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THE ALL-WHITE GULFSTREAM 650 taxied to a stop in front of the Base Operations building at Eglin Air Force Base. The pilots didn’t shut down its engines as the lineman chocked the wheels and the airstairs lowered.
Sparky jogged out from Baseops, carrying his duffle in his left hand and a backpack over his right shoulder. He was greeted by an attractive younger woman wearing a dark gray pantsuit and sunglasses.
“Major Lynch?” the woman asked as she approached him. Sparky hesitated as he barely made out a British accent over the engine noise.
“I’m Sierra Carter,” the woman added as Sparky stopped. “I’m here to take you to Spectre.”
Sparky relaxed slightly as he heard Spectre’s callsign. He shook the woman’s hand.
“Do you need my identification?” Sparky asked.
“That won’t be necessary, we’ve already positively identified you,” she said.
“How?”
Sierra pointed back to the Baseops building. “Facial recognition based on those cameras.”
“Do you have an ID?” Sparky asked as he turned back to her.
“No,” she responded curtly. “Now, come along, we have a long flight ahead of us.”
Without waiting for him to respond she turned and motioned for him to follow her back to the waiting luxury business jet. Sparky stood there watching her for a moment and then jogged to catch up, his duffle skipping along the ground as he tried to hurry.
As she reached the stairs, Sierra once again turned and stopped Sparky.
“Your mobile please,” she said, holding out her hand.
“What?” Sparky yelled, struggling to hear her over the engines. Sweat was starting to bead on his forehead from the hot Florida sun and the effort of dragging his bags a few hundred feet.
“Give me your mobile phone!” Sierra repeated.
Sparky fished it out of his flight suit pocket and reluctantly handed it to her. She removed the micro sim card and the battery and continued into the airplane. Sparky followed her up the stairs, watching as she deposited the phone into a metal container and the other items into a separate one.
“Hey!” Sparky protested. “What’s all that about?”
“You’re off the grid now, my friend,” a voice to his right said.
Sparky turned and saw Woody, an old friend he had met when Woody first flew Hornets and Sparky was an F-16 instructor. They had fought each other many times in the airspace over Fallon Naval Air Station and had become good friends.
Woody was sitting in a large leather chair with a napkin tucked in his t-shirt as he worked on a T-bone. Unlike Sparky, it was hard to tell he was a fighter pilot or even in the military. His dark, spiked up hair was much longer than Sparky’s high and tight, and he was wearing a Metallica t-shirt and blue jeans.
“Woody?” Sparky asked, dumbfounded as he blocked the door. One of the pilots squeezed by him and closed the door before retreating into the cockpit as Sparky shook off his surprise and moved out of the way.
“Please, stow your bags in this closet and have a seat,”
Sierra said, indicating the forward closet. “We’re ready for departure.”
She turned toward the cockpit and opened the door, disappearing as Sparky opened the closet door. He placed his bags gently in the remaining space and then walked back to where Woody was still enjoying his evening meal. Woody wiped his hand on his cloth napkin and then shook Sparky’s hand.
“How the hell are you?” Woody asked.
“I’ve been good. Where’d you get that?” Sparky asked, sitting in the seat across the aisle as he eyed what was left of Woody’s steak.
“Fully stocked galley in the back, brah. It’s awesome.”
Sierra returned and took a seat across from Sparky as the Gulfstream started to taxi.
“Excuse me, ma’am, I’ll have what he’s having, please,” Sparky said, pointing to Woody.
Woody belted out a laugh as Sierra’s eyebrows furrowed.
“She’s not a flight attendant, dude,” Woody said, trying not to choke on his water as he laughed.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Sparky said, blushing as he held up his hands.
“It’s quite alright,” Sierra replied.
“That accent. Where are you from?”
“That’s none of your concern,” Sierra said flatly.
“I did an exchange tour with the RAF,” Sparky replied. “I’m just trying to place it. Lancashire?”
“There’s food in the back,” Sierra said, pointing to the aft galley. “If you’re hungry, you can help yourself once we get airborne.”
Sparky leaned over and whispered to Woody, “I guess you had a fun flight over here.”
“It was great!” Woody said loudly. “I don’t ask questions that I don’t want the answer to.”
“How’d you get wrangled into this?” Sparky asked as the engines spooled up for takeoff.
“Same as you, I’d imagine. Spectre talked me into doing something dumb.”
“How do you know him?”
“We flew together in New Orleans.”
“New Orleans? You flying Hornets down there?”
“A-10s. I joined Mother Blue a few years ago. Spectre and I deployed together. How’d you know him?”
“Wow. Small world. I didn’t know y’all knew each other. Or that you were in the Air Force. I guess it’s been a while.”
“Well, when you’re busy flying every fighter ever made, that stuff happens,” Woody said with a grin.
“Spectre and I went to pilot training together. We were good buddies back then, but I guess I did a bad job of keeping in touch with both of you.”
“It happens,” Woody said, holding onto his tray to keep it from sliding as the plane rotated and took off. “You should really get one of these steaks. It’s pre-cooked, but if you heat it up for about ten minutes in the oven back there, it really seals in the flavor.”
Sparky looked back at Sierra who appeared to be reading a book or some other document on her tablet and then leaned toward Woody.
“So, any idea what the mission is?” Sparky asked.
Sierra looked up, watching the two pilots as Sparky waited for an answer.
Woody made eye contact with her and then said, “Nope. Above my paygrade. All I know is they’ll tell us when we get there.”
Seeing Woody’s exchange with Sierra, Sparky turned and looked at her. “At some point are you going to tell me who you are?”
“Perhaps,” Sierra said with a sly smile as she went back to reading her tablet.
Sparky shook his head and leaned back in his seat, looking out the window as the aircraft climbed through a cloud layer. When they leveled at cruising altitude, the pilots extinguished the seat belt light. Sparky got up and walked to the back.
He made himself a steak sandwich and then returned, this time sitting in the chair across from Woody and placing his food on the table between them.
“So, are you married? Kids?” Sparky asked.
“Married, one little heathen so far.”
“How old?”
“Ten months.”
“Does the wife know about this?”
Woody shrugged. “She knows I’m going on a short TDY to Nellis.”
“Short? Spectre made it sound like it could be a pretty lengthy project.”
“Depends on what it is. I’m just a TR right now and I have a real estate business. I don’t have time for anything lengthy unless it involves aliens attacking and me being the last line of defense.”
“TR?”
“Traditional Reservist. I’m a part-timer at the A-10 squadron.”
“But if you can’t stay for the long haul, why are you going?”
“I told Spectre I’d hear him out first. So that’s what I’m going to do. Plus, it sounds like the money might be worth it.”
“Yeah, ten million, right?”
“So they say. Like I said, I’m just going to hear him out. Even ten million might not be worth it.”
“So, you’re going, knowing you might not even do it?”
“Maybe the aliens really are attacking. I don’t know,” Woody said, laughing.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have been so eager to agree to it.”
“Are you still active duty?”
“Yeah,” Sparky replied.
“Well, you probably know Spectre better than I do, but I’m sure it’s legit no matter what it is. I’m just not sure it’s something you guys will need me for.”
“Fair enough,” Sparky replied before taking a bite of his sandwich.
As Sparky finished his food, Woody walked to the rear of the aircraft and took a nap on one of the beds.
As the aircraft started its descent, Sierra walked to the back.
She returned with Woody in trail and ordered him to sit. She then walked to the front and came back carrying what appeared to be two black cloth bags.
“Put this on,” Sierra said, handing them to both men.
“On what?” Woody asked.
“Your head.”
“What?” Woody yelped.
“Sorry, but that’s protocol.”
“Wait, aren’t we going to Nellis?” Sparky asked as he stared at the bag.
“Put them on, or I’m afraid we’ll have to divert,” Sierra insisted.
“Never mind, I get it,” Sparky said as he put the bag over his head.
“Well, will you explain it to me? Because I don’t,” Woody said. “Are we going somewhere off the books?” Woody asked. “Like Area 51?”
“Something like that,” Sparky said.
“So, there might actually be aliens!” Woody said, putting the bag over his head.
* * *
SPECTRE WAS SITTING in the inner vault of the highly classified black site in the Nevada desert when Kruger walked in.
“You scared me,” Spectre said. “I barely recognize you without the beard.”
“Believe me, bub, I’m not a fan of it either,” Kruger said. “But it’s the way this has to go.”
“Any word from Woody and Sparky?”
Spectre had been sitting in the vault combing through the highly classified list of possible scenarios trying to come up with the best way to execute the mission without getting his friends killed.
“Your friends are on their way,” Kruger said as he walked over to the mini-fridge and retrieved two bottles of beer. He handed one to Spectre and then sat in the chair across from Spectre’s corner desk.
Spectre looked up briefly as he accepted the beer and placed it on the desk. He went back to flipping through the various scenario briefings.
“What are you thinking?” Kruger asked.
“That it’s a suicide mission,” Spectre replied without looking up.
“They’ll be on the ground in three hours,” Kruger said, looking at his watch. “We’ll need some semblance of a plan by the time they show up.”
Spectre pulled out one of the documents and placed in on the desk. It had a picture of a Russian fighter jet on it with TOP SECRET classification markings on the top and bottom. He tapped the picture with his finger.
“Can your contacts pull this off?”
“Everything is already arranged,” Kruger said. “Just say the word and we’ll execute.”
“And the other COAs?” Spectre asked, referring to the other Courses of Action.
“We’ve vetted each of these scenarios, bub. I chose you to make the decision and handle the tactical planning because I think you’re best suited for it. Whichever method you decide, we will execute.”
“Geez. No pressure, huh?”
“You know what the stakes are, bub.”
“We’re going to need training.”
“We?”
“I’ll need to get checked out in the aircraft to train them, and it’s probably a good idea for me to learn everyone’s role so that I can adjust the plan if necessary.”
“How much training do you think everyone will need?”
Spectre considered Kruger’s question for a minute. “Five sorties, minimum, for a basic aircraft checkout with a qualified instructor. And then we’ll need a few weeks to train for the actual mission.”
“Let me make some phone calls,” Kruger said as he tossed his empty beer bottle into the trash can and stood. “Are you sure you need that many? You didn’t have any training to go to Cuba.”
“I already knew how to fly that jet. This is a brand new aircraft for both Woody and Sparky. You’re asking them to fly a brand new jet and convince the North Koreans that they are experienced demo pilots. This is the absolute bare minimum.”
“I’ll make it happen,” Kruger said. “Are you sure these guys will sign up for this?”
“No,” Spectre said. “But they’re the two best pilots I can think of for this plan.”