Phantom Strike

by William H. Lovejoy

  “You’ve got to get there first. That means you take off within the next couple hours.”

  “That can’t be done.”

  Wyatt’s mind raced over the schedule. The pilots still needed another ten hours, minimum, of seat time. They hadn’t even attempted practicing bomb runs, even though Tom Kriswell was confident that they could get by without them.

  His caller’s next statement jerked his attention from the schedule.

  “If we don’t get you in place, about five thousand people, maybe more, are going to die,” Embry said.

  Wyatt digested that. “You’re not just talking to hear yourself talk?”

  “Not this time, buddy.”

  “Do I get some details?”

  “I’ll personally meet you at your stop in Maine, which I’m setting up now. You’ll get everything you need when you get there.”

  “While we’re speaking of needs, have you heard from my logistics agent?”

  “That is affirmative. The coded signal was picked up by satellite some fifteen hours ago. He’s in place and ready to go.”

  Wyatt’s mind reeled as he considered the implications. The whole thing might actually come together. “I’ll have to leave here without picking up after myself.”

  “You go right ahead and do that. I’ll send in a team by morning to clear out the motel and get rid of the vehicles and any other junk.”

  “You’ll need to send someone who can fly my Citation back to Albuquerque.”

  “Will do. One other thing. I’ve had the National Security Agency set up a satellite relay and monitoring system for us.” Embry gave him a UHF frequency.

  “You don’t mean that we’re going to have an ongoing conversation during this operation?”

  “We might. There’s some other things going on that you don’t know about.”

  Wyatt started to ask him just what those other things were, but Embry hung up.

  Wyatt depressed the reset button and called the motel. He gave the girl on the desk the airport number and asked her to have Barr call him when he got in.

  Sixteen minutes later, the phone rang and Wyatt waved off the airport guy, then picked up. He turned his back to the manager.

  “What’s up, Andy? You don’t want me to call Jan?”

  “Cliff’s in his room somewhere, Bucky, catching some Zs. Get him up, hit every motel room, and toss everyone’s clothes and baggage in the Jeeps, then get back here. Wait. Stop and settle up with Jorgenson on your way. Tip him big, huh?”

  “Damn. What’s going on?”

  “We’ve got an early go signal. And we’re going.”

  Wyatt hung up and went back out to his Wagoneer. He had the engine running when he changed his mind and shut it off. Back in the airport office, he asked to use the phone again, then put the long-distance call on his special card.

  “Aeroconsultants. This is Liz.”

  “Hi, Liz. Is Jan around?”

  “Hold on, Andy.”

  After two minutes, she came on the line.

  “Hello, Andy.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Fine. It’s better with Gering and Harris back. We may catch up someday. I’ve landed a restoration job and another security contract.”

  “Wonderful,” he said.

  He was prodding himself, but just couldn’t reach over the edge. Come on, Wyatt!

  “Is that all you wanted?” Kramer asked.

  “Uh, one thing. Our schedule’s been moved up. We’re taking off this afternoon.”

  A few moments of silence passed before she said, “I don’t like that. Last-minute changes mean mistakes.”

  “We’ll be okay.”

  “You haven’t completed your full training schedule, have you?”

  “We’ve got enough of it,” he said.

  “Uh huh, that’s crap. No good. This has been bad from the start.”

  “It’s all right, Jan. What do you mean, ‘bad from the start?’”

  “It’s a feeling.”

  How did he deal with that?

  “A few more days, and it’ll be over. Hang in there,” he said.

  “I’ve got an offer. Full partner, upscale firm. Tell Bucky that I’m taking it.”

  “I don’t want you to take it,” he said.

  Long pause on her end.

  “You don’t? Are you into suppressing the advancement of women, now?” she asked with a laugh, but the laugh sounded hollow.

  “You know better than that.” He felt a little defensive, but didn’t think he needed to feel that way.

  “Give me a better reason,” she said.

  “I need you right where you are.”

  “You do? You need me? And where is that?”

  “With me. beside me.”

  “Oh, damn you, Andy!”

  “I mean it.”

  “But you can’t say it?”

  “You know me, hon. I’m not good with the words, but there’s no one else.” His own laugh sounded hollow. “Bucky said he was going to propose to you this morning, but I want to get my bid in first.”

  “Jesus Christ! This is fodder for the afternoon soaps.”

  “I don’t watch them.”

  “Good damned thing.”

  “I love you, Jan.”

  “Finally, you ass! Oh, my God, I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know.”

  “You’ll be there when I get back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I don’t know how I’m going to break this to my father. We are getting married, aren’t we? I’m not sure I heard you mention the word.”

  “We’re getting married.”

  Her tone changed abruptly. “Don’t go.”

  “Got to, hon.”

  She sighed. “I know. Be very careful, Andy.”

  For some reason, he felt a great deal better on the drive back to the hangar.

  The C-130 transport was parked out on the apron, being used as a radio base station for the training flights. Wyatt pulled up next to it, got out, and went to lean inside the hatchway.

  Winfield Potter was on the radio.

  “Hey, Win!”

  He shoved his headset back from his right ear and turned to Wyatt. “Yo, boss?”

  “Call all the planes in and start fuelling them up.”

  “No shit?”

  “We’re on the way.”

  Potter started calling aircraft.

  Wyatt walked over to the hangar and found Demion and Kriswell debating some point.

  “Okay, guys, we’re moving out.”

  They both turned to him.

  “We’ve got some kind of deadline to meet. I’ll give you the details later.”

  “Well, hell,” Kriswell said, “I guess I’d just as soon be surprised as wait for another five or six days.” Demion held up his clipboard. “We’ve still got a stack of bugs to work on, Andy.”

  “But nothing that would ground an airplane?”

  “No.”

  “Make up a schedule and hit the priority items any time we get a couple hours on the ground.”

  “Got it.”

  “We should have all planes on the ground in about fifteen minutes. I want a briefing with all pilots. Everyone else turns out to refuel and pre-flight aircraft. We want external tanks in place.”

  “I’ll see to that,” Kriswell said.

  Wyatt checked his watch. “It’s one-twenty now. Wheels up by three.”

  The word spread fast through Demion and Kriswell, and Wyatt’s team shifted into action. They all seemed to know what to do, and the standard bickering turned into good-natured repartee.

  It was times like these when Wyatt appreciated the people who worked for him. With him.

  Kriswell and the ground personnel began fuelling operations from the tanker truck as well as loading the transport with tools, equipment, and spares still in the hangar. Castered pallets of oil, hydraulic fluid, and engine parts were nudged out to the lowered ramp of the Hercules
with a tow tractor, then winched aboard. They were taking along one small tow tractor, miniature crane, and several ordnance carts. One pallet contained gear for quick encampment: tents, cots, sleeping bags, jerry cans of water, and Meals Ready to Eat (MREs).

  Barr and Jordan arrived in two Jeeps and parked near the rear of the C-130. They had stripped the motel rooms without regard to filling suitcases.

  Wyatt went out to meet them and helped carry the personal items aboard.

  “You’re not much of a packer, Bucky.”

  Barr dropped his load of clothing in a pile, and Jordan dumped his load on top.

  “They’re going to have plenty of time in the air to sort it out,” Barr said.

  “The Navy would never allow this kind of mess,” Jordan said.

  “Yeah, but the Navy takes ten days to deploy,” Barr countered.

  Wyatt went back to the first Jeep, grabbed a suitcase from the back, and tossed it to Barr, who heaved it on to Jordan in the cargo bay.

  By the time they finished, Zimmerman had returned with the last F-4, and Wyatt called the pilots into one corner of the hangar.

  Everyone was dripping sweat.

  “I’m not going to miss this humidity,” Gettman said.

  “Assignments,” Wyatt said.

  They all had a pretty good idea of which seats they were getting, but Wyatt had not yet finalized them. Since equipment or personnel problems, or losses, might have forced changes, they had all been training in several different roles.

  “I’m Yucca One,” Wyatt said. “Barr is Two, Hackley is Three, and Gettman is Four. Zimmerman and Jordan get Five and Six.”

  “Damn,” Zimmerman said.

  “Sorry, Dave, but you and Cliff have the most backseat experience. Those are the skills we’ll need from you.”

  “And I get the Herc,” Demion said.

  “Right, Jim. Your call sign will be Wizard.”

  Dennis Maal, with his background in KC-135 Stratotankers, had always known he would fly the C-130F. “Do I get to come up with my own call sign?”

  “Sure,” Wyatt said.

  “I’m going to be Thirsty.”

  “Thirsty?”

  “I always wanted to be Thirsty. The guy from the comic strip?”

  “Okay, you’re Thirsty. And Borman will fly with you as boom operator. We’ll put Hank Cavanaugh in your right seat, acting as co-pilot. He’s not rated, but I think he could get it on the ground.”

  “Does it count, in how many pieces?” Gettman asked.

  “No scoring here,” Wyatt said. “We’ll make Vrdla your flight engineer.”

  Maal nodded his approval.

  Wyatt turned back to Demion. “Kriswell will be your engineer, and Win Potter your co-pilot. Littlefield will ride with you.”

  “That’s fine with me, Andy, except that Lucas makes lousy coffee.”

  “Both Hercs can go any time you’re ready, since you’re not going to establish any speed records,” Wyatt said. “We’re not filing any flight plans, and we’re going to Northfield, Maine.”

  “Northfield? Is it on the map?” Jordan asked.

  “I hope it’s not very apparent,” Wyatt said. “We’re supposed to get all of the tanks topped off there, then the Hercs go first again.”

  “Are we allowed to know the next stop?” Demion asked.

  “As long as we don’t tell anyone else until we’ve departed CONUS. It’s a little place in Algeria called Quallene.”

  “That’s our staging base?” Gettman asked.

  “No. It’s just a filling station.”

  Wyatt spent the next twenty minutes going over routes, times, and frequencies. Everyone jotted notes in their little black books. He knew that they wanted to know more about the preparations and the routes in Africa, but he and Bucky had kept the full plan to themselves, relying on their military experience of providing only what information was necessary for each phase of the mission. The strategy avoided needless worrying and kept pilots focused on the immediate objective.

  They ran a little late.

  By three-forty-five, the C-130s took off. Wyatt and the others moved the Citation and the Jeeps into the hangar. Everyone made a call on the bathroom in the comer of the hangar, then dressed in flight suits and G suits. They took turns with the single start cart that had been left behind and started all of the turbojets. Wyatt carried the single ladder from airplane to airplane, assisting each pilot aboard his craft.

  He hooked the ladder on the side of seven-seven, climbed up, checked the ejection seat safety pins, then slid inside. He disconnected the ladder and dropped it to the ground. His parachute harness was already in place, and he pulled it on, then strapped into the seat. Lifting his helmet from the floor, he settled it into place and hooked into the aircraft systems. He dialled his Tac One radio into the common frequency for Minneapolis — the local air control, just in case some air controller called him. The Tac Two radio was set for interplane communications.

  “Yucca Flight.”

  “Two.”

  “Three.”

  “Four here.”

  “Five’s reading five by five.”

  “And Six on the tail end.”

  “Let’s go by twos,” Wyatt told them.

  He released the brakes and headed for the taxiway. Barr pulled up alongside him, grinning like a horsey maniac.

  “How’s your brakes, Bucky?” he asked.

  “Who needs ’em? I’m not slowing down for anyone.”

  At the end of the taxiway, after checking for airborne aircraft, he rolled onto the runway.

  Down by the airport office, a few people were gathering. They had probably noticed the C-130s taking off, and now they would be treated to a flight of six. The Noble Enterprises outfit had become something of an accepted fixture at the old bomber base, and the people down there probably also thought they were coming back.

  Wyatt lowered his canopy.

  A blue Pinto came racing around the office and headed toward Hangar 4.

  “That’ll be Julie,” Barr said. “I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.”

  Wyatt couldn’t see her face, but the car slowed, then stopped, when she saw the fighters sitting at the end of the runway.

  He thought the whole thing was pretty forlorn.

  “Damned if I’m not going to miss Nebraska,” Barr said. “Some damned good people around here.”

  “Let’s go,” Wyatt said.

  “Waiting on you, partner.”

  He slammed the throttles forward.

  *

  Kramer and Liz Jordan went to a Wendy’s for dinner. Both of them were depressed, and their dinner conversation revolved around everything but what was on their minds.

  Kramer hadn’t told Liz or anyone about Wyatt’s proposal. She thought she’d just wait.

  With the way she was feeling about this operation, there might not be a wedding.

  The thought depressed her further. She was torn by conflicting emotions.

  They had worked late, and it was after eight when they walked out of Wendy’s.

  “I am going home,” Jordan said, “and crawl into the spa and think good things about Cliff.”

  “I may call Sears and have them send up a spa.”

  “Not Sears, Jan. They don’t have spas.”

  “So I’ve got to wait until tomorrow?”

  “Unless you want to use ours.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll just opt for bed.”

  They reached their cars in the lot and said good night. Kramer unlocked her Riviera, then remembered a chore.

  “Hey, Liz. Did you feed Ace?”

  “Oh, damn. I thought you had.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll run back and check on him.”

  “That cat’s more trouble than he’s worth,” Jordan said.

  “Have you seen any mice out there?”

  “On second thought…”

  Kramer drove back out to the airport, passed the passenger terminal and the end of the runway, and pul
led into Clark Carr Loop. She parked in front of the building.

  Walking up to the front door, she retrieved her keys out of her purse.

  Unlocked the door and pushed it open.

  Reached out automatically to tap the security code into the keypad on the wall beside the door.

  And saw the green light.

  The alarm system wasn’t armed.

  She positively remembered setting it before she locked the door that evening.

  Cautiously, she looked around the reception room. The light of the setting sun kept it from being dark, and it appeared normal.

  The door to her office was closed, as it should be. Only she, Wyatt, Barr, and Liz Jordan had keys to it.

  She looked at the base of the door.

  Light peeked from under it.

  And Ace the Wonder Cat was squatting next to it, rubbing up against the doorjamb.

  She could hear a tap-tapping.

  Kramer crossed the carpeted reception area and tested the door handle.

  Ace nuzzled her ankle.

  The door wasn’t locked.

  She turned the handle and shoved the door open.

  A man’s back was bent over her computer keyboard. There was blue lettering against a white background on the screen.

  The man was suddenly alerted.

  His head whipped around.

  And Ace snarled, took two bounds and one leap, and landed right in the middle of the man’s face.

  Interment

  Eleven

  “Goddamn cat!”

  The man’s arms flailed wildly, and Ace dodged them, danced off his shoulder, and landed on the desk top. He spun around, sliding on a stack of loose paper, arched his back, and bared his tiny sharp teeth.

  He hissed.

  Ace left his mark. Half-a-dozen deep gouges began oozing blood from the man’s temples and cheeks.

  “Son of a bitchin’ cat,” Arnie Gering yelped as he bolted out of the chair.

  “What in the hell are you doing in my office?” Kramer demanded.

  “Goddamn cat!” Gering said again, backing away from the desk.

  “You’re screwing around with Ace’s computer, Arnie. Tell me why, and tell me now.”

  Gering dug a handkerchief out of the back pocket of his jeans and began dabbing at his face. He spluttered some more when he saw the blood.

  “Let’s have it, Arnie.”

  Kramer stayed close to the door, ready to scream and run if he turned on her. She didn’t know what he was up to, but she was damned proud of Ace the Wonder Cat.