“I say again, your primary target is map coordinate zulu-victor-five-one-four-three, clear an area for one hundred meters around the building,” the AC-130U Spectre gunship’s electronic-warfare officer read, after decoding the updated targeting instructions received from the Marines. “Second target follows. Clear a one-hundred-meter area around grid coordinates bravo-lima-three-seven-seven-zero for pickup zone. Establish security perimeter of two thousand meters around coordinates of primary target. Over.”
In the cockpit, sitting behind the copilot, the AC-130U’s navigator quickly plotted the grid coordinates on his chart, then punched the PRESENT POSITION button on the Global Positioning System satellite navigation computer, plotted the aircraft’s present position, and computed a heading to the target coordinates. “Pilot, give me a heading of one-niner-five, targets at your twelve o’clock, eight miles.”
The navigator immediately transposed the target coordinates onto a detailed map of the Fisikous Research Institute, derived from satellite photography, showing the layout of every building and every landmark in the complex, and passed it to the fire-control officer (FICO) beside him. It was the FICO’s job to locate and identify the target building himself. He had control of the Spectre’s AN/APG-80 high-resolution radar, and he could call up the scene from either the low-light TV or forward-looking infrared scanner. He also controlled the twelve laser-guided Hellfire missiles, and could direct a laser designator beam on any target he saw in his screens.
The Spectre crew had been briefed on the Fisikous Research Institute as a possible target, and the navigator, FICO, and the two sensor operators had spent long hours going over the layout of the complex and the possible targets to hit. “Our objective is the design-center security building,” the FICO announced. “Keep all vehicles away, clear personnel off the roof, and clear an LZ for the Marines.” That was all he needed to brief — the sensor operators would do the rest.
“Sensors copy.” Once they were briefed on the area they needed to secure, and which targets needed to be hit and which did not, the sensor operators went to work locating targets. At six miles’ distance, the forward-looking infrared (FLIR) scanner could pick out individual heat-generating targets, and the fight was on.
It was, as they say, a target-rich environment. The FLIR operator selected several hot targets. “FLIR’s got a column of light armored stuff and maybe tanks,” he reported.
“Copy,” the fire-control officer acknowledged. He called up the FLIR image on his monitor. “Looks like BTRs,” he reported. “Let’s lock it up.” He locked the target in the fire-control computer, which automatically provided steering signals to the pilot so he could set up a left orbit over the area.
“Hey, STV’s got another column of armor,” the second sensor operator reported. “Looks like… hey, these guys are shooting at each other! There’s a firefight going on down there. It looks like two mechanized infantry units slugging it out.”
“What?” the pilot shouted on interphone. “You mean good guys?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, we need to find out,” the pilot said. “E-dub, get on the horn and get the word from headquarters.” The electronic-warfare officer immediately switched to his command radio and relayed the request. “FICO, get back on the primary target and let’s clean it out until we decide who’s who down there.”
Half of the one-thousand-man Black Beret security force at the Fisikous Institute was concentrated on the two-hundred-and-fifty-acre research-and-design center on the west side of the complex. A north-south-oriented runway on the far west side, part of Vilnius International Airport, provided a wide clear-fire area, so it was virtually impossible for the nearly two thousand soldiers of Palcikas’ Battalion Four to sneak in on the base unobserved.
Lieutenant Colonel Antanas Maziulis, commander of Palcikas’ Fourth Battalion of the Iron Wolf Brigade, scanned the area east of the runway with binoculars. He was sitting in an old, Polish-style AFD-23 mobile-command-post vehicle, which was little more than an old rickety Jeep with a tin box in the back with the radio gear. With Maziulis was his executive officer, Major Aras Drunga, plus a radio operator, driver, and observer/gunner/co-driver manning a mounted AKSU machine gun. Maziulis, a father of eight and an old veteran of twenty years in the Soviet Army, including four years in Afghanistan, was one of the first officers to retire from the Soviet Army and join the Lithuanian Self-Defense Force. He was rewarded by being given command of the largest strike force in this very important operation. Maziulis commanded a battalion of over a thousand men and a large array of armored vehicles, a few T-62s, and; combat-engineering vehicles.
“They’re keeping the ballpark lights on,” Maziulis observed. “That must mean no night-vision equipment. Call Dapkiene and have him get sharpshooters or grenade-launcher crews in position to take. out the ballpark lights. If the Black Berets don’t want to fight in the dark, that’s where we want to be.”
“Echo Company reports one of their BTRs has a broken axle,” Major Aras Drunga, Maziulis’s executive officer and deputy, reported. “Echo Company platoon ten unloading, proceeding on foot.”
Maziulis swung his binoculars northward to the very edge of light on the ramp. Sure enough, the Black Berets had spotted the breakdown as well, and were moving a BMP-90 armored combat vehicle opposite the Lithuanian foot soldiers. “Tell Captain Haviastir to get an RPG up front. He’s got company. Get me a report from Third Battalion and find out where the hell they are.”
A few moments later the response came: “Third Battalion is moving into position. Ready in two minutes.”
“Shit. What’s taking them so long? They had a highway to drive on — we made better time and we went cross-country.” Two minutes was far, far too long. The command net had First Battalion streaming in through the northeast gate, and Second Battalion was moving toward the security headquarters. He couldn’t wait any longer. “Radio Third Battalion and tell them to stick it in high gear. We’re attacking. Signal to all units, stand by. Signal to Alpha and Bravo companies, attack.”
“Aircraft inbound!” the radioman reported.
“Aras, get that report,” Maziulis said. He wasn’t going to take his eyes off his spearhead. “C’mon, boys, pop those mortars loose or you’ll get hosed. Radio Bravo Company to get his mortarmen working. Where are my snipers?”
“First Battalion observers say a large fixed-wing aircraft will be over the base in thirty seconds,” Drunga reported. “Identification unknown. Suspected cargo aircraft, possibly carrying paratroopers.”
“Drop paratroopers right in the middle of a battle zone? Let ‘em. We’ll finish them off too. Tell Alpha Company to watch out for those BMPs to the south, they’ve got 73-millimeter guns. Mortars and speed, in that order. That’s what I need.”
Suddenly Maziulis heard the first pwoot! bursts of mortar fire. At the same time, two lines of Lithuanian armored vehicles, led by a line of six T-62 main battle tanks, rushed onto the clear area just to the west of the runway and headed across. “Too early. Mortars haven’t hit yet…”
When the mortar rounds hit, Maziulis nearly leaped out of the truck in shock. Every round landed short, some by dozens of meters. A few landed so short that they came closer to the Lithuanian tanks rumbling across the runway than they did to the Black Beret infantrymen. Maziulis shouldn’t have been too surprised — the men manning some of the heavier infantry-support pieces were young soldiers who’d never fired those kinds of weapons except on the training range. He should have had them pop a few smoke rounds to get their distance, then lob in a few HE rounds. Well, too late now…