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SPECTRE WAS EXHAUSTED after the first sortie. It had been a long time since he had pulled Gs in an aircraft, and even longer since he had gone over 8Gs. It was a lot harder on his body than he remembered. Maybe he was just getting old.
His last flight at the controls had been in a 737-800 for an ultra-low-cost carrier out of New Orleans. Before that, he had flown an A-10 for the Air Force Reserve with Woody and before that, an A-29 Super Tucano. It had been nearly a decade since Spectre had last flown an F-16 and pulled high Gs.
A lot had changed for him since then. Although Spectre was physically still in peak condition, he was nearing forty. His body had been through a lot, having been shot, stabbed and losing a kidney as he and his wife fought to save the country from a despotic madman occupying the office of the Vice President of the United States.
His neck was already starting to get sore as he sat on a bench outside the hangar watching the next group land from their introductory flights. As he gently turned his head, he saw Woody approaching in his red Folds of Honor t-shirt with the top of his flight suit wrapped around his waist. Spectre nodded gently as he saw that Woody was carrying two bottles of water.
“Stay hydrated,” Woody said as he handed one of the bottles to Spectre and sat down.
“How’d the flight go?” Spectre asked.
“Not bad. The airplane is all metric! Woody doesn’t speak European,” Woody replied laughing. “If knots and feet were good enough to put a man on the moon, it’s good enough for me.”
“Yeah, the numbers are way out of whack from what we’re used to, but I’m told the jets we’re getting will have Lynch avionics so it’ll be Imperial units and easier to understand.”
“My instructor was asking why we were wanting to learn how to fly these jets during the brief.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“Everything that I know, which is that I have no idea.”
Spectre laughed. “Good job.”
“Alexei takes a little getting used to, but he is a good instructor,” Woody said. “I had fun. That airplane is incredible.”
“Did he do the heavyweight demo?” Spectre asked.
“No, what’s that?”
“Don’t try to do any of the high alpha stuff when you’re heavy,” Spectre warned. “The jet drops like a rock and takes almost fifteen thousand feet of altitude to recover if you depart controlled flight. My IP put it in a flat spin at twenty-five thousand feet to show me and I was pretty sure we were going to bust through the ten-thousand-foot floor. Recovered right at eleven-five. It was pretty violent and eye-opening.”
“No, we didn’t do any of that, but I’ll take your word for it. No need to show me.”
“Fair enough,” Spectre said.
He looked to the flight line as the first of the second wave of aircraft taxied back in. The aircraft pulled to a stop as a lineman chocked the wheels and the engines spooled down. The canopy opened and the frontseater hopped over to the backseat ladder to assist the backseater.
He appeared to talk briefly to the backseater and then the two slowly descended their ladders. Spectre saw that the backseater was Tuna right before he doubled over and started vomiting toward the aircraft. The Russian instructor jumped back out of the field of fire and appeared to be laughing.
“That’s not good,” Spectre said as he watched Tuna drop to his knees and vomit some more.
Spectre put the bottle of water on the ground next to the bench and started toward Tuna. Sparky taxied in and gave Spectre a huge grin and thumbs up as Spectre jogged across the flight line. His flight had obviously gone very well – or at least better than Tuna’s.
Spectre reached Tuna just as the instructor helped him stand. Tuna was still coughing as he pulled out a bottle of water from his helmet bag and tried to drink.
“You okay, buddy?” Spectre asked.
“Fuck no I’m not okay!” Tuna yelled between coughing. “That shit sucked!”
The instructor let out a hearty laugh and then said, “I make man out of you yet!”
“Fuck off!” Tuna said.
The instructor laughed again and then headed back toward the hangar, leaving Spectre to assist Tuna.
“I’m not made for this shit, dude,” Tuna said as he tried to steady himself. “Flipping and spinning and doing all of that bullshit. I’m a grunt.”
“I understand,” Spectre said. “It’s not for everyone.”
Tuna took a sip of water and then started another coughing fit.
“It’s okay, man. Let’s get your gear off and you can lie down for a bit,” Spectre said as he turned Tuna toward the hangar.
“I can’t do this, dude. You’re going to have to make Dusty a primary or pick someone else or something,” Tuna said. “I’m sorry.”
“We’ll figure that out when we get there,” Spectre said. “Let’s just get to the hangar first.”
“Okay,” Tuna said as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
Spectre helped Tuna to the hangar where Sierra and Ringo intercepted them and helped Tuna with his gear. Kruger had just finished briefing with his instructor for his second flight when he saw them enter the hangar. He excused himself and walked over to Spectre.
“He looks like shit,” Kruger said.
Spectre nodded. “Do you have a backup to the backup in mind?”
Kruger gave Spectre a quizzical look.
“Tuna is out. That now just leaves Dusty and you. We’re going to need a backup in case someone else falls out.”
“Tuna will be fine,” Kruger said. “He’ll shake it off.”
Spectre shook his head and looked at his watch. “We don’t have time. The next flights are already briefing. We have limited time here to get acclimated before we take delivery. There’s no room for error.”
“C’mon, bub.”
“Who did you have in mind?” Spectre pushed.
Kruger scanned the hangar. The members of Project Archangel were either milling about or actively performing security sweeps.
“What about Jenny?” Spectre asked, nodding to the Kruger’s chief pilot who was curiously examining a SU-30 that had been taken apart for maintenance in the hangar.
“She would’ve been my first choice, but no way does that cover story fly,” Kruger said.
“Okay, well that leaves Cowboy or one of the other Brits,” Spectre said. “I don’t really know any of them, so you tell me.”
“Cowboy!” Kruger yelled across the room.
Cowboy had been one of the ones milling about. He heard Kruger and jogged to where he and Spectre had stopped to chat about Tuna.
“What is it, boss? Is Tuna okay?”
“Suit up. You’re the next man on deck,” Kruger said.
“You mean...flying?”
“Have you ever had any issues with motion sickness?” Spectre asked. “Flying, rollercoasters, etc.?”
“Not that I know of. My friend used to take me up in his little aerobatic plane all the time. It was a load of fun, actually.”
“There’s your man,” Spectre said to Kruger.
“What’s the mission?” Cowboy asked.
“Learn everything you can about flying in the backseat. Your instructor is Yuri. He’s over there,” Spectre said, pointing to the instructor standing off to the side watching Tuna being assisted by Sierra and company.
“Get moving, bub,” Kruger ordered.
“Right. Cheers, then,” Cowboy said as he nodded and started toward the instructor.
“I’d better get going too. Time for my brief,” Spectre said, rubbing his sore neck.
“Sucks getting old, doesn’t it?” Kruger asked as he watched Spectre.
“You’re telling me.”