Book 2: Episode 36

Condor 49 (VP-4)

FL 300, Southern Texas

Commander Karsen was still off balance and trying to recover from the multiple shocks of the past few hours.  First, his unit had been placed on alert, then they had been ordered to scramble and move their aircraft away from their home base of Whidbey Island to SeaTac airport, the civilian airport serving Seattle.  Finally, they had been ordered to the Mexican border, but they didn’t have enough fuel for that, so they had landed at Phoenix Sky Harbor airport for fuel.

Now, they were flying parallel to the US/Mexico border, about twenty miles north of El Paso, Texas.  Just outside of El Paso was the massive Fort Bliss, home of one of the US Army’s most powerful tank units, the First Armored Division.

Only, it wasn’t there.  Nobody from First Armored was answering on any of the frequencies they were supposed to be monitoring.

The sensor operators in the back were reporting massive craters and other evidence of an air strike.  Most likely ballistic missiles.  The main garrison was basically gone.  They could see a few vehicles moving around and what they assumed were ongoing attempts to rescue those trapped in badly damaged buildings.

“I am receiving some tactical radio traffic.  Nothing on Link-16.”  The sensor operator’s voice was calm on the surface but Karsen could hear the tension over the intercom.  All US and NATO units normally transmitted what is called Link-16 which is used to transmit tactical information like a unit’s position.  While in garrison, those systems were usually turned off, but during an alert like this, they should be on.

“Can you get me on the freq for one of the units down there?”

“One second, sir.”  There was a pause as the radio tech in the back found the correct frequency.  “I have Aloma One Seven for you.”

“Aloma One Seven, this is Condor 49, Actual.  We are overhead with orders to report your condition.  Say your status.”

“Condor, Aloma, we have suffered a major attack, most likely ballistics.  The ops building is completely gone and the majority of our mobile units took damage.  We have rescue teams going through the buildings now, looking for survivors.  Unknown casualties, but there are at least a thousand wounded at the triage point already.  Local EMT and Fire are assisting but overwhelmed.”

“Aloma, understood.  What do you need?”

“I need as many medivac birds as you can get me.  Our comms are completely down, no satcom at all.  If we could get a BACN bird overhead, we could begin to talk to the outside world.”

“Understood.  Will relay your request. We have also lost SATCOM, but we are talking to NORAD.  Note that Northern Command is shifted to Crystal Palace.”

“They moved to the mountain?  Things must be fucked up everywhere, not just here.”

“Roger that.  Hang in there, we will call some help in for you if we can.”

“Aloma, out.”

Karsen looked over at his young co-pilot.  I wish Ping Pong was here.  “What is on the threat board?”

“I have multiple SAM radars coming up to the south.  Could be HQ-9.”

Karsen considered the situation.  His orders had been clear: determine the threat of potential invasion from Mexico by unknown forces.  Determine size, composition and, if possible, intent of any hostile forces.  With orders like that, he didn’t have much choice—he needed to get closer.  His crew was still getting used to the new side looking AESA radar, but so far it worked amazingly well.  Unfortunately, the land to the south of him wasn’t flat like the ocean where the P-8 normally operated.  That meant that there might be an entire army hiding down there and he wouldn’t know it yet.  Karsten turned the aircraft southwest, heading towards Sonora, Mexico.

As the P-8 moved into Mexico, the situation on the ground looked worse and worse.  “Multiple tactical radios, encrypted traffic.  They may be Chinese, but definitely not Mexican army,”  Karsen could hear the sensor operator’s voice getting grimmer and grimmer as the situation became even more clear.  The USA was in a ton of trouble here and there was nobody in position to stop it.

“OK, try to get a better picture and keep Crystal Palace updated.”

“SIR!  I have hard paints on a large number of vehicles, bearing Two Five Zero.  Estimating brigade strength.”

“Do you have ident on the types?”

“We have Type 96 tanks, Type 4 IFVs and a shit ton of support vehicles.  Looks like a full armored brigade.  They are moving northwest at about twenty KPH.”  Well, that did it.  Those were Chinese tanks and infantry-fighting vehicles down there.  Still in Mexico, but the idea that the People’s Liberation Army was operating in Mexico just got upgraded from rumor to fact.

“OK, let Crystal Palace know.”

“SIR!  Airborne radar at one eight zero.  We are above threshold, I think they have us.”

“Deploy the little buddy!”  The P-8 had recently been upgraded to carry the AN/ALE-55 towed decoy (nicknamed “little buddy” by the crews) which was also deployed on Navy F-18 fighters.  Designed to jam enemy radar, it was capable of both breaking radar lock and luring missiles to attack it instead of the host aircraft.

“Fighter radars.  Multiple fighters lighting up.  One eight zero.”  Karsen turned the plane north to get some space between him and the fighters.  He had no idea who was up here, but he didn’t want to find out.  “LAUNCH WARNING!  Multiple inbounds.”  The sensor operator was shrill, almost panicked.  Where the hell was his friendly air cover?

The P-8 wasn’t a fighter, but it could be quite maneuverable when needed. Karsen pulled the plane into a hard right turn and dived down, seeking speed.  It wasn’t going to be enough.

“Decoy is working, two of the missiles have lost lock.  Six more inbound.”  Agonizing seconds passed.  “There goes little buddy.  Two inbound.”

With a loud “BANG” the P-8 took a hit to the rear.  Warning lights flashed in the cockpit.  “We are losing number one.  Hydraulics dropping.”

“MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY.  Condor Four Nine is declaring an emergency.”

Shit, not again.

Karsen fought the converted 737 all the way but could not maintain his altitude.  Most of the left wing was gone and he could barely keep her from tumbling out of control.  He was going to have to ditch.

The P-8 fell from the sky, streaming fire and smoke from her damaged left wing.  The plane impacted the ground at almost 200 miles per hour.  The impact threw pieces of the aircraft hundreds of feet in the air and left a debris field almost a quarter of a mile long.  There were no survivors.