3

Off the coast of Libya, October, 2010

The whining sound of the turboprop engines resonated within the small, four-foot-wide cabin of the surveillance aircraft as Lieutenant Commander Max DuMonde reviewed the instruments depicted on the flat screen in front of him. He checked his altimeter and reduced speed as he approached the intended target, a small island just off the nose of the aircraft. The plane he flew was the Navy’s new project surveillance aircraft, code named Condor. Condor was an evolution of the little-known skunkworks project made to create a silent, manned, night-aircraft observation platform during the Vietnam conflict.

The first aircraft used for that early project was a Schweizer 2-32 sailplane converted to run on its own power by using a piston engine and a multi-blade wooden propeller spinning at very low rpms, which minimized the sound signature of the rotating propeller.

Once the project became active, it surpassed all expectations. It was able to fly down to 200 feet at night without detection. The North Vietnamese even had stories circulating around their ranks of a flying ghost ship. The project was such a success that the Schweizer Company began its own stealth aircraft project dedicated to providing silent, night patrol aircraft for surveillance and observation. Eventually, Sikorsky bought out Schweizer Aircraft Company and continued building and improving on the surveillance aircraft program.

The Sikorsky SA-38BN, the “N” being its Navy designation, was the latest in this type of aircraft design, and the most sophisticated surveillance platform aircraft to leave the Schweizer assembly line, thanks to U.S. Navy funding. Operation Condor was the Navy’s answer to the growing compromise between the use of manned and unmanned aircraft surveillance vehicles that provided longer aloft times and the ultimate in safety for pilots, since the pilot would be flying the plane via remote control from a comfortable chair thousands of miles away from the danger.

On the other hand, the Navy and Marine higher-ups were old-fashioned and believed that the human element in the battlefields was an important and justifiable method to get the job done. The Marines had already reactivated the OV-10 Bronco, an old and trusted Forward Air Control (FAC) conventional twin turboprop aircraft. The Navy went the opposite way and invested in a new aircraft to fill the FAC role. The Air Force, on the other hand, was known for testing the unknown so they went with the drones, as did the Army. The test reports did show the advantages and also the disadvantages of the unmanned aircraft. So, as always, the land- and ocean-based warriors agreed to disagree and chose different paths.

Even with all the Navy’s backing, the Condor project was still in jeopardy. The techs in the Pentagon had to please the politicians who disliked spending more money on putting a human in harm’s way, especially in the economic downturn. So it was down to the test phase of the project, which would determine the final decision to add the Condor to the Navy’s military arsenal or into the Naval archive of failed projects.

At first glance, the two Condors the Navy had ordered appeared to be like the other surveillance aircraft that rolled out of the Schweizer plant. The original fuselage contained room for a crew of three: pilot, copilot, and dedicated surveillance engineer; or a crew of two, working with the extra surveillance package. Its power came from two Pratt & Whitney PT6A-34A turboprop jet engines put in center thrust configuration. One engine lay in front of the cockpit, the second facing rearward behind the cockpit.

The wing roots extended toward twin booms from the cockpit sides and the wings stretched out from the booms in sailplane fashion, long and thin, allowing the aircraft to soar quietly in a thermal updraft if the occasion called for it.

Within these booms were a mired mix of electronic equipment, including the AN/APG-78 Longbow millimeter-wave Fire Control Radar (FCR) target acquisition system, and the Radar Frequency Interferometer (RFI) all redesigned and connected to a forward-looking infrared surveillance unit (FLIR). Both these booms extended rearward out past the rear engine and were connected by a rudder/elevator wing.

The major difference in the Navy’s Condors lay in their extensive prototype electronics equipment that took up all available space, including the right seat, which in the military was reserved for the copilot. It included the replacement of stronger and taller landing gear, along with a tail hook, to accommodate the harsh aircraft carrier landings. Armor plating was also installed. The armor hugged the pilot in his seat, protecting him from bullets on both sides, including the seat base and back, and a single .50 caliber machine gun on a rotating ball turret was under the cockpit.

It was this .50 caliber automatic rifle that gave the Condor’s pilot, Lieutenant Commander Max DuMonde, a sense of comfort, knowing that, if needed in a combat situation, he could help instead of flying around helplessly waiting for the gunships to arrive. They also gave the Condor an edge over its competition, allowing the pilot of the aircraft to hit any target with surgical precision. Its competition, the unmanned drones, used the Hellfire missiles to kill.

The Hellfire missiles were considered a waste of good money and firepower by the Navy. They, in turn, figured that the same mission could be done with the precision of the .50 caliber bullet from high above. Max, a former Navy SEAL, also had firsthand experience and knew the importance of friendly .50 caliber bullets covering fighting men on the ground.

“Condor One, Control. Do you copy?” crackled the voice of the radar operator flying in the Navy AWACS air control plane 20,000 feet above the Condor’s position.

Max clicked the mike button. “Control, this is Condor One. Copy five-by-five,” he responded and began his much-practiced routine inside the Condor. “Control, Condor approaching vector. Turning to target in two, switching frequency. Over.”

“Roger, Condor, have you on scope, good hunting. Out.”

Max reached out his gloved hand and pressed on the touch screen of the rectangular 8x20-inch LCD in front of him. He found the corresponding radio frequency and touched it with his bare finger that stuck out of the tip of his Nomex fireproof glove. The white numbers switched to red, signifying that that radio frequency was now on and active. The new touch screen was a marvel. It worked much like his iPad, allowing him to touch and set up the screen as he wished. Right now he had the center occupied by a synthetic vision of the outside world, along with the primary flight control systems overlay. The far left of the screen displayed the radio and transponder information, and to the far right, the digital readout of the aircraft’s engines, temperature, and fuel status.

“Fish, this is Condor, you read?” Max said into the mike.

A thousand feet below and two miles to the east, two black shadows scaled the rock cliff of a small deserted island off the coast of Libya. The first shadow stopped and spoke into his neck microphone, which picked up and transmitted the vibrations from the wearer’s vocal cords.

“Condor, this is Fish. We copy.”

“Roger, Fish. How you doing?”

“Fine. How about you?”

“Coming up on your position. Can you detect my sound signature?”

“Yep, I hear you.”

“Good, give me a second. Activating silent mode.” Max pressed the silent icon on the right of the LCD screen and the rear engine began to wind down. He felt the automatic flight control system move the corresponding throttle quadrant back into its idle position and watched through his rearview mirror as the rear propeller spun down, feathering itself and allowing it to cut into the wind, which minimized the aerodynamic drag. The front propeller still turned, but at a much slower rate, giving just enough thrust to keep the Condor aloft. “Fish. How do I sound now?”

“All went silent from down here. As far as I know, you don’t exist.”

“Good, activating HMD.” He had yet to try out the new generation-five Helmet Mounted Display in a real-mission scenario. Up to now all his experiences using the HMD had been within California airspace or inside the simulator at the Naval Base in San Diego. He touched the HMD icon with his exposed finger. The world around him flickered and suddenly contained 3D floating icons of all types. The new system reflected off the mirrors in his line of sight and onto the visor much like the heads-up display in the jet fighters. The biggest difference was that his heads-up display was the helmet he now wore, giving him a 360-degree, 3D view of the world around him. The icons would remain in place despite his direction of sight, much like the stars at night.

Max looked up as a new icon came into view from the top left-hand corner of the visor. He turned his head once more and the icon got brighter as it centered on the middle of his visor. He knew that all he had to do was press the small button on the control stick next to his ring finger and the computer would set the radio to the AWACS aircraft above. Each button on the control stick and throttle quadrant was connected to the HMD, allowing him to control the Condor’s equipment without moving his hands from the controls.

What gave the HMD such power was the new Active Electronically Scanned Array radar, or AESA radar, as it was known. The new radar worked in tandem with all the other electronics in the plane. It had fast processing times, which gave the HMD the possibility of viewing the world around it in real-time, three-dimensional space. The other hidden treat in the Condor’s arsenal was the experimental Forward-Looking Infrared Radar and listening device, or FLIR. The new FLIR he worked with now was different in that its lens had more magnifying power than the previous model, and contained a sophisticated gyroscopic and computer system that reduced vibration in the image on the screen.

“FLIR coming online.” He controlled the zoom lens with his left thumb, and rotated the FLIR pod by turning his head toward the intended target. The target appeared on both his HMD and on the top left of the LCD screen. The helmet and FLIR slave connection was cut when he clicked on the spot he was looking at, allowing him to turn his head around in the cockpit without changing the line of sight on the FLIR scope, which was now locked on the target, its image projected onto a small area of his HMD. “HMD functioning, FLIR… Fliring.”

A laugh echoed in his headset. “Don’t quit your day job, Max.”

“Guess I am not feeling it today, but I’m here all night, so get used to it,” Max said as he course-corrected the Condor.

“How do you see us?”

Max zoomed in even closer and was amazed at not only the clarity of the new lens that was installed just days before, but also the stillness of the picture it produced. The camera picked up the figure of Max’s best friend and Navy SEAL Commander Val Vittoria, as he stood upright on a boulder five times his size perched on the edge of a cliff. Val was dressed in his black combat outfit and carried his M4 rifle slung across his chest. Max reactivated the FLIR for manual adjustments and focused even closer. “Fish, your shoelace is untied.”

“What?” Val looked down and noticed that his shoelace was indeed untied. “That’s fuckin’ amazing. You can see that?”

“Obviously...but I didn’t have to look to know that you’re too dumb to know how to tie your own shoes.” Max zoomed out and saw Val’s teammate below hanging off one of the many cliff outcroppings. “Why don’t you ask Sergeant Perez to tie them for you?”

“Ha, ha, asshole.”

“All right, back to business. You guys do your thing and I’ll start the test run.”

“Copy. Doing our thing.”

Max went through his checklist for the night’s exercise. He was to run a mock-up target identification and acquisition procedure using all the systems at hand. He looked around once more and allowed himself to relax, let go of control of the Condor to the computer and set the autopilot to circle the island at 1,000 feet. He eased his grip on the controls and played with the FLIR, watching his best friend looking down at Perez, encouraging him in Val’s usual way.

Let’s see what you’re saying.

Max pushed one of the buttons on his throttle quadrant and listened as the computers began to adjust for ambient noise.

“Jesus, Perez, my grandmother can climb faster than that. You’d better hurry. Lt. Commander DuMonde will get pissed if they cancel his program because you took so fuckin’ long that the technology surpassed us and we all became obsolete.”

Max laughed out loud and hit his communications button. “Val, take it easy on the sergeant. You keep that up and he may just jump back in the water and swim home.”

“You can hear me? Shit, I didn’t think it could work that well in the real world. Anyway, if you’re still listening, I don’t know where you are, but I am sure you can see this,” Val said as he shot his middle finger up into the air.

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Sergeant Steven Perez reached Val’s position and stood next to him.

“About time,” Val said as he smiled at his new team scout.

Val had specifically picked Perez for the mission. Perez was not new to the SEALs, but he was new to Val’s team, so Val took it upon himself to make sure he was a good fit. So far Perez was proving to be a patient and quiet man—just what Val was looking for.

“By the way, do you speak?”

Perez looked back, smirked, and nodded.

“Shit, you’re worse than my last girlfriend. She spoke too much, and you have yet to say a word.”

Val went over the aerial photos of the island they were standing on and double-checked them with the portable GPS unit. Satisfied, they went on to set up the laser and markers for the night’s exercise. They placed the markers at random distances from each other. Once done, they headed over to a football-field-sized flat clearing to set up the laser system.

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A crackle came through Max’s headset. “Condor, Fish is set up.”

“Roger Fish. Switching frequencies.” Max turned his head toward the green icon floating in midair to his right. The HMD adjusted the brightness of the icon and turned it red once Max clicked on it. “Dragonfly One, this is Condor One. Do you copy?”

“Copy, Condor. Dragonfly One is out 10 miles north of target. Standing by for orders,” warbled the voice of the Navy Black Hawk helicopter pilot who had dropped Val and Perez a mile off shore.

“Copy, Dragonfly One, evolution is beginning, return for pick-up in three zero.”

“Copy, Condor. Dragonfly One will be back in three zero. Out.”

Max switched back to Val’s radio frequency and told them to be ready for pick-up in 30 minutes. He pressed another one of the dozens of buttons on the flight controls and slaved the FLIR back to the HMD. Thirty new icons appeared superimposed on the ground. A small green halo appeared as Max pressed another button. The halo flew over to one of the icons.

Blip…

The computer identified it with a number designation before scrolling off to the next icon. It did this 30 times in less than two seconds. Next, the computer zoomed onto the icons and waited until Max allowed it to head to the next one. Max read the letter on the marker and recorded a few seconds of the sound frequency emanating from it before moving on to the next target. It took Max less than two minutes to read and record all 28 markers. The last two icons were the infrared signatures of Val and Perez taking cover a few hundred meters from the test area.

Once done, he activated the ground laser aiming system. The computer took over and maneuvered the FLIR over to each spot the laser illuminated. Max was finishing the digital backup of the night’s exercise when the emergency channel flashed on the radar screen.

He looked up at the AWACS icon and clicked on it. “Control. Condor One. What is the nature of the emergency?”

“Condor, Control. Dragonfly One has lost an engine due to a bird strike. They are RTB at this time. Base has Dragonfly Two running up, will be there in five zero. Copy.”

RTB meant Return to Base.

“Control, Condor copies Dragonfly One is out, new bird running up. ETA five zero. Over and out.” Max switched frequencies. “Fish.”

“Copy, Condor. What’s up?”

“Dragonfly One lost an engine. He’s heading back to the carrier. There’s another bird running up and should get here in 50. I’ll hang out until they pick you up. Looks like we’ve had our gremlin for tonight.”

“Don’t jinx it, Condor. How did the exercise go?”

“Everything ran well, and I finished two minutes ahead of time. Give me a minute, then you can start to pick up. I’m going to do a little more limit testing while we wait.”

“Roger.”

Max made sure all the systems had recorded and saved the night’s exercise in a MPG-4 high-definition file. He removed the postage-stamp-sized flash storage card and replaced it with a new one. A green light first flickered, then glowed a steady green hue as the system began to record once more. He aimed the scope, switched to night vision, then back to infrared, taking his time to get accustomed to working the controls. He then began to test the limits of all his sensors as he followed Val and Perez picking up the markers they’d placed around the west coast of the island.

Max watched as Val jumped across a car-sized boulder, followed by Perez. They were practicing maneuvers as they picked up the markers. Max would pan out, analyzing the terrain in front of them, and tried to guess which way Val would take. After a few minutes he guessed he was right 90 percent of the time.

Val picked up the last marker and found a suitable area in which to sit and rest. They sat back to back, sipping water from their camelback water bladders. Max licked his lips and reached down for his water bottle, tilting his head down, which in turn moved the FLIR downward, and out of the corner of his right eye he saw something familiar and out of place.

He was careful not to move his head as his hands fell back onto the flight instruments. Max zoomed out in search of the straight, light gray rifle barrel he thought he had seen.

He switched all the sensors to infrared and patiently waited as the Condor’s flight plan took it around the cliff edge. Max clicked on the spot where he had last seen the object, and disconnected the helmet from the movement of the scope. He froze as a white figure began to appear behind a boulder. “Oh, shit…” Max heard a blipping sound as the HMD lit a green halo on the newfound object. “Fish, we might have a problem.”

“What is it?” Val asked, recognizing the change of tone in Max’s voice.

Blip, blip.

His view began to fill with small green circles. “We have three…”

Blip.

“Correction, four tangos heading in your direction…”

Blip.

“Shit, five. Looks like they’re coming out of a small cave.” Max shut off the icon activation sound.

“You’re sure they’re hostiles?”

“All carrying AK-47s. Start heading east. They’re 500 meters southwest, coming up on you fast.”

“Roger. Your eyes, Condor.”

This was the code that told Max it was up to him to tell Val where to go.

Max reconnected the helmet to the main aiming device. When he looked up, he saw many more glowing white figures surrounded by the computer-animated green halos approaching Val and Perez’s position from the south and east.

“Val, you’re surrounded. Head northeast and fast. Have you taken fire?”

“No. Heading northeast.” Val’s breathing was fast and hard as he sprinted away.

“Contacting Control.” Max switched frequencies and started to run the sound software. “Control, Condor. Fish has encountered unfriendlies, all bearing weapons. Sending sound now.”

“Roger. Receiving sound. Do not engage. Wait for orders.” The AWACS officer manning the radios connected to Max’s home base, the aircraft carrier. Inside were numerous interpreters who started to translate, as the voices Max was recording were sent over the radio. “Condor, relaying your communication direct to ground base. Switch to Alfa. Over.”

“Roger, switching Alfa.”

“Good luck, Control out.”

Max touched the Alfa radio frequency icon for the carrier. “Base, do you copy?”

“Condor, this is base. Copy you loud and clear. Acknowledge orders,” a woman said, who was sitting in the center of the operations room deep inside the aircraft carrier.

“Orders are not to engage.”

“Condor, standby.”

Max saw that it was going to be tight for Val and Perez and began the arming procedure for the .50 caliber machine gun. Below, and to the rear left of the cockpit, a thin hatch opened and a long barrel dropped down from the belly of the plane. It chambered a round and slaved itself to the FLIR, rotating around to point in the same direction Max was looking.

“Condor, translation confirms unfriendly. Do not engage unless engaged upon.”

“Copy, relaying message.” Max switched to Val’s frequency. “Val, usual bullshit. Do not engage unless engaged upon. Here it gets tight, go right of that boulder. I have the .50 cal, slaved, online, and hot. I got you covered, buddy.”

“Roger. How many BBs you got?” Val’s breathing was heavy as he rounded another boulder. A bullet whizzed by his head. “Shit! We’re engaged! How many hostiles?”

“I count 40. I have 30 shots, 10 full metal jacket, 10 tracers, and 10 uranium.”

“Start with the FMJ’s, make them count,” Val yelled, as he and Perez began taking evasive maneuvers.

“Go east, on my mark, toward unfriendlies. I’ll clear a path.” Max flipped the arming switch and called base. “Base, we are taking fire, engaging.”

“Roger, Condor. Fire at will. Fighters on the way. ETA in 10.”

Max looked at the situation below. Ten minutes...crap.

Max saw more unfriendlies coming out from the ground. “Val.” Max took aim. “Wait for it…” He squeezed the trigger. “NOW!”

One .50 caliber copper bullet spit out of the long barrel and headed toward two hostiles. The bullet hit and disintegrated both targets. “Go! Go! Go!” Max could already see Val and Perez running at full speed. “Forward 20 meters, then turn hard left, then head north to the edge of open field. Take cover around the tower-looking boulder. I’ll keep them at bay while I think of something.” Max switched frequencies. “Base, how are those fighters coming along?”

“Condor, still on the cat,” the woman said, referring to the two planes on the steam catapults that would accelerate the fighter jets to take-off speed and off the front of the aircraft carrier.

“Roger that.” Max shot two more rounds, killing one hostile, missing the other by millimeters. He swung the barrel around and noticed the hostiles were starting to wonder where the bullets were coming from.

Shit, shit, shit ...this is getting worse by the second. Think, Max!

He looked at the open field and started to run a scenario in his head. He went over it again, rechecking the wind direction, and decided. He took a deep breath and began to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to do.

“Fish, they look to be organizing. I’m going to try to keep them busy. Once I start, I want you to head out into the field and wait.”

“Out in the open? You have to be fuckin’ kidding me!”

“Val, just do it. There is no way we can hold them off.” Max started shooting into the small crowds. They started shooting up out of desperation, trying to kill the invisible hunter. “Go Val, and stay low. I’m coming in.”

“You’re what?” Val shouted as he shot a burst into a crowd of five hostiles running at him.

Perez took down two of them, Val the rest. They both picked up and began to run into the open field.

Max was busier than he had ever been, shooting the .50 caliber gun and restarting the rear engine as he banked and dove the plane toward the ground. Alarms began to sound within the cockpit, warning Max of a stall, and then another alarm signaling the ground was coming up too fast.

“Pull up! Pull up!” announced the onboard speaker as Max leveled the wings before a final turn onto the small patch of flat land below him. He watched through his infrared heads-up display as Val and Perez shot at the oncoming opposing force. Max helped out and was surprised to see green lines heading toward the ground.

Ah, shit.

Max had given away his position and plan to the enemy. “Fuck it!” he screamed as he emptied the remaining tracer bullets into the enemy, taking a few more lives. Max flicked down the landing gear and at the same time the .50 caliber machine gun rotated and hid in the belly of the fuselage.

The Condor approached sideways as it slipped, making it lose altitude while maintaining its forward air speed. The plane came down hard on the dirt plateau. Its wingtips flexed down, narrowly missing the ground, and bounced up again. Max fought it back down to the ground as the engines roared when he applied full reverse pitch on the propeller blades. The plane stopped and gave Val and Perez a few precious moments of cover from the hostiles now shooting at the plane from the opposite side.

The right canopy swung open and Max yelled at his stunned friend, “Come on, I don’t have all day!”

The left side of the canopy shattered. The bullets ricocheted off the interior. Max ducked and heard Val empty his machine gun. At the same time Max released his Medusa model 47 revolver from its holster, aimed at a shadow, and shot. The gun spit out its .357 magnum-caliber bullet and hit the shadow center mass, sending the body back onto itself.

Max heard Perez throw himself in the back on top of all the electrical equipment, and pushed the throttles to full power as Val yelled at him to go. Max, still shooting his gun out the hole in his canopy, controlled the plane with his feet on the rudder pedals in a straight track toward the cliff’s edge. He holstered his empty gun as Val emptied another clip into the receding crowd from inside the cockpit.

Max reached up with his right arm and pulled Val down. Val shut the canopy just as the plane came up to the edge of the cliff.

“Hold on!” Max screamed.

The Condor rolled out into thin air...and dropped.

Max could hear bullets smack into the belly of the plane as the dark ocean filled his windshield.

“SHIIIIIT!” he yelled as he forced himself to keep from pulling back on the control stick, because if he did he’d force the plane into a stall, ending their efforts there and then.

“Pull up. Pull up,” the computerized voice warned once more, as three little green lights came on, informing Max that the landing gear was up.

“Jesus, Max, do what the plane tells you!” Val yelled.

“A few more seconds!” Max yelled back, then pulled back on the stick as his airspeed indicator rolled up 20 knots past rotation speed.

His body became heavy. He began to take quick and shallow breaths as the G-forces increased. The plane got closer and closer to the sea as the stall alarms began to wail once more.

“Pull up. Pull up.”

The stall-warning horn boomed throughout the cabin and the plane began to buffet as its wings lost lift. The buffeting decreased, and the stall-warning horn lowered in decibels as the Condor leveled off. It was only then that Max knew they were going to make it. He let out the breath he had been holding and was shocked to breathe in the salty ocean mist coming through the grapefruit-sized hole in the canopy. He took a quick glance out to his right, and became fixated on the top of the wave he was skimming just a few feet below.

Max’s senses told him there was something wrong with the plane. He looked at the engine temperatures and saw that the rear engine was running hot, eased off on the rear engine power level and began a slow climb, then turned his attention to his passengers.

“Val, you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, you crazy fuck!”

“How about you, Perez?”

“Steven?” Val said as he reached back in the small space where Perez lay on top of electronic boxes.

“Shit! Perez is hit!”

“How bad?”

“Not good.” Val searched for injury. “He’s losing blood. Looks like a through-and-through upper chest wound. Bullet just missed his vest. Call it in. I can stop the bleeding…but we have to get him help.”

“Base, this is Condor.”

“Condor, Base. Update?”

Max was about to answer when, below and to his right on the HMD, he saw three new icons. The small round halos assigned designations as Max zoomed in on the white wakes of three boats leaving the small island.

“Base, I have three new contacts. Looks like go-fast boats. I have one injured onboard. Requesting vector to base ASAP.”

“Negative, take out targets with your gun, Condor.”

Max looked at his ammunition counter. “Base, Condor has two shots left. Over.”

“Condor. Take the shots. Then paint the targets for incoming Delta flight, out two minutes.”

“Roger. Taking shots and painting remaining targets.” He turned to Val. “Val…need to do some more work before we go home.”

“I got control of the bleeding,” Val said as he covered the exit wound. “But we need to get him taken care of. I can only do so much.”

“Should be quick. Hold on.” Max armed and aimed the .50 cal at the rear of the closest boat. He squeezed the trigger twice. The last shot hit the magic spot and the boat blew up into a ball of fire. “Holy shit!” he shouted.

A new voice came over the radio. “Condor, this is Delta flight. Two Rhinos. Delta One has four AIM 9, four Mavericks, two Harpoons, plus mike-mike, same Delta Two. Over.”

The F-18 pilot had told Max that each plane carried four AIM sidewinder air-to-air missiles, four AGM-65 Maverick air-to-ground missiles, two AGM-84 Harpoon anti-ship missiles, and 578 20-millimeter bullets for the nose-mounted M61 Vulcan Gatling gun.

“Delta, this is Condor. Painting targets.” Max aimed two separate infrared lasers, one for each of the remaining boats. The F-18 fighters would now be able to read the targets and take them out.

“I take it that that huge fireball is of your making.”

“That’s one of three. Instead of missiles I want you to use your guns. Let’s see if we can get us some prisoners. Let me get clearance first.” Base gave Max clearance to take out the targets using the Gatling guns. “Good news, boys, you get to shoot your guns today. Do you have my paint?”

“Roger. Delta One has FAC and target in sight.”

Satisfied that the flight of F-18s knew where he was, Max gave his clearance for the attack. The two new small halos designated the two F-18s on his visor. “Delta. I have you in my sights. Delta One, take out the north target. Two, you have the south target. Pull out to the east and remain at 3,000. Delta One, call out FAC and north target. You are cleared in hot.”

“Delta One has FAC and north target in sight. Engaging.”

Max watched as Delta One dove, spitting fire from its nose cannon as it made its pass, destroying the lead boat’s stern.

“Delta One is off.” The pilot grunted under the G-forces as he pulled up vertically to 3,000 feet.

“Roger, Delta One. Good run. Remain at 3,000. East orbit. Delta Two call FAC and south target. You are cleared in hot.”

“Roger, Delta Two engaging south target. FAC and target in sight.”

Max watched as Delta Two’s aim cut the second boat in half.

“Two’s off.”

“Good run, Two. Delta flight targets are down. Can you remain until Dragonfly Two gets here? I have one injury onboard, and my rear engine is running hot.”

“Roger, Condor, we have your back. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Delta. You both scored 100 percent. I will pass it on to your squadron leader. Condor out.” Max switched frequency. “Base, Condor One, need to vector home. One injured, number two engine’s running hot. Delta flight is in a circuit, waiting for Dragonfly Two. Over.”

“Condor, vector to base. Good work. What is status of injury?”

“He is stable but has lost blood.”

“Medic team is on deck. Call two miles out. Foxtrot Corpen is 270.”

Foxtrot Corpen was the ship’s heading.

“Calling two miles out.”

Max banked the plane toward the small icon floating on the visor on the 270-degree compass heading, located in the vast darkness of the ocean. Val worked to stabilized Perez, who was now lying sideways on the electronic equipment. The Condor traveled at a steady 200 knots toward the aircraft carrier. The plane could fly faster, but the big hole in the side canopy forced Max to keep the speed down as he finished checking all the equipment.

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Twenty minutes had passed when Max turned his body around to see how Perez was doing. He winced as a sharp pain shot through his chest, and shook as a cold shiver ran through his body.

“You okay?” Val asked.

“Just a little jumpy from the adrenaline. How’s Perez?”

“He’s a strong kid; he’ll be fine. I’m just dreading all the bullshit stories that will come out of his mouth when he wakes up.”

“We all did that our first time in combat. Can’t blame him.” Max shook again, then coughed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hold on. Base. Condor two miles out.” Max had maneuvered the plane to the correct altitude, in landing configuration, and angled for final bearing. The landing area of the flight deck was built at a 10-degree angle offset to the ship’s center line, so Max had to calculate that into his final approach.

“Roger, Condor, call the ball,” said the Air Boss in the tower. The Air Boss was the officer who, from his perch in the Primary Flight Control, the Tower, controlled what was happening in the airspace around the ship, including the flight deck.

“Condor ball. Point three,” Max said, telling him he had 300 pounds of fuel left. He told the Air Boss how much fuel he had left in his tanks so the arresting wires could be set to the proper weight setting. These wires were stretched across the small flight deck and were grabbed by the tail hook of the landing plane, allowing it to slow down to a complete stop before the flight deck ended. “The ball” referred to lights on the left side of the flight deck that told Max if he was on the correct glide path to land and hit the arresting wires. There were four wires in total that Max could grab with his tail hook. The number three wire was considered a perfect approach landing and gave one bragging rights when they hooked it.

“Roger ball,” the LSO replied, letting Max know he was lined up on the flight deck’s landing area, and was on speed and glide slope. The LSO, or Landing Signal Officer, now had a direct connection with Max, telling him if he was too high, low, fast, or slow. He also had the right to abort the landing and send the pilot to go around if he thought the landing to be off and/or dangerous. All the Navy pilots on the aircraft carrier treated the LSO with respect because he kept the landings safe—and he also graded them.

“Roger.” Max squirmed in his seat as he slapped the landing gear, and watched as he received green lights in return, telling him that the landing gear was locked for landing. He then reached down and released the tail hook.

Max blinked hard as he started losing focus, then coughed and a spray of blood splattered on the windshield.

“Shit!” Val said as he reached over to Max. “You’re hit, Max.”

“You think?” Max said as he coughed some more.

“A little high, ease it down,” said the LSO from the flight deck.

Max clicked the mike button twice and reduced power, trying hard not to cough again as blood began to fill one of his lungs. He reached up and snapped off his chin strap, while Val desperately searched for the entry wound. Max clumsily removed his helmet and gave it to Val, pointed at the mike, then at Val. Val knew that Max couldn’t talk anymore, and took the helmet.

The Condor was diving down to regain the glide path; Max had less than a minute before he was over the stern of the ship. He reached up and pressed the speaker icon, which allowed Max to hear the LSO screaming over the speaker to wave off. “Wave off” meant the pilot was to abort the landing and circle around once more for a second approach.

Max looked at Val, nodded, then Val spoke into the mike. “Paddles, pilot is wounded, fading fast. No wave off. Repeat, no wave off!”

“Roger, Condor, keep it coming,” the LSO replied.

The radio went silent when the ship’s emergency alarm went off. Everyone within eyesight of the ship’s closed-circuit TV stopped what they were doing and watched the live broadcast of Max’s landing. “Keep it right there, Max, steady, steady, a little more power…” the LSO said, trying to guide Max down onto the flight deck.

Max was hurting bad. He had been holding his breath for over a minute and was drowning in his own blood. The ball was centered as the plane was about to cross the aft of the ship’s deck, known as “the ramp.” He had to keep it together for a few more seconds.

Max’s vision began to fade; his lungs screamed at him to breathe. The plane crossed the ramp. He waited what seemed like an eternity for the landing gear to hit the deck.

“Power! Power! Power!” the LSO screamed, but it was too late.

Max had slumped unconscious and dove the plane down onto the deck, breaking the left strut as the tail hook grabbed the third wire, sending Max’s body forward against the shoulder harness, pushing all the blood that had pooled in his lung out and over the whole windshield.

The emergency flight deck fire crew, all wearing red jackets, rushed over to the crippled plane. Both its propellers bit dangerously into the humid ocean air. All they could see from the outside was red on the glass canopy.

Inside the cockpit, Val unzipped Max’s flight suit, exposing his chest. He reached into his thigh pocket, ripped the plastic off a bag with his teeth and produced a thick needle with a valve at the end. He felt around Max’s chest and shoved the needle in. A quick hiss emanated from the valve, depressurizing his chest cavity and allowing Max to breathe again.

At the same time one of the younger fire rescue team members ran over to the side of the Condor, staying clear of the rotating front propeller as he reached out to a handle embedded into the fuselage. He prodded it out and turned it, releasing the canopy lock. The canopy popped open. Perez was still stuck to the front right side of the instrument panel as Val worked to stabilize the valve that now protruded out of Max’s chest. “Kill the engines!” he screamed at Val.

Val grabbed the throttles and idled the two engines as the fire rescue team member reached in and began the shutdown sequence. The medical team in white jackets with red crosses on them rushed in once the fire rescue team waved them in. It took the ship’s medical team less than a minute to pull both Max and Perez out of the aircraft and onto stretchers. Val watched as they were rushed off across the deck, through a dark hatch in the superstructure and down to the hospital below.

--------

Val stood leaning against the Condor, its engines making the clicking sound they make when the superheated metal starts to cool. Max’s squadron commanding officer jogged up to him. Captain Van Strong took note of the countless bullet holes on the whole of the fuselage, then peered in to see the bloody mess that had been left behind. He looked at Val holding his M-4 rifle across his chest.

“Val. What happened out there?”

Val took a deep breath and adjusted the M-4. “The Navy Cross is what happened.”

Val was referring to the highest medal commendation for bravery in the Navy. Val took a step forward and patted the captain on the shoulder. They both walked away from the plane toward one of the few hatches that led into the superstructure. Both turned to look at the Condor as the Air Boss gave orders over the loudspeaker to get the Condor off the flight deck. A small army of men dressed in red and brown swarmed around the Condor, manipulating the plane onto a crane. The crane lifted the Condor up off the deck, where it swung with the movement of the ship as the crew worked at a slow but steady pace, walking the Condor from the landing deck and toward a plane elevator that led down into the massive hangar below the steel deck.

Val was always impressed by the orchestrated flight deck ballet on the aircraft carriers and took a few minutes to lose himself as he smoked a not-allowed cigarette. He remained within the dark hatch under the “No Smoking” sign until one of the F-18s from the night’s firefight snatched one of the four wires minutes after the deck was cleared. Val took one last drag of the cigarette and smashed the lit end against the gray, steel bulkhead, making sure all the embers were out, and disappeared into the massive structure.

“You have a visitor,” the cheerful nurse said as she let Val enter the room. “I will be on the call button if you need me.”

Val stepped aside and watched the brunette exit the room with a purposeful swing to her hips. “You getting some of that?” he whispered to Max from the doorway.

“Dude...just look at me. Do I look like I am?”

Val looked his friend over. Max was pale and much skinnier. His eyes had dark rings and the two-day-old stubble didn’t help, either. His friend looked terrible.

“Well, you look much better than when I saw you last, but as always, you came through with flying colors.” Val took a seat next to Max in the small hospital room, put his feet up on Max’s bed, and made himself at home. “Well, how are you feeling? A few weeks in the hospital being served hand-and-foot sure has done its thing.”

“Val, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure, anything.”

“Get me the fuck off this floating hospital. Man, its been 20 days… I can’t take it anymore. I have a serious case of cabin fever.”

“Funny you should ask, my friend, I have here a letter…” Val put the bundle of mail he had carried in on the small desk next to Max and summarized the opened letter. “Navy Department of Cabin Fever Victims has handed this letter to me, allowing you to get off this boat as soon as the doctor gives you your release papers...which should take place in the next couple of minutes. The Navy has also asked for your debriefing report of our mission. So from here, you’re to go back to the carrier for debrief. Good news is that you have been given three weeks’ leave after you file the report.” Val put the letter down. “I guess you’ll be off to Hawaii to see the family. Oh, and don’t forget to tell your mom my mom says hi.”

“Does she know what happened?”

“Nope, but I think you should at least call her. Not only that, but I think your stepbrothers and sister want to hear from you, too.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. How is Steven?”

“Perez? He’s fine. The boys are all ragging on him for passing out. You know how harsh the teams can be. He’s a good kid and handled himself well in the situation. Not bad. Not bad at all. He is fitting in with the rest of the team.”

“So, what’s his call sign now?”

“Monk. ’Cause the son of a bitch never talks. Anyway, I’m off tomorrow with the teams to Germany for some training, so I thought it would be nice to stop by and thank you for what you did.”

Max nodded. Boasting for being a hero was not in his genes, so he changed the subject. “Is that my mail?”

Val reached over and handed him a package and some letters. “Who’s the package from?”

“I don’t know.” Max turned the package around to read the address. “That’s strange. It’s from Paris.”

Max took his time as he ripped the brown packaging and opened the cardboard box. Inside were three old journals, a photo album, a taped-up green box, and two letters. He opened the first envelope and a set of keys fell out. He held them up, studied them for a second, then turned his attention to the letter. After a few seconds of silence he read it once more.

“Well, what does it say?” Val asked when he saw the blank expression on Max’s face.

“Its about my father’s death.”

Val straightened up from his casual position. “Your real father? Is it about how he died in Vietnam?”

“No…it’s about how he died last week.”