by Frank Perry
to retain his flight status, so continuing an active Air Force career lost its luster. He returned to civilian life and retained his flight status with the Michigan Air National Guard. The 107th Fighter Squadron flew his favorite airplane, the A10 “Warthog.” The Selfridge Air National Guard Base was only a few hours away for weekend duty, and he got to fly more hours in the Guard than on active duty. He had the best of both worlds. He was able to pursue a career in politics, and continue flying fighters.
Aaron campaigned with vigor with the Congressman by his side, and his parents rallied the electorate in the background. The seat was technically open with the retirement of the Congressman, but no opponents stood up to contest his anointed replacement. Aaron won the primary uncontested and the general election with a thirty-point margin over his opponent. Another advantage with the retiring member support was his guidance in selecting a top notch staff, most of the Congressman’s staff, plus getting into the office selection process ahead of other freshmen. He was well ahead of his peers, entering Congress for the first term, just as he had been ahead of other Cadets in primary flight training.
He was seated in Washington in February, 1990 and selected for several important committees, with the help of his mentor. But in August, his reserve unit was mobilized for the Persian Gulf War. Aaron could have deferred deployment as a member of Congress, but he wanted to deploy with his unit. The chance to fly in combat was overpowering to a young fighter jock. No one expected the war to last long, and his advisors believed that serving in the war would only enhance his credentials even if he left the legislative matters to his staff. Here again, the retired Congressman became an important factor in maintaining his presence on the Hill.
For several months, stationed in Saudi Arabia, his team practiced close air support of ground troops with their aircraft.
The single-seat A-10 Thunderbolt II, popularly called “Warthog,” is designed for close air support (CAS) of ground forces by attacking tanks, armored vehicles and other ground targets while flying at very low altitudes. Although it’s technically a fighter, the A-10 has armor for close combat with ground troops. The entire airframe is designed around an enormous 30mm rotary cannon that actually extends from the rear of the plane underneath the pilots legs and out the nose of the aircraft. The plane has more than a thousand pounds of armor to protect the pilot and engines from ground fire. Unlike conventional fighter aircraft, the A-10 was designed for ground combat.
When the order came to cross the Iraqi border from Kuwait on 17 January, 1991, A-10 pilots were well prepared to coordinate with American infantry in the Middle-Eastern desert environment. The most fierce fighting happened in the first twenty-four hours when Americans faced the Iraqi Republican Guard equipped with divisions of ex-soviet T-72 tanks, fighting at night. Aaron was the lead pilot on four sorties that night. At dawn on the second day of the invasion, He and his wingman were protecting a convoy of troop carriers that came under attack by an Iraqi armored cavalry unit with massive firepower. After a strafing run below five hundred feet travelling at under two hundred knots, his plane sustained severe battle damage. The engines were still functioning, and he had half his ammunition still aboard. His wingman told him to abort after examining the damage, but Aaron made a second pass even lower and slower to destroy as much of the enemy tanks as possible.
Midway across the enemy force, an SA-18 shoulder-launched missile was fired at him. He had only a millisecond to react, and was too low and slow to evade. The missile exploded, taking off the entire rear of the aircraft. Aaron ejected just as the plane exploded. His parachute opened only one hundred feet from the ground.
He landed hard on the dry compacted ground, spraining both ankles. He shook off the affects and hobbled over fifty yards to a smoldering tank, diving under the hull for concealment between the tracks. His only protection was his nine Millimeter Berretta pistol. His wingman above flew in a wide arc, radioing for more gunship and rescue support. When the parachute collapsed on the ground, several Iraqi troops left their cover positions and charged toward the downed pilot. The wingman didn’t hesitate, despite the lethal SA-18s, he attacked. He pushed the throttle forward momentarily, pointing the nose down, then leveled at only one hundred feet while decelerating. He leveled his wings, using the decelerons (split ailerons) for stability and fired along an imaginary line just in front of the charging soldiers. The recoil of the cannon jolted the airframe, but his aim was perfect, forming an explosive wall a hundred yards long. The 30mm Gatling-type cannon is the most powerful machine gun ever flown, firing depleted uranium armor-piercing and explosive rounds. Firing at over two thousand rounds per minute, he depressed the trigger for only one second with each round blowing huge craters and killing anyone within a forty-foot circle. Another benefit for Aaron was a dense curtain of dust which formed, shielding him.
Within less than a minute, other aircraft joined in the annihilation of ground troops surrounding him. The American convoy stopped and deployed several hundred infantry soldiers. The remaining Iraqi’s ran under withering fire, but one stopped to peer under Aaron’s tank. In the weak dawning light, he didn’t seem to recognize the silhouette of the airman lying prone, facing him. Aaron supported his gun in both hands with elbows extended on the ground, not intending to fire unless he had to. It took a full second for the soldier to recognize his enemy and instead of running, he fired an automatic burst from his AK47, hitting Aaron in the top of his left shoulder as the Berretta fired several times, killing the Iraqi. At first, Aaron didn’t realize he was shot, but quickly felt the pain. The bullet had fractured his Clavicle and penetrated a lung, cutting an artery.
He should not have survived the wound and had no recollection of anything until he awoke in a military field hospital. Days later, he was flown to San Antonio Military Hospital. It took six months of rehabilitation to regain ninety percent of his arm mobility and strength, but his flying career was over. He returned home with a minor disability and was released from all further National Guard duties. He had survived military air combat and satisfied any urge to fly again. Back home, he was welcomed as a Congressman with re-election, something that had repeated ten more times since then. He was never seriously challenged in any election.
Aaron enjoyed his bachelor status. As a single Congressman, he was cited repeatedly in the tabloids as one of Washington’s most eligible bachelors, although he never felt particularly “eligible.” He owned a townhouse on a quiet street in Old Town Alexandria midway between the Braddock Road Metro Station and the Potomac waterfront. He entertained “guests” often, frequently lasting overnight.
In Congress, he was noted as a free-thinker. He would deviate from conservative dogma frequently on social issues, always voting his conscience. Few members of Congress had his fortitude. As a result, legislators from both sides of the aisle looked for his support on bills. Congressman Romanoff was noted for becoming passionately aggressive if he believed in something. He was both cherished and feared by his colleagues. Since he seemed invincible in the polls, there were no threats by PACs to withdraw support or throw in with an opponent. It just didn’t work with him. The House never had the courage to re-address the War on Drugs, but when the Senate took the initiative, Aaron was “all in” to get the House to go along. His seniority and connections could virtually assure passage in the House if the Senate supported it.
As the week progressed, the late summer weather was turning slightly chilly in the morning. His routine was to leave his house at six o’clock wearing sweats and carrying a small bag containing office attire. His sport coat and tie selection stayed in the office. He walked to the Metro and rode with the early-risers in partially filled train cars. Some of the faces looked familiar over time, and none would think he was a Congressman. The member’s gym was located in the basement of the Capitol building. He’d followed this routine for twenty years.
He’s slept alone that night and ate a light breakfast of t
oast and orange juice. He didn’t bother to shave or shower. That would follow his workout. As he looked out the sidelights of his front door, the sky was just beginning to show hints of a rising sun, with no rain clouds. He grabbed his workout bag and stepped onto the stoop, testing the lock on his door before stepping down to the red-brick sidewalk. The Metro station was slightly uphill, about four blocks away. He was usually alone on the street at this time of the morning except for occasional joggers.
No one was moving when he started toward the corner, but there was one runner stooped ahead of him, tying his sneaker. As he approached the man, something undefinable seemed odd. His shoes were brilliantly white, obviously unused. His long thick black hair didn’t seem natural. As he walked closer, he saw small tattoos on his fingers, not a typical Washington professional.
Aaron picked up his pace passing within three feet of the jogger. Instinctively, he turned his head slightly, noting the man’s quick motion in his peripheral vision. Aaron was only two paces past when a silent siren went off in his mind. Without looking