Prologue
I never went into the air thinking I would lose – Commander Randy "Duke" Cunningham, USN
0510L, 20 March 2003, 205 Miles South of Baghdad, 31,000 feet
They flew in radio silence. The mission called for exact timing. The Hornets would be overtop Baghdad at exactly 0538 local. The F-117 Nighthawks would strike air defense targets at 0534L. Percy looked down at his Citizen, laughing slightly at the similarity in his watch's model name, his targeting pod, and the Air Force jets nickname. He checked the tactical display for weapons status. The wingtip mounted AIM-9 Sidewinders shown green, so did the three GBU-12 Paveway II laser-guided bombs. The nose mounted laser seeker and guidance fins had transformed the Mk82 "dumb" bomb into one of greater intelligence. The attachments took the circular error probability, the weapons precision measurement, from ninety-four meters to just one-point-one. He checked his watch, 0521L. Thirteen minutes until I bomb Iraq, once a-fucking-gain.
He closed his eyes and visualized a photo. Purposely, it remained in his locker on the Constellation. It showed two infants and their mother. Zoe held one hand over her stomach protectively. The other attempted to wrangle children. They were shocked she was pregnant again. The doctors that had clearance enough to know what had happened to her on her last mission in Iraq had been unanimous in their opinion that she would be unable to ever have children. Well three is pretty much the fucking opposite of none, he thought. Zoe would be nearly five months along now. And he was here. He looked back to his watch and forced his family from his mind. Distractions get you fucking killed. His eyes caught flashes ahead. He checked the time again, 0534L. The Middle Eastern sun was nearly up. Those explosions were the signal to break radio silence.
"Falcon flight, Zero-1. Activate targeting." The flight of eight Hornets activated their AN/AAS-38 Nite Hawks. The targeting pods immediately began to search for their assigned designators. Special forces teams inserted into Iraq by land and air had also been assigned specific targets and laser designators had been placed throughout the city. Percy's Nite Hawk gave a tone as it identified its assigned laser frequencies. The pod locked onto three separate fuel tanks with the tank farm that fueled the Republican Guard armored units within the region. He checked the time on his watch and compared it to the display on his tactical computer. They were identical. 0537L.
"Falcon Zero-1, weapons away." Welcome to war number three, he thought.
"Falcon flight, Falcon flight. Big Eye." The long-range radio transmission came from one of the Air Force's E-3 Sentry Airborne Warning and Control System, or AWACS. That radio channel had been set to receive only. Percy changed his settings and keyed out.
"This is Zero-1, send traffic."
"Zero-1, we have unidentified aircraft closing on your location. Profile suggests Iraqi fighters. Recommend vectoring aircraft for defense." Percy was almost angry at the wolfish smile that began to cross his face, almost.
"Big Eye, Falcon Zero-1, send vector."