"Cord," she began slowly, "isn't it true, historically, that relations between the military establishments of the United States and Mexico have been contentious at best?"
"That's true: different cultures and values. Why do you ask?"
"What if something goes wrong? How far are you willing to go to take control of the border?"
"Whatever it takes. It has to be done."
"Are you prepared to engage the Mexican military in combat?"
"Absolutely."
"Over border incursions?" she challenged.
"Border incursions, drug smuggling, and two murdered Border Patrol agents in the past week."
Maria dropped her gaze. "It seems to me that we're setting ourselves up to look like the world's biggest bully. Isn't there going to be an image problem?"
"Perhaps, but here's the bottom line. We can't have a trail of illegal immigrants, some of whom are dedicated terrorists, pouring into our country through Mexico from as far away as South America and the Middle East. Many of these people want to destroy this country. It simply isnt going to happen as long as I'm in office."
The far-reaching implications unfurled in his mind. "It may mean a fence system from the Pacific Ocean to the Gulf of Mexico and triple the number of Border Patrol agents, heavily armed with assault weapons. It may mean our military will have a permanent role to play along the border. Makes sense; our military are guarding borders and protecting the sovereignty of other nations around the world. What about here on our own soil where we're wide open to terrorism and other criminal activity?"
She looked at him thoughtfully. "What about the Posse Comitatus Act? Isnt that going to cause some heartburn?"
"Not really. We can use military vehicles, aircraft, technical aid, surveillance, facilities, intelligence, et cetera, as long as there is no direct participation of Department of Defense personnel in law enforcement."
Maria reached for her tea. "How is this going to affect our war on terrorism overseas?"
"I dont expect it to have much of an effect. The latest strike on the terrorists is under way, and were going to keep the heat turned up."
"I just hope we arent taking on too many tasks at the same time."
Macklin gave her a reassuring smile. "Were not overextended. Everything is going to be fine."
Chapter 27
A quarter moon highlighted the clear star-studded night. On the ground around Kashan, Iran, the temperature was still 104 degrees Fahrenheit at 2:10 A. M. Everything was quiet, eerily quiet.
Lieutenant Commander Landon "Bulldog" Gaines, the flight leader of two F/A-18Cs from the VFA-147 Argonauts, was 30,000 feet over Iran and twenty-nine miles west of the Kashan command and control center when his SLAM~ER missile put the center and its unsuspecting crew out of business. Within seconds, other explosions began shattering the quiet morning in western Afghanistan and in central and eastern Iran. The coalition reveille was in progress.
Stmms-based navy and marine corps aviators were dropping 2,000-pound GPS-guided JDAMs on radar-guided antiaircraft (AAA) gun sites and surface-to-air (SAM) missle sites. Other aircraft were dropping bombs on selected terrorist camps and storage areas.
Many of the aircraft selected to hit the same target separated and then converged minutes later, dropping their ordnance at forty-five-second intervals. The timing was critical because their external aircraft lights were off. No one on the ground could track them without radar.
If the bad guys turned on their radar to "paint" the strike aircraft, the coalition pilots could use the AGM-88 HARM (High-speed Anti-Radiation Missile) to home in on the hostile radar and destroy the enemy complex.
Maintaining radio silence, Gaines and his wingman turned toward their secondary target, a particularly nasty antiaircraft gun site southwest of Tehran. The Iranian gunners had been alerted and were at their posts.
Gaines was caught off guard by the intensity and variety of the ordnance being thrown up. He had seen tracers on many missions but not in the quantity that was flowing skyward in steady streams.
Long chains of red, yellow, and white tracers were spraying back and forth like a loose fire hose. Large red balls like Roman candles were tracking the two Hornets. The web of tracers appeared to be a solid, impenetrable mass.
Gaines was breathing rapidly. We're going to go through a wall of lead. He forced himself to breathe slowly and concentrate on the mission at hand. This is a bag of worms.
Warning equipment lit up, indicating enemy radar was "illuminating" their planes. Bright tracer rounds flashed under the Hornets, followed by tracers ripping past the canopies. Going ballistic, two SAMS broke through the F/A-18 s altitude, peaked, and then fell back to earth. They exploded near the SAM site, causing one death and a lot of collateral damage.
Gaines couldn't resist a smile. The Iranian missile troops must be cursing the Russians.
Seconds before he was going to drop his ordnance, Gaines felt a solid thump that violently shook the airplane. Warning lights and warning sounds immediately filled the cramped cockpit. Bitchin Betty (the F/A-18 Hornet voice-alert system) announced in a calm voice, "Engine right. Engine right."
"Bulldog One, you're on fire!" Lieutenant Warren Smith radioed. "Fire — fire coming from your starboard engine!"
"Yeah — got big problems — let's check out! Comiri hard port, going for the deck! Switch backup."
They switched to a different radio frequency.
"Two's up," Smith said.
Click-click.
Gaines pulled into a left bank, nose low turn and rolled wings level when he was headed toward the North Arabian Sea. He began the steps to shut down the right engine and realized it was not running. Gaines eased the right throtde back and went through the engine fire checklist. I'm on government time now, single-engine night carrier landing with battle damage and extremely high temperatures at the boat — can't beat it.
He keyed his radio and inched the left throttle forward. "Dog Two — still hangin with me?"
"Like a frog on a lily pad."
"Any fire?" Gaines asked.
"Uh-huh, small residual fire."
"How about checking me out."
"Okay hold it steady."
Smith eased down and moved under his flight leader. Up close he could see the damage. "It looks like… uh, you must have taken a hundred-millimeter through the starboard engine. Its totally destroyed."
"Anything else?"
"Your tailhook is skewed to the left, and you have several punctures in the belly. Your hydraulics okay?"
"Holding so far."
"You re not going to have enough fuel to make the carrier."
"Then again," Gaines said, checking his fuel, "Im only using one engine. Might make it if I'm lucky."
"Its a toss-up."
Click-click.
Gaines leveled off at 500 feet above the ground and 330 knots. The exceedingly high temperatures caused a large reduction in available engine thrust. As the Hornet decelerated, he had to use military power on the port engine to maintain level flight. Gaines checked to make sure the speed brakes were retracted. The coast was only four minutes away.
"You have some fluid streaming along the belly, but I cant see the color in the dark. Probably hydraulic fluid."
"Copy — thanks."
Smith clicked his radio twice and moved down and eased to the side of the flight leader.
Gaines was about to relax for a few moments when Betty screamed, "Pull up! Pull up!"
He yanked the stick back and shot skyward, barely clearing the rapidly rising terrain. The bright flash in his canopy mirrors made him flinch. Oh, God… No.
Gaines s heart was in his throat when he keyed his radio. "Bulldog Two, Dog One, you copy?"
Silence.