Josh couldn’t help but smile. “OK ... Q, the single most important thing you can do is say nothing and look like you know what you’re doing. Ready?”
Greg nodded.
As they went inside, Josh looked at the plaque on the wall. It identified the RAAF Number 1 Squadron’s Wing Commander as Bob Gulick. They went straight to the CO’s office. Josh asked if the Wing Commander was in. The airman said, “Sir, he left for the day. Do you need to reach him?”
“No, we’ll run down to maintenance and talk to the Flight Sergeant, uh....”
“You mean Sergeant Laura Hawkins?”
“Yeah, Hawkins.”
They headed down to the maintenance department and asked for Sergeant Hawkins. A tall serious-looking woman said, “That’s me.”
Josh introduced them. “We’re the tiger team from Boeing. Commander Gulick wanted us to get our butts here ASAP. You probably just got the maintenance bulletin about the emergency software configuration issue.” A software configuration error was a rare but scary problem in a fly-by-wire aircraft with dozens of interconnected computers.
The Flight Sergeant frowned and shook her head. “Crikey!”
Josh added, “Luckily, it only affects a few aircraft. The ones that might have the problem are bureau numbers 5124637 and 5124644.”
She said, “Yeah, those are ours, but I haven’t seen the bulletin.”
Josh smiled. “For once, we’re moving faster than the paper pushers.”
She didn’t smile. “Will this take them out of flight status?”
“Not if they pass a quick software check. Just need to do a power-on cockpit test. Can you give me the maintenance books on them?”
Without a thought, she handed them to him.
“There’s a chance none of ‘em will be affected, and we can all grab a pint.” He winked at her.
She finally smiled back, nodding her head.
He went through the first book for show. He studied the second aircraft’s book carefully, noting flight status, maintenance gripes and fuel. It was a two-seater configured as a tanker, with a refueling store hanging from the belly and two large drop-tanks on each wing. This allowed it to refuel other Hornets while airborne. With 30,000 pounds of gas onboard, it almost carried its own weight in fuel. He said, “We’ll start with the tanker.”
The Flight Sergeant said, “I’ll see who I can pull off one of the birds to help you.”
“That would be great, but Greg here is a qualified Plane Captain.”
Greg looked up at Josh with wide eyes.
She looked at their badges and said, “OK.”
“Is there a place we can change into some coveralls?”
“There’s a men’s room down the hall on the right.”
Langley
Bishara reported, “Our team just hit the hotel. They never checked in. They’re searching for the car now.”
Buster frowned but said, “We’ve got him bottled up on an island. No matter how good he is, he can’t hide for long. I want more assets on the ground as soon as possible.”
Davidson said, “We’ll shut down the civilian airport and cover the seaports. I’m more concerned about the Blaster at the South Pole. Can we go ahead and send the SEAL team on to the Antarctic base?”
Buster said, “Absolutely.”
Glosson nodded, “The second they’re refueled, we’ll have ‘em airborne.”
Falklands
Josh went down the hall with Greg in tow. Glancing back to make sure no one was looking, they walked past the men’s room until he found the pilot locker room. With no flight ops going on, it was empty. “Greg, watch me and do as I do.” Josh found and tried on several torso harnesses. With the survival vest integrated into them, they were bulky and hard to get into. He found one that was close.
Greg said, “You’re going to jack an airplane!”
Josh said, “No. We’re going to jack an airplane.” Seeing his face, Josh added, “If we live through this, I’ll show you how to successfully meet women.”
Greg nodded and started trying on a torso harness.
Josh found helmets that would fit them. Helping Greg get his legs into the correct loops in the harness, he thought Greg was an amazing kid. Most people would have freaked out by now.
“Now put your coat on over the outside to hide the torso harness.”
They put their helmet, oxygen mask and gloves in a bag.
“Sir, I know you’re a genius and all, but can you really fly one of these?”
As Josh headed out the door, he said, “Not to worry, I had an Xbox too.”
Greg shrugged and followed him.
The tanker-configured Super Hornet was easy to spot on the tarmac. It was the only two-seat fighter, and the only one with five large tanks hanging from its wings and belly.
Walking briskly but casually, they headed toward the jet. Josh pushed the button that opened the canopy. Then he released a latch that dropped a small rickety looking boarding ladder from under the wing’s leading edge extension.
“Greg, climb up and get into the back seat.”
Josh followed him up. He quickly connected Greg’s oxygen mask and torso harness to the ejection seat, and set his intercom to ‘Hot Mic.’ Noticing that Greg was beginning to look panicky, Josh firmly said, “Look, Greg, I do know what I’m doing. Don’t touch anything unless I tell you to.” As he armed Greg’s ejection seat, he added, “And definitely, stay away from any control with yellow and black stripes on it. Got it?”
Greg swallowed and nodded.
“When you see me put on my helmet, put yours on.” He patted Greg on the shoulder and smiled. “This is going to be fun.”
Greg just looked at him with wide eyes.
Standing on top of the jet, Josh looked around and saw a couple airmen working on another aircraft. They were a hundred yards away and showed no interest. So far, what Josh and Greg were doing looked normal.
He climbed back down the ladder, and with a quick check to make sure no one was watching, pulled out all the flight safety pins and kicked the chocks away from the wheels.
He climbed back up, slipped into the front cockpit and strapped in. He was smart enough to know that he was dangerous without a checklist. As he lowered the canopy, he closed his eyes. With his IMAX memory, he was able to recall in detail the last time he started a Super Hornet. He turned the battery power on and started initializing the navigation system. He plugged the pole base coordinates into the computer. No one would notice them until he started the Auxiliary Power Unit. The small APU turbine provided the “air” to start the engines, but was almost as loud as the engines themselves. Finally, looking around one more time, he put his helmet on and flipped the APU switch. In his rearview mirrors, he could see Greg do the same.
The APU cranked up with its characteristically loud howl. As soon as the ready light came on, he routed the APU’s high-pressure air to crank the number two engine. As the engine slowly spun up, he listened to the radio, monitoring the ground control frequency. He saw one airman, a hundred yards away, watching them. He just stood there looking at them curiously.
As soon as the engine reached idle, he released the parking brake, pushed the throttle forward and began taxiing. He noticed the airman was now running back toward the hangar. The Australians used the squadron call sign “Phoenix.” Appropriate.
He switched the high-pressure air over to start the other engine. Doing his best Australian accent, he called himself “Phoenix Seven,” and requested taxi clearance. They cleared him to taxi, but then came back and said they didn’t have a flight plan on him. It wasn’t that uncommon to have late submissions or mix-ups. As he continued to taxi, he just said, “Sorry, mate. I’ll get it straightened out on the squadron frequency, call you right back.”
As soon as he said that, he switched to the tower frequency and listened. He taxied as fast as he could. Unfortunately, 30 tons of jet and fuel, perched atop three wheels, made the fighter handle like a three-legged pig on va
lium. He was almost to the runway when he saw a truck with flashing lights headed their way.
As he reached the runway, he did just like his mom taught him. He looked both ways for traffic. He saw a large cargo jet on final approach a couple miles out. He couldn’t wait. They’d have to scramble to abort their approach. As he rolled onto the runway without a takeoff clearance, he keyed the mic and said “Sorry.” Skipping the engine run-up checks, he pushed the throttles forward to full power. The tower excitedly said, “Phoenix Seven, you haven’t been cleared for takeoff! There’s an aircraft on approach, clear the runway immediately!”
Unlike his last takeoff, he couldn’t afford to use the afterburners. They needed every drop of fuel. As his heavily loaded fighter lumbered down the runway, the truck with the flashing lights caught up to him. It ran parallel to him on the taxiway. He hoped the driver hadn’t seen too many Fast and Furious movies.
He heard a cockpit warning tone. Glancing down, he saw the “Ladder” warning on his display. He totally forgot that the little boarding ladder was still down. It could only be stowed from the ground. As they accelerated, it would be ripped off the aircraft. He just hoped it wouldn’t go down an engine intake.
He was a little clumsy on the controls as he lifted the fighter into the air but it came back fast. It felt good to be back in the cockpit.
There was a loud thump as the boarding ladder ripped off the aircraft. He checked his left engine indicators. Luckily, it missed the intake.
As soon as he had his landing gear up, he turned south and accelerated to the optimum climb-out speed. He loved these jets. They took care of all the boring but important details so he didn’t have to. He hated to admit it, but if it weren’t for GPS, navigation computers and fuel calculators, he would have been lost at sea a long time ago.
He turned his IFF, Identify Friend or Foe, off. Without his radar repeater highlighting his position, the relatively stealthy jet would quickly disappear from the ground-based radar screens.
He keyed the intercom. “Greg, you all right?”
“Yes sir, this is totally wild. It’s almost like Microsoft Flight Simulator.”
Josh released his oxygen mask and let it hang by one bayonet fitting. Smiling, he replied, “Yeah, they did a great job making these fighters feel as close to that as possible.”
Oblivious, Greg asked, “Do you think they noticed that we jacked a jet?”
44
ESCAPE
Bishara received a phone call during the meeting. After a few seconds, they heard her say, “Oh no! Are you sure? ... How long ago? ... But it can’t reach...?” There was a long pause as she listened with a frown. “Oh, keep me informed.”
Seeing her expression, Buster said, “What is it, Cindy?”
“Uh, someone just stole an F-18 from the Australians.”
Buster’s eyes got big. “It’s him, it’s got to be!” Turning to Bishara, he yelled, “Tell them to shoot ‘em down!”
She shook her head. “It’s too late. By the time they figured out what was going on, he was outside their surface-to-air missile range, but they’re scrambling another Hornet to intercept.”
Buster continued to rant. “This is insane! How could he fly one? Where does he think he’s going? He can’t make it to the South Pole in a fighter!”
Bishara narrowed her eyes and said defensively, “Actually, there is a chance that—”
Interrupting, Buster pointed a finger at his Deputy. “You told me that we’re not using fighters because they don’t have the range.”
Bishara jumped in. “They just told me that this Super Hornet was fitted out as a tanker with extra drop tanks. Our Navy guys are running the numbers now, but there is a slight chance that if he flies a perfect flight profile—”
Buster yelled, “Oh my God! Launch the C-17s! Where’s my Tomahawk shooter and the carrier?”
Davidson, trying to spin Buster back down, said, “We’ve already given the command to launch the C-17s with the SEAL team. They’ll be taking off shortly.”
Glosson added, “We’ve downloaded the target coordinates to the USS Truxton’s launch computer. They’re programmed and ready to fire on our command. The USS Reagan is preparing a strike package with tankers just in case. She can have fighters overhead shortly after the C-17s arrive at the Pole base and insert a Marine team by V-22, shortly after.”
Buster was beginning to sweat. “We need to launch the Tomahawks now and be done with this.”
There was silence in the room. Davidson said, “Sir, we can’t do that. Most of the people down there are innocent civilians. Some are high-profile American scientists—”
Buster interrupted, “If they’re stupid enough to be duped into building this thing for him....” His voice trailed off as all eyes were on him. He looked at Davidson angrily. “Then tell the SEAL team they’re authorized to use deadly force. I want a termination order on the Prophet right now!”
Davidson continued in a quiet voice, “Sir, the Prophet’s head of security is one of our contract agents. If, by some miracle, he survives the flight, our man can take him out quickly. He’s one of our deadliest agents, and the only guns down there are under his control. We’ve got him.”
Buster sounded almost plaintive. “That’s what we always think. Don’t you see? At every turn, he’s made fools of us!” In a more controlled voice, he continued. “I’m not taking any more chances. I want a termination order on him, and I want it now!” He slammed his hand on the table.
Davidson glanced around and said quietly, “Yes sir. The President is involved with this operation, so we’ll need Presidential authority for a termination order.”
“Give the termination order to our agent on my authority. I’ll get approval from the President.” Buster’s eyes narrowed. “I also want a million-dollar bounty on his head.”
Davidson said softly, “We’ll have to go through the Attorney General and State Department to authorize that.”
Buster said, “No, we don’t.” Sarcastically he added, “I’m a lawyer, remember?” He continued as though completing a closing argument at a trial, “We’ve ascertained that the Prophet has no identity. Therefore, he’s not an American citizen and he’s now outside the U.S. Even so, we don’t need a public bounty.” He turned to Carl. “We simply offer our contract employees a large bonus.”
Davidson knew targeting a foreign terrorist outside the U.S. was well within their authority, as was granting incentives for anti-terrorist operations.
Carl looked at Davidson for confirmation.
Davidson nodded.
Buster slapped his hand on the table again, “And I want that Tomahawk shooter ready to fire the second I give the word!”
“Yes sir.”
Falklands
The SEAL team commander, Lieutenant Commander DeVries, was getting his men back together for the final leg to the pole base when the call came in on the C-17’s encrypted satellite link.
He turned to his Senior Chief and told him about the stolen Hornet.
Shaking his head, the Chief responded, “Who’re we chasing, Jason Bourne? Should we tell the Aussies who he is?”
“We don’t even know who he is. They’re scrambling a jet now and will hopefully shoot him down, but regardless, we’ve been ordered to press on to the South Pole ASAP. And, we’ve been given unlimited Rules Of Engagement.”
The Chief whistled. “Unlimited ROE?” Shrugging, he added, “Being able to shoot everybody makes the job easier, but I don’t understand,” he frowned, “aren’t there American engineers and scientists down there?”
DeVries nodded. “There has to be a lot at stake.” As the Chief ran off to round up the team, DeVries frowned and said quietly to himself, “Or, it’s personal.”
Greg asked, “Won’t they try to shoot us down or something?”
“We should be outside of their surface-to-air missile range by now.” Josh said optimistically.
“What about sending another fighter after us?”
/> Josh said, “Yeah, that’s a possibility.”
Enthusiastically, Greg said, “But we can outrun them, right?”
Less enthusiastically, Josh said, “We could if we weren’t flying a Bingo profile.”
“What’s a Bingo profile?”
“Bingo means minimum fuel. We’re flying the perfect climb, cruise, and descent speeds to give us maximum range.”
“So the speed for maximum range isn’t really fast?”
“Greg, it’s like when you’re running out of gas in your car. You know going faster will just reduce your mileage.”
“But a jet chasing us won’t have that limit?”
Greg was sharp. “No. Another Hornet in burner can catch us, and we’re configured as a tanker.”
“What does that mean?”
“Greg, look at the wings. See all the tanks hanging under them?”
“Yeah.”
“This fighter is setup to refuel other fighters. That gives us a lot more gas but also a lot more weight and drag. We’re slower and less maneuverable until they’re empty and we can jettison them.”
“So they can catch us and out maneuver us.”
“Yeah, but it’ll take a while to scramble another jet, and we have two advantages. Super Hornets are stealthy — hard to find on radar — and we’re running away from them. That shrinks the range of their AMRAAM missiles. They’ll have to get pretty close to shoot. I’m less worried about burning than freezing.”
“Freezing?”
“Do you know how far our South Pole base is from the Falklands?”
“2,000 miles?”
“Actually, about 2,650.”
“I didn’t know fighters could fly that far.”
“Me either.”
There was silence from the back seat.
“Greg, normally they can’t, but with five extra fuel tanks, it’ll give us a range of about 2,300 miles. We’re also going to jettison the tanks as soon as they’re empty. That’ll buy us another 100 miles.”
Impact (Fuzed Trilogy Book 1) Page 28