| |
“Buck” Rogers had just finished off his last Clif Bar when GLOC broke the prolonged silence with a fuel check. “Hammer Four One is ten point eight, good pressure, good transfer,” he said.
Buck stuffed the wrapper of his Clif Bar into the helmet bag and checked the digital fuel display. All tanks were feeding normally, and he had just under eleven thousand pounds of fuel remaining. He looked down at the cabin altimeter between his legs. It was reading just over ten thousand feet. At their cruising altitude of thirty-four thousand feet, it was just right.
“Hammer Four Two, ten-nine, good pressure, good transfer,” Buck responded. He put both hands on the canopy rails and leaned back. The Hornet’s altitude hold and auto throttles were keeping the aircraft in a good formation off the massive 747’s right wing. Other than the cool factor of escorting the President of the United States, he was really just building flight time.
“Next divert is Midway Island in seventy-five miles, then Texaco Six One will meet us about three hundred miles east for our last splash of gas before Hawaii,” GLOC said.
“Two,” Buck replied as he pulled up the map on the iPad mini strapped to his leg. He pulled up the imagery of the former naval base. It was a good piece of concrete to put the jet down on in an emergency, but it had no locals or support at all. If he had an emergency that required landing there, he would be on his own until a rescue detachment could be mustered.
“You did bring your wallet, didn’t you?” GLOC asked over the auxiliary frequency.
“Spectacles, testicles, wallet, and watch,” Buck replied with his standard “leaving the house” chant.
“Good,” said GLOC. “We will probably be at Hickam for a day or two. Going to need beer and clothes money. And money for whatever fruity drinks you Air Force dudes drink. Appletinis?”
“Sounds like fun,” Buck replied. Despite the barrage of shit the Navy dudes gave him daily for being an Air Force guy, Buck liked GLOC. He was a relatively young lieutenant, but he was a competent flight lead.
Although GLOC’s callsign was an acronym for “Gets Lost Over China” in honor of wandering into Chinese airspace during an exercise with the Taiwanese Air Force, GLOC had advanced fairly quickly through the Strike Fighter Weapons and Tactics syllabus. He had earned his Level IV qualifications faster than any other Junior Officer in the Air Wing. Buck respected that and enjoyed talking tactics with him.
When it came to combat experience, however, GLOC was a nugget compared to Buck. Having spent most of his first sea tour with the 7th Fleet, GLOC hadn’t made it to the big dance yet. He had been involved in several real-world missions involving intercepting Chinese fighters and Russian bombers, but had yet to “drop bombs in anger.”
Buck had not only been to war, but had done so in three different campaigns. As a young wingman in the F-16, he had deployed to Balad Air Force Base in Iraq, where he provided Close Air Support to troops on the ground as the war drew down. Eighteen months later, Buck deployed once again, this time providing Close Air Support in the mountains of Afghanistan. Shortly before his orders to the Navy exchange tour dropped, Buck had gone with his squadron to support the Suppression of Enemy Air Defense Mission while doing missions in Libya. Although he enjoyed being at the tip of the spear, he was glad they were out of the threat area for the time being.
“Hammer Four One, JEDI,” a female controller chimed in on their primary radio.
“Go for Hammer flight,” GLOC responded.
“Angel is not responding, can you relay?” the controller asked.
“Hammer,” GLOC said before pausing. “Angel, Hammer Four One.”
Silence.
“Angel, Hammer Four One, how do you read?” GLOC repeated.
Still nothing.
“Hammer Four Two, you’re cleared in close to take a peek in the cockpit,” GLOC directed. They had been flying fifteen hundred feet off either wing in a “loose cruise” formation.
“Two,” Buck responded. He advanced the throttles and moved in close. As he neared the Boeing 747’s right wing, he stepped up, flying high to get in close to the cockpit. As he looked in the cockpit, he saw the co-pilot flying in the right seat wearing an oxygen mask. The captain’s seat was empty.
“One, I think they’re having issues,” Buck said as he strained to get a better look.
“What kind of issues?” GLOC asked.
Buck started to reply when suddenly the Boeing nosed over. Buck made a hard turn to the right and climbed, trying to ensure separation. As he rolled out, he saw GLOC’s Hornet roll inverted and chase the descending 747.
“What in the actual fuck!” GLOC yelled over the auxiliary radio.
Buck gave chase, rejoining aft and high of the 747 as it descended steeply. The aircraft’s spoilers were fully extended as the aircraft hurtled toward the clear blue water below.
“JEDI, Hammer flight, Angel is in a descent,” GLOC said over the primary frequency.
“JEDI copies, shadow,” the controller directed.
“I think they had a decompression,” Buck said on the aux frequency as he descended in IDLE and fanned the speed brake to maintain position. “There was only one pilot there and he was on oxygen.”
“JEDI, we think they might be doing an emergency descent due to decompression,” GLOC relayed to the controller.
“JEDI copies, standby,” the controller responded. Buck could hear the hesitation in her voice. Although he hadn’t spent much time escorting Presidents, he was almost positive the controller sitting in the AWACS aircraft one hundred miles behind them had never encountered anything like this before. They were all entering uncharted waters.
GLOC tried radioing the pilot of the 747 several more times as it sped toward the water. As it blitzed through ten thousand feet, the aircraft suddenly began to level off. Both Buck and GLOC had to do S-turns to stay behind the 747 as it started to slow.
“What’s he doing?” GLOC asked over the auxiliary frequency.
Buck looked down at his iPad and pinched the screen with his fingers. As the display zoomed in, he noticed they were less than twenty miles away from Henderson Field Airport on Midway Island.
“Landing at Midway!” Buck exclaimed.
The 747 continued slowing as Buck saw the tiny atoll out in the distance. The blue and white jumbo jet made a shallow turn to the right and then turned back left a few minutes later to line up on final for Runway 06.
As the aircraft slowed below two hundred knots, Buck and GLOC dropped their flaps to HALF to allow them to slow down enough to keep pace with the lumbering aircraft.
“JEDI, Hammer Four One,” GLOC said on the primary radio.
“JEDI go—” the controller began before her transmission was cut off by static.
“JEDI, Hammer flight,” GLOC repeated.
“Hamm-” More static. The controller was unreadable.
“Give them a try, Buck,” GLOC said on the auxiliary radio.
Buck tried three more times as they closed in on the tiny island with no luck. The two fighters continued chasing the 747 as it lowered its gear five miles from the runway and prepared to land.
“Nothing,” Buck said over the auxiliary frequency.
“Copy, let’s just—” GLOC replied before he was interrupted by static.
“Say again?”
More static.
Buck tried to make contact with GLOC, but each time he keyed the radio, there was a loud squeal and static as he tried to transmit. Someone was actively jamming their communications.
GLOC and Buck leveled off at one hundred feet as the 747 touched down in the first thousand feet. Buck watched as the thrust reversers of the four big turbofan engines deployed as the 747 slowed to a stop.
Satisfied that the President’s aircraft was safely on deck, Buck rejoined to a parade position just a few feet off GLOC’s wing. As GLOC looked over at him, Buck waved his hand in front of his mask and over his ear. It was the “No Radio” visual signal often called the “Helen Keller” indicating that he could neither hear his flight lead nor transmit out. Buck couldn’t remember the Navy version of the hand signal. He hoped he had gotten it right. GLOC returned the same hand signal, acknowledging that both aircraft were unable to transmit or receive.
Buck nodded, relieved that he had gotten it right. GLOC made a fist, extended his thumb, and motioned back and forth across both shoulders. Buck recognized it as the hand signal to go to cruise and backed off his formation as the two aircraft accelerated and raised their flaps.
GLOC set up the formation in a left-hand orbit over the airfield. Buck watched Air Force One come to a stop near the end of the runway. Moments later, he noticed multiple black vehicles approaching. They appeared to surround the aircraft.
Using his helmet-mounted cueing system, Buck designated Air Force One through his visor, slewing his ATFLIR Advanced Targeting Pod to the area. Through the green monochrome display on his right knee, Buck watched what appeared to be Humvees with roof-mounted turrets surround the aircraft.
Shit! Air Force One is surrounded! Friend or foe? Buck thought to himself. He knew Midway Island was a standard divert location. Had the Secret Service pre-positioned assets in case of an emergency scenario? He hated not being able to talk to command and control or his flight lead. They needed to be working together to figure out a game plan in the event that the vehicles surrounding Air Force One were hostile.
With his eyes glued to the display above his right knee, Buck watched the events unfolding. He counted at least a half dozen Humvees with men carrying rifles emerging and taking up positions around the aircraft. Buck looked up to find his flight lead, realizing he had lagged behind and out of position as he had become fixated on the screen. He added power to catch back up.
As he looked back down at the infrared image, the screen was suddenly lit up with four explosions and the looming smoke from four rocket propelled grenades being launched. They each hit their intended targets, destroying the engines of the 747.
“Shit!” Buck yelled beneath his mask. Hostiles!
Buck looked back outside to see the burning engines. He prayed that the fuel lines didn’t rupture as he watched helplessly from above. When they didn’t, Buck remembered a special he had watched on the History Channel about Air Force One. In addition to being armored in critical locations, the aircraft had been equipped with combat fuel cells that could self-seal and fill with foam to prevent explosion. Although the aircraft was now immobilized, it was still mostly protected.
A flash and a streak of white smoke caught Buck’s eye as he watched the combatants continue to surround Air Force One. Buck tried another radio call, but it was no use. Buck looked up just as the object streaked in front of him toward his flight lead’s jet. The missile guided on GLOC’s Hornet, exploding into a brilliant fireball as it pierced the fuselage and detonated.
Buck let out a string of self-protection flares as he pulled up to avoid the debris. As he cleared the wreckage now falling like a flaming autumn leaf to the ground, Buck looked back to look for a parachute.
Please buddy. Please get out, he thought. But as the wreckage plummeted to the island below, there was no ejection attempt. Hammer Four One was down. GLOC was dead.
Buck’s adrenaline surged. He was back in combat. His aircraft wasn’t configured for this kind of air to surface fight, but he knew he had to do something. He thought back to his first priority – survive.
He needed to get out of the missile engagement zone, so that he could calm down and come up with a plan. As he started to climb, another smoke trail caught his eye. He immediately discharged a string of flares as he broke into the missile. As it continued guiding toward him, he let out more flares and pulled to the Hornet’s G-limiter. The missile overshot, exploding a few hundred feet away.
As he recovered back to level flight, Buck lit the afterburner and climbed away. He needed distance and altitude so he could live to fight another day.