Survivors – A Novel of the Coming Collapse

The Air Force terminated its tactical reconnaissance program for F-16s in 1993, with plans to shift most of those missions to UAVs. But as a follow-on, there was an interim program using the U.S. Navy-developed Tactical Aerial Reconnaissance Pod System (TARPS) mounted on F-16s. Doyle’s squadron was one of the two fighter squadrons that got tapped for this strap-on recon test program, which only lasted eighteen months. While technically a success, from an operational and logistics standpoint, the results were mixed. And since UAV technology was meanwhile maturing rapidly, the decision was made to mothball the TARPS pods and support gear. It was during the TARPS test program that Ian Doyle was part of the Hondo Expedition.

By the time that the USAF got involved, the TARPS pods were a well-matured technology. Most of the technical support was supplied by civilian contractors from Grumman, the company that had originally developed the system. The seventeen-foot, 1,850-pound pods were essentially a strap-on system, adaptable to many types of aircraft. They could be mounted on standard hard points. First developed for Navy F-14s and Marine Corps F/A-18s, the TARPS pods were, as one of the Grumman camera technicians put it, “foolproof and pilotproof, but then, I repeat myself.”

The expedition included four F-16s-two for missions and two for spares and side trips-four mission pilots, and a C-130 to shuttle the support crew and umpteen spare parts-both for the planes and for the TARPS pods. The TDY rotation was five months, making it just short of the six-month threshold for a PCS. This made the personnel paperwork easier and reduced the overall cost of the program.

All of the pilots were housed at the “White House” (La Casa Blanca), the guest quarters in Tegucigalpa that were run by the American embassy, in Colonia Loma Linda Norte district, on La Avenida FAO. The White House was a gathering place of myth and legend. It served as the catchall for visiting company-grade military officers, CIA types on temporary assignment, and assorted contractors on government business. The atmosphere was jovial and there were even some fraternity-style bashes on weekends. The CIA officers called it a safe house, but its presence was hardly clandestine. Even the local newspaper mentioned it from time to time, often by its nicknames, Rick’s Cafe Americain or Rick’s Place, in honor of the Humphrey Bogart movie Casablanca.

Junior officers at La Casa Blanca were expected to share rooms. Ian Doyle’s roommate was Bryson Pitcher, an Air Force intelligence first lieutenant, who was permanent party with the intel cell at the American embassy.

Shortly after meeting Pitcher, Ian Doyle summed up the Expedition to him: “It’s an intense assignment, but a good one. I’ll fly three, maybe four missions a week, all in daylight hours, and they are just six hours each. Other than some intel briefing dog and pony shows once every ten or twelve days either here or down at Soto Cano, I get all the rest of my days off to hike, swim, and see the sights. My only regret is that this is only a five-month TDY. I wish it were a couple of years, to really soak up the local culture.”

Bryson’s curiosity was piqued. “Well, what are you doing, exactly? This is the first time I’ve seen F-16s in Hondo. We haven’t heard squat about it, even in the intel shop.”

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to shoot you.”

Bryson snorted.

Ian grinned and said, “Just kidding. What’s your clearance?”

“TS-SBI, with a bunch of funny little letters after that, for SCI compartments that I can’t tell you about.”

“Well, what do you do here, Bryson, in a nutshell?”

“I task and receive reports from a bunch of overeducated NCOs, and we analyze them for liaison with the Honduran government and for an unspecified strategic mission.”

“Stuff from aircraft?” Doyle asked.

“Nope. Stuff from, ah . . . non-air-breathing platforms.”

“Ahhh, gotcha.” Hearing the euphemism for spy satellites made it clear to Doyle that he could ask no further questions.

“Okay, well, then, I guess I can certainly talk about the basics, even though you’re in the strategic world, while my bailiwick is mostly tactical. A little crossover, I suppose. You’ll probably get briefed in a week or two, anyway.”

Bryson nodded.

Ian looked up at the slowly rotating ceiling fan and asked, “Are you familiar with a system called TARPS?”

“Sure, it’s the Navy’s pod-mounted photo recon system. It’s pretty idiotproof, as long as they remember to hook up the external power and use a squirt of Windex before they take off.”