“Dismissed...” The pilots rose and were issued their search pattern orders as they exited two by two, heading for the elevator that would carry them to the hangar level, two floors below the flight deck.
Walking through the hangar level, the pilots joked and jousted verbally, exchanging good-natured insults and challenges. Pausing only momentarily to be serious, the aviators wished one another luck before dispersing to do pre-flight inspections of their aircraft.
As Smiley and Warren strolled across the hangar deck, the senior officer pointed out his wingman's plane sitting on the aircraft lift. The engineer standing next to the F18 waved the two airmen to the lift. The pilots stepped onto the platform and it moved smoothly upwards. "Your bird's already topside Pappy. You guys'll launch first."
Smiley guessed the grizzled engineer's age over fifty. "Chief, what're you still doin' way out here?"
The engineer smiled a crooked smile. "Well, I got seven kids, n'it seems like every time I go home, another one pops out! This's the only place I git any peace 'n quiet!" He guffawed at his own joke, slapping the pilot on the shoulder. Smiley laughed too, the thought of seven kids all in one house seemed simply unbelievable. The Chief climbed onto the tow truck as the lift squeaked to a stop. "Your bird's over there." He said, pointing the way, as he started the motor on the truck. The pilot waved.
Warren waved back as he followed his aircraft. They would be on their own now until they were in the air.
Paul Smiley examined his Hornet inch by inch. He handed the line assistant his helmet to climb the ladder to the cockpit and paused to run his hand gently across the Desert Storm logo, just below the cockpit. He was proud of that logo and what it stood for, along with the four kill badges to the right.
The line assistant buckled him in and handed the pilot his flight helmet. After switching on all systems, Paul spun up the engines. While they warmed, he proceeded through his lengthy pre-flight checklist. By the time he finished, Mike Warren's Hornet had just left the catapult and Smiley got the nod to roll. He released the brakes, slowly rolling to the catapult under direction of the Line Boss. Smiley closed and latched the canopy, stopping at the Boss's signal.
Several more F-18s sat behind him on the deck, their engines warming, waiting their turn. The catapult linkage connected to the nose wheel of his Hornet, he waited, watching the Line Boss. The Boss was the Maestro of the deck. That deck and everything on it belonged to him. Conducting deck traffic like an orchestra, the LB controlled aircraft, deck equipment and men alike. Everyone watched him, a missed que could spell disaster.
A blast panel rose from the deck behind the plane to protect the fighters waiting next in line. The Boss rotated his hand in the air and Smiley throttled up, the catapult holding his aircraft in place. Exchanging the thumbs up signal with the LB, the pilot's hands left the controls to hold onto the grips on either side of the canopy. The line-controlled F18 is control sensitive on takeoff, so it's carrier-launched hands-off.
The Boss took a quick look around, saluted the pilot sharply from his crouched position and as his arm dropped, the catapult fired, shooting the Hornet across the deck and out over the ocean. As soon as he was over the water, Smiley took the controls and steered the F18 into a climbing turn, out of the traffic pattern. He breathed deeply in his mask and grinned – any day flying was the best time of your life. He raised his landing gear. "Blue One to STC, feet wet, proceeding as planned..."
“Roger Blue One,” replied the traffic control officer from the carrier, “Happy trails.”
"Blue One to Blue Two... location?"
“Blue Two, coming around on your port side, Pappy.”
Paul Smiley glanced over his left shoulder, "Roger Blue Two... come to a heading of two-four-zero, let's climb to Angels 10."
“Roger Blue One." The two pilots pointed their aircraft on course and before long, began their search. "Why d'you suppose they sent the Navy on a mission like this?" Warren asked his senior officer, over a more private air to air channel.
Surveying the sky and glancing at his scope, Pappy shrugged mentally, "I guess there really isn't anyone else." It was about as good an answer as any. The pilots flew along in virtual silence except for occasional radio traffic and updates to the carrier.
CHAPTER SIX
SWEET SUSIE, SOUTH OF THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE : HIDE N' SEEK
Having switched seats, Brian and Jack munched happily on the ham sandwiches Maria had passed to the cockpit, and Fritz watched with interest as they ate. The Shepherd nudged Jack's elbow and he tore off a piece, handing it to the dog.
"How're you doin' back there?” Jack called.
“Fine,” she replied popping up in between them. “How are your ribs?”
“Colorful...”
"Wow... wook at dat coud formafin!" Brian mumbled, his mouth full of ham sandwich.
Jack looked at his copilot's bulging cheeks instead. "Really?” he said sarcastically, “Tower, message garbled, please repeat...” he chided. “How about you swallow and try that again.” The copilot smiled sheepishly. Fritz stared intently, hoping some of it would fall on the floor.
■ ■ ■
In the search for the B25, Blue flight was the first to encounter anything in the sky that day. "I got a bogie, Pappy..." called Mike Warren. "Damn it's gone."
"Where?"
"On the edge of my scope, bearing one-seven-nine." Warren peered out over the port wingtip of his F18, knowing he wouldn't see it from this distance.
“Ok, Mad Dog, let's go check it out. Head up one-seven-nine. Blue One to STC, did you copy?"
"Roger, Blue One. Keep us informed."
The two Navy jets did a wing-over and swung to their new heading, throttling up. "I got my blip back again..." called Mike.
"Yep," replied Commander Smiley, "I got it too. Maintain course and speed." They flew on in formation. The two Hornets quickly closed the gap, approaching the B25 from behind and above. Ten minutes passed.
■ ■ ■
Maria stuck her head into the cockpit between Jack and Brian. "I've been getting a tremendous amount of interference on the scope and nav systems, but there seems to be a weather front ahea..." It was at that moment she glanced up and gazed through the moisture streaked cockpit windshield. "Saint Mary..." she whispered, "it's even bigger than I thought..." She realized they were headed straight for it, which made a chill run through her body. She rubbed the goose bumps off her arms. "You're not going through that, are you?" It was more of a statement than a question.
Jack never fond of discussing his decisions once he'd made them, especially when he was unsure of the outcome himself. "You got a better idea?"
"Going around it, immediately comes to mind!" she said, waving her hand expressively.
Not that he was truly pissed, but his voice and composure turned to a controlled calm, he spoke in a low, controlled voice. "Well... thanks to your fucking buddy Paulo and the keystone cops, we had to make a hot exit, not to mention changing routes. We don't have the fuel to go around it."
Brian remained silent, he knew better than to intervene. Besides, Jack was right, if not for her, they wouldn't be in this mess... or would they? He decided, he would have to think on that some more. Maria returned silently to the navigator's table, tears of frustration burning in her eyes. She hated to cry and fought her emotions. Right then she hated him. She cut herself off in mid thought, wiping the tears from her eyes to focus on the radar screen. At the age of twenty-five, she still hadn't learned to fully control her emotions.
"JAAACK!" The scream took him by surprise, a quick glance told him the copilot too. The frantic girl stumbled over the dog as she scrambled back through the cockpit opening. "Jack..." she was breathless and as white as a ghost, "two bogies, moving fa
st!"
Bogies? The thought that flashed through his mind was that it was a military term... He decided he didn't have time for contemplation right now and put the thought aside. "Where?" he fired at her.
"Directly behind and high, about two thousand feet up, twenty miles out and closing."
"What do we do?" asked Brian, jumping in.
"I don't know..." he turned back to Maria. "How fast?"
She shook her head, "Real fast! About triple our speed!"
"That's around Mach One! Shit, shit, shit!" he said in a growl, pounding his fist on the control yoke. "They gotta' be military, damn!"
"Kinda rules out runnin' huh?"
Jack looked at Brian. "Yeah, I would think so, unless you have a jet engine hidden up your sleeve."
Brian shrugged. “Think they're ours?”
Steele shook his head, “Doesn't matter whose they are, it's still probably bad news for us...”
Maria went back to the scope. She was having a hard time reading the radar because of the distortion on the screen from the storm. "The scope... I can't find them... Wait! There they are. They're about a mile out, they're just pacing us now... damn this interference!" She tried to adjust her avionics. "Sorry, I just lost them again."
"See if you can tell what they are, or who they are." Jack envisioned being shot down without warning, and if that was the case, he preferred to go down fighting, no matter how futile the effort. "Ok, don't panic, we still don't know what they want," he said, rubbing his chin in thought. "Maybe they're just curious... I hope."
■ ■ ■
They could see it now, quite clearly in fact. There was no mistaking that twin tail section. They had found the B25.
"Ok Mad Dog, reduce speed I want to hang back here for a bit."
"Roger, Pappy." Mike eased the throttle back to stay in formation with his wing leader.
Smiley switched frequencies. "Blue One to STC, we have a positive visual contact with the B25."
"STC... Roger that, Blue One. Good job. Proceed with caution, we will vector additional birds to your location."
"Roger, STC, Blue One out."
The old warbird looked rather majestic, flying through the clouds below. "Damn, Pappy, that thing's in beautiful shape. She looks brand new."
Smiley had noticed that too and for some reason that seemed odd and out of sync with the circumstances. He looked at the mountainous clouds looming in the distance, and the heading they were on. "Mad Dog, we want to corral these folks before we reach that weather out there."
"Roger, Pappy. Just tell me what you need me to do."
"Ok kid, hang on my port-stern quarter and keep an eye on that gun turret. If it moves give me a shout, then get the hell outta' the way."
"Roger, Pappy... by the way, I'm getting some real distortion on my radar. How's yours?"
Smiley looked down and the picture was so distorted he couldn't read it. "Yeah, mine too. Must be coming from that weather out there. Let's corral these people and get the hell outta' here. Follow my lead kid." He proceeded to search for the radio frequency being used by the B25 as he eased up alongside her.
■ ■ ■
"Jack, look at the gauges," Brian's voice was calm, if not a bit curious. Jack switched his gaze to the dash to see the gauges doing strange things indeed. The closer to the storm front they got, the crazier the electronics and instruments behaved.
Jack's eyes widened. "I've got an idea, it just might work too." Brian had a strange feeling he wasn't going to like this, in fact, he was almost positive.
Fritz distracted the pilot before he could speak. The Shepherd was obviously agitated, excited even, standing with his front paws on Jack's thigh to see out the window, fidgeting and whining. The pilot ran his hand across the dog's head, rubbing his ears, trying to keep him calm. The Shepherd, enjoying the attention, remained still. "See? Even he feels it."
Brian, who had been watching the dog, looked past him out over the port wing. "We've got company," he pointed calmly. Jack looked left to see a Navy F18 Hornet, barely fifty feet off the Sweet Susie's left wingtip. Above and to the left of him was yet another F18.
"Christ, he's got missiles," muttered Jack. The pilot of the closest F18 gave a wave, then in sign language conveyed to Jack that he wanted their radio frequency. Jack glanced ahead to the looming storm front, trying to gauge their closing speed. Steele held up fingers for numbers. "I gotta' stall," he told Brian and Maria, who was kneeling next to Fritz. "That front's our only chance."
"I was afraid he was going to say that," groaned Brian.
The fighter pilot found the frequency and amidst the noise and interference, identified himself to the crew of the B25. "Hello B25, can you hear me?"
Jack keyed the mic, "Yes I can, what can I do for you?" His voice was friendly and calm. He glanced at the horizon, they were so close. Stall... stall, he thought. His body tingled all over, although quite a unique feeling it was somehow familiar - he tried to put it out of his mind.
"I'm Lieutenant Commander Paul Smiley, United States Navy..." he pointed to the other F18, "that's my wingman, Lieutenant Mike Warren. We are off the aircraft carrier Shenandoah and have orders to escort you back to San Juan airport." The pilot's slow, calm voice, with its hint of southern accent, made it an almost appealing proposition. Jack could tell this man was a true professional, completely comfortable and confident. He could also see the row of victory badges painted on the fuselage under the cockpit canopy. This was a man who could seriously ruin your day, if so inclined. Commander Smiley continued, "I will ask you to totally comply with my instructions, if you attempt to evade or take any hostile action, we will shoot you down. Do you understand?"
Jack's mind was racing. "Yes, Commander..." stall, he thought. "Commander, I have just one problem..." the three planes entered the fringes of the weather front and visibility was closing in rapidly, "I don't have enough fuel to return there." In reality, this was close to the truth. “I do, however, have enough fuel to reach the coast...”
"Stand by B25... Negative, come to a heading of zero-nine-nine." Smiley seemed totally calm and under control.
Jack smiled to himself, this guy needs to get out of this soup too... probably to call for redirection. Hell, with all this static interference, they could barely communicate plane to plane and they were within spitting distance of each other.
He had one trick up his sleeve, and the timing had to be just right. When compared to the Hornets flying off his starboard wingtip, the B25 was about as maneuverable as a flying grand piano... but there was such a disparity between the flight envelopes of the B25 and the Hornets that Jack hoped the playing field just might tilt in his favor.
He was trying to see if the F18s were flying with their flaps deployed... dammit, he couldn't tell through the dwindling visibility.
"Please repeat, Commander Smiley, we could not copy." Jack needed just another second or two, their only chance...
"Jack..." Maria grabbed his shoulder, startling him, "the radar screen and nav system just went completely blank..." He shot a glance at the gauges, some were bouncing uncontrollably, others had flatlined, completely dead. He hoped the systems on the two F18's were suffering the same problems. “Before they quit, I saw two more bogies...”
■ ■ ■
The Lieutenant Commander tried without success to re-contact the B25 flying beside him, hell, he could barely reach Warren's aircraft. He was trying to decide what to do, he couldn't even reach the ship for assistance. This was undoubtedly the weirdest weather he had ever seen, and it was quickly getting worse.
"Pappy, can you hear me?"
"Yeah kid, go ahead."
"Pappy, I just lost my radar and all my navgear, my readouts are scrambl
ed... shit, I can't even tell how much fuel I've got left." Warren's voice was filled with uncertainty, possibly fear.
Hell, losing all your electronics could unnerve even a veteran pilot but Smiley needed his wingman to keep a clear head. "Yeah, me too, but don't worry kid, we'll be ok. Just chill out and hang onto my tail." His voice was calm and soothing.
"Ok, Pappy." Warren concentrated on keeping visual contact with the tail of Smiley's F18, gathering mettle from his wing leader's confidence.
■ ■ ■
Jack could still see Smiley's F18 off their port wing, although a little farther out than before. A strange observation suddenly presented itself. For such a large storm front, there was no wind, none... not only that, but there was no rainfall either... just the moisture held aloft in the clouds. Jack had no time for lengthy consideration, but he decided this was worth a mental note.
"Ok, Bri... full flaps on my command, got it?" Brian nodded, still uncertain of what Jack was planning. Shrouds of clouds came and went between the planes and Jack could see the other pilot watching, even attempting sign language. Flying without a physical horizon to see, was extremely disorienting. It was difficult, to say the least, to tell if one was flying level or not. He was relieved to see, out of all the gauges not working, the artificial horizon was still operating, perhaps because it was the original and not electric.
He eased the throttles back, a little at a time, knowing the Sweet Susie could fly slower than the Hornets... They watched and waited, their hearts pounding... suddenly the whole left wing of the B25 disappeared in murky veils, obscuring the Navy jets from view. Jack snatched the throttles back, cutting the power to almost one-third. "Full flaps... now!" Brian flipped the switches and the pumps whirred, hydraulically extending the control surfaces. In the span of only a couple of seconds, they reduced their airspeed by almost a hundred miles per hour, maybe more, without gauges it was all guesswork. But... it worked. Jack saw a quick glimpse of a tail pass by in the murk. Hopefully, they would continue on for a while, at present course and speed, without noticing the absence of the B25 in the foul weather. "Retract flaps, we're coming ten degrees to starboard."
Wings of Steele - Destination Unknown (Book 1) Page 7