Assault on Alpha Base (10 page)

Chapter 13

Saturday, 18 June, 1800 local

Wendover, Nevada

“Hurry up. Climb inside.” Vikki pulled the moving van that she had rented up to her apartment. Harding waved the group into the back of the van. Ten of Renault’s men, dressed in black jump suits, climbed inside. Each carried a rifle wrapped in blankets. One flicked a cigarette out before pulling himself up. Hours before, they had driven to Vikki’s apartment in the Chevy van, leaving Renault and the rest of the men up in the mountains.

The men tried to find a place to make themselves comfortable as Harding began to close the door. “All right. Remember—no matter what happens,
no one
says anything. As soon as I lock you in, no talking until we open you up. Any questions?”

Harding was met by silence. Vikki and Harding struggled with two twin mattresses, positioning them upright at the rear of the moving van, blocking both entrance and exit. Satisfied that the mattresses would provide a credible cover if the back were inadvertently opened, they shut the door and locked it.

Harding wiped his hands on his jeans. “Ready?”

Vikki flipped him the keys. “If you have any trouble, leave the talking to me. The guards know me. And be careful starting out. First gear is tricky.”

Harding replied by stepping up into the moving van.

Vikki climbed into the smaller Chevy van. She waited until Harding familiarized himself with the rented moving van before pulling away from the apartment. She shielded her eyes from the sun; it would set in another hour.

The truck rumbled behind her. The gears crunched as Harding tried switching too fast.

Vikki adjusted the rearview mirror. That’s all we need, she thought. Calling off the assault because klutzo can’t drive a stick shift.

As they left Wendover, the boulevard to the base narrowed to a two-lane road. She purposely went slow, allowing cars to pass them. The usual twenty-minute trip expanded to forty minutes, giving her time to go over the plan in her head.

She had tried to think of everything, but there were too many ifs left unanswered:

If
Britnell wasn’t late meeting her;

If
Renault made the rendezvous on time;

If
the
helicopters showed up;

If
Wendover AFB communications were totally cut;

If
they could take out the barracks.

A sign announcing Wendover AFB jolted her thoughts. Constructed of brick and glass, the guard shack that defended Wendover AFB’s main gate had two lanes of pavement running on either side of it. A series of large, two-foot diameter metal cylinders were flush with the ground, and according to Britnell, could be quickly raised by a piston to act as a barricade to deny access to the base.

Vikki slowed and flashed her visitor’s pass. A young security policeman stepped from the shack.

Vikki’s heart froze. She didn’t recognize the airman. The guard waved the car in front of her on, then held up a hand when he failed to spot a base decal on Vikki’s van. Vikki unrolled her window and held out the pass. “How’s it going?”

The airman’s eyes widened at her smile. “Fine.” He barely looked at the pass and instead looked into her eyes. “Can I help you?”

Vikki pointed to the yellow pass on the windshield. “Is there a problem?”

The young man flushed. “No, ma’am. Just didn’t see the pass. Go ahead.”

Vikki started to roll away. “Thanks. And see you around.”

“Sure. No problem.” He straightened his ascot and waved her van on past. She was inside the base when he turned to the moving van behind her. Vikki pulled off the side of the road, just past the guard shack, and waited for Harding. The young airman read a sheaf of papers that Harding had thrust at him. After shuffling through the papers, the airman shook his head and pointed back outside the gate.

“Shit.” Vikki’s breath quickened. The airman and Harding started arguing. She flung open the door. Brushing back her hair, she stepped toward the guard shack. Harding was giving the airman his best rap.

“I tell you, man, I’m supposed to deliver this shipment to the airman’s barracks. Open your eyes and read: ‘Airman First Class Britnell, 1977th Security Police Squadron, Wendover Air Force Base: partial shipment.’ It can’t get any clearer than that.”

“This does not have the transportation officer’s stamp on it, sir. I’m sorry, but I can’t allow you on base.”

Vikki stepped up to the guard. “What seems to be the problem?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but—” he stopped as he turned to her. His voice softened. “Excuse me, miss. What do you have to do with this?”

“Airman Britnell is my boyfriend. This partial shipment is some new furniture he stashed at my place before I moved out here.” She clamped her mouth, hoping she wouldn’t get tripped up in a lie. She looked around. “Come on, ask your partner. He knows me.” She hoped that his partner wasn’t a new security guard as well.

The airman shook his head. “I’m sorry, miss. I can’t allow this truck on base.” A car honked, impatiently waiting to be saluted onto Wendover. “Excuse me.” The security policemen waved a half-dozen cars past.

“There must be something you can do.” Another car honked.

He spoke over his shoulder. “Sorry—”

“What’s going on, Saunders?” A tech sergeant stepped from the shack, wiping his hands of a sandwich he placed down.

The young airman turned, still waving cars into the base. “This van wants to get on base, Sergeant. The papers don’t—”

“Well, hello, Vikki,” interrupted the sergeant. He broke into a smile. “Are you causing this traffic tie-up?”

Vikki brushed back her hair. Her heart slowed. “Oh, Fred. Am I glad you’re here.” She motioned toward the moving van. “A partial shipment arrived for Britnell—I’m trying to help out. It’s some furniture he bought and I wanted to surprise him.”

The sergeant shook his head. “No problem. With the way that boy’s straightened up, I’d let you bring a fleet of trucks on base. You’ve been good for him.” He waved Harding on through. “Get going. You’re holding up traffic.”

“Thanks, Fred.”

“Take care, Vikki.” The sergeant turned to the young airman. “Carry on, Saunders. This isn’t a mickey mouse Air Training Command base—use a little judgment next time.” He stomped into the guard shack to his sandwich.

Harding pulled behind Vikki’s van and waited for her to move out. Once the van was on the road, Vikki’s leg started shaking. She drew in a deep breath. “Settle down,” she said to herself, “This is just the beginning.”

She followed the road to a tee. A sign at the intersection pointed to the right and listed:

BASE HEADQUARTERS, CBPO/CPO, OFFICERS’ CLUB,

BX, COMMISSARY, RV PARKING

The sign pointing left listed both the airmen’s barracks and Alpha Base.

Vikki wet her lips and made a sudden decision. Turning right, she headed for the RV parking. Harding hesitated at the intersection, then followed her.

The lot was half filled with Winnebagos, land cruisers, thirty-foot trailers, and an assortment of campers. The gate was open. Vikki pulled in and found a spot between two Winnebagos.

Harding maneuvered the moving van, squeezing into an open slot. Vikki hopped from the Chevy van. He met her, his face gray. “What the hell are you doing? We’re supposed to park by the barracks and use Britnell as our cover story.”

“And probably get caught by that airman at the gate,” she retorted. “He wasn’t too thrilled about being countermanded in front of us. What do you think he’ll do when he gets back to the barracks tonight and finds the moving van still there?”

“We could leave a note that we were waiting for Britnell.”

Vikki threw up her hands. “And when they find out he’s still got six days to go before he can leave Alpha Base, we’ll be up the creek. Think, Anthony. It would have worked if we hadn’t brought attention to ourselves. We’ve got to throw that plan out the window and start over.” She kicked at the pavement. “No one will think of looking for us here. So we just lay low until we rendezvous with Renault.”

Harding mulled it over. The color returned to his cheeks. “All right. I guess it doesn’t matter where we park, as long as we don’t get caught.” He looked around, and seeing no movement, said, “Let’s climb in your van. Time to wait it out. We’ve got two hours.”

“Yeah.” Vikki turned for the Chevy van as Harding opened up the back of the moving van, allowing air to enter, yet keeping the mattress in place so the men would be hidden from view.

Might as well be in the friggin’ military, she thought. Hurry up and wait.

Wendover AFB Command Post

The guard nodded McGriffin past. “Evening, Major.”

McGriffin broke off his whistle. “Good evening, Farquer. How are you tonight?”

“Fine, sir, and yourself?”

“Couldn’t be better. Well, yes it could. I could be going off duty instead of going on.” His thoughts turned to Vikki, and he felt a warm, peaceful sensation. He’d really have to open up with her next time they met, try and overcome this phobia he had about telling her he was in the military.

“I know what you mean, sir.”

“Have a good one.”

“You too, sir.” Airman Farquer palmed open the door to the command post.

Any tension in the chamber vanished when McGriffin walked in. McGriffin sensed a lifting of spirits, a change in atmosphere from the dour day shift, when the other two officers-of-the-day reigned.

Chief Zolley appeared at his elbow. As usual, McGriffin didn’t hear the chief master sergeant arrive as Zolley stood at his side.

“Good evening, Major. Ready for your shift update?”

“Let’s have it.” McGriffin slipped into his chair overlooking the dimly lit room. He swiveled around and eyed the status board. A series of green lights burned steadily on each display. The miller clock still pointed to 1700. “Anything up, Chief?”

Zolley handed him a packet marked secret. “Nothing much, sir. All communication links are up. AUTODIN verifies our status, and we’ve got six more days until a shift change at Alpha Base. The only incoming aircraft scheduled are some T-38’s on a cross-country and a C-130 out of Peterson Field.” He shuffled a page. “The 130’s call sign is Merry Zero Three with an ETA of 2300 local.”

“There’s a reserve unit there.” McGriffin tapped his desk. “I’ve got a classmate stationed at Pete—Moose Monahan. Remind me when they get in, Chief. I want to check them out, see if Moose might be on board.”

“They’re not remaining overnight, sir. They’ve got wheels up scheduled at 2320.”

“That’s strange.” McGriffin frowned. “You’d think they’d R.O.N, being so far from home. Those reserve weenies just don’t appreciate remote garden spots.” He cocked his hands behind his head. “What’s going on outside the base?”

“I’ve included a few messages in the briefing packet that was twixted this afternoon—nothing critical.”

McGriffin flipped through the packet. “All nice and quiet.” He handed the classified bundle back to Zolley. “Thanks, Chief. It looks like another slow one. That’s all I’ve got.”

“Thanks, sir.” Chief Zolley disappeared as quickly as he had materialized.

McGriffin leaned back and watched the board for a few minutes. Another quiet evening. That’s all right, he thought. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy.

Once he had gotten used to the routine, McGriffin took advantage of the spare time. It was too early to nap. He trusted the crew, and with his amicable attitude, the best people pushed to get on his shift. It didn’t matter that it was the night shift—the word was out that working under McGriffin was a “good deal.” Or so Zolley had clued him in.

It would be even better if he had someone to talk to, a peer to shoot the bull with. He never saw the other two officers from the command post—he assumed they just weren’t sociable. Manny Yarnez was a good guy, but Manny’s schedule was nearly as erratic as his. The rest of the chopper pilots all worked during the day, so it was difficult to find a friend. And other than Lieutenant Fellows on Alpha Base, he shied away from the security policemen. They were a different breed altogether—more like Marines than Air Force.

But now that he’d met Vikki, at least he didn’t starve for conversation anymore.

He reached in his drawer and pulled out a programmed text from Air Command and Staff College:
Stability and Structure of Third World Forces.
He sighed. As much as he hated it, this was the perfect time to do his professional military education.

Oh, well. It might be too early to nap now, but once he started reading, it would knock him out better than any sleeping pill.

Chapter 14

Saturday, 18 June, 2100 local

Wendover AFB, Nevada

Vikki glanced at her watch for the fifth time in ten minutes. She put up her hair, keeping it from getting in the way. She then slipped off the tank top and quickly stretched her arms through the brassiere. Clasping the snap, she pulled on a dark, long-sleeve top. The bra was snug—it had been a while since she’d even considered wearing one—but there was too much at stake tonight to be caught swinging free. She just hoped it wouldn’t cramp her movements.

A quick glimpse at her watch caused her to move to the front of the van. Harding sat quietly smoking, the cigarette smoke immersing him in a dim purple haze. A single light shone from high above them, starkly illuminating the RV parking lot. Harding didn’t turn as he spoke.

“Is everything ready?”

“If Britnell doesn’t screw up, I’ll be at the end of the runway by a quarter after ten.”

“That doesn’t leave you much time.”

“It’s enough.”

This is it … everything we’ve been waiting for.
She
felt she should be excited, dizzy with what they were about to do.
Then why do I feel like crap?

Harding took a drag from his cigarette. “Good luck.” He opened the passenger door and slipped out, cupping the cigarette so it couldn’t be seen.

Vikki wiggled to the front. She checked the mirrors, door locks, and finally the gas gauge before rubbing her hands across the wheel. She drew in a breath.

She pulled slowly past the moving van, and thought she could make out a shadow in the front seat. Squinting, she couldn’t see him. Wherever Harding had hidden, he made himself scarce.

The fence around the RV storage lot was locked. Base personnel must have bolted the gate. A chain cutter quickly put that obstacle aside. Once outside the gate, she secured the fence so it looked locked.

The road to the main part of Wendover AFB was deserted. Light spilled from the officers’ club, full of the Saturday night crowd. The chance of running into someone was slim—and so far she still headed toward the airmen’s barracks. Her excuse of visiting Britnell would hold up if she were stopped.

She left the barracks and enlisted club behind her after the next stop sign. She glanced at her watch. Five after nine. An hour and a half. She sped up slightly as she rounded the end of the runway. Alpha Base was still five miles away.

The van raced down a hill, then up the other side. As she rounded the top, the Pit opened up in front of her. Individual lights demarcating storage bunkers shone with a ghostly yellow tinge. High-pressure 400-watt sodium lights splashed their glare around the four fences surrounding Alpha Base. The main entrance looked like a stage setting for a Hollywood movie: strobes and red and yellow flickering lights flashed crazily off the metal mesh enveloping the front gate. Gargantuan vehicles moved inside the complex, slow, dark, and of uncertain shape.

Vikki stared, mesmerized by the sight. Alpha Base took on an entirely different character at night. Instead of the laid-back desert storage facility, it resembled a waiting behemoth, growling, eyes flashing, waiting to devour anything that dared pass its way.

She looked down. Her foot held the accelerator to the floor—she was traveling close to eighty. She let up on the pedal, slowing to the speed limit. The motion calmed her, forcing her thoughts away from Alpha Base. It was one thing to meet Britnell on time. It was another thing to be stopped speeding. She might not be so lucky knowing one of the security policemen this time.

She slowed further as she approached Alpha Base’s main entrance. A guard started to step out of the guard shack when she turned left for the picnic area. He watched her as she drove past.

If Britnell’s information was correct, security had tracked her once she was within five miles of Alpha Base. That corresponded to when she rounded the end of the runway. As long as she did nothing threatening, she’d be left alone. She wondered how conspicuous the van would be at the picnic area.

Ten vehicles were parked along the field with their lights turned out. Vikki drove the van to the opposite side of the field, turned off the ignition, and relaxed. Radios played softly. Once in a while the red taillights of a car would blink.

Giggling came from the general area. Kids parking, she thought. That makes it even better. Who’d think of questioning a van parked at one of Wendover’s necking spots? She fit right in with the military brats living on base with their parents.

The minutes passed.
Nine twenty-five.
Renault was landing in an hour. It was at least ten minutes to the deserted hangar at the end of the runway where she was to rendezvous with Harding and the C-130. Everything was going to go whether she showed up or not.

After another five minutes she started the engine. Where was Britnell? She felt sick to her stomach. All that work and the little jerk didn’t show. She had to warn Harding—if Britnell didn’t show, they wouldn’t have the IFF and were as good as dead. She jerked the van into gear and started off.

Approaching the entrance, she slammed on her brakes to avoid hitting a car—

A military four-wheel-drive—a Ford Bronco— pulled into the parking lot.
Britnell!

The Bronco pulled up beside her. Britnell emerged. He looked carefully around. They were far enough away from the kids so as not to bring attention to themselves.

As he approached the van, she got another attack of the “ifs.” Everything was fine:
if
Britnell was alone;
if
she could make it back undetected—the “ifs” piled up even faster as he reached for the door.

“Hi, babe. I ditched Clayborn for a couple of hours.”

Vikki didn’t answer. She leaned into him with a long kiss. “I want to do something exciting tonight.” Vikki held his head in her hands. She kissed him hard. “Your Bronco. In the desert. Now.”

“You’re on.” Britnell jumped from the van and strode to the Bronco.

As they climbed in, Vikki leaned over and ran a hand over his chest. “Hurry.”

Britnell jerked the Bronco into gear. A wide grin covered his face. “It’s only been a day since I’ve seen you, babe.”

“It seems like a year.”

Britnell turned toward the main entrance. “Anywhere in particular?”

“Somewhere back off the main road. I want to get off while looking at Alpha Base. Where my man works.”

“You got it.”

Vikki smiled in the dark and leaned back in her seat. She stole a glance at her watch.
Nine thirty-six
—
plenty of time.

Britnell turned onto the main road. They bounced as he floored the accelerator. The road whipped by. He looked over and caught her smiling. He patted her thigh. “Man, am I glad to see you. We’ve been going crazy doing one exercise after another. You’d think they’d back off a little. We’re guarding nukes, you know—not a bunch of airplanes. They’re not going to get up and fly away.”

Vikki pointed at a dirt cutoff, barely visible in his headlights. “How about there?”

Britnell responded by slamming on the brakes. He switched off the lights and turned. He drove faster as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark. Sage and cactus scratched against the Bronco, making a din that nearly drowned out the engine. Vikki yelled over the bouncing.

“What about those sensors you showed me on that map. Aren’t you afraid of hitting them?”

Britnell patted the IFF. “When we get close to one, this baby will sing out. Don’t worry. The worst that could happen is that we’ll run over one and they’ll send out a repair crew to fix it.”

Vikki was slammed against her seat, then lifted suddenly into the air as they ricocheted over a mound. Britnell spun the Bronco around until they faced Alpha Base. The lights were three miles away, but they still looked impressive.

Britnell turned off the engine. His eyes ran up and down Vikki’s body. “How’s this?”

“Perfect. It’s just what I had in mind.”

Britnell’s eyes lit up. “Oh?”

She smiled coyly. “Let’s play a game.”

He wet his lips. “Sure. Sure.”

“Give me your gun, and get undressed.”

He started unbuttoning his shirt. “What?”

“Come on.” She playfully pushed him against the side of the Bronco. “Your gun. You afraid, big guy?”

With his shirt halfway off, he handed her the pistol. “Be careful—”

Vikki giggled and ran the cold metal around his chest. She made tiny swirls, growing to ever larger circles. Leaning over, she gently kissed his neck. “How does that feel?”

“Weird. You know, with the gun …”

She laughed again. “Exciting, isn’t it?” Britnell finished taking off his shirt and started unbuckling his pants.

Vikki said gently, “That’s it.” Slowly she pushed his head forward, running the cold metal up his side. She set her mouth. The times he’d pawed her, thinking only of himself … he’d self-destruct on booze if he continued. She wouldn’t have to do anything at all to make him kill himself.

She felt a sudden twinge.
If something happened and the raid was called off, would she be implicated in his death?
Memories of Livermore flooded through her, Anthony heaving those bombs …

She ran the gun up and down his neck.

Britnell started to laugh. His head was underneath the steering wheel, his back parallel to the seat, and his chest was against his knees.

With her free hand Vikki pulled Britnell’s jacket over his head.

“Hey, what’s this?”

“Here’s where it gets good, babe.” Vikki brought the gun up, and quickly wrapping the barrel with his shirt, pulled on the trigger. A blast filled the Bronco.

Britnell jerked, then was quiet. His arms went slack, and what was left of his head fell to the steering wheel.

Vikki reached over his body and opened the door. He tumbled out onto the desert.

The Bronco was remarkably clean of carnage—the .22 drilled a neat hole into his skull, exiting the front of his head and leaving a gaping wound. His jacket absorbed most of the blood. Little evidence existed inside the jeep of Britnell’s death.

Vikki coolly scooted to the driver’s seat, swinging her legs over the stick shift. The key turned the engine over the first time she tried it. When she left, she didn’t look back.

Vikki cut across the desert, heading east, away from Alpha Base and toward the runway. Moonlight dimly lit the concrete apron that was used to unload the nukes. Low-wattage orange “ready lights” splashed their glow on the ground. As expected, the apron was empty of any cargo planes.

Beyond the apron, Christmas-treelike lights demarcated the runway. A series of strobes flashed in a sequence, pointing toward the main landing strip.

Vikki slowed and drove around the concrete loading pad. She tried a direct line to the runway, but a faint warbling sound came from the IFF unit. A tiny red light flashed angrily on top of the unit.

Vikki slammed on the brakes.
The IFF
—
it’s detecting a sensor.
The IFF cloaked her from radar, but the sensors would still pick up noise from the Bronco. She put the jeep into reverse and slowly backed up.

As she moved backward the warbling grew fainter and the red light flickered off. She had left the detailed map of Alpha Base with Harding, but she could still make it to the hangar at the end of the runway by going slowly and using the IFF to find the sensors before they detected her.

She headed north a hundred yards. Glancing at her smartphone, the digital readout flashed nine-fifty.
Ten minutes before Renault lands.
She turned the steering wheel back east and accelerated. On a hunch, she steered toward the runway—she now headed on a diagonal to her original path. Driving with one eye on the moonlit desert and the other on the IFF, she continued, slowly waiting for the sensor light to come on …

Wham!
She looked wildly around.

Her front tires hit the access road. The shock jolted her. She thought about flicking her lights on, but decided against it. The road was fairly well delineated in the moonlight, but she had to squint over the steering wheel to make sure she was still on track.

She rounded the runway, speeding past the strobe lights without passing anyone. Slowing she searched for the deserted aircraft hangar. She almost panicked when she couldn’t find it, but when a patch of stars was suddenly blocked by its shape, she felt relieved.

Vikki slowed to a stop. She made out the moving van nestled against the hangar.

She turned off the engine and climbed out of the Bronco. No one was in sight. She wasn’t surprised— Harding had to be sure that she was alone. She stood by the Bronco and waited.

A rustle came from her right. She started to turn—

Someone grabbed her from behind. A hand covered her mouth and pulled her down. She tried not to cry out. Dirt and rock ground into her side.

“She’s alone,” hissed a voice. The hands released her. She brushed herself off as Harding appeared in front of her.

By an elbow he drew her away from the men and looked her over. “Well?”

Vikki brushed herself off. “It’s all set.”

“Show me the IFF.” Harding picked up a toolbox and lugged it with him.

They climbed inside the vehicle. Harding stuck his feet out the door so he could position himself under the IFF. If he saw any blood, he ignored it, concentrating instead on the radar cloaking device. Vikki pointed out the basic features as he asked questions.

Harding motioned for the toolbox and withdrew a socket wrench. Minutes later he pulled the IFF from its chassis. He turned it over and placed it on the seat.

“So that’s it?”

“What did you expect?”

Harding squinted at his watch. “Any time now. You cut it close, Vikki. If you were any later, we would have gone on without you.”

Vikki chose to ignore him. The repartee was getting tiresome. They had more important things to do.

Grabbing the IFF, Harding motioned for her to follow.

They moved quickly to the hangar. Pulled up flush with the three-story building, the moving van blended in with the surroundings. The back was open. Most of the men were sprawled around the truck, their weapons loose by their sides.