The protocols weren’t a problem now. He lined up for his second shot, and pressed the trigger.
Turk felt a twinge of regret for his opponents. In the absence of evidence to the contrary, he assumed they were brave men and skilled pilots; they had no idea what kind of power and enemy they were facing. From their perspective, the sky ahead was clear. Then suddenly their companions exploded. Before they could react, their own worlds turned painfully black.
“All enemy aircraft destroyed.”
In the space of some forty-eight seconds, Turk had shot down four enemy planes, and a missile for good measure. Few if any pilots could make a claim even close.
Not bad for his first encounter with manned planes, ever.
He had a few seconds to savor the victory. Then three different voices began talking over one another in his radio, all asking essentially the same thing—what was the situation?
The voices belonged to the AWACS controller, the flight boss, and the French leader of an interceptor squadron charged with providing air cover for any airplanes in the sector.
The flight boss took precedence, though Turk in effect addressed them all, calmly giving his perspective on what had happened. The French flight, which had been vectored to meet the threat, changed course and flew toward the airfield the Mirages had launched from, just in case any other planes came up to avenge their comrades.
An Italian flight of Harrier jump jets was diverted from another mission farther west and tasked to bomb the control tower and hangars at the airfield, partly in retaliation and partly to make it more difficult for other jets to join the fray. Lastly, the controller ordered an American Predator and a British reconnaissance flight to attempt to locate any survivors of the planes Turk had just shot out of the sky.
Turk asked the AWACS controller if he knew why the Mirages had scrambled in the first place. The controller’s supervisor, an American squadron leader who had rotated into the position from the combat line, indicated that the aircraft might have been spotted visually as they came south, something that had happened often in the very first week of the war. It was also possible they had been seen by a radar at sea, or by a supposedly neutral ship—the Russians had several in the Mediterranean that weren’t really neutral at all.
It was also possible, he added, that it was just bad luck—the planes took off, then happened to see an enemy.
Turk had his own theory: spies were watching the Sicily base and sending information back to Libya when different planes took off. It wouldn’t be too much more difficult for a spy to infiltrate the allied command responsible for targeting or scheduling the aircraft.
He had other worries at the moment. While he was engaging the Mirages, the Sabres had begun their programmed attack. Unlike older UAVs such as Predators and Raptors, or even the Dreamland-designed Flighthawks, the Sabres featured what the geeks called “distributed autonomous intelligence.” That actually involved two different features: first, the Sabres pooled resources (“distributed”), sharing not only their sensor data but their processing power; second, the Sabres were allowed to make their own battle decisions (“autonomous”). Not only did they decide the best route to battle, but they could pick their own targets.
This was highly controversial, even within the military. Robots were used all the time in battle, but a man ultimately pulled the trigger. While the aircraft were under Turk’s command and he could override at any point, they were every bit as capable a human pilot of fighting on their own.
The aircraft were targeting a government tank formation near Wadi al-Hayat. Located at the north side of a small cluster of hills, the camp looked out over a wide expanse of desert. There were several towns and villages in the area. These were claimed as loyal to the government, but that status was in doubt. If recent history was a guide, the inhabitants would join the rebels as soon as a sizable force got close. And that would happen once the tanks were destroyed.
The primary targets were T–72s, venerable Russian-made armor equipped with 125mm main guns. The tanks had not been used in either this war or the 2011 conflict, but were nonetheless operational; they had moved up to their present position only a few days before. The Libyan government had recently obtained a shipment of ammunition on the black market.
The attack plan was simple. The UAVs carried four antiarmor Hellfire missiles each, had been given four tanks as targets, and would attack much as a group of manned attack planes. The autonomous programming in the UAVs allowed them to do this without human guidance or input, though Turk could intervene and redirect the attack if he wished.
Turk had run a half-dozen missions along these very same lines, and with the exception of the Mirages, this looked to be as routine as all the others. Using a hand gesture—his flight suit was specially wired to interpret gestures in conjunction with the command context, or the screen displayed on his visor—he pulled up the overall sitrep map. This was a large area plot that superimposed the positions of all four Sabres as well as the Tigershark on a satellite image. The real-time sitrep showed the four UAVs coming in exactly as programmed, flying at about fifty feet over the sand dunes just northwest of the encampment.
That made it difficult for the mobile SA–6 antiaircraft battery protecting the camp to spot them, let alone target them. A pair of ZSU–23 four-barreled mobile antiaircraft weapons were parked in their path, but the radar-equipped weapons had apparently not found them either; all was quiet as the small UAVs approached.
Turk had taken the Tigershark some one hundred miles to the southwest as he engaged the Mirages. He now swung back to get a view of the attack. He was still about fifty miles away—well beyond the range even of the high-powered optical cameras the Tigershark carried—as the first aircraft reached its attack point.
“Visual preset two,” he told the computer. “Image screen B Sabre One.”
The command opened a new window on his virtual cockpit screen, displaying the feed from Sabre One.
Turk watched the aircraft launch a pair of missiles at the command and control vans for the SA–6 site. Launched from approximately five miles away, the Sabre’s missiles used an optical guidance system to find their targets: the small sensors in their head essentially looked at the terrain, identified their targets based on preprogrammed profiles—photos, in this case—and flew at them. This meant that there was no signal from the missiles or their launch planes to alert the defenses to their presence; the first thing the Libyans knew of the attack were the explosions, which occurred almost simultaneously.
The destruction of the two vans rendered the missile battery useless, but the enemy’s SA–6 missiles themselves were still relatively high-value targets, and as soon as the destruction was recorded, Sabre One’s combat computer pushed the plane into a second wave attack on the launchers, two tanklike chassis sporting three missiles instead of a turret.
The first strike created an enormous secondary explosion, shrapnel and powder shooting across the complex. The Sabre’s second missile disappeared into a cloud of smoke; a bright burst of flame confirmed that it, too, had hit its target.
Turk switched over to Sabre Two, which was aiming at one of the ZSU antiaircraft guns. It fired two missiles. Both hit. Still on the same approach, the aircraft dished out another pair of projectiles, this time at separate targets, having used the success of the first launch to decide it could go with just one shot per tank.
Meanwhile, Sabre Three initiated its own attack on the second ZSU gun and the nearby tanks. Using the data from Sabre One, it computed that one missile was all it needed to eliminate each target. It dished one at the gun, then fired three more in rapid succession, each aimed at a different tank.
By now Turk was close enough to see the battlefield through his own optical sensors. He closed the feed and expanded his screen, which duplicated in extremely high definition what he would have seen if the sleek Tigershark had a real canopy. Six plumes of black and gray smoke rose from the encampment, stark contrasts against the light blue sky and the gaudy yellow of the sand in the distance.