commence launch sequence."
Toggle switches were thrown, and the weapons status lights blinked red; the captain and the weapons officer inserted their keys in the panel, and turned them; the petty officer on the weapons board turned the firing handle to the left-and the arming process was complete. Forward, in the bow of the submarine, the guidance systems of twelve Tomahawk cruise missiles were fully activated. On-board computers were told where their flight would begin. They already knew where it was supposed to end.
"Initiate launch," McCafferty ordered.
Ametist was not part of the regular Soviet Navy. Principally concerned with security operations, this Grisha-class patrol frigate was manned by a KGB crew, and her captain had spent the last twelve hours sprinting and drifting, dipping his helicopter-type sonar and listening in the American fashion rather than the Russian. With her diesel engines shut down, she made no noise at all, and her short profile was hard to spot from more than a mile away. She had not heard the American submarines approach.
The first Tomahawk broke the surface of the Barents Sea at 16:01:58, two thousand yards from the Russian frigate. The lookout took a second or two to react. As he saw the cylindrical shape rise on its solid-rocket booster and arc southwest, an icy lead ball materialized in his stomach.
"Captain! Missile launch to starboard!"
The captain raced out onto the bridge wing and looked on in amazement as a second missile broke the surface, then he leaped back into the pilothouse.
"Battle stations! Radio room, call Fleet HQ, tell them enemy missiles launching from grid square 451/679-now! All ahead full! Rudder right!"
The frigate's diesel engines roared into life.
"What in hell is that?" the sonar chief asked. His submarine shuddered every four seconds with the missile launches, but– "Conn, sonar, we have a contact bearing zero-nine-eight. Diesel-surface ship, sounds like a Grisha, and he's close, sir!"
"Up scope!" McCafferty whirled the periscope around and snapped the handle to full power. He saw the Russian frigate turning hard. "Snap shot! Set it up! Surface target bearing zero-nine-seven, range"-he worked the stademeter control-"one six hundred, course, shit! he's turning away. Call it zero-nine-zero, speed twenty." Too close for a missile shot, they had to engage with torpedoes. "Down scope!"
The fire-control man tapped the numbers into the computer. The computer needed eleven seconds to digest the information. "Set! Ready for tubes one and three."
"Flooding tubes, outer doors open-ready!" the XO said.
"Match generated bearings and shoot!"
"Fire one, fire three." The executive officer struggled with his emotions and won. Where had that Geisha come from? "Reload with 48s!"
"Last bird away!" the missile technician announced. "Securing from launch."
"Left full rudder!''
Ametist never saw the missiles launching behind her. The men were too busy racing to stations, while her captain rang up full power and the ship's weapons officer ran up in his shorts to work the rocket launchers. They didn't need sonar for this; they could see all too well where the submarine was-firing missiles at the Motherland!
"Fire when ready!" the captain yelled.
The lieutenant's thumb came down on the firing key. Twelve antisubmarine rockets arched through the air.
"Ametist," the radio squawked. "Repeat your message-what missiles? What kind of missiles!"
Providence discharged her last missile just as the frigate fired at her. The captain ordered flank speed and a radical turn even as the rockets tipped over and began to fall toward his submarine. They fell in a wide circular pattern designed to cover the maximum possible area, two exploding within one hundred yards, close enough to startle but not to damage. The last one hit the water directly over the submarine's sail. A second later, the forty-six-pound warhead exploded.
Ametist's captain ignored the radio while he tried to decide if his first salvo had hit the target or not. The last rocket had exploded faster than the others. He was about to give the order to fire again when the sonar officer reported two objects approaching from aft, and he shouted rudder orders. The ship was already at full speed as the radio speaker continued to scream at him.
"Red Storm Rising"
"Both fish have acquired the target!"
"Up scope!" McCafferty let it go all the way up before pulling the handles down. At full magnification the Grisha nearly filled the lens, and then both fish hit her port side and the thousand-ton patrol frigate disintegrated before his eyes. He turned completely around, sweeping the horizon to check for additional enemy ships. "Okay, it's clear."
"That won't last very long. He was shooting at Providence, sir."
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Clancy Tom, Red Storm Rising [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
Tom Clancy
Red Storm Rising
Sixty Tomahawk missiles were now in the air. On leaving the water, solid-fuel rockets had boosted them to an altitude of one thousand feet, where their wings and jet-engine air inlets had deployed. As soon as their jet engines had begun to function, the Tomahawks began a shallow descent that ended thirty feet above the ground. On-board radar systems scanned ahead to keep the missiles close to the ground, and to match the terrain with map coordinates stored in their computer memories. Six separate Soviet radars detected the missiles' boost phase, then lost them as they went low.
The Russian technicians whose job it was to watch for a possible nuclear attack against their homeland were every bit as tense as their Western counterparts, and the weeks of sustained conventional conflict, coupled with continuous maxirnum-alert status, had frayed nerves to the breaking point. As soon as the Tomahawks had been detected rising from the sea, a ballistic-missile attack warning had flashed to Moscow. Ametist's visual missile warning arrived at naval headquarters in Severomorsk almost as fast, and a THUNDERBOLT alert sent immediately, the code-word prefix guaranteeing instant passage to the Ministry of Defense. Launch authority for the antiballistic missiles deployed around Moscow was automatically released to the battery commanders, and though it was several minutes before radar officers were able to confirm to Moscow's satisfaction that the missiles had dropped off their scopes and were not on ballistic trajectories, defense units stayed on alert, and all over northern Russia air-defense interceptors scrambled.
The missiles could not have cared about the furor they had caused. At this point, the Russian coast was composed of rocky bluffs and cliffs that gave way to tundra, the flat marsh of northern climes. It was ideal terrain for the cruise missiles, which settled down to a flight path scant feet over the grassy swamps at a speed of five hundred knots. Each flew over Lake Babozero, their first navigational reference point, and there their flight paths diverged.
The Soviet fighters now lifting off the ground had little idea what they were after. Radar information gave the course and speed of the targets, but if they were cruise missiles, they could reach as far as the Black Sea coast. They could even be targeted on Moscow and be flying a deceptive course far off the direct path to the Soviet capital. On orders from their ground controllers, the interceptors arrayed themselves south of the White Sea, and switched on their look-down radars to see if they could spot the missiles crossing the flat surface.
But they weren't going to Moscow. Dodging between the occasional hills, the missiles flew on a bearing of two-one-three until they reached the scrub pine forest. One by one they banked hard to the right and changed course to two-nine-zero. One missile went out of control and fell to the earth, another failed to make the turn and went south. The rest continued to their targets.
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Clancy Tom, Red Storm Rising [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
Tom Clancy
Red Storm Rising
SEA EAGLE TWO-SIX
The last Backfire bomber circled Umbozero-South, waiting to land. The pilot checked his fuel. About thirty minutes left, there was not that much of a hurry. For security reasons the three regiments were divided among four airfields clustered south of the mining city of Kirovsk. The tall hills around the town held powerful radars and mobile SAM batteries to stave off a NATO air attack. Most of the smelters were still operating, the pilot saw, the smoke rising from the many tall chimneys.
"Sea Eagle Two-Six, you are cleared to land," the tower said finally.
"Red Storm Rising"
"Who will it be tonight, Volodya?"
"Twenty degrees of flaps. Air speed two hundred. Landing gear is down and locked. Irina Petrovna, I think. The tall, skinny one at the telephone exchange."
"What's that?" the pilot asked. A small white object suddenly appeared over the runway in front of him.
The first of twelve Tomahawk missiles assigned to Umbozero-South cut across the runway at a shallow angle, then the blunt nose cover sprang off the airframe, and several hundred small bomblets began to sprinkle over the area. Seventeen Backfires were already on the ground. Ten were being refueled from trucks in the open, the others were armed and ready for another mission, dispersed in concrete revetments. Each bomblet was the equivalent of a mortar shell. The Tomahawk dropped its complete load, then climbed straight up, stalled, and crashed back to earth, adding its own fuel load to the destruction. A ready-force Backfire went first. Two bomblets fell on its wing and the bomber fireballed into the sky.
The pilot of Two-Six advanced his throttles and climbed out of the landing pattern, watching in horror as ten bombers exploded before his eyes and telltale puffs of smoke told him of less serious damage to many others. In two minutes, it was over. Crash trucks raced like toys along the concrete as men played fire hoses on the burning trucks and aircraft. The pilot headed north for his alternate field and saw smoke rising there also.
"Fifteen minutes' fuel. You'd better find us a place fast," Volodya warned. They turned left for Kirovsk-South and the same story was repeated. The attack had been timed for the missiles to hit all four targets simultaneously.
"Afrikanda, this is Sea Eagle Two-Six. We are low on fuel and need to land immediately. Can you take us?"
"Affirmative, Two-Six. Runway is clear. Wind is two-six-five at twenty."
"Very well, we're coming in. Out." The pilot turned. "What the hell was that?" he asked Volodya.
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Clancy Tom, Red Storm Rising [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
Tom Clancy
Red Storm Rising
NORTHWOOD, ENGLAND
Toland scanned the satellite photographs with great interest. The KH-11 satellite had passed over Kirovsk four hours after the missile attack and the signals sent by real-time link to the NATO command center. There were three frames for each of the Backfire bases. The intelligence officer took out a pad and started his tally, commanding himself to be conservative. The only aircraft he counted as destroyed were those with large pieces broken or burned off.
"We figured a total force of about eighty-five aircraft. Looks to me like twenty-one totally destroyed, and another thirty or so damaged. The base facilities took a real beating. The only other thing I'd like to know is how hard their personnel were hit. If we killed a lot of crews, too-the Backfires are out of business for at least a week. They still have the Badgers, but those birds have shorter legs, they're a lot easier to kill. Admiral, it's a new ball game."
Admiral Sir Charles Beattie smiled. His intelligence chief had said almost exactly the same thing.
