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THE TEAM MADE SEVERAL strategic stops before landing at Minsk National Airport. As they deplaned, they were met by a team of operators in civilian clothes that Kruger introduced as the other members of Project Archangel. Of the six men, Spectre only knew Reginald “Cowboy” Carter, a former member of the British Special Air Service who had been part of Odin under Kruger.
There were three other Brits and two Americans that Spectre had never met before. Kruger introduced the Brits as Captain Jacob “Ringo” Smith, Sullivan Churchill and Phillip Taylor. The two Americans were “Sledge” Hamler and “Dusty” Hogan. They all had varying levels of facial hair. To Spectre, both Sullivan and Sledge looked like they could’ve been professional wrestlers in another life. They towered over the others, sporting shaved heads and almost cartoonish physiques.
After brief introductions, Spectre and company were ushered into the mini-convoy of three up-armored SUVs and the teams departed. They were all given fake United Nations credentials as the team headed for the 61st Fighter Air Base in Baranovichi.
“So, what’s our cover story here?” Woody asked from the back seat. He was in the middle SUV with Spectre, Kruger, Cowboy, and Sparky.
“Until we get to the airbase, we are representing the United Nations Security Council to inspect various military facilities within the country. Once we get to Baranovichi, you’re here to learn how to fly the SU-30 with the others,” Kruger replied.
“So, there’s no cover story when we get there?” Woody asked.
“No, not once we're on base.”
“The Russians and everyone else know we’re doing this?”
“The Russians know. The Belarussians don’t care. They will do whatever the Russians tell them,” Kruger replied.
“I’m confused,” Woody said.
Kruger grinned and turned back to Woody. “Good.”
“Not cool, brah,” Woody replied.
“It’ll make sense as we get closer to the mission,” Spectre interjected. “Don’t worry.”
“Will we be learning in classes with the Belarussians?” Sparky asked.
“No,” Spectre said. “You’re getting the accelerated course. Five flights in three days with academics and then we head back home. You won’t interact with the local fighter pilots.”
Woody laughed. “Great, it’s like a Navy CAT-Other, except worse.”
“What’s a CAT-Other?” Sparky asked.
“It’s a Hornet transition short course. Just ten hours and a checkride. Minimal training. Usually for senior dudes.”
“What about emergency procedures and boldface? Will we get that beforehand to study?” Sparky asked, referring to the time critical memory items pilots needed to know and perform verbatim in the event of an emergency.
“The Russians aren’t using them. You’ll have a quick reference card for your kneeboard,” Spectre answered.
“In English?” Woody asked.
“Yes, in English,” Spectre replied, laughing.
The three-vehicle convoy made it to the airbase uneventfully. They drove straight to the hangar where a woman and two serious-looking men in civilian clothes stood in the parking lot waiting to greet them.
As they exited, the woman walked to Kruger and gave him a hug. They kissed gently on the lips and then said a few words to each other that Spectre couldn’t hear. Having known Kruger as the “angry bearded ginger” for so long, it was weird to Spectre to see Kruger showing affection to another human being, but the two appeared to deeply care for each other. He recognized the look from his own relationship with Michelle.
“This must be Natasha,” Spectre said as the group waited for Kruger and the woman to finish their chat and then turn to them.
“Nat, I’d like you to meet Cal ‘Spectre’ Martin, Trent ‘Woody’ Hardick, and Jonathan ‘Sparky’ Lynch,” Kruger said, introducing her to the trio. The other operators were already at work setting up a perimeter and checking the area for threats.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Natasha said with a thick Russian accent.
“Likewise,” Spectre said, shaking her hand.
“And these two men are Viktor and Anatoly,” Kruger said, nodding to the burly men behind them. “They are with Natasha.”
“I have heard much about you, Mr. Spectre,” Natasha said. “How is Michelle?”
Spectre raised an eyebrow, remembering that Kruger had told him that Natasha was a Russian FSB agent. “You heard about me through work, or...”
“Freddie told me,” Natasha said. “Don’t worry. We will not kidnap you.”
“Kidnap!” Woody yelped. “Dude, what are we doing here?”
Natasha smiled slyly. “Just kidding.”
“Wait, you’re kidding about not kidnapping him? Or kidnapping him?” Woody asked nervously.
“Relax, bub,” Kruger said. “Let’s get to work.”
“The hangar is clear,” Cowboy reported as he approached with Tuna.
Kruger nodded and took the lead with Natasha by his side as the group headed into the hangar. They walked in and Kruger flipped on the lights, revealing two brand new Russian fighter jets.
“Whoa,” Spectre said, marveling at the pair of SU-30s in front of him. “These things are huge.”
“That’s what she said!” Woody quipped as the team fanned out into the hangar.
Spectre rolled his eyes as he walked to the nearest jet. The canopy was open, so he climbed the ladder and looked inside.
Despite being brand new and having large multi-function displays, the cockpit felt dated to Spectre. He wasn’t sure if it was the light blue paint on the metal, or the Russian inscriptions, or the analog backup gauges that looked like they were out of a B-17, but for some reason it just didn’t seem like a new airplane to him.
“Woody, you fought one of these didn’t you?” Spectre asked as he looked down the ladder at Woody and Sparky who were waiting their turn to take a peek.
“I fought the Malaysians a few times,” Woody said.
“Do you remember what the backseater could do with the thrust vectoring?”
Woody shrugged. “Beats me. I only looked in the cockpit once, and I only cared about the front seat because that’s where all the important stuff happens.”
“I’m sure we will find that out during academics, right?” Sparky asked.
Spectre looked around one more time and then stepped down the ladder. Sparky and Woody each took turns exploring the cockpit as Kruger pulled Spectre aside.
“What do you think, bub?” Kruger asked in a low voice so no one else could hear them.
“I think it would be better to have pilots in the backseat who could fly these things if shit starts going wrong,” Spectre said.
“Well, we don’t have that luxury. I can’t train pilots to do this mission with the timeline we have.”
Spectre nodded. “I get that, but I’m not sure I can teach you and Tuna to do pilot shit in that timeline either.”
“Improvise, adapt, overcome, bub,” Kruger replied. “We’re just going to have to make it work.”
“And you’re sure JAX wasn’t available?” Spectre whispered. “JAX” had been a Weapons System Officer that had flown backseat for Spectre on several missions with the elite covert unit called Project Archangel. Although he wasn’t quite an operator like Tuna or Kruger, at least JAX had some level of special operations training to go along with his expertise in the air as a WSO.
“I’m sure,” Kruger replied flatly.
“How sure?”
Kruger sighed softly. “JAX died two years ago.”
“What? How?”
“Crashed his Cessna.”
“Foul play?”
“None that I could find.”
“Well, shit!”
“You just worry about learning the airplanes and getting these guys trained,” Kruger said. “I’ll worry about the other stuff.”
“Who else are you training on your end?”
“Cowboy and Dusty,” Kruger replied.
“What’s Dusty’s story? I’ve never met him.”
“He’s a squid. DEVGRU with the teams. He’s a good shit, don’t worry.”
“When we get home, I’ll do some backseat rides too just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“In case you need someone else to run the OP who can do this without dying in the backseat,” Spectre replied.
“We will be fine,” Kruger insisted. “And besides, I’m not dealing with Michelle if you have to cross the pond for this.”
“Believe me, I don’t plan on it,” Spectre said. “But I wouldn’t want this whole thing to fall apart in the eleventh hour because you don’t have anyone else.”
“If we’re down three out of four guys, we’ve got bigger problems, bub.”
“Fair point.”