Start of Cold War story.

[Pulp Hero]

I'm a huge geek for 1960-1970 Cold War history, and after a very disappointing playthrough of Black Ops my brain has been swirling with what it could/ should have been. This story isn't exactly intended to be sci-fi, but I'm going to include things like dramatized versions of MK ULTRA and Project Pluto which are practically sci-fi concepts themselves.

***

Major Andrew Webber adjusted the focus input on main camera mounted inside his Lockheed U-2B/TR-1 reconnaissance plane. At the level 65,000 feet that the plane was flying at, he was above any winds that might have required tricky stick work and the journey was smooth going. It was an average day in the CIA’s employ, pleasantly seated in a 300 mile per hour flight over enemy territory in an aircraft with about the same amount of armor as a balsa-wood box.

As Webber coasted along and made his minor adjustments, the camera ticked along continued to automatically take a photograph every 85 seconds. Webber looked through the camera’s viewfinder and smiled underneath his supplied air helmet; the plane was taking exceptionally clear pictures on this mission, some fortuitous low pressure winds had blown away any clouds that might have otherwise covered the surveillance target.

He was currently over a town that was suspected to be cover for a Soviet research site that was referred to blandly as “Catapult”. It was about two klicks from the known weapons research site in Omutninsk, and a previous reconnaissance flight had observed an unusually large convoy of vehicles that had appeared to be moving to “Catapult”.

Webber pulled out a clipboard with an attached greasepencil, in addition to his normal mission requirements he was also recording the heat dissipation of a new reflective coating designed to mitigate tracking by communist SAM platforms and efficiency of an engine modification that was supposed to give his plane an extra few dozen miles in exchange for slowing his bird down. The big brains from the research department had been very anxious to make sure that he brought back accurate readings from this test flight, as another U-2 flight had been shot down only a month prior. This had been a huge embarrassment for both the CIA planners and the flight design researchers. A personal ass chewing from Ike was not something that the already stressed researchers were taking lightly, and they had passed on their neurotic concerns to anyone in their verbal radius. It wasn’t shaking Webber up any, and writing down notes at least broke up the monotony of the flight.

Three more minutes and the areas of interest around “Catapult” would be long behind his camera’s view and he could turn the plane around and start the trip back into Pakistan. It would be breakfast by then and the local national that worked the eggs was pretty damn good in Webber’s book.
Everything normal. Even the right side of the split reel in the camera wasn’t acting up, a rarity.

A solid buzz. Tone coming from the radar mount. It appeared almost directed under the plane’s position.

Tone. The only sound in the world. A surface-to-air missile was coming up fast. Two now, barely indistinguishable from each other, but both were coming up fast. No way to maneuver away when they were fired from practically under the plane. Webber didn’t wait and attempt counter measures.

Two switch flips actuated the thermite camera burn and another switch flip and handle pull actuated the explosive punch-out for the canopy and charge under his seat.

Extreme force pushed in all over Webber’s body. His rig vest felt like it was going to push in and crack ribs. All he could see was sky. In the distance was the faint sound that must have been the missile, or maybe missiles, destroying his bird. A few more second of frantic free fall as Webber and his chair tumbled downward before his hand found the parachute release. He counted down to allow a decent to a lower altitude and then pulled it. The green tactical parachute exploded upwards and yanked Webber from freefall into a more manageable speed.

He looked down. The terrain that had been a distant image in his camera was now a fast approaching reality. It was coming up on him cold and remorseless.

He hit the ground hard in the seat and sank into a deep snow drift which threatened to envelope and bury him, but he managed, in his now comically sized gloves to unbuckle himself from the seat. Their was an emergency satchel under his seat which he took with him before climbing out from the shallow hole and to the snowy surface. He ditched his large suit gloves and quickly swapped them for a pair of leather shells from the satchel. He took off his helmet and tossed it back on to the now useless seat, then took up the satchel strap over his shoulder and pulled his pistol from his rig vest and and began to run. Before even stopping to make a survival plan he had to put distance between himself and his seat before the Soviets arrived.

The new anti-SAM reflective coating had very definitively failed.

***

Mike Wehn was entranced. He had been office for the last four hours with blown up still frames taken from a CBS news camera, and was in the process of matching the blurry objects in the film with research pictures on Soviet hardware. He didn’t want to take his hunches higher until he was sure exactly what intelligence the civilian reporters had inadvertently obtained.

A knock on his door, followed by an immediate creak as it opened. Jacob, the intelligence wrangler for the Office of South Asia Analysis was in Wehn’s office.
“What do you have Mike, the big bosses are getting antsy.” He asked.

When sighed, “I’ve got some ideas, but nothing solid. Honestly this is a classic example of a “Ground-Sky” film.”

Jacob moved to peer at a picture close to him, “A what?”

“You know- all you see is ground, then sky, then ground again. It means that whoever was taking the film was running, and in this case we know that reporter was getting shot at, so that fact shouldn’t be so surprising.”

Pre-empting another question about his analysis, Wehn walked over to one of the large black and white slides on his wall.

“I think we are seeing pieces of Sukhoi , that’s Soviet, attack aircraft. These pieces are a bit off for what the insides of known Sukhoi look like, but I believe they may be exporting some of the new model aircraft. Building bridges with their new friends and all that. Personally, this Vietnam thing is looking pretty real, but I won’t say more until someone brings me solid pictures.”

“Well sign off on what you think it is, and do it quick, because you’re getting moved out of OSA.”

“Where?”

“Some emergency operation. It came together fast, but you were asked for specifically, I didn’t fight to keep you. Whatever is going on looks like it could be a career booster. You’ve got a meeting in 265A at 13:00.”

When looked at his wristwatch. It was 12:50 already.

“Better hurry up writing your OSA report.” Jacob said, before leaving the office again.

Mike wrote up a report outline and brought it with him in an envelope before collecting his book bag and locking up. He hustled through the hall and down the stairs to the second floor to the meeting room. Rounding a corner, he was meet by a pair of Army MPs. One asked for his identification card and then stood back as Wehn fished it from a fold in his jacket. The MP compared his card to some papers on a clipboard and waved him through to the closed office door.
Wehn opened the door to find the office already darkened as a projector lit up the far wall. In unison a small crowd of CIA haggard analysts, slick suit wearers, and military types turned to look at him. A quiet voice to Mike’s left broke the silence, “I think that is everyone. We can now start the briefing.”

Sheepishly, Mike slunk past the man who had spoken and took a seat. He turned back to watch the man hand the projector off to a uniformed MP before walking almost all the way against the wall that was being lit by the projector.

“Good afternoon. I am General Hadeden, and those of you from the CIA are on loan to me for the duration of this operation. A CIA spyplane was shot down over Russia.”

A voice from somewhere in the middle of the crowd said, in a too-loud whisper, “That U-2 last month.”

Hadeden momentarily searched out for the voice before continuing, “Another spyplane has been shot down. U-2 flight 12-10, piloted by a Major Andrew Webber of the USAF. As you might guess, having two planes exposed to be illegally in Soviet airspace a month apart from each other would be quite embarrassing. The president has ordered a cleanup of this mess. This operation is to identify the remains of the plane so that ground assets can destroy it and recover or destroy any photographic intelligence it has gathered. Same for the pilot’s body.”

The General motioned for a change of slides. The image changed from the CIA cover page to a photographic of snow covered terrain and a small town.
“These photographs were taken several months ago in the vicinity of Omutninsk, Russia. This is the same area that was the focus of 12-10’s mission, and where it was shot down. We have had contact with a French service agent in the area who has confirmed a surface-to-air missile launch from the village, which is most likely a cover for a Soviet military complex.”

“Your jobs are to comb over these pictures to look more closely for evidence of military presence and to look at intercepted documents for information about the status of the pilot and wreckage. We are going to collect or re-capture everything related to this flight. Questions?”

A hand was raised, and the General nodded to allow a bespectacled analyst to speak, “What kind of time line are we looking at, sir?”

“Ground assets have already moved out in an attempt to find the plane.”

“Without any intelligence direction?”

“Son- Ike was pissed.”