When Akmal asked how this was supposed to help him avenge his brother’s family, the man had said simply, “The time will come.”
Apparently, after months of waiting that time was finally here.
A Yemeni man Akmal had never seen before had come to his tiny apartment, and given him a large package and instructions. The package had turned out to contain bombs made from a plastic explosive, and the instructions were on where to place them in the station to cause maximum damage. The instructions also said he would be told soon which time to set for detonation, along with the helpful suggestion that he be well on his way to Yemen by the time the bombs were set to explode.
At least that part, Akmal thought bitterly, I had already figured out for myself.
Chapter Twenty
Technical Sgt. Josh Pettigrew hated the idea of a “teacher’s pet,” and made it a point to give all of his students equal time on the drones. In fact, if anything he would have been tempted to give some of the weaker students more time. Fortunately, the selection process had come through for a change, and even the weakest of this group would be able to graduate with the amount of flight time Pettigrew had planned.
Mousa was neither the best nor the worst of Pettigrew’s students, but instead solidly in the middle. Today he was at the Reaper’s controls as it did a practice patrol south of Riyadh, armed with two Hellfire missiles and two AIM-9X Sidewinders. His task was to locate the practice targets Pettigrew had placed earlier for the Hellfires, and successfully destroy them.
Pettigrew had still failed to come up with a way for his students to practice with the Sidewinders. Central Command was unwilling to provide enough target drones to give all his students the experience, which Pettigrew grudgingly understood. Target drones weren’t cheap. Anyway, he still loaded every Reaper mission with AIM-9X missiles, if only to get his students used to the idea.
“Target acquired,” Mousa announced, placing the display’s targeting cursor on the tank mockup Pettigrew had his enlisted team set up for this exercise. Pettigrew was impressed, because he'd had his men alter the tank’s outline with sand, the same way that blowing sand in the desert often did naturally. It hadn’t slowed Mousa down at all.
Murmuring behind him from the students observing the exercise told Pettigrew they were impressed too.
OK, so maybe Mousa didn’t belong in the middle anymore. Pettigrew was too modest to even think his students were improving so rapidly because they had an excellent teacher.
“Air contact within our patrol range,” Mousa announced next. For this exercise, they had a real-time data link to the powerful American-installed radars covering the Riyadh Air Defense Region. The display next to the ground attack monitor now showed a contact labeled as a Chinook helicopter.
Pettigrew said nothing, and waited to see what Mousa would do.
After a moment’s hesitation, Mousa typed rapidly on the keyboard connected to the air defense display. Instantly a line appeared showing the contact’s position and projected flight path, as well as its approved flight plan and clearance.
“Air contact is Chinook helicopter en route to deliver equipment for oil field maintenance. Flight plan is approved and contact is on course.
Returning to ground target attack,” Mousa said calmly.
Pettigrew nodded neutrally, but was actually suppressing a wide grin at Mousa’s performance, both to keep from distracting him and to accurately reproduce a real battlefield environment. He doubted he could have done better himself.
“Hellfire target lock,” Mousa said. Now the cursor on the display locked to the mock tank turned bright red and a rasping tone sounded. Mousa looked up at Pettigrew.
Pettigrew nodded, but Mousa did nothing. Again Pettigrew had to suppress a grin. This was his version of “Simon says.” He had drummed into his students that a nod was never enough to authorize missile fire from a drone, and obviously Mousa had listened.
“Permission to fire granted,” Pettigrew said.
After a final check to ensure that the Hellfire remained locked on target, Mousa pressed the trigger that would send the missile on its way. Less than a minute later, the mock tank was a smoking hole in the desert.
Pettigrew watched carefully, and saw with pleasure that Mousa had no difficulty correcting for the sudden imbalance between the weight carried on the drone’s left and right wings after the drone’s firing.
“Well done,” Pettigrew said, and this time didn’t bother hiding his smile.
“Now, let’s see if you can find the second target so easily,” raising one eyebrow in a broad hint that this time his men had done more than blow some sand on the target.
Mousa nodded, and swung the drone into the search pattern he had already planned prior to the exercise. The pattern’s quality and effectiveness would go into the grade Mousa would receive for this exercise.
Suddenly, a red light flashed on the communications console, and a buzz that made the drone target lock tone seem soothing sounded.
Pettigrew’s frown turned to astonishment as he read the announcement on the console.
“OK, everyone, we’ve been ordered to the closest bunker. Exercise is over.
Mousa, there’s no time to return the drone. I’ll take care of destroying it, and join you as soon as that’s done.”
Flying the drone into the ground should take less than a minute, and he was sure Mousa could have done it easily. There was no way, though, that Pettigrew was going to let him do it. Not after the news that a nuclear weapon had vaporized one of the Kingdom’s desalination plants, with who knew what to follow.
Mousa frowned and pointed at the display showing the track of the Chinook, which had just changed radically. “That helicopter had almost reached the destination on its flight plan. Now, though, it’s heading due north. That’s a course straight towards Riyadh.”
Mousa looked up. “Towards us. Is the Kingdom under attack?”
Pettigrew hadn’t wanted to explain what was happening until he had the students more or less safe in the nearest bunker. Now, though, it looked like he’d need to stay longer than he thought.
Pettigrew nodded. “Yes. A nuclear weapon has destroyed a desalination plant on the Gulf. You need to turn over control of the Reaper to me and head with the other students to the bunker. We don’t have much time.”
Pettigrew’s heart sank as he saw the expressions on the faces of Mousa and all the other students.
Fadil spoke first. “We may be your students, but we are also soldiers sworn to defend our country. We cannot hide while we are under attack.”
Mousa pointed at a notice on the communications display saying that Saudi airspace had been closed to all but military traffic. “Obviously this helicopter is ignoring orders to land immediately. As a Saudi soldier I have no problem firing on a target refusing to obey this order. As an American teacher, do you have that authority?”
Well, Mousa had a good point there. The kind of “independent thinking and initiative” that had led him here from Korea had helped him to decide automatically to attack the Chinook. But Mousa was right that he had no authority to do so.
“OK, fine,” Pettigrew said, shaking his head. “Select one of your AIM-9X missiles as your primary armament. Then search for the Chinook based on the latest radar return. While you’re doing that, I’m going to slave the data link from the defense network to the Sidewinder. We’re going to launch as soon as we’re in any kind of range, and our chances of a good lock will go way up if we’re using ground-based radar.”