Assault on the Venture

248 pages. Book and Jacket appear to have hardly been read and are both in As new condition throughout.

Excerpt

March 1991 Somewhere near the Kuwait, Iraq border.

The crew of the AH-64 Apache attack helicopter were on their secondsortie for the day - if it could be called day. Black smoke hung thickin the air. Near the ground, visibility was less than one half mile.Most of the oil wells had been torched by Saddam Hussein's retreatingarmy. It was the closest resemblance to Hell that the men could imagine.

The pilot was thankful for the advanced technology of his Apache gun-ship. Two Turboshaft engines powered it, each rated at 1690 shafthorsepower. Particle separators on the intakes were capable of removingsand, ash and other debris from the air. In their present operatingenvironment, a necessity. Maximum speed was over one hundred and fiftyknots if needed.

The Apache's night fighting ability was enhanced by the Pilot's NightVision Sensor (PNVS) and the gunner's Target Acquisition DesignationSight (TADS). The Forward Looking Infrared System presented an infraredimage of the terrain in front and to the sides of the helicopter. Thiswas displayed on the pilot's monocle sight, which he had positioned infront of one eye, where he also monitored flight instrument data. ThisHeads Up Display system saved precious seconds and allowed the pilot aconstant vigil for the enemy. Visibility through the smoke was terrible.He scanned the PNVS for signs of activity below.

His gunner used the TAD which gave him day or night target sight, plus alaser tracker, target designator and range-finder. Even inside thehelicopter cockpit the crew smelled the burning stench of the acridpetroleum smoke.

Their armored crew seats, key engine components and fuel cells had notthus far been put to the test on this particular helicopter. The two menwere thankful.

Their mission: search and destroy.

As he automatically operated the controls, the pilot was caught up inthe very same thoughts that have occupied warriors for generations -coup. He had started this mission with sixteen Rockwell Hellfire laser-guided missiles, each capable of penetrating over ten inches of armor.Their effectiveness was now a proven fact. Three had been fired andthere were three less Iraqi tanks. Apart from the Hellfire missiles, hismachine included a 30mm Hughes Chain Gun mounted on a trainable turretbeneath the fuselage, with twelve hundred rounds of ammunition.

During the last week of the desert war, he and his gunner were creditedwith the destruction of seven tanks and four personnel carriers. If therest of the gunships were as successful, he figured most of the Iraqiarmored division should be destroyed by now. The burnt-out hulks ofdozens of vehicles already littered his patrol area.

Almost routinely, they flew zig-zag patterns over their designated arealooking for active vehicles. The infrared device could magnify enemypositions miles away, and the Hellfire missile had a range of up to fivemiles, which helped to keep the Apache away from the tank guns. Duringsome of their recent encounters with tanks, the pilot could actually seethe tank crews pouring out of the vehicles and running for cover.

The Iraqis now realized the destructive force they were up against. Theyhadn't counted on being pounded from the air so thoroughly and with suchadvanced technology. This surgically clean attack had totally destroyedtheir plans to trap the assaulting forces into a pincer type situation.The total annihilation they had planned for the infidels had backfiredon them, leaving them exposed to the modern technology of the advancingNATO forces. Literally hundreds helicopters and airplanes weresystematically searching out and destroying Hussein's entire armoreddivision. Iraqi forces were now beginning to surrender by the thousands.

There were so many piles of wreckage that the Apache's gunner haddifficulty locating an active target. He would place his targetdesignator on one, then the next, looking for that tell-tale sign of ahot engine. If the sensor indicated heat the designator would display abrighter green color at that location.

He armed each missile as needed and when target acquisition wasreceived, which was the locking of the guidance and control device onthe missile, a squeeze of the trigger sent the missile on its way.

The Hellfires never missed and the destruction was usually total.

If they encountered light armor, the 30mm cannon would easily take careof the job. A short two-second burst could make a Jeep or truck looklike Swiss cheese.

To further amplify the effectiveness of the 30mm cannon, each of thebullets contained an explosive charge. Some of the choices that could beloaded included high explosive, high explosive incendiary, and armor-piercing. Each high explosive shell had the same effect as a World WarII hand grenade. Definitely an effective anti-personnel device. Thechoice of ammo carried depended upon the mission. On this particularmission, the call was for two armor-piercing rounds followed by one highexplosive incendiary, this sequence repeated over and over when the ammowas attached to the feed belt.

"I think we've got something," the gunner's voice cracked through theintercom.

As the pilot scanned to the front, a contact appeared. It wasn't thestrong signal that usually indicated the big turbine powered engine ofthe modern tanks that made up Saddam Hussein's armored division. Itwasn't anything that large.

"Whoa," said the pilot, manipulating the controls abruptly.

The nose of the helicopter came up rapidly as it slid through the air.

The silhouette, now more apparent, appeared to be that of a lightvehicle.

"Looks like a small personnel carrier or Jeep perhaps," he said.

They wouldn't waste a Hellfire on that. Reaching forward, the gunnerselected - GUNS - on his console as they set a heading to intercept thevehicle. Aligning the cannon sight on the vehicle he waited for theappropriate range.

"Firing!" he announced as he pressed the fire button.

The cannon's scream pierced the crew's helmets instantly as itactivated. Every several rounds a tracer flew, making a long line ofdashes as the bullets approached the target. The tracers made theshooter feel like a fireman hosing down a fire. The two men stared atthe cannon's ferocious devastation.

The entire area around the front of the small vehicle lit up insimultaneous explosions. The smoke-filled air around the vehicle gaveoff an eerie glow as it reflected the awesome force that had beenunleashed. The front of the vehicle below vanished. What remained wascatapulted through the air end over end coming to rest in a pile oftwisted unrecognizable junk.

"Scratch one personnel carrier," said the gunner.

"Looks like we're getting low on fuel," the pilot said into theintercom.

"Time to get the hell out of here, then!" came the response from thegunner.

As the pilot pushed the cyclic stick to the right and added power, thebig machine responded instantly by lying on its side. The two men couldfeel the downward G-force of the tight turn. Rolling level, he pushedthe control forward and they quickly departed the area, heading fortheir base of operations.

"That makes five personnel carriers," the gunner bragged.

"And ten tanks."

* * *

From the ground, Staff Sergeant John Linx U.S.M.C. had witnessed thewhole incident. He shook his head in amazement. The Land Rover had comeinto view about a hundred yards away. It looked as if a mad man was atthe wheel. The guy was pushing the vehicle as fast as it would go, hethought. It slid wildly this way and that trying to negotiate the sharpcurves and bomb craters in the dirt road.

Linx had become accustomed to the noise of the helicopters as they flewinto his observation area but when that cannon fire came so close, hecouldn't help but bury his face in the sand. Several Marines had alreadybeen killed by friendly fire and he wasn't taking any chances.

Judging from the vehicle, that poor fool obviously wasn't military, hethought. He must have been making a break through the Iraqi lines forKuwait.

He almost made it.

The remaining cab of the Land Rover came to rest not more than thirtyfeet from John's position. The entire front had been blown away and whatlittle remained would never be identified. Dirt and smoke filled the airall around the vehicle.

As the light desert breeze began to clear the air around the vehicle,the driver emerged, still alive and crawling from the wreckage. Thesergeant couldn't believe his eyes.

Raising his weapon to his shoulder he covered the man, unsure whether toshoot him or help him. Fortunately for the battered stranger, John couldhear enough cursing to figure out that he was speaking English. Loweringhis weapon, he extended a hand to wave the man toward him.

"Say, ole chap," the man said as he coughed and swatted his stillburning shirt. "I could use a bit of a hand. Those helo boys sure arehell on wheels. They damn near killed me!"

Sliding into the sergeant's foxhole, he was a sight to see. Setting hisrifle down, the sergeant quickly helped to extinguish the remainingsmoldering clothing. The man's shirt was burned and torn to pieces andwhat was left of his pants were smoking. Sand covered his clothing and athick layer of black soot hid his face. What might have once been amustache was almost completely burnt away. John helped the man to situpright.

Letting out a long slow sigh, the Brit leaned back against the side ofthe foxhole. His white teeth contrasted brightly against his sooty faceas he broke out in a big smile.

"Thank you, Sergeant," he said. "It's been a hell of a day. I've justdriven completely through the bloody damned Iraqi army without a scratchonly to almost get my ass shot off by my own bloody side!"

"What the hell were you doing on that side of the border?" the sergeantasked.

Another big smile appeared and he replied, "Anyone can make a wrongturn, Sergeant. Say, you wouldn't happen to have a cigarette would you?"

Sergeant Linx stared at his sooty companion. What on earth was this allabout?

Excerpted from Assault on the Venture by Dan Shelton. Copyright © 1996 by Carl Daniel Shelton. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Copyright © 1996 Carl Daniel Shelton.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0-9643161-2-9