Gulf Attack: Chopper Cops: Chopper Cops, #2

Chapter One

Baja California, Mexico

November 1999

High over the barren coastline of Baja, along the Gulf of California, a pair of sleek dark blue helicopters cut through the crystal clear sky. The bright tropical sun glinted off the yellow letters U.S.T.P.F. painted on the machines’ flanks and belly, the initials of the United States Tactical Police Force. Small American flags adorning the choppers’ sharply raked, vertical tail fins and large white numbers on their noses were the choppers’ only other markings.

Had it not been for the insect eye, tactical sensors on the ships’ noses and the 25mm chain gun turrets under their bellies, these could have been any police choppers. But, the state-of-the-art sensors and weapons turrets identified these machines as the Bell 506P Griffin helicopters of the TPF’s Dragon Flight, the hottest rotary winged aircraft in the skies.

In the right seat of the lead ship, Dragon One Zero, Tactical Police Force Flight Sergeant Rick Wolff flew his machine with precise, delicate adjustments of the controls. Unlike most fix wing aircraft where the auto-pilot can take over the job of flying while the pilot sits back and relaxes, flying a chopper is a both-hands-on-the-controls job every second that the machine is in the air, but Wolff made it look easy.

But then, it was easy for him. Rick Wolff was the ace flyer in an organization made up of the nation’s hottest chopper pilots. His long blond hair and boyish good looks belied the fact that behind his deep green eyes and ready grin was a man who lived only to fly.

Wolff was typical of the men who flew the TPF Griffins. They were a new breed of police officer, the elite troops of federal law enforcement, the Tactical Police Force. When the Cold War suddenly died in the early 90s, the young men who would have become hot rock military fighter jocks in an earlier era were flying Griffin choppers for the Tac Force’s Dragon Flights. As the 21st century approached, these Chopper Cops were America’s new Top Guns and Rick Wolff was at the head of his class.

As the striking force of the TPF, the Dragon Flights were highly mobile tactical police units that could be deployed anyplace in the country in response to a call. Within hours of a call, four Griffin helicopters, a twenty man Tactical Platoon, a headquarters staff and their support personnel could be on the ground and in the air fighting any crime emergency that was too hot for the local police authorities to handle.

In the rear of the lead Griffin, Wolff’s co-pilot and systems operator, Flight Officer Jumal Mugabe, was sprawled across the passenger jump seats trying to get caught up on his sleep. He wore his dark blue flight helmet with the face shield up, but the intercom cord was plugged into the jack. The burly, black gunner couldn’t sleep without the soothing, chatter of radio traffic in his ears. To shade his eyes, he had laid a gaudy maroon and gold Mexican sombrero across his face. The hat was a souvenir of their visit to the Mexican coastal resort town of Mazatlán where they had attended a convention of Central American police pilots.

Mugabe’s sombrero wasn’t the only thing the Chopper Cops were bringing back from Mexico. Sitting in Wolff’s left seat of the Griffin was a Mexican Federal Police chopper pilot, Lt. Arturo Cuervo. Cuervo was returning to Denver with the chopper cops to go through a transition course in the States to become the first Mexican police pilot qualified to fly the powerful Griffin helicopters.

Police forces all across the nation had been using helicopters for many years, but they had been flying choppers that had originally been designed for civilian use. These machines were expensive to operate and had limited space in their airframes to accommodate the extensive radio and electronic equipment necessary for police work. In the late 1990s, however, a spectacular new machine had been designed to meet the specialized needs of police work, specifically tactical police work, the Bell 506P Griffin.

While the Griffin’s lineage went back to the Bell AH-1 Cobra gunships of the Vietnam War, and its systems owed much to the hi-tech military equipment of the mid-90s, this was the first helicopter that had been built from the ground up strictly for police use.

Designed with low maintenance costs in mind, the Griffin was powered by two small but powerful 750 shaft horsepower General Electric turbines pod mounted externally on the fuselage. Driving a four bladed rigid rotor with a diameter of only 40 feet, the twin turbines could propel the Griffin to speeds of over 250 miles an hour. Both the main rotor and the shrouded tail rotor were designed for noise suppression as well as for maximum maneuverability. Not only was the Griffin quick and stable, it was quiet.

With a flight crew of two, the pilot and a co-pilot/systems operator, the Griffin could carry up to six people or 1,500 pounds of cargo in the rear compartment. An electric winch controlled from the cockpit allowed for the movement of equipment or personnel to and from the rear compartment without having to land.

One of the major differences between the Griffin and the other police helicopters that had preceded it was that the Griffin was a full bore gunship. Along with the usual police missions of search and rescue, evacuating casualties and serving as a patrol car in the sky, the Griffins could be armed with a variety of weapons in its nose turret and on the stub wing weapons hard points.

Normally, a 40mrn grenade launcher was fitted to the 360 degree turret that could select from a variety of ammunition to include flash-bang grenades, tear gas bombs, smoke cartridges, or a low fragmentation HE round. Also, a select fire, 7.62mm chain gun or the bigger 25mm version was mounted in the turret alongside the grenade launcher.

Unlike the earlier electric motor driven, multi-barrel Vulcans and mini-guns, the chain gun was a single barrel weapon that could be fired at a variable rate ranging from a single shot to 900 rounds per minute. The rate of fire was controlled by the gunner’s right trigger. A light touch fired a single shot, but laying back on the trigger unleashed the full power of the weapon. All of the weapons systems were controlled by the co-pilot/systems operator, but could be fired by the pilot if necessary.

As they flew through the cloudless, china blue sky, Wolff briefed the Mexican pilot on the Griffin’s sophisticated sensor and weapons controls.

The weapons controls are easy, Wolff said as he activated the targeting sensors. If you can look at it, you can shoot at it and you’ll hit it. See the crosshairs in the visor?

Cuervo nodded.

The weapons targeting systems are slaved to the helmets, Wolff continued. And the visor serves as the weapons sight. It gives you the range as well as your weapons and ammunition status. Put the crosshairs on a target and take up the slack on the right trigger.

The Mexican turned his head, I see it, he said. It’s reading ‘4,284 meters. Weapons on standby. Full ammunition load’.

That’s all there is to it, Wolff grinned. When the sight says it’s in range, you just shoot at it and you hit it. It’s as simple as that.

And, Wolff continued his briefing. Not only can we dish it out, we can take it too. Usually, it’s not too hard to knock down a chopper, but with all the armor we’re carrying, these things are flying tanks. We have back up flight controls, self-sealing fuel tanks and the turbine nacelles are armored against ground fire.

The pilot reached up and tapped the canopy in front of him. This is bulletproof Lexan and your seat is a Kevlar resin composite like the skin all around the cockpit. We’re pretty much immune to anything up to and including 7.62mm armor-piercing stuff.

But the neat part of this whole package, though, Wolff went on to explain, is the sensors. Without them, we might as well just be flying old Jet Rangers with guns. I’ve got threat sensors that can pick up both radar and laser designators. I’ve got Doppler radar I can use to track movement on the ground. All of this sensor data feeds into our helmet displays and digital readouts and we can see it on either our helmet visors or the heads up displays.

Lt. Cuervo studied the grids, following the commentary.

Then for night flying, the pilot continued. I’ve got both active infrared and light intensifying systems that let me see in the dark under any conditions. Then, when I plug that data into the terrain-following radar navigation and mapping system, I can tell where I am at all times day or night and under any kind of weather conditions.

The last trick this thing can do, Wolff said, is what we call the Taclink mode. This allows the digital data from both the computer and the sensors to be sent between the chopper and a ground station as well being sent to other Griffins.

If I’m Taclinked to another Griffin when I make an attack, Wolff explained. I can send all of my target and sensor data to him and he can ‘see’ everything I’m doing on his tactical monitor. That way, if I fuck up and get blasted out of the sky, the other pilot will know what I did wrong and he can plan his attack differently.

That won’t help you much, Cuervo said.

No, Wolff grinned. But it keeps two of us from making the same stupid mistake.

Wolff reached out to the control panel and flipped a switch, Also, by using our satellite communications system, I can send my attack data to any base in the country if I’m flying alone and far from home.

Suddenly, the monitor screen lit up and the radio burst into life. Dragon One Zero, Dragon One Zero, this is Dragon Control. I have priority traffic for you, come in please.

Wolff keyed his throat mike. This is One Zero, go ahead.

The distinctive raspy voice of TPF Sergeant Ruby Jenkins, the voice of Dragon Control at the Denver Western Regional Headquarters of the TPF, brought Mugabe out of his nap with a start. He scrambled up behind the pilot’s seat to see what in the hell was going on.

This is Dragon Control, where in the hell have you been, One Zero? I’ve been trying to contact you for the last ten minutes.

This is One Zero, Wolff answered. Sorry ’bout that, Mom. I’ve been showing my guest how the Griffin’s systems work and I guess that I had the Taclink shut down. What’s up?

This is Control. We have picked up a broadcast from a terrorist group threatening to blow up an American offshore oil rig in the Gulf of California. Command One wants you and One Three at that location ASAP. How copy?

One Zero, good copy. Where are we going?

This is Dragon Control. The Rio Tina platform at coordinates three-four-eight, seven-nine-four. Go Code Twenty. How copy.

One Zero, good copy, Wolff said as he quickly plugged the oil rig’s coordinates into his navigation computer and called up the map on his tactical screen.

Looks like it’s about forty miles from here, he told Mugabe. And a couple miles out into the Gulf.

The pilot keyed his mike. Control, this is One Zero. We’re not too far from there and are on our way now.

Control, keep me informed.

Dragon One Three, Wolff radioed over to Steve Browning, the pilot of the other Griffin flying in formation with him. This is One Zero, turn the wick up and follow me.

Mom had said Code Twenty and that meant scramble, get there as fast as he could. Wolff’s right hand twisted the throttle on the collective control stick all the way against the stop. The Griffin quickly accelerated, leaving the second chopper behind.

Hey, Wolfman! Browning called as he banked his ship around to fall in behind Wolff’s machine. Where the hell we going?

Just follow me, Brownie, we’re making a house call.

Chapter Two

Baja California

As Dragon One Zero sped for the oil rig, Mugabe crowded into the cockpit behind the gunner’s seat. Quick! he told the Mexican pilot. Let me in there!

Lieutenant Cuervo unbuckled his shoulder harness and wiggled out of the left seat. As soon as he was clear, Mugabe squeezed past him, lowered himself into his office and buckled in. He never felt completely comfortable in the air unless he was at the controls of his weapons.

What’s our ETA? the gunner snapped, his fingers flying as he activated the targeting radar, turned on the sensors and armed the turret weapons.

Eighteen minutes, Wolff responded.

Cuervo had also been listening in on the radio traffic and he realized that he could probably help the chopper cops. If you can give me a clear channel, he said. I can contact my people and have someone waiting for us on the ground in case we need help.

What frequency you need? Wolff asked.

One one two three UHF.

The pilot quickly switched the UHF radio over to the Mexican channel. It’s set. Go.

Cuervo keyed the throat mike on his helmet and in rapid- fire Spanish made contact with the Mexican Federal Police station closest to the oil rig. They had already been notified of the terrorists’ threat and that the Griffins would be operating in their area. The station commander was moving a ground unit in to secure the oil rig’s supply boat dock at Rio Tina. Cuervo advised him that he was on board one of the American helicopters and could coordinate the operation from the air.

The Treaty of Bogota signed at the conclusion of the Nicaraguan War of 1992 had set the framework for international cooperation between Western Hemispheric nations to combat international terrorist activities. The treaty set guidelines for the police and internal security forces of all of the North and South American nations to freely assist one another against terrorist threats without having to get the politicians involved. It allowed operations like this to be coordinated quickly when fast action could possibly shortstop a potential tragedy.

Wolff, Cuervo reported. The Federales are already on their way to the boat dock, but they say that they have had no contact with the oil platform since the terrorists made the broadcast.

What’s the oil company’s frequency? Wolff asked.

One oh two point six FM.

Wolff switched over to that channel and keyed his throat mike. Calling Rio Tina platform, this is the United States Tactical Police Force helicopter Dragon One Zero. We are enroute to your location, come in please.

The pilot repeated his message three times, but there was no answer. Shit!

Heads up! he warned Mugabe as the top of the oil drilling tower came in view. There it is!

A little over two miles from the shore, the oil platform was a two hundred meter square steel island in the Gulf of California supported by four legs anchoring it to the bottom. The drilling rig itself sat in one corner surrounded by machinery and over half of the platform was taken up with the crew’s living quarters. The rest of the rig was crowded with the huge valves and pipes needed to transfer the crude oil to the tanker ships.

I’ve got an aircraft at eleven o’clock! Mugabe called out, looking up from his screen.

I got him! Wolff replied, spotting the speck in the sky racing away from the oil platform, a helicopter going balls-out. He flipped over to the international emergency and rescue frequency and keyed his throat mike.

Unknown aircraft at three thousand feet and heading south on a bearing of one niner six, he radioed. This is the United States Tactical Police. Return to the Rio Tina oil platform and land. Over.

There was no response. Wolff repeated the message, but there was still no answer.

That’s got to be the bad guys, Mugabe said. If they were clean, they’d answer.

The pilot switched back to the chopper-to-chopper channel. One Three, he radioed to the other Griffin. This is the Wolfman, I’m going after the suspect aircraft. We have negative contact with the oil rig, so I want you to check it out and see what in the hell is going on down there.

One Three, copy Browning radioed back as he broke formation and banked away to head down for the helipad on the platform.

The chopper was two hundred meters away from the drilling tower when a boiling ball of angry red and black flame shot up into the air, instantly engulfing the entire platform in a fiery inferno. The explosive blast slapped Browning’s Griffin out of the sky as though it had been hit by a giant fly swatter. It fell as if there was no one at the controls.

Oh Sweet Jesus! Mugabe said a second before the shock wave hit their own ship.

The blast of heated air against the bottoms of the rotor blades canceled the lift and unloaded the rotor head. The turbines screamed in over-rev and Wolff suddenly had both his hands full trying to keep his own machine from following the other ship into uncontrollable spin. Slamming the cyclic control into the upper left corner and stomping down on the left rudder pedal as he chopped the throttle, Wolff laid the Griffin over on her left side and sent her into a sharp dive toward the water.

As soon as he felt the rotor blades hit undisturbed air, his right hand hauled up on the collective and he twisted the throttle back up to ninety percent. The blades caught lift again and Wolff banked One