Hal saw the massive fireball bloom from the canyon mouth before he heard it. The BOOM of the exploding demo charges came a moment later, rattling his truck. The bright explosion whited-out Hal’s NVGs. He shoved them up only to see a massive fireball rising above the canyon. The ignited fuel of the B-2. Hal slammed on the brakes. He heard radio chatter from the panicked helicopters about to land. Stark01 moved further away from the canyon to a new landing zone. Stark02 hovered above the canyon opening with vengeance. Picking off insurgents fleeing from the canyon, including those on fire from the blast.
“Coach07, Lifter19 SITREP.
Hal ignored the radio. Watching the blooming explosion in a daze. Driving toward the canyon. The call repeated. Asking his status and for a report on what happened in the canyon.
Hal arrived as Stark01 set its skids down on the packed desert sand. He got out of the truck without taking his eyes off the huge orange-black fireball over the canyon. Knowing everyone inside, everyone under his care — his whole unit and the crew of the Colorado were all dead… Except him.
Two PJs from Stark01 grabbed Hal and rushed him on board, checking his vitals. Another pair of PJs gathered the wing fragments from the back of the truck. They jumped in next to Hal, securing the debris.
“What the hell happened down there?” A PJ asked.
Hal could only look at the fragments in a daze. The all-secure came from the pilot and Stark01 took off. Hal looked out the window. The blackness of the sky seemed to weigh down on the earth like granite.
JSRC command allowed Hal to shower and collect his thoughts before the debrief. Hal fully expected to be “Article Thirty-Two’d.” Court-martialed for disobeying a direct order that may have resulted in the deaths of his men. In his mind, there was no question it did. Hal believed he deserved a court martial and any other punishment they could give him.
Hal’s recounting of events was somber. He often had trouble finishing his sentences, thinking about his men. Article thirty-two never even came up. The mission never existed so command was unable to issue any formal discipline. Hal’s conscience eased when the commander assured him “there’d be plenty” of informal punishment for his actions. Thinking about his men, Hal didn’t even care what it meant. If the op wasn’t covert, and command permitted Hal, he would have delivered the news to the families of his men and the crew of the Spirit of Colorado himself.
CHAPTER ONE
HOLLOMAN
Fourteen years in a dark, tin can on the Mojave Desert. That was Hal’s “informal punishment,” courtesy of a transfer to Indian Springs, Nevada, the location of Creech Air Force Base. Hal’s title — RPA Sensor Operator. He was part of the small Remotely Piloted Aircraft crew squeezed into a shipping crate-like metal box called a ground control station. Joining him were the RPA (drone) pilot and a superior officer. Occasionally, an imagery analyst or specialists from the CIA would sit in.
Hal and the pilot sat in comfy Lazy-Boy style chairs before computer terminals and an array of flat screen monitors. Airmen controlling the eye-in-the-sky drones called the container “the box.” They worked twelve-hour shifts in the box, guiding recon missions and air-strikes half a world away. Though Hal wasn’t demoted in rank, Sensor Operators were entry-level ensign posts. Quite a step down for a Tier One Special Forces Operator like Hal. Hal’s duties included monitoring cameras, lasers and other sensors on the unmanned aircraft. And when the pilot pushed the button to launch missiles, Hal would guide them to the target. Somebody high up had it in for Hal to transfer him to the Siberia of the USAF, and then keep him in the box for fourteen years. Hal would have gladly taken a transfer to a base in Alaska over the box. At least he could hunt and fish on weekends.
RPA crews suffered the highest burnout rate in the Air Force. Not only from long, hot shifts in the metal crate, but many airmen experienced PTSD from their RPA service.
Hal “embraced the suck.” Never complaining and never once requesting a promotion or transfer. He dealt with the stress by diving headfirst into his off-duty hobby — Mixed Martial Arts. He had learned Judo as part of PJ training and took it upon himself to learn Jujitsu, Muay Thai and Aikido. He even drove to Las Vegas to fight in amateur MMA tournaments. Until he began winning. And drawing unwanted attention to the Air Force and his role in the drone program.
Relief came for Hal about six months ago, with a transfer order that sent him to Holloman Air Force Base, New Mexico. From one desert to another. The transfer told him he paid his dues, even though his new role would be in the chair force—a non-flying desk job. Not only was he back on a nine-to-five schedule in a role befitting an officer, but he was serving Big Blue. The force he loved.
Holloman AFB was a vibrant community in no-man’s land. Surrounded by barren, desert scrub and bordering on the White Sands, it was six miles from the small town of Alamogordo. Holloman was an arid home to twenty-one thousand AF active duty, Air National Guard and Reserve forces. It was also home to AF retirees, Department of Defense civilians and their families. In the 1950s Holloman was one of the premiere test sites for pilot-less aircraft. Other testing included rockets, guided missiles and classified research programs.
In 1968, the 49th Tactical Fighter Wing arrived in Holloman, marking a new era in fighter aircraft training and operations. An era that has evolved through the decades to include stealth aircraft and a fleet of unmanned aircraft stationed at Holloman.
Near the main entrance of the southern gate was a sprawling office building labeled Holloman Air Force Base 49th Fighter Wing. Hal entered, passing security checkpoints to an office with large double doors. The sign above read, Multi-Media Center — Imagery Department.
Hal entered and a voice surprised him. “Good morning, Dhamār!” A man handed Hal a rugged, black external drive that looked like it was part of a stealth aircraft itself. “They don’t call it drone footage for nothing,” Staff Sergeant Eric Yarborough continued. “Yarbo” was Hal’s superior officer, even though he was ten years younger than Hal. Yarbo was a decorated former CSAR PJ and the poster boy for everything Air Force. His dark, beady eyes even resembled those of the AF Academy’s mascot, the peregrine falcon.
Hal took a seat at a desk near Yarbo’s, fired up his computer and went to work. Dual monitors came to life and he plugged in the external drive, labeled MQ-9 Dhamār, Yemen.
The MQ-9 Reaper was an Unmanned Aerial Vehicle — UAV. “M” was Air Force code for Multi-dimensional. The Reaper was a reconnaissance vehicle, but could also attack. Capable of firing six Hellfire Air-to-Ground missiles and an array of laser guided bombs. “Q” indicated it was unmanned and “9” refers to the number in the series. Nine being the most advanced non-classified UAV in the AF arsenal.
The Reaper was the ultimate remote-control airplane. Its primary purpose was to provide real-time video of targets behind enemy lines. Its bulbous nose and a stick-like fuselage gave it the appearance of a thirty-six-foot-long Praying Mantis. The Reaper was gas powered and capable of flying up to fifty-thousand feet with a range of over a thousand miles. At a cruising speed of 230 miles per hour, she could stay airborne fully loaded for fourteen hours.
Hal’s background as an RPA Sensor Operator made him a perfect fit to provide more detailed analysis of the UAV video footage. This particular one was on a recon mission flying over the Al Qaeda-held city of Dhamār, Yemen. The video footage appeared on one of Hal’s monitors. Technical data appeared on the monitor next to it, labeled MISSION BRIEF.