Although the two Citation Latitude jets had set a course from Canon City that appeared to be of no significance other than heading south at their maximum speed of nearly five hundred miles per hour, there was a purpose to it. Once they had entered the airspace over New Mexico, and with knowledge that they had most certainly been tracked on radar for departing without clearance, that intentionally plotted course had lined them up to fly directly over the most populated areas of the state in low altitude. If the connections between the jets, the by now fully melted helicopter in Canon City, and the Air Force Academy attack had been identified, then they could be intercepted by aircraft with orders to shoot them down. With that in mind, the directional heading was imperative.

Within the northern half of the state, Taos, the capitol city of Santa Fe, and Albuquerque were nearly in a direct line, so only minor course corrections were needed by the two pilots in order to remain above them. Frantic communications had come their way from the airport control tower of Albuquerque’s International Sunport asking them to avoid commercial traffic by diverting their course, but neither jet had adhered to the plea. A short time earlier, a black suburban parked at a good vantage point near Santa Fe had reported in. The driver within was pleased to disclose to number twenty three that the twin jets had just moved south of her location flying fast and low. They would not have done so if they hadn’t received at least some of the attackers that she had dropped off earlier that day some three hundred fifty miles to the north in Monument Colorado.

As the Cessna jets continued over the southern half of the state directly above the traffic artery of interstate-25 that more or less followed the course of the Rio Grande, they flew over a series of smaller towns including Socorro and a place with a befitting name for their mission of Truth or Consequences. Then when approaching the city of Las Cruces near the southern reaches of the state and country, another plea for a course correction from a control tower below could be heard. As with before, it went unheeded by both jets. Closing on the area of the Texas state line and the city of El Paso to the near southeast, the planes veered slightly to the west. There would be a few miles of open terrain with almost zero human population below them, but that also meant that they would be in Mexican air space within minutes if not seconds. After making the latest course correction, the pilot of one jet turned to her current co-pilot who had been on the helicopter flight crew and said, “Well Mr. Fisk, if somebody from Fort Bliss doesn’t intercept us within the next few minutes, we should be home free.”

“That’s true, but we should keep a sharp lookout. We could run into some commercial traffic that’s either inbound toward, or outward bound from, El Paso.”

While keeping a vigilant watch for such aircraft, they were suddenly surprised when an Air Force fighter jet swooped down from above and assumed a formation position to their left. Mr. Fisk looked out the right window next to the co-pilots seat and could see another forming up on their sister jet. Then they both saw the military pilot to their own left give an unmistakable hand gesture. He was pointing straight down which could only mean that he wanted them to land immediately. With no reply, the fighter pilot repeated the gesture before holding two fingers upwards. It was their second warning to follow his instruction, and it was possible that there wouldn’t be another.

Turning to Mr. Fisk, the pilot asked, “We are virtually over the border right now, should we call his bluff and make a run for it?”

“We have no choice. None of us can be caught and you know it. Do what you must to elude him, but keep going south!”

With that the pilot gave the fighter jet a friendly wave, and then pushed forward hard on the yoke. The plane took an immediate steep dive, and she yelled to the seven men in the back, “Hold on everyone, this could be a wild ride for the next few minutes.”

The fighter jet dropped into a pursuit of her within an instant, and after a few twists and turns, had the Citation Latitude painted on radar. It had been foolish for the Cessna to try and outfly the fighter even for a moment, and the pilot while smiling with pleasure let his command at Fort Bliss know that he could fire at any second to blow his helpless target to bits. The other pair of jets had gone through a similar dance in the sky with that target now also painted, so all that was needed for both was the order to fire. Much to the dismay of the two fighter pilots who were primed for the rush of a kill, that order never came. President Harwell, per the observation commented upon by Samuel Tillman on President’s weekend back in mid-February, had once again been lethargic with his decision making process. He had waited too long while in flight on Air Force One to order the deployment of pursuit aircraft into the sky with permission to shoot. By the time the fighters had engaged the twin Cessna jets, their enemy was already in Mexican airspace.