Nearing their assigned altitude, the captain advised the two flight attendants to secure the cabin due to turbulent conditions. One of the young ladies entered the cockpit to collect the pilots’ lunch trays, then quickly returned to the plush passenger cabin.
After the en route controller handed the flight to approach control, the first officer contacted the controller and requested a visual approach to Runway 14 Right.
“Boeing Nine-Nine Hotel Papa,” the controller replied, “expect visual Runway One-Four Right, continue your descent to four thousand feet. Winds one six zero at two two, gusts two nine.”
“Visual one-four right, down to four thousand, Ninety-Nine Hotel Pop.”
The first officer turned to the captain. “It’s kind of spooky, you know, coming in here with no traffic to worry about.”
“Yeah, it’s gotta be killing the ‘cattle car’ shareholders.”
The faded blue-and-gray Chevrolet Suburban parked adjacent to Landmeier Road looked innocent enough. Up front, the driver and passenger nervously watched for any sign of trouble. Along with the local and state police vehicles and the military Humvees patrolling O’Hare, groups of local citizens were banding together to keep an eye out for suspicious people.
In the back of the big Suburban, the leader of the terrorist cell used an aviation receiver/scanner to eavesdrop on the O’Hare Control Tower. After hearing the tower controller give Boeing 99HP clearance to land, the the wiry man uncovered a portable antiaircraft missile and opened his side door.
“Make it good,” the driver encouraged as he adjusted an air-conditioning vent. “It’s the last one we have.”
The Islamic militant lifted the Swedish Bofors RBS-70 from the floor and stepped outside. Because the airlines had grounded themselves, the civilian 737 became a juicy target. The man took a breath and held it while he watched the airplane approach. As it passed over the Suburban, he patiently waited until the missile was tracking, then gently squeezed the trigger. With a smile on his smooth-shaven face, he watched the missile accelerate toward its innocent prey.
“Go,” he said to the driver, then tossed the missile launcher on the floor. “Let’s get on the freeway.”
With the 737 configured for landing, the first officer was about to ask the tower controller for a wind check when both pilots felt a tremendous impact accompanied by a loud report.
“Shit,” the captain swore as the nose of the airplane began dropping. “I can’t control this thing,” he said as he hauled back on the control yoke.
“We’ve lost the right engine,” the first officer exclaimed as a “sink rate” warning sounded.
“Get the nose up!” the copilot pleaded. “Get it up!”
The ground-proximity warning system activated. “Whoop Whoop, pull up! Pull up!”
“Get the nose up,” the first officer yelled.
“I can’t,” the captain exclaimed. “What the hell is goin’ on?”
The copilot was frantic. “Power!”
The captain firewalled the throttles and pulled the control yoke back as far as it would go. “We’re goin’ around! Clean it up!”
As the first officer reached for the landing-gear handle, the nose began to rise, but not enough. They were staring death in the face.
“Oh, shit,” the captain exclaimed, fighting the onset of panic. “We’re goin’ down, tell ’em we’re going in!”
“Ninety-nine Hotel Papa is goin’ in short of the runway!”
“Say again,” the tower controller said.
“Oh, God, no-no-no!” The captain agonized a second before the Boeing slammed into the ground and exploded, killing everybody onboard.
After the long flight from Whiteman Air Force Base, the B-2 mission commander and the pilot were tired as they approached their primary target in Libya. Using specific combinations of food, drink, and sleep, the stealth-bomber crews could fly forty-eight-hour missions. It was not an ideal situation, but the pilots were trained and conditioned to operate in that type of environment.
“You ready to go, Frank?” Lieutenant Colonel John Otterman asked from the right seat of the Spirit of California.
The pilot, Major Frank Korecky, took one last look at his four color multifunction displays. The B61 “bunker busters” were ready to go to work. “All set.”
“Here we go,” Otterman said as they initiated the attack on the camouflaged chemical weapons plant located in a hollowed-out mountain forty miles southwest of Tripoli.
With the bomber’s master mode switch in the “Go to War” setting, the radio emitters were turned off, the quadruple-redundant flight controls now operated in a “stealth” mode, and the weapons systems were readied.
Six minutes later the huge nerve-gas plant near Tarhuna ceased to exist. A short time later a major underground command post was completely flattened. Only a trace of radiation reached the surface.
At the same time, Darth 66 destroyed two of Libya’s reactivated terrorist training facilities and a weapons-storage facility. Their secondary targets included a radar site and two military installations used by nuclear scientists and technicians from the Ukraine.
Darth 63 bombed two terrorist camps in Sudan while Darth 65 dropped earth-penetrating B61 hydrogen bombs on Iranian “hardened” underground targets, including the Hemat Missile Industries production facility.
Ten minutes later, Darth 70 flattened a severely damaged terrorist support camp and logistics center southeast of Tani, Afghanistan, then bombed a terrorist base camp and weapons storage facility near the border of Pakistan.
Suffering from an electrical anomaly, Darth 60 successfully bombed terrorist facilities in Lebanon and Syria.
When the B-2s completed their missions, they headed for three KC-10 tankers loitering over the Bay of Bengal and the Nicobar Islands. After a top-off, both the Spirit of Texas and the Spirit of Missouri would fly directly to Guam while the other B-2s returned to Whiteman AFB.
Only minutes after the stealthy F-l 17 Nighthawks dropped the last of their precision-guided bombs on their targets, including the Shahid Hemat rocket research facility on the outskirts of Tehran, the B-1B Lancers hit other targets with devastating accuracy. Following the newer strategic bombers, the venerable Vietnam-era B-52 Stratofortresses put the finishing touches on the hourlong, wide-ranging air raid.
Staggered at different intervals, more U.S. bombers were en route to the Middle East. At Minot Air Force Base, Ellsworth AFB, and other Air Combat Command bases, numerous aircraft were taking off to continue the saturation bombing.
President Nikolai Shumenko was staring morosely out his window when Yegor Pavlinsky was ushered into the dacha.
“Have a seat,” Shumenko said in a tired voice.
Without saying a word Pavlinsky sat down in a large leather recliner.
Silence strained the atmosphere.
“You’re remarkably quiet this morning,” Shumenko observed, then turned to look his friend in the eye.
Suffering the effects of a skull-pounding hangover, Pavlinsky cleared his hoarse throat. “Things don’t always go as planned.”
Suppressing his intense anger, Shumenko ignored the remark. “Many of our arms-and-service buyers are now being pulverized by the U.S. military, the same military that you, in your immeasurable wisdom, said would be driven out of the Middle East.”
Feeling defensive Pavlinsky raised his chin in his usual arrogant manner. “We stand to gain millions by selling more planes and weapons in the Gulf region.”