by Frank Perry
back. Sorry, there’s no easy way to get up there.” He was pointing eight feet up at the raised canopy of an F-15E Strike Eagle.
“How...how do I get up there?”
“Well. The plane Captain and her crew will help you up the side with a ladder. Sorry again, it’s almost straight up and you have to step over the side and down into the seat, so you might want to take off those high heels.” He didn’t have to tell her that she would have to hike up her dress climbing over the side. At least the ground crew were females.
As a rolling ladder was wheeled into place, the pilot, dressed in his flight suit, climbed up pegs extended down the side below the cockpit then stepped over the edge under the raised canopy and down into the front seat. Rachael noticed his call sign “Scotty” painted in grey letters. The Plane Captain, a Staff Sergeant, helped guide Rachael up the ladder and instructed her on where to step as she went up. At the top, she was told to place her hands on the pilot’s headrest and step down into the back seat where the Weapons Officer sat, when the plane was on tactical missions. Once standing in the rear seat, holding onto the seatback in front of her, the Plane Captain instructed her on where to place her feet when seated, asking her to not touch the pedals and other controls at any time. The Sergeant then reached behind the seat and got a helmet, helping to place it gently over Rachael’s head. With the helmet on, the ground crew secured her five-point safety belts making sure they were tight. “Sorry ma’am, these need to be tight for maneuvering or ejecting.” Ejecting! She was becoming even more nervous.
The Sergeant connected the oxygen tube and intercom microphone, then signaled Rachael to say something, which Scott acknowledged. Once the helmet was in place and communications checked with the pilot, her final instructions were to keep her hands inside the aircraft while the canopy closed and, “enjoy the ride!”
The last statement was questionable. She would have been happy with a commercial flight from Tampa to DC, but she now knew what happened when a senior pentagon official needed to get somewhere fast. She would withhold judgment about doing this again until they landed. The helmet was too large, which was better for her hair. The pilot said, “Welcome aboard, ma’am. I’m going to start engines now, so it’s going to get noisy. The canopy will stay up until we reach the active runway. It gets hot otherwise. We’ll talk more after we get airborne.”
With that introduction, the aircraft started to tremble and howled as the first turbine rotated deep in the fuselage. She could smell the fuel, and the sound was deafening. It took several seconds for it to reach sufficient pressure to ignite fuel. Scott pressed the ignition button until the engine came to life and began to scream. Then the procedure was followed again as the second engine fired. The entire plane felt like it was just a wrapper around two monstrous engines. In her headset she heard Scott say, “MacDill flight control, Eagle 502 is rolling, request runway ‘One Eight Zero,’ left turn on departure.”
The response was garbled to her, but she heard Scott say, “Roger, one eight zero, left on departure, angels ten, 502 out.” The canopy dropped fast as they taxied. The Eagle turned in a small arc onto the runway without stopping, then the engines roared. Rachael felt crushed in the seat as the plane accelerated faster than any other vehicle on earth. Her eyes watered, and her stomach felt compressed onto her spine. They were airborne in a few seconds, and the landing gear retracted before they were halfway down the runway. Scott made a gentle left banking turn near the control tower, then leveled as the gulf coast started disappearing behind them. Pressure on her body relaxed.
Scott spoke on the intercom. “We’re going to be flying east to get over the Atlantic, then turn northeast to a point about sixty miles off North Carolina before turning left to course 330 near Virginia Beach. We’ll be landing at Andrews. There’ll be a car waiting for you, ma’am. We should have clear weather and a nice view from above forty thousand feet. We’ll be above Mach One shortly, when permission is granted. Then above Mach Two over the water.”
Rachael figured out how to drop the sun visor on the helmet and was looking from side to side. The view was awesome from inside the bubble surrounding her. After a moment she said, “How fast will this thing go?”
“Ma’am, the Strike Eagle puts out over fifty thousand pounds of thrust and can fly straight up on engine power alone. It’s rated to fly level nearly three times the speed of sound, and we’ll be close today. ETA to Quantico is forty minutes from now, give or take.”
“Wow, Captain, can I call you Scott?” Affirmed. “They actually pay you for this! By the way, call me Rachael.”
“Okay, Rachael, but only up here. Yeah, this is what every kid dreams about, and I get to do it for money. By the way, let me know if you want to drive.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, seriously, up here it’s safe if you don’t overdo it.”
“Won’t it fly apart at this speed if I wiggle it?”
“No, it doesn’t work like that, this bird is completely computer controlled. The flight controls adjust to the speed, so you can’t overdo it. It’s pretty hard to screw up.”
“Okay, what do I do?”
“See the pedals by your feet? They control left and right rudder. I’ll handle the rudder, so you just touch them lightly to feel the motion. Now, see the stick controller. It’s centered between your knees. You’re tall enough so the seat should be set okay.”
She responded, “I have my feet on the rudder pedals and the control stick in my hands.”
“Rachael, just touch the pedals lightly and let me control them. You’ll feel how they work when I move them. Now, the stick should be in one hand, right if you’re right handed.”
“Okay, I think everything is right.”
“Hold one.” She heard him talking to an air controller, acknowledged something and turned slightly north while accelerating again. It wasn’t like a commercial flight because the acceleration in the air was much more abrupt and powerful. Once again, she was pressed hard into the seat.
“Okay Rachael. Sorry, that was Patrick control giving me some instructions and allowing us to proceed through Mach One. Now. Back where we were. We’re at twenty thousand feet, climbing to thirty, and we need to make a left heading change from 090 degrees to 060, left thirty degrees. Look at the compass reading in front of you on the display. It will look like a small airplane with the digital heading reading at the nose.”
“Yes, got it.”
“When I say so, push the stick gently toward your left knee, only about a half inch, and use your fingertips only. Keep just a little pressure towards you to maintain the climb while turning. Got that?”
“I think so.”
“Okay. Turn left thirty.”
She pushed the stick left just a little and also realized that she was looking down at the stick, with no idea what was ahead of the plane. It was like looking at the gas pedal in a car instead of the road. “That’s good. Now ease up on the back pressure. Are you watching the compass?”
“Okay, yeah.” She felt perspiration forming on her brow.
“Now. As we pass through seventy degrees, gently start to let the stick come back to center. Not so fast, just settle gently at our new heading. Perfect! Now, check your altimeter. Inside it, there’s a small dial indicator showing the rate of climb. Keep that at two thousand and we’ll be at our cruise altitude shortly.”
Rachael said, “Wow. That was awesome. You take it now. I’ve had all the excitement I want today!”
“My pleasure. You’re now a junior F-15 fighter pilot--Hah!”
Once at altitude, the sensation of speed disappeared without visual references, so she sat back and watched through the occasional puffy white clouds below. The ride didn’t last long, and the approach to Andrews AFB was faster than she had experienced with commercial flights. Once again, the pressure sensations were harsher than she liked, and the plane banked steeply as Scott squared-off the turns. They were sinking fast toward the runwa
y when the wheels touched, jolting her.
They taxied fast and Scott made one final tight turn as the engines began to die and the canopy raised. Almost immediately, there was an airman alongside helping disconnect things. The Air Force had been thoughtful enough again to have a female helping her. As she came down the ladder, Scott, Captain Richards, was already on the ground waiting. “Thank you, Captain. Here’s my card. When you’re in Washington next time, I want you to call and I’ll buy you dinner.”
“Thanks, Ms. Aston. I’ll look forward to it.” With that, he snapped to attention and saluted saying, “Ma’am.” Then he turned and returned to his plane. Rachael followed a Marine to the waiting Government sedan for a mundane ride to the Pentagon for the briefings she had requested.
FBI Alert
Brennan returned to Miami with the Coast Guard team late Thursday night. Sheriff Kowalczyk would continue the investigation in Charlotte County. Mark had briefed him on the possibility that it could involve Middle Eastern terrorists, but nothing more specific.
They touched down at the air station around two o’clock in the morning and Mark drove to his apartment for a few-hours sleep, although he knew it would be impossible. This had been the most exciting day since he joined the bureau, complete with international intrigue, murder and a beautiful woman. He had