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ATC Emergency Code 7700

by E.L. Crenshaw

182 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #01-0501; ISBN 1-55369-099-0; US$20.50, C$23.77, EUR16.50, £12.00

ATC Emergency Code 7700 is a gripping novel about terrorism, politics and action in the skies as a Lebanese militia group overtakes a Europe-bound DC-10.

Ex-Navy officer and Flight Captain Jack Forrester and copilot Carla Fisher and their crew are called upon to save the passengers and save themselves from the jet's secret deadly cargo.

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about the book      about the author      Chapter 1      catalogue info

About the Book Yazid Bin Kadir, charismatic leader of a small terrorist militia group based in southern Lebanon, endeavors to plant a bomb in downtown Israel, and to kidnap Efrem Gamaliel, a government official in the Israeli Knesset. Yazid is captured, along with some of his followers. After being subdued, blindfolded, and forced inside one of Israeli attack helicopters, Yazid utters three words in answer to his captor's taunts: "ihtares te bean adda." Translation: Beware of snakes. Within hours of his capture, six of Yazid's loyal comrades in the United States and Canada hatch a do-or-die plan to force his release. Three of the terrorists, led by Ja'far Paieendah, drive across Canada to sabotage their first target, the Seattle Space Needle. The other set of terrorists is led by Amir Al-Kaman, a small Middle Eastern immigrant. He solicits the help of a disgruntled airline maintenance employee, and the terrorists eventually steal Dale's ID and computer code, allowing them access to the airport tarmac area. They gain entry to a jetliner where weapons and a bomb are planted. Raymond Parker, Director of National Security Affairs, and his wife, Anita, board a plane bound for Madrid with hopes of saving their failing marriage. Two hours into the flight Amir and his comrade commandeer the aircraft and go on a killing spree... ATC Emergency Code 7700 begins.

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About the Author E. L. Crenshaw has spent over three decades as an Aviation Electronic Technician with two different airlines. Born in North Carolina, and raised in Maryland, Crenshaw spent four years in the US Marines before embarking on his current career. He has been married to Linda for 16 years. They and their youngest son Kevin live in Federal Way, Washington. Click here to read Edward's interview with www.pageonelit.com. Edward appeared on Baltimore's WEAA (88.9 FM) on Wednesday October 2 in a forum called "Brothers in Transit: Transportation Industry". Congratulations Edward! The following review was a result of Edward's entry of the book into the Writer's Digest 10th Annual International Self-Published Book Awards: You have a great sense of pacing in your story. I reallly enjoyed how the book took off with a bang (well, almost literally) and never let up. I really enjoyed the quick action and the fast pace of the book. I think the best action books have a layered approach of saving themselves from multiple obstacles. You did this well with the Sharq Awwel and the cargo. It was a page-turner in the best sense of the word. You had a very logical sense of cause and effect that makes for the best plots for an action novel. One event led directly from the last and the events were very convincing for the characters you had created. You definitely know the airlines and the airline industry. I worked in it for several years, and all the details of the book rang true to me. It was a pleasure to read something this well constructed and fast-paced.

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Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE
SATURDAY, 5:30 P. M.
LEBANON

"Once the bomb goes off, we will capture our most outspoken adversary. Then we will continue to bring retribution, on the accursed nation of Israel," Yazid boasted. "Afterwards, Suleman my friend, we will turn our attention to the foreign pigs that espouse democracy. I have comrades in the United States and Canada training, learning their methods, and waiting for my command to bring havoc on their system." Yazid moved a short stubby hand to his khaki fatigue cap, removed it and ran his hand through his dark hair.
    They were standing outside Yazid's tent. At a Lebanese stronghold near the southern end of Lebanon. Yazid turned and gazed at the distant mountain range. The sun faded behind a tall peak, ushering in the night. He scanned the horizon briefly, then looked upon the surrounding landscape. Scattered dry bushes littered the ground. Several men, dressed in khaki fatigues moved about in pre-arranged tasks.
    Yazid Bin Kadir, the undisputed leader of the destructive terrorist group known as the Sharq Awwel, a fairly robust Arab with dark hair, lightly tanned skin, and a full beard, turned to his right.
    "Come, my friend." Yazid extended his arm toward the tent entrance. "We must conclude our plans." Yazi opened the entrance flap, and ducked inside the small enclosure. Suleman Mostar, Yazid's second in command, tall muscular man, with curly hair followed obediently.
    Once inside Yazid moved to small table with two chairs. He withdrew a folded map from his inside pocket and spread it across the table. He switched on a small flood light, and motioned for Suleman to sit down. Suleman frowned slightly then made his way to the chair.
    Yazid looked up briefly into Suleman's face then back down at the map. "You look troubled Suleman. Do not worry, we will succeed," he said confidently. "Let us go over the plans once again. In approximately two hours, three of our men will plant bomb here, in the busy market rea of downtown Israel." He pointed to a spot on the map.
    "Once it explodes, during the confusion another team will kidnap Efrem Gamaliel. "Yazid moved his finger to red mark that was circled. Then he steepled his fingers and stared into Suleman's brown eyes.
    "The Israeli's lways have extra security for members of their parliament. "Suleman said, stroking his chin.
    "Yes, that is correct. Yazid said with nod of his head. But our informant has informed us that today, his security will be minimal. "Suleman's furred his brow, then looked up for a second. A small smile ran across his face. Yes, he said looking at Yazid. "We will succeed. "

 

    At 185 mph, five Israeli American-made, AH-64 attack helicopters were enroute to Yazid's military base. They carried three squads of combat-ready troops to intercept, and capture, the band of terrorists.
    With the help of American and British Intelligence and state-of-the art equipment, the Israeli attack team found the location.
    From the starboard seat of the lead chopper, Captain David Weizman, tall, wiry commando, watched his wingman move into ttack formation on his left. Then David looked out at the dark horizon as the nightfall ushered in. The wingman's modular integrated display and sight helmet llowed for day or night heads up flight.

 

    The American-made AH-64 Apache helicopters had been fitted with special detection and anti-missile devices in the event they encountered surface to air missiles. Along with them were three V-22 Osprey helicopters, with complement of twenty-five Israeli operatives each.
    David turned to his co-pilot. "What's our E.T.A. to the target?"
    "Six minutes to contact, "his wingman replied. David instructed the squadron to maintain radio silence until they reached the target.

 

    Suleman reached into the left pocket of his fatigue uniform, and pulled out nickel-colored stopwatch. He had used this same watch to time his men during the training for the strike. He took a deep breath, and contemplated another rehearsal. Then decided against it, and put it back inside his garment's pocket. Things had been going well, but he had an unsettling feeling of uneasiness.
    Suleman watched a pair of men in fatigues make their way over to waiting jeep and begin to load it with mmunitions and explosives. A cool breeze blew across his forehead. He looked out at the many patches of juniper bush, and bunch grass that swayed with the wind.
    Suleman motioned to one of the men at the jeep. "I want the decampment to continue without letup," he instructed. "We'll be leaving in an hour. "The man nodded. Suleman turned and walked toward the quarters of his commander, Yazid Bin Kadir.

 

    Through his helicopter windshield, David watched the faint lights from the convoy of jeeps on the highway. He keyed his communication mike to contact his attack force.
    "Prepare to take the nest."
    He pulled hard on the throttle. His wingman duplicated his actions, as did the rest of the group. They dived in attack formation toward the target.

    

    Suleman heard a familiar sound: Cobras, and American-made Blackhawk helicopters.
    During his brief stint in the Syrian Army he had witnessed attacks by Israeli forces during the six-day war. He had succeeded once or twice at blasting those killing machines out of the air, and he could differentiate between them with his eyes closed. His inability to ccept defeat had led him to join the militant group commanded by Yazid.
    Ten years ago Suleman had been in the Palestine resistance movement, and a strong supporter of the PLO leader Yasser Arafat. But over the years he had watched that faction go from position of power to chaos.
    Suleman froze in his tracks, standing next to a jeep, straining to hear every sound. His heart beating loud in his chest. Then he saw them, descending like large black birds of prey.
    Suleman raised his Ak-47 Russian-made automatic weapon and waved for his men to disperse. He turned sharply on his heels, slung the assault rifle over his shoulder, and raced toward the ammunitions storage area, about twenty feet away. He called to one of his men. "Haken, come with me, quickly." The soldier crouched, turned, and ran behind Suleman, as a maelstrom of bullets and explosives rained down on the compound.

 

    David was about to land his copter when a burst of sub-machine fire rattled against the side of it. "Not this time, you jack-offs. We've got you now," David said with fervor. "Release a couple of sunbursts," he yelled to his co-pilot.
    The purpose of these high velocity phosphorous/ smoke warheads was to blind and confuse the enemy. As the Osprey helicopters landed, groups of well- trained Israeli soldiers spilled out their lower cargo compartments, firing a barrage of automatic weap- ons. The Apache helicopters fired a continuous volley of rounds from M-60 machine guns.

 

    Suleman and Hakem, worked feverishly to open one of the crates. From his vantage point, Suleman could see his men collapsing. As he peered out of the ammunitions storage area, he could see his men stagger and fall across the smoke-filled camp. He managed to pry one corner of the lid loose with crowbar.
    The roar from the helicopter rotors roared as they came closer. Sand and gravel particles blasted against the side of his face. Suleman reached into the box and pulled out an SA-7 Grail surface-to-air missile launcher. He yanked it free and moved toward the entrance to the ammunitions dump.
    "Bring more, "he shouted to Hakem. "All you can. " He stepped out the depot with the SAM on his right shoulder. He and his men, some with their hands up, surrounded by Israeli solders. Suleman turned with the SAM and pointed toward the nearest helicopter. Its I. F. seeker unit activated with the touch of button. A second later, he heard the beep tone indicating a lock-on. He pulled the trigger.

 

    Neither the David or the co-pilot saw the rush of smoke issuing out of the SAM as it streaked toward the helicopter fuselage. But the Osprey, equipped with state-of-the-art sensors, did. It informed the crew of the viable threat, but the missile would impact in only three or four seconds, much too quickly for any human to perform evasive maneuvers.
    Two defensive systems awoke at the same time to combat the threat:a thermal chaff/decoy system that dispensed flares and aluminum strips into the air, and an infrared pulse lamp. Both were designed to lead heat-seeking missile astray. The missile tracked wide left and exploded into a section of rocky terrain.
    David and his commandos had debarked and raced toward the enemy hostiles. He came within fifteen feet of the antagonist and shouted, "Drop it!"His Uzi sub-machine gun pointed unwavering at his chest.

 

Suleman looked at David with cold dark eyes, and glanced around to assess the situation. Half of his men were lying on the ground wounded or dead. At the far end of the base encampment, he saw his commander with his hands up, surrounded by the enemy.
    A feeling of contempt swept over him. With eyes narrowing to snake-like slits his hand tightened on the SAM weapon. This can't be happening, he thought. We planned this too carefully . He threw the SAM to the ground, but at the same time raised his assault rifle and angled it toward David.  
    A volley of cold, stinging death issued forth from David's Uzi sub-machine gun. A stream of blood spurted from the center of his enemy's chest. He was dead before he hit the ground.

     Yazid sat handcuffed, inside one of the Apache helicopters, surrounded by Israeli solders. He stared straight ahead, oblivious to his surroundings and the penetrating stare of the soldiers. A tall lanky soldier stood over him. "My name is Captain David Weizman," he said with a smirk. And you are my prisoner." David had a dark handkerchief in his right hand. "Your days of sabotage are over, you miserable viper. Do you have anything to say?" He secured the blindfold with a knot. "iHtares te baen adda, " replied Yazid. "Beware of Snake Bites, " when translated.

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Catalogue Information

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