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Kadena Air Force Base
February 14th
0821 Local Time
“Shield Two-One, fly runway heading, quick climb to one-five thousand approved, cleared for takeoff, change to departure,” the female controller said as he took the runway in his F-15C. “Happy hunting.”
“Shield Two-One, runway heading to one-five thousand unrestricted, cleared for takeoff, Shields push four,” he replied before he reached up with his right hand and changed his radio to preset frequency number four while pushing the throttles forward with his left hand to select full afterburner.
With his wingman taking the runway behind him at a fifteen-second interval, Major Jake “Blade” Runner sped down the runway in his F-15C Eagle. Within seconds, the jet was airborne and Blade raised the gear and flaps while holding the nose of the F-15 down to gain as much speed as possible. Once at the end of the runway, Blade pulled the nose straight up, rocketing away from the island of Okinawa as his wingman followed in trail.
“Departure, Shield Two-One airborne, passing one-two thousand,” Runner said as his altitude readout in the Head Up Display rolled through twelve thousand feet. In full afterburner, the F-15 was climbing out at over thirty thousand feet per minute.
“Radar contact,” the male departure controller responded. “Cleared the block flight level two-one-zero through flight level two-three-zero, turn right to heading two-four-zero and contact JEDI control on three-five-six point niner, so long.”
Blade read back the clearance and directed his wingman to change frequencies with him to the tactical controller they would be working with. JEDI was the callsign of the Airborne Warning and Control System E-3 aircraft that was orbiting overhead. The E-3 was a converted Boeing 707 airliner most recognizable by the spinning radar dome on top of the main cabin.
Captain Mike “Taco” Sanchez rejoined to Blade’s left wing as the two leveled off at twenty-one thousand feet and sped toward their assigned area. They had been scrambled from the alert facility at Kadena Air Force Base to intercept and escort Air Force One from Taiwan after a series of attacks at U.S. bases caused the President’s protection detail to cut her visit short.
Blade checked in with JEDI as he pumped his F-15’s nose to give Taco the visual signal to assume a combat spread formation, a mile and a half off Blade’s wing.
“Shield Two-One, vector two-one-zero, Angel is BRAA two-two-zero, twenty, fifteen thousand, track east,” the female controller said. She had given the flight a heading of 210 degrees that put them on an intercept course to Air Force One whose Bearing, Range, Altitude, Aspect (BRAA) was southwest of their position and twenty miles away.
“Shields are buddy locked, Angel,” Blade said, indicating he had located Air Force One using his F-15’s Active Electronically Scanned Array radar.
“JEDI copies, cleared to intercept,” the controller responded.
Blade looked out onto the horizon through his Joint Helmet Mounted Cueing System Visor. The display in his helmet gave him a green square around where the radar thought Air Force One should be. With the perfectly clear blue skies, he could barely make out the tiny black dot that was the 747-800 climbing out of the island of Taiwan.
“On Aux, Shield Two-One is visual Angel,” Blade said on his interflight radio. It was a discrete frequency that the two aircraft could use to communicate with each other.
“Two’s visual,” Taco said, confirming that he also saw the 747.
Blade and Taco sped toward the climbing 747 faster than the speed of sound. Their job was to protect the most powerful person in the world. It was a job neither Blade nor Taco took lightly.
“Two, take the right wing,” Blade directed as they slowed to subsonic airspeeds within a few miles of the massive 747 that was still climbing through twenty-five thousand feet as it headed east into the rising sun.
“Two,” Taco said crisply as he crossed over the top of Blade’s F-15 to rejoin on Air Force One’s right wing.
“JEDI, Shield flight is holding hands with Angel,” Blade said, notifying the controller that they were now in formation with Air Force One.
“JEDI copies,” the controller responded.
“Angel is visual,” a male voice responded. “Good to see you boys,” he added with a thick southern drawl.
* * *
“Taipei Control, Air Force One checking in, Flight Level Three Seven Zero, good morning,” Colonel Charlie Sullivan said as he checked in with the civilian air traffic controllers and verified that the autopilot was set to thirty-seven thousand feet and that their route to Hickam Air Force Base in Honolulu, HI was correctly loaded in the Flight Management System Computer.
“Well, that was sporty,” he said as he slid his captain’s chair back and loosened his shoulder harness. “You ok, Waxburn?”
“Sure,” Lt Col Waxburn responded, staring listlessly out the window at the F-15 on their right wing.
“You sure, Jason?” Colonel Sullivan pressed. “Don’t tell me you’re getting fighter envy over there?”
Waxburn looked back at Col Sullivan with a forced chuckle. He knew his boss was just trying to lighten the mood and engage in their usual “fighter versus heavy” ribbing that they used to pass the time on most flights. Sullivan had flown F-15s early in his career before a ruptured disk and subsequent surgery removed him from ejection seat equipped aircraft. He had transitioned to C-17s; the aircraft Waxburn had spent his entire career flying before joining Sullivan to fly the VC-25 at Andrews.
The aircraft they were flying still had the “new car” smell, having just rolled off the assembly line. Among other improvements, the modified 747-800 eliminated the need for a navigator and flight engineer. Its all-glass cockpit was designed specifically for a two-pilot crew.
“Jealous of those guys?” Waxburn asked after a long silence. “Nah, I like women too much to be jealous of Eagle homos,” he joked, referencing the long-standing lore of a Kadena Eagle pilot in the early nineties that had been caught performing sexual acts with his male crew chief. Despite having never been verified, the reputation stuck and from then on pilots of various rival airframes used it to poke fun at F-15 pilots.
“Ha!” Sullivan laughed. “Welcome back. Thought you were scared shitless over there from all the excitement on takeoff.”
“Yeah, right, I’ve actually been shot at in combat,” Waxburn shot back. “And you??”
“I’ve been shot at a few times myself,” Sullivan replied.
“In the Eagle?”
“Touché,” Sullivan said as they both laughed. “Seriously though,” Sullivan added, “everything ok over there? You looked out of it for a little while.”
Waxburn considered the question for a minute. The last two days had been the worst of his life. He had done everything possible to hide it, but as he realized that there was no way out of his current predicament, it was starting to take a visible toll on him. He had hoped they would’ve stayed on the ground in Taiwan. Maybe the President would have wanted to stay on the ground in Taiwan instead of flying. Maybe the Secret Service would rather be holed up than risk getting airborne. Or maybe the people that had kidnapped his family would fail and he wouldn’t even need to go anywhere.
But as soon as Waxburn heard the news that a suitcase EMP had been detonated at Andersen Air Force Base in Guam, he knew. He knew that there was no way out. He knew that the lives of his wife and son depended on his compliance. He knew that he had just lived his last days of freedom.
Shaking off the feelings of dread and terror, Waxburn smiled and said, “I’m fine. I’ve just been on a weird sleep cycle lately. I’m a little jet lagged.” He lied. He hadn’t slept at all since he learned of his family’s kidnapping. He tried, but even with the Restoril his flight doctor had prescribed him for adjusting his body clock during international travel, he just stared at the spinning ceiling fan in his hotel room and prayed for his family’s safety.
“Ok, bud, just let me know if you need a break,” Sullivan said as he pulled out a newspaper and folded it to the Sudoku puzzle.
“JEDI shows group, ROCK two-seven-zero, fifty, twenty-five thousand, bogey, track east,” the controller said, killing the silence. An unknown formation of fighter aircraft had been spotted by the AWACS radar flying fifty miles west of the preplanned bullseye codenamed “ROCK” located over Taiwan. They had been monitoring the JEDI frequency on their secondary radio while talking to the civilian air traffic controllers on their primary radio.
“Uh oh,” Sullivan said with a frown as he put the paper down and tightened up his harness.
“That’s seventy miles west of us,” Waxburn said as the two exchanged looks.
“JEDI, Shield Two-One, say again strength and track direction,” the lead F-15 pilot asked over the tactical frequency.
“Strength two, two groups, group ROCK two-seven-zero, forty-five, twenty-five thousand, bogey. Group ROCK two-seven-zero, sixty, twenty-thousand, bogey,” the controller said, indicating another group of fighters fifteen miles in trail of the first group.
“Shield, commit, Angel, green east,” the F-15 said as the F-15s peeled away from the 747 in a climbing turn. Despite being in a pressurized cabin, the sound of the F-15s’ afterburners drowned out their own engine noise.
“Go get’em, boys!” Sullivan cheered as he pushed the throttles forward to gain speed and distance from the closing enemy fighters.
* * *
“Shield reference west, green’em up, gate,” Blade said as he flipped the MASTER ARM switch to ARM and selected full afterburner.
His heart was racing as he searched for the groups on his radar display. He had just been sent to hunt down a group of enemy fighters in defense of the President of the United States. It doesn’t get any better than this¸ he thought.
“JEDI, picture,” Blade said as he looked over his left shoulder to find his wingman pacing him in perfect formation two miles away as they accelerated through Mach 1.
“Two groups, range fifteen, lead group, ROCK two-seven-zero, thirty-five, thirty thousand, bogey, two contacts. Trail group twenty-five thousand, bogey,” the controller responded. “Lead group Camaro,” she added.
“Holy shit,” Blade mumbled to himself. Camaro was the code word for the indigenously produced Chinese variant of the SU-27 Flanker. Designated the J-11B, it was the Chinese equivalent of the F-15, complete with medium and long-range radar-guided air-to-air missiles. If the Chinese were really trying to run down Air Force One, the J-11 was the perfect aircraft to try it.
Blade locked the lead group with his F-15’s AESA radar. As the multifunction display just above his left knee showed the two groups heading toward the fleeing Air Force One, Blade realized they were on the verge of kicking off a war with a major superpower. Based on the rules of engagement, he could not shoot into either group without a “Hostile” declaration from AWACS from his current position, but if either group closed to within forty miles of Air Force One that would instantly change and the shooting war would begin. His adrenaline was surging.
“Shield Two sorted southern, lead group,” Taco announced on the auxiliary radio to let his flight lead know that he was also locked into the lead group of J-11s with his radar.
Blade selected his AIM-120 Advanced Medium Range Air to Air Missile and guarded the red “Pickle Button” on the stick with his thumb. With a closure rate of nearly twenty miles per minute between the opposing aircraft, the lead group was quickly approaching the point of hostile intent.
“Fifty miles, lead group drag,” the JEDI controller announced, indicating the lead group of J-11s had turned back west and was no longer a factor.
“Shield shows same,” Blade responded as he watched the lead group turn toward the trail group on his radar display.
“Groups passing,” JEDI announced. Blade watched as the two sets of radar contacts merged on his radar display. He waited for the distance to open between the two groups.
“New picture, single group, ROCK two-seven-zero, forty, thirty-five thousand, bogey, heavy, strength four,” JEDI said.
“Fuck!” Blade hissed behind his oxygen mask. The lead group had rejoined with the trail group. They were now facing a single group of four aircraft approaching their position. They were outnumbered two to one.
“Shield targeted, single group,” Blade responded. His unshakably cool radio voice masked his growing anxiety.
Blade watched with anticipation as the single group marched down his scope. Air Force One was now twenty miles behind his flight and separating rapidly. He was reaching a decision point to either continue to pursue the Chinese fighters or to turn back toward Air Force One.
“Shield Two-One, threat to Angel forty-five miles, single group, ROCK two-seven-zero, thirty, thirty-five thousand, hostile, heavy,” the controller said. That was all he needed to hear. Blade’s flight had just become the last line of defense for the fleeing Air Force One. The group of four J-11s was now thirty miles from Taipei and closing to within forty miles of Air Force One and the imaginary bubble that had been placed around it.
“Shield Two-One,” Blade acknowledged as he waited for a firing solution from his fire control computer for his radar-guided AIM-120 missiles.
“Group maneuver, drag west,” Taco announced as Blade waited for his shot. Looking down at his radar display, Blade confirmed what his wingman was seeing. The four contacts had turned back toward China.
Seeing that they were now getting a bit too far from Air Force One, Blade directed, “Shield flight, abort right. JEDI, monitor that group,” and the two F-15s both executed a descending right hand turn in formation back to the east.
The JEDI controller acknowledged the directive call Blade made to monitor the group as the two Eagles attempted to close the distance to Air Force One. As he checked his fuel state, he realized that they had burned a significant amount of their fuel in trying to run down the fighters, and would not have enough gas to escort Air Force One to where the tanker from Hickam Air Force Base would be meeting them to drag them the rest of the way.
“JEDI, status single group,” Blade queried as he confirmed his fuel calculations.
“Single group cold. Feet dry in twenty miles,” he added, indicating that the four fighters were within twenty miles of reaching Chinese mainland.
“Shield copies. JEDI, Shield flight is Joker, request escort swap out,” Blade said.
“JEDI,” the controller responded. “CAP present position while we work it.”
Blade acknowledged and directed his flight to start an orbit at their present position as Air Force One continued toward Hawaii. At Joker fuel, they had enough fuel to set up a Combat Air Patrol at their current position until they hit Bingo fuel and would be forced to return to base. The CAP would give the controllers enough time to coordinate new fighters to escort Air Force One the rest of the way to Hawaii, while still offering protection from any pop-up threats out of Southeast Asian threat countries.
“Shield Two-One, you’re cleared to RTB,” the controller announced fifteen minutes later. “Hammer flight is en route.”
“Shield Two-One,” Blade replied.
“Goddammit!” Blade said to himself as he recognized the callsign of the Navy F/A-18s. Replaced by a couple of seamen, he thought.