“Mike, I have Captain Tellman, the deputy sector commander, on the line. Repeat what you just said.” The FAA Center deputy repeated his message. “Mike, we need to talk to Justice and Treasury right away and straighten those boys out,” Tellman said, “because you know we don’t have any procedures for trying to force an aircraft down.”
“You can’t fire some shots across his bow, crowd him a little on one side to make him turn?”
“You been watching too much TV. We have no procedures for anything like that, and I wouldn’t want to freelance something like that at night over populated areas with a terrorist like Cazaux at the controls of a plane full of explosives. The potential for disaster is too high, especially compared with the option of just letting him go and shadowing him. But even if Air Combat Command approved a maneuver like that, I don’t think it would work. If the target doesn’t comply with visual, light, or radio signals to follow or turn, we either shadow him or shoot him down. Period. Our procedures say we can’t get any closer than searchlight range of a known armed aircraft, and I’m sure as hell not going to have them try to turn a plane loaded with explosives — especially one piloted by an operator like Cazaux.” “All right, Captain, I hear you,” Leahy said. “I’m just passing on this ATF agent’s requests. Obviously he doesn’t know your procedures, and he thinks you’ll do whatever he asks because of his dead agents. We’ll have to conference- call this one with Justice. What’s your recommendation?” “I’d gladly give the order to blow this scumbag out of the sky,” Berrell said, “but your best option is to have us do a covert shadow on the target, find out where he goes. Does ATF know his destination?”
“I don’t think so,” Leahy replied. “He’s filed a VFR flight plan to Mesa, Arizona, but I don’t think anyone expects him to land there.”
“If he goes away from the mainland, then we can talk about trying some heroics, if you want to catch him so bad — and I think we’d all like to bring that bastard down,” Berrell suggested. “But if he stays over U.S. soil, I recommend a covert shadow. My fighters can follow him easily, and with our night-vision gear, Cazaux won’t even know he’s being tailed by an F-16 Fighting Falcon. Have ATF agents leapfrog after us in jets or helicopters, land when he lands, then nail him.”
“Stand by, Colonel, and I’ll pass that along to Treasury,” Leahy said. The reply did not take long: “ATF didn’t see anything wrong with just putting a missile into him,” Leahy said, “but the Treasury Department okayed the shadow. They’ll be putting the official request for support through channels, but I’m authorized to request assistance now.”
“You got it, Mike. I concur and agree. Stand by.” He turned to Captain Tellman, who had been listening in on a companion phone at Berrell’s console. “What do you think, Francine?”
“Well, I’m with the covert ID and shadow also,” the Navy captain replied. “What’s his track?”
Berrell checked the radar once again. “Still heading southeast, away from San Francisco Class B airspace,” he said. “Class B airspace,” what was once called a Terminal Control Area, was the high-density air traffic airspace over San Francisco airport, the fifth-busiest airport in the United States. The target was approaching the “upside-down wedding cake” of the class B airspace, so technically he was clear, but San Francisco International averaged one landing and one departure every sixty seconds all day long, and the target with fighters in pursuit was definitely going to mess up air traffic if he decided to veer back toward San Francisco.
“I agree with Sergeant Bidwell, except I think we ought to move on the target as soon as possible in case he heads for the Sierras and we lose him,” Tellman said. “Scramble Fresno, put Kingsley at battle stations, and suit up March. We should also get the alert AW ACS airborne from Tinker in case he tries to hide in the mountains.” The Air Force E-3 Sentry AW ACS (Airborne Warning and Communications System) was a radar plane designed to look down and track aircraft at all altitudes from long range — if their target made it over the Sierra Nevada Mountains before a fighter found it, ground-based radars could lose it. ‘Til get on the horn to the commander.”
“Roger,” Berrell said. He opened his checklist binder, got out his grease pencil, then turned to Sergeant Bidwell and said, “Okay, Tom, make the target a Special-9, covert ID and covert shadow.”
“Yes, sir,” Bidwell said. He opened up his own checklist, filled out the first few squares, then announced over the building-wide intercom, “Attention in the facility, attention in the facility, target ID number seven-delta-four-zero-four, designate a Special-9, repeat, Special-9 covert intercept, stand by for active alert scramble Fresno. All duty controllers report to your stations. All duty controllers report to your stations.”
“SD, this is the WAO, we have positive contact on target ID seven-delta-four-zero-four, confirm ID.” The WAO, or Weapons Assignment Officer, was the overall supervisor of the section of the command center that controlled the fighters from takeoff to landing and monitored the entire intercept.
“Target ID seven-delta-four-zero-four, confirmed, WAO, you have the intercept.”
“Roger, SD, WAO has the intercept,” the senior Weapons Assignment Officer replied. He made an entry in his checklist log, then turned to the WAT, or weapons assignment technician, seated next to him. “Active alert scramble, Fresno, hold for confirmation. Put WCT One on this one.”
“Copy, sir,” the WAT replied. He checked the status readout of the four Weapons Control Teams (WCT) on his panel to be sure the team the Assignment Officer wanted was free and were ready to go to work. The WCT, consisting of one Weapons Director and a Weapons Technician, would be the persons in contact with the interceptor throughout its mission. WCT One was the most experienced of the young shift on that night. The WAT clicked open his intercom after seeing that all four WCTs were ready to go: “WCT One, your target ID is seven-delta-four- zero-four, a Special-9 covert intercept, repeat, Special-9 covert intercept. Clear for active air scramble Fresno.” “WCT One copies all,” the Weapons Director of Control Team One responded. “We have the intercept. All stations, this is WCT One, stand by for active alert scramble Fresno, target ID seven-delta-four-zero-four.”
The weapons technician opened his checklist to the proper page, cleared his throat, then ran his hand along a row of switches guarded by clear plastic covers, selected the one marked FRESNO, opened the cover, and stopped. “Sir, I have Fresno, active alert scramble. Ready.”
The Weapons Director checked to be sure that the technician had his finger on the right button, then tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at the button, and the communications technician pressed the button. Silently, he said, Sorry to get you up like this, boys, apologizing to the crews up in Fresno for what he knew was going to be a rude awakening.
Interceptor Alert Facility, 94th Fighter Squadron (California Air National Guard)
Fresno Air Terminal, California
The Navy called it “channel fever,” describing the excitement of the last full night at sea before pulling into port.
Back in the days of the Strategic Air Command, when most alert units changed over on Thursdays, it was called “Woody Wednesday,” describing the almost unbearable anticipation most crewmen felt about going home and greeting the wife or girlfriend after seven days on ’round-the-clock alert. Whatever it was called, the feeling was the same — you were so excited about getting off alert and going home that you stayed up late, ate every piece of food in sight, watched every movie available, played poker all night, and generally burned yourself out.