Spirit Flight

by P. R. Fittante

  “Can you tell me specifically, sir, what kind of information you want?”

  “Just tell me if the aircraft’s TF system passed its final operational assessment before you people destroyed it.”

  Melissa was shocked by the cold arrogance of the colonel’s reply. “Sir, because of the accident, we have no data to . . .”

  “Data! You engineers never have enough data. Listen Lieutenant. All I want is for one of your prima donna test pilots to tell me if the system worked or not. That’s all! You cowboys already lost one jet with your damn drunken science experiments. I don’t want to lose one of mine because you people can’t do your real job.”

  Melissa felt dizzy as the blood drained from her head. Bud gave her a worried look as she tried to stammer a reply. “Sir, what do you want me to do?”

  “Find Farago before they ship him off to Leavenworth, and get an assessment from him. I want an answer today, Lieutenant.”

  The phone clicked before Melissa could reply. She held it in stunned silence. She had seen the news reports, but never considered that others within the Air Force would believe them. Such contempt for flight test was new to her. She set the phone down and looked at Bud. “He blames us for the accident.”

  Bud tried to smile. “The man sounded a might uptight. But I think I know why.” He nodded at the TV screen. “They’re gettin’ ready to send some of their birds into combat.”

  “So they want to know if they can use the TF system.” That made sense to Melissa. “But he wants me to give him an answer today. I don’t have any data from the flight and Major Farago is gone. How am I going to tell them anything?”

  “Lieutenant, I really don’t think it matters.”

  Bud’s reply surprised her. “Why?”

  “Because right at this moment, Byron Schmidt is at the Pentagon, briefin’ all the generals on this very subject. And I think I know what he’s tellin’ em.”

  Melissa considered this. “What about the safety investigation? You don’t think they’d use the B-2 before the investigation is complete, do you?”

  Bud sighed and rubbed his sun-scarred neck. “Seems a lot of folks think the safety board has already found all they need. Byron included.” He looked hard at Melissa. “Unless, of course, someone around here can find the real reason that jet went down.”

  Melissa now understood why Frank Farago enjoyed Bud’s company. The man never shied away from the truth. “I’ve been spending some time in the B-2 simulator,” she admitted. “But I haven’t found anything. I wish they had recovered some of the onboard data recorders. Without them, I have no way of knowing what the jet did as it went out of control.”

  “You need to get a hold of Frank. I know the two of you could figure it out.”

  Melissa was grateful for the compliment. “I think I will try to call him in North Carolina. I just hope these news reports haven’t hit him too hard.”

  “Not Frank,” Bud said with obvious respect. “I suspect there ain’t much he can’t handle. That boy will always do what’s right. I only worry he’ll do too much.” He paused and looked at the empty flight schedule. “If you talk to him, tell him I’m . . . tell him we all hope he’ll get back here soon.”

  Melissa nodded and headed back to her office. She picked up her phone and heard a beep signifying new voice mail. She listened to the message. It was from Ernest Walker. She immediately dialed the number to call him back.

  Chapter 23

  Frank’s mind swirled with all the things he must do. The morning phone call from Edwards canceling his leave wasn’t completely unexpected. However, the order to return to duty immediately was unsettling. His commander had simply relayed the order, unaware of what it might mean. Frank was to report to the local airport where an Air Force jet would be waiting to pick him up. The aircraft’s final destination was to be revealed to no one. He had been given six hours to make any necessary arrangements before the jet would depart.

  Frank checked his watch. He had two hours left before he needed to drop the mustang at Causey airport. Bobby had agreed to meet him there and give him a ride in one of their Cessna’s to the airport in Greensboro. The Velocity would be retrieved by his buddy Rick Wise from Outer Banks Air. The only loose end in his plans involved Anna.

  As he turned into her driveway, he struggled with what he would say. He tried to balance his concern over the B-2 safety investigation with his desire to stay with her. Yesterday’s nuclear explosion in North Korea had complicated things. He felt an urgency to put the accident behind him, but he knew that wasn’t yet possible. He couldn’t simply withdraw in the face of so much uncertainty.

  He stopped the car in front of the Preston house and shivered as he stepped outside. Cool, blustery winds had supplanted yesterday’s rains. He glanced up at the pine tops that swayed and tore at the thick cotton clouds racing overhead. Everything seemed to be rushing toward some unknown conclusion, and he was being swept right along with it. He reached back inside the car for his leather jacket and slipped it on. Inside one of the pockets, he could feel the small case holding his mother’s ring. It offered another tempting complication.

  Frank walked quickly to the back porch and knocked on the screen door. Lydia Preston opened it. Her icy expression complimented the frigid day. “I suppose you’d like to come in,” she said finally.

  Frank managed a weak smile and shivered. He stepped into the family room where a wood burning stove offered its welcome warmth.

  “Anna’s upstairs in the shower.” Mrs. Preston didn’t offer Frank a seat and remained standing herself. She surveyed him with obvious contempt. “My daughter seems to believe you have changed.”

  Frank regarded Mrs. Preston warily. “I think we’ve learned a great deal about each other the last few days.”

  Mrs. Preston ignored him. Instead she pointed to the many paintings that hung from the paneled walls. “My Anna is a beautiful and talented girl, Frank.” She paused and turned to face him. “She doesn’t need the false romance of following a military man. She has her own life.”

  Frank tried to choose his words carefully. “I’d just like to be a part of her life, ma’am. She has always been very special to me.” His words echoed dully without effect. Mrs. Preston seemed to look straight through him.

  “I’ve read the news reports, Frank. I can see why you’d come here looking for comfort. But you can’t expect Anna to jump at your every whim and fancy, only to watch you march off to greater glory. You two went your separate ways long ago. That was your decision and I think you should stick to it.”

  “It was the wrong decision,” Frank admitted. “Now I want to make up for it. Can’t you accept that?”

  Mrs. Preston’s voice crackled with the fire. “You fooled us all once, Frank. I won’t see you do it again!”

  Frank was exasperated. “Well, you will get rid of me for awhile, Mrs. Preston. But I do not intend on leaving your daughter’s life.”

  “Oh?” Mrs. Preston immediately brightened. “And where are you off to this time, Frank?”

  “I have a flight out of the Greensboro airport.” As soon as he said it, Frank immediately wished he had not.

  “When?”

  “This afternoon. But—”

  Before he could finish, Frank heard the quick drumming of feet racing down the steps. Anna rushed around the corner and entered the room, her face flush with excitement.

  “I missed you yesterday,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Did you learn anything from Mr. Walker?”

  Frank glanced at Mrs. Preston. “He reminded me of a few things.” He hesitated to say any more.

  Anna sensed his discomfort. “Mom, do you mind if Frank and I have a few minutes alone?”

  “All right,” Mrs. Preston replied as she turned to go up the stairs. “But don’t forget we have a lunch date in an hour.”

  “I think I’ll invite Frank to join us.” Anna smiled mischievously at Frank. “Is that OK with you mama?”

  Mrs. Preston’s voice f
loated down the stairs. “I really don’t think he’ll be able to dear. He already told me he has a flight to catch.”

  Anna’s smile disappeared. She looked at Frank with surprise. “Does this have anything to do with what Mr. Walker told you?”

  “No. Well, I don’t know. I got a call this morning saying I have to return to duty immediately.”

  “Where?”

  “I can’t say where.”

  Anna looked at him suspiciously. “Frank, you told me you had two weeks of leave.”

  “I did. But now they want me back. Believe me Anna, the last thing I want is to leave you now.”

  “Can’t you refuse to go?” Her eyes pleaded for some alternative.

  Frank shook his head. “They’d throw me in prison for disobeying an order.” He took her hand and led her to the sofa. “Anna, I’m afraid they may throw me in prison anyway for what came out from that safety report. I have to go back to prove what really happened.”

  Anna let go of his hand and leaned back. “You did learn something from Mr. Walker, didn’t you?”

  “He gave me some history on the B-2. I saw some connections between what’s happened in the past and what may have happened to the B-2 I was flying. I also saw a man who’s been devastated by his son’s death.”

  “And you think you can do something to change that?”

  “No. But I’m still an Air Force pilot. I can’t just turn my back on my responsibilities. I owe it to Dale and—”

  “And to yourself, and to everyone else.” Anna sighed. “I’ve heard this before Frank.”

  “But I’m not out for myself this time. I just have to find the truth of what really happened. It’s important to a lot of other people beside me.”

  “I know, Frank. I know. You’ve always been great at prioritizing. Whether it’s a split second reaction in the air or a life-altering choice on the ground, you naturally make the most logical and appropriate decision. It’s your gift. You always think clearly, no matter what the situation. But that’s the problem, Frank. In your life, I’ll never be the logical choice.”

  “Anna, the life I’ve had hasn’t been a life. It’s been a contest. I know that now. But I won’t go back to that.” He looked at her desperately. “Haven’t the past few days meant anything?

  “I need more than a few days of commitment, Frank. I need a lifetime.” She stood up and walked toward the door. “I just don’t think I can stand to be out-prioritized again.”

  Frank felt a sudden resentment toward every decision he had made since that day on the beach years before. “You are most important to me,” he said quickly, following her to the door. “That will not change.”

  She smiled weakly at him. “I want to be most important to you. I wanted that ten years ago, but you chose the Air Force. It’s obvious you feel you have no choice this time either.” She handed him his leather jacket, the engagement ring still securely locked within its zippered pocket, and kissed him gently on the cheek.

  Frank stood motionless, his hands at his sides. He had run out of time. If he was to make the flight, he needed to leave now. “I won’t let us drift apart again,” he said softly. He turned to leave, unable to accept that she had given up on him. Behind him, the screen door banged shut with a harsh gust of wind.

  “Frank. Do you remember my painting of the lonely woman on the beach?” Anna’s voice sounded distant in the swirling winds.

  He turned around, struggling to see her silhouette through the dense wire squares.

  “She was looking up at the sky, not the ocean, Frank . . . I won’t do that again.”

  Chapter 24

  Whiteman Air Force Base was a bastion of high-tech wizardry nestled within the back woods of Western Missouri. Sleek new structures of concrete, glass and steel marked the revival of what was once an old nuclear missile base. They housed the world’s only operational unit of stealth bombers and the specially selected aircrews that flew them. Most of the local populace could only marvel at the strange bat-winged vehicles that occasionally rumbled over their houses. Even to the thousands who worked on the base, the jet remained a mystery. Very few, beyond those who flew it or maintained it, had ever looked inside its secretive cockpit.

  As Frank walked toward the entrance of the 509th Bomb Wing Headquarters, he wondered if he would ever see a B-2 cockpit again—or the cockpit of any other Air Force aircraft for that matter. He could only speculate on the reason behind his sudden summons to Whiteman. The pilots of the small C-21 transport that picked him up in Greensboro had offered no insight. In fact, they seemed surprised to find a young major as their only cargo. They simply delivered him to Whiteman Base Operations where a staff car and driver were waiting.

  Frank had changed into his flight suit before departing for the headquarters building. Walking into the main lobby, he felt the curious stares of a couple local pilots as they examined his unusual patches.

  “Farago?” one of them said as he passed by. “Where have I heard that name?”

  “He crashed the B-2,” the other one answered, loud enough for Frank to hear.

  Frank pretended not to. He kept on walking to the elevator that would take him to the second floor. His orders had directed him to the classified conference room for a 1700 meeting. He had two minutes left.

  The elevator doors opened on the second floor to reveal a security guard holding a clipboard. He asked Frank for his ID, examined it, and then checked his name off of a list. Behind him was a heavy steel door with a cipher lock. He reached for a phone beside the door, and spoke to someone on the inside. The door immediately opened.

  Frank stepped into the conference room, where another guard quickly closed the door behind him. Frank hesitated a moment as all heads turned to face him. Seated about a central conference table were over a dozen blue-suited officers. Most of their uniforms were adorned with eagles or various combinations of stars.

  “Ah, the defendant is here.”

  The words came from a lieutenant colonel standing at the front of the room. His worst fears realized, Frank didn’t move.

  “Don’t worry, Major Farago,” said a general at the end of the long table. “Colonel Hernandez shouldn’t imply that this is a trial. We simply hope that you can help us in our discussions. Please have a seat.”

  Frank moved slowly toward an empty chair at the side of the table. He realized the man at the head of the table was General Morgan, the Air Force Chief of Staff. He didn’t know the other generals and colonels seated around the room, but he assumed they were part of General Morgan’s Pentagon staff, along with leaders from the Air Combat Command and the local base leadership. Frank sat quietly at the table, trying to imagine what this assembly of Air Force leadership might want from him.

  “Colonel Hernandez,” General Morgan began. “I believe we have all the necessary personnel. Please begin.”

  Lieutenant Colonel Hernandez nodded toward a major seated at a computer against the far wall. The major dimmed the lights and brought up a digital slide show that projected onto a large screen at the front of the room. Hernandez turned to face the audience.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Lieutenant Colonel Rich Hernandez, Commander of the 393rd Bomb Squadron. I will begin today’s briefing with an intelligence update on North Korean nuclear capabilities.” He paused until the next slide appeared, showing a detailed map of North Korea.

  “In the past two weeks, North Korea has demonstrated significant advances in its nuclear and long range missile technologies. One week ago, they successfully tested a variant of their Taepo-dong missile. This missile has an estimated max range of four-thousand nautical miles. Two days ago, they detonated a nuclear device in the Sea of Japan. We estimate the yield of this device at approximately fifteen kilotons. Though small by our own standards, it is equivalent to a Hiroshima class weapon. However, our intelligence reports that North Korea has already produced a weapon in the one hundred-kiloton class. More importantly, it is now believed the North Koreans have the ability t
o mate one of these one hundred-kiloton warheads to the Taepo-dong missile.”

  Hernandez paused while a regional map appeared, featuring a 4,000 nautical mile ring centered on Pyongyang. “You can see the range of such a weapon would encompass much of Asia. Of course, it could also reach the states of Hawaii and Alaska. The question before us is: How can we cripple North Korea’s ability to produce and launch these nuclear missiles?”

  The next slide was a close up map of Pyongyang and the surrounding region. Hernandez aimed his laser pointer at a spot forty miles north of Pyongyang.

  “This is the city of Yongbyon. It has been the home of North Korea’s nuclear weapons program for over twenty years. Up until their expulsion, international observers had been monitoring this site ever since the 1994 Geneva agreement. Last year, the North Koreans restarted the five-megawatt reactor at Yongbyon and they have been using it to extract plutonium for their nuclear weapons program.

  “One hundred miles east of Pyongyang is Wonsan. This is the site of North Korea’s long-range missile program. The No-dong missile was developed here as well as some variants of the SCUD which North Korea has exported to other countries such as Iran and Iraq. It was from Wonsan in 1998 that North Korea launched a Taepo-dong missile over Japan.”

  Hernandez paused until a slide of the B-2 flashed on the screen. “Just as we destroyed Iraq’s nuclear and missile capabilities during the Gulf War, both Yongbyon and Wonsan will be the primary targets of our high altitude bombing—this time by one of our B-2 Spirit bombers.”

  Frank relaxed a little as he finally understood the purpose of the meeting. He could only assume he was there to provide insight into the latest B-2 capabilities. He listened closely as Hernandez described his plan for the B-2 strike.