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U.S.S. Ronald Reagan
300 Miles Southeast of Japan
February 14th
0835 Local Time
Major Ted “Buck” Rogers took a deep breath as his F/A-18C Hornet’s Auxiliary Power Unit whirred to life. His aircraft was sitting on the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan’s first catapult as one of two Alert 7 aircraft.
After the order to launch was passed over the flight deck announcing system, Buck radioed and received permission to launch from the Air Boss before initiating his start sequence. He and his flight lead, Lieutenant Adam “GLOC” Jamison, had been sitting in their single seat Hornets awaiting a launch order since the attacks on Kadena AFB and Misawa AFB just an hour earlier.
The Nimitz-class nuclear-powered super carrier was heading back to its port in Yokosuka, Japan as part of the U.S. 7th Fleet forward-deployed naval forces. The Gipper and its crew had been participating in a month-long joint exercise with the Air Force and Pacific allies before heading back to port.
Buck’s plane captain and ordnance crews worked busily around the aircraft as he gave them a thumbs up after his second engine came online. He had seven minutes to get airborne, but Buck had to force himself to be slow and methodical to ensure he didn’t miss anything. Although he was a Major with almost two thousand fighter hours, Buck was still relatively inexperienced in the carrier environment.
Taking the exchange tour with the Navy had been a major turning point in Buck’s career. He was an instructor pilot in the F-16 Block 50, and when it was time for his next assignment, he was given the option to go to Luke AFB to become an instructor and possibly transition to the F-35 or take an exchange tour with the Navy flying Hornets.
Traditionally, exchange tours didn’t always involve deploying. Air Force pilots who took them often ended up transitioning to become instructors with the Navy at their schoolhouses. They all at least attempted to achieve carrier qualification, but it was never a requirement unless directly assigned to a fleet squadron. It just wasn’t realistic to expect a guy on a three-year tour to unlearn years of landing habits ingrained from flaring on every landing.
But Buck’s assignment opportunity had been different. The assignment he faced would put him in a deployable fleet squadron. After training, he would once again be the tip of the spear. Buck just couldn’t say no. The F-35 seemed great, but the idea of getting back in the fight in a new aircraft was invigorating. He accepted it without hesitation.
Buck listened intently as the Air Boss passed their initial assigned heading and altitude over the radio. Their aircraft were air to air configured, ready to protect the Carrier Group from any approaching fighters. They wouldn’t know what they were being scrambled on until they were airborne and handed off to the strike frequency, but Buck couldn’t help but wonder what happened. Were they about to enter a shooting war with another country?
As his flight lead’s aircraft launched from a nearby catapult, Buck’s catapult officer gave him the “Final Turnup” hand signal. Buck smoothly advanced the throttles to the stop with his left hand and verified that the engine instruments were in the green as the aircraft seemed to squat slightly. He checked his trim setting on the Flight Control System page in the digital display above his left knee and slowly cycled the flight control stick, ensuring there was no binding and the flight control indications were good. Satisfied that the engines were performing normally in MILITARY power and the aircraft was properly configured to launch, Buck looked over his right thigh and confirmed that the ejection seat was armed. When he was ready to go flying, he looked over, gave a sharp salute to the catapult officer, and grabbed the canopy handhold with his right hand as he leaned back against the headrest.
The catapult officer returned Buck’s salute and immediately dropped to a crouch before checking for a thumbs up signal from the catapult safety officer and squadron aircraft checker behind the aircraft. Once satisfied that the deck was clear and ready for launch, the catapult officer gave a thumbs up to the launching officer.
Moments later, Buck felt the aircraft jolt as the steam catapult propelled him down the runway. As soon as he felt the aircraft move, Buck pushed the throttles forward with his left hand, lighting the afterburners as the F/A-18C rocketed down the carrier deck. As the aircraft cleared the deck, Buck checked his airspeed as he reached the most critical phase of the operation. If the catapult had been set incorrectly or failed, he risked being too slow and settling off the end of the ship without sufficient flying airspeed with only fractions of a second to apply the emergency procedures or eject. Airspeed is good. Gear up. Flaps up. Yee-haw.
Buck made a slight clearing turn to the right as he maintained five hundred feet off the water to gain speed and clear the carrier’s immediate airspace. He picked up a radar lock on his flight lead using the Hornet’s APG-73 radar and was cleared to switch his radio to the Strike frequency as he began his rejoin on his flight lead.
“Hammer flight, standby check-in on PRI, Hammer Four One,” GLOC said as Buck picked him up visually through his Joint Helmet Mounted Cueing System Visor.
“Hammer Four Two,” Buck replied sharply. From radio procedures to visual signals to terminology, Buck still couldn’t get over how different things were between the Air Force and Navy. Sometimes he felt like he was flying for another country’s Air Force as he tried to learn the language of Naval Aviation.
“Hammer flight, vector one eight zero, standby for tasking,” the male controller said.
“One eight zero, Hammer Four One,” GLOC responded.
Buck broke the radar lock and rejoined to a cruise position three hundred feet off GLOC’s right wing as they had briefed earlier. The two aircraft continued climbing through ten thousand feet as they waited for their assignment. Buck confirmed that his AIM-120 AMRAAM and AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles were showing ready on his Stores Management Display.
“Hammer, your tasking is HVAA, callsign ‘Angel’ maintain Angels Twenty, contact JEDI on Green Ten,” the controller said finally on the secure frequency.
“Hammer flight switching, Green Ten,” GLOC responded.
Buck pulled his frequency card off his kneeboard and looked for the secure frequency labeled “Green 10.” He at least felt like he had a better idea of what they were going to do. High Value Airborne Asset (HVAA) protection was a mission he had trained for in both the F-16 and F/A-18. Although he wouldn’t find out what kind of asset they were protecting until they were on station, he assumed it was either AWACS or a VIP aircraft.
“JEDI, Hammer flight checking in as fragged,” GLOC said as they checked in with the AWACS controller.
“Hammer, Angel bears one nine zero, forty, Angels Thirty-Seven, track east,” the controller responded, indicating that the aircraft they were going to protect was roughly forty miles south of their position at thirty-seven thousand feet heading east.
“Hammer Four One radar contact,” GLOC said, indicating he had a radar lock on the aircraft.
The two Hornets established a cut off vector as they started their intercept on the aircraft. Buck took a radar lock and picked out a small dot in the distance behind his visor.
“Hammer Four One will take the left wing. You take the right wing,” GLOC said over the auxiliary frequency.
“Two,” Buck responded, cringing as he realized he had reverted to his Air Force communication habits. Some habits were just hard to break.
As the tiny speck grew larger, Buck could make out that it was a very large aircraft. It looked a lot like the tankers he had rejoined on hundreds of times before. But as they closed to less than two miles, he started making out the color scheme. It appeared white at first, but as they closed to within a few miles, he could finally make out the distinctive color scheme. It was Air Force One.
Holy shit, Buck thought. I am escorting the President of the United States!
* * *
Colonel Sullivan loosened his shoulder straps and leaned forward as he strained to see the approaching flight of F/A-18s. As they waited for their new escort to catch up, they had been calculating the fuel required to get to Honolulu. After firewalling the throttles to escape the approaching Chinese fighters, they wanted to be sure they still had plenty of fuel to make it to their destination plus reserve fuel to divert if necessary.
“What did I tell ya?” Sullivan barked as he reached over and hit Waxburn’s arm. “Fucking seamen!”
Waxburn looked out over the right wing to see his new escort in a loose formation slightly above and behind them. He had been praying that a second escort would not show up, but he knew that wasn’t realistic. Given all that had happened in the last few hours, there was no way the military would allow the President’s aircraft to go unescorted.
“Jesus, Jason, are you sure you’re ok?” Sullivan asked.
“Huh?” Waxburn said, turning to see Sullivan staring at his left hand. He was clutching his pen.
“You’ve got a death grip on that thing. Look how white your knuckles are!” Sullivan said, staring at Waxburn’s death grip on the ink pen.
“Oh,” Waxburn said after a moment of hesitation. “Just a lot going on, I guess.”
Waxburn slowly put the pen back in his shirt pocket and stretched out his fingers, allowing the blood flow to return. He didn’t even remember pulling it out of his pocket.
“I’ll call Kevin up here to give you a break if you want,” Sullivan said, reaching for the interplane phone system to call the standby pilot up to relieve Waxburn.
“No, don’t do that!” Waxburn said as he reached out and blocked Sullivan’s hand.
“Say again?” Sullivan asked incredulously as he quickly withdrew his hand, surprised Waxburn had stopped him.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Waxburn retreated. He paused to gather his thoughts. “I just don’t want to be relieved and have people asking questions. You know how that stuff goes. Once it gets reported, it’s all downhill.”
Sullivan nodded. “Then be honest with me and tell me what’s going on over there.”
Waxburn considered his options. He desperately wanted to tell Sullivan everything – to get the monkey off his back and come clean, hoping that letting someone into his nightmare might help him find an escape route. But as he formulated the words to explain his predicament to his friend and mentor, the images of his family came flooding back. He loved them more than life itself. It was just too much.
“I’m just distracted,” Waxburn said cautiously. “Clara left me and took my son before this trip. We’re going to try to work it out when I get home, but it’s been a rough few days.”
Sullivan nodded understandingly. “That sucks, buddy. I’m sorry.”
Waxburn closed his eyes and exhaled slowly as he tried to erase the image of Clare’s ringed finger in the envelope. “I would rather be up here working than back there thinking about it. I’m sorry. I’ll compartmentalize it and move on.”
Sullivan smiled. “They’re sending a tanker for our boat buddies,” he said, changing the subject. “Should be on station in an hour. Let’s work on the rendezvous plan.”
“Roger,” Waxburn said, shaking it off.