The moment grew and deepened, with the specter of war and disaster looming at the edge of every decision. But nothing about this made any sense. No one could explain the distress beacon. Flybys confirmed an infra red strobe, the kind activated by downed flyers The latest satellite images only deepened the mystery, unable to see clearly through blowing dust. There was no wreckage, which wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility in such rugged terrain, which could quite easily swallow up and erase a single aircraft. The Iranians put out patrols along the coast and Highway Ninety-six to the east of the parachute and “body.” Strangest thing was that all aircraft had been accounted for in the area. Aside from the E2C Hawkeye and a pair of F-18 Hornets there wasn’t a damn thing in the sky. Even the Iranians, perhaps afraid of spooking the Americans into a fight, kept their aircraft on the ground.
Final approval for the operation came from the highest levels of the Pentagon. In Washington the President was informed as he returned from a cross-country speaking trip. Aside from constraints upon rules of engagement and potential escalation, he was satisfied with the military’s experience and prudence. In the end the final decision would depend upon three things; honor,a promise that no American soldier was ever left behind and Lt. Colonel McCallister, the man who would ultimately lead the mission.
Danzig found him on the flight deck. Before him three massive MH-53 Pave Low helicopters were silhouetted against the night sky. Magnificent and terrifying all at once, they were the most sophisticated and lethal helicopters in the world. At half a city block long and almost three stories in height it seemed comical that they had proved themselves in countless stealth and rescue missions. And when stealth failed as an option the Paves could open up on an adversary with 7.62mm mini-guns, a fifty caliber and an assortment missiles. It wasn’t an option McCallister intended to test on this mission. His teams had been fully briefed, and the crews well-prepared to charge across the sea at lightning speed and drop down to the desert before the Iranians knew what was happening. They’d be out and racing back for the safety of the CG inside forty minutes. Nice and easy. At least that was the plan.
Danzig stood next to him. Both men were quiet for a moment. McCallister was chewing on the end of an unlit Cuban cigar, a bit of a pre-mission ritual he believed brought good luck. They were looking off to the east, towards Iran.
“Give the word, Mac, and we’ll get this show on the road.”
McCallister breathed deeply, taking the cool salty air into his lungs.
“My team is ready, Sam.” The words sounded hollow almost from the moment they left him.
“Feels like our hands are a bit tied here,” said Danzig. “We’ll have a couple birds in the air, and more standing-by should you need them, but you will be alone for a while. Don’t fuck around out there.”
“I’d feel a bit better with some air support close by too.”
“Washington is telling me no dice. No one wants to start a war here.”
A sailor ran up with the latest intelligence of the target area. Even Danzig’s perfect poker face failed him as he looked over the report. He took a long breath and handed it over to McCallister.
“Looks like the Iranians are awake.”
McCallister looked over the report carefully. A column of enemy vehicles was on the move from the north. Another unit approached from the south along the coast. Add to that 2 Chinese Houdong class missile boats had been spotted north of Lavan Island moving south towards Chiruyeh.
McCallister nodded thoughtfully and gave Danzig’s shoulder a squeeze. “This is what we do.”
“Get home, Mac.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
His teams were already aboard the choppers. One by one they moved out onto the flight line as those General Electric twin turbo-shaft engines came to life. They cut a formidable image, so then why did McCallister have a nagging impression of the mission? Something made him anxious. He looked across the dark gulf waters. The business of war, he thought, was a craps game-eventually everyone's number came up. He couldn’t recall feeling this way about a mission before, and wondered if it wasn’t a sixth sense that had served him well all these years, or he was getting old and losing his nerve? They answers to those questions would have to wait.
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