Page 41 of Tom Clancy Line of Sight
Emir steered the larger man through the opened sliding doors of the warehouse. It was too far from the nearest paved road to be seen, even with binoculars. It was further hidden by the small draw where it was built, and flanked on three sides by towering pines. As a precaution, the steel roof was insulated inside and out with natural materials to eliminate any kind of heat signature or optical detection from overhead surveillance.
Outwardly, the building appeared to be an oversized barn. It was large enough to hold several wheeled vehicles, servicebays, welding equipment, an industrial forklift, tools, and, most important, a Bosnian Army BM-21 Grad multiple rocket launcher. Stolen during the confusion of the last war, it had been stored and maintained in secret by Brkic ever since.
The Grad and its variants were the most ubiquitous multiple rocket launch systems (MRLS) in the world, in service in more than seventy countries, from Afghanistan to Zimbabwe. Of Soviet design, the Grad had been around since the 1960s, and its ease of use, simple maintenance requirements, and enormous destructive potential made it one of the most effective artillery systems ever designed.
The gasoline-powered eight-cylinder 6x6 truck mounted a box launcher of forty 122-millimeter rocket tubes, and was operated by a three-man crew. The rockets could be launched from inside the cab or externally by a trigger on the end of a sixty-four-meter cable. The BM-21’s primary flaw was its accuracy. The fin-stabilized “dumb” rockets were targeted with Cold War–era optical periscopes and collimators.
Originally designed as an area denial weapon to blunt massed armor and infantry assaults, the Grad system relied on large numbers of relatively inaccurate rockets and their high explosive payloads to overwhelm opponents. Over the years, the unguided rockets increased in range and accuracy with improved engines and more reliable propellants, but the Grad was never considered a precision weapon.
Until now.
The TOS-2 Starfire 122-millimeter missile featured a new and highly efficient solid-fuel propellant, which meant a larger payload without sacrificing range. Most important, computers onboard each missile provided laser and GPS guidance that adjusted the missile fins during trajectory, allowing forminimal but sufficient in-flight maneuver to ensure highly accurate targeting. All the BM-21 launcher had to do was fire the missile in approximately the right direction and the automated, computer-controlled guidance systems would take over.
Brkic’s plans now hinged on the Syrian and the magic tricks he’d brought with him.
Emir and Brkic made their way past sparking arc welders and the clang of steel hammers toward the middle of the facility, where the BM-21 Grad vehicle stood.
“Aslan!” Tarik shouted.
The big Chechen lieutenant was standing on the launch platform. He whipped around at the sound of his name.
“Commander!” he called out, and jumped down onto the concrete floor.
The two men crashed into each other in a hard embrace, long-lost comrades in a too-long war.
“It’s so good to see you again, Commander,” Dzhabrailov said.
Brkic beamed with pride. “Your bravery and your patience have reaped a great reward.”
Dzhabrailov shrugged. “It’s for our people. How can I do less?”
Like most Chechens, the lieutenant despised the Russians, a long and bitter oppressor of Chechnya. After years of suffering under the Russian boot, the latest Chechen government decided to join forces with its stronger enemy, and many young Chechen fighters joined their ranks.
Many Chechens refused to serve with the hated Russian Army. But others, like Dzhabrailov, enlisted with an eye for both gaining combat experience and exacting revenge on their ancient enemy.
Dzhabrailov had met Brkic four years before when Brkic recruited him into his organization. Secured communications had enabled them to formulate their plan for the stolen missiles.
Brkic clapped him on the shoulder. “Come, my young lion. Show me this miracle you have brought.”
23
Dzhabrailov led Brkic and Emir to the far side of the building, where they found Walib hunched over a workbench, a wisp of smoke curling up from a soldering iron in his hand. On the table beside him was a four-inch-diameter electro-optical turret for the hand-launched, eagle-sized Elbit Systems Skylark I-LE UAV, which stood assembled on another elevated table a few feet away, stolen from the Russian arsenal as well.
“Captain, I want you to meet my commander, Tarik Brkic.”
The mustachioed Syrian turned around, a smudge of solder on his cheek. His eyes were black with fatigue, but his smile was genuine. Marrying the Grad’s ancient launch platform to the portable fire-control computer he’d brought in the Pelican case was taking more time and energy than he’d anticipated. He was having to improvise quite a bit. The Grad’s rifled launch tubes spun the rockets like a bullet to improve flight stability and accuracy. The trajectory of a rocket’s flight and its ultimate destination were determined by elevation and azimuth angles, along with the duration of engine fire, warheadweight, distance, wind speed, and a dozen other factors. Fortunately, most of these factors were known and fixed, and the variables could be measured or calculated, and all of it accounted for in the brain of the fire-control computer.
“Commander, this is Captain Walib, the Syrian Arab Army’s finest rocket forces officer.”
Walib extended a small, confident hand. Brkic took it.
“Aslan has told me all about you, Commander.”
“And he has spoken well of you, Captain,” Brkic said. He broke into a grin and pulled Walib into a bear hug and clapped him on the back, then released him from his massive embrace but kept a firm grip on Walib’s hand and a big paw on his shoulder.
The commander’s good eye brightened. “Welcome to Bosnia. Thanks be to God for your safe travels. You have come very far.”
“Without Aslan, I never would have made it.”
