Star Girl

by Alan VanMeter

  “Well the Colonel had the other two flights with us disengage, as he broke opposite to face his enemy head on. I broke right along with him.”

  “And?” I am enthralled.

  “He won, they lost.”

  “How?”

  “That is the Colonel’s story.” He grins at me.

  I can only sigh.

  That afternoon as the glue is drying on my model, I go to the phone exchange to make a couple calls. First is home, and I wake mom and dad up, I knew I would, but it’s been my first opportunity, well almost anyhow.

  “You call us anytime baby, don’t apologize! And call collect from now on, it’s an order Lieutenant!” Dad chastises me for apologizing.

  “Yes sir General big daddy.” I tease him.

  “I love you baby.” He responds. “So tell me about it so far Steph.”

  “I haven’t flown any missions yet, we just got here. I think the base is pretty nice, and they do have very heavy security, so don’t worry. I am deep in the green zone.”

  “Good, that’s to be expected.”

  “I am going to be flying combat missions as I had volunteered for dad, and I’m a bit nervous there.”

  “You should be. Is your wing leader any good?”

  “Major Hoyt is really good actually dad. He’s beyond my skill and knowledge yet.”

  “Good, pay attention to every damn thing he says, closely baby.”

  “I will daddy. They all have me under their wings here, and think of me like their kid sister, I swear.”

  “Well you are not my kid sister, you are my baby girl!”

  “I always have been, and always will be your baby, daddy. That makes me so proud, you know that right?”

  “I know precious.”

  Mom talks to me for a good while, and she’s a mess, I can hear it the whole time. I promise her I will be alright, and then give them my APO address so they can send me mail. After a tearful goodbye, I decide to call Debbie’s mom next, and give her my address here, so maybe Debbie will write.

  That night, as I drift off to sleep, I wonder what the next day will bring here in Bagdad, and with the war I am now a part of. My dream is of soaring through the clouds fast, as I often do. I’m rousted awake with the call to report in full flight gear for briefing. I look at my aviators watch that dad had given upon graduation from the Academy, and see that it is oh five hundred hours local Bagdad time. Then I hurry to get my suit on with my side-arm, and take my flight bag and helmet with me.

  The Colonel and Major are at the lectern up front, as we all file in and take seats.

  “Today we will fly two sorties of three flights each. We are to take station south above An Najaf at thirty thousand, and be on call for direct support strikes. The Army is pushing into Anbar province and we are there to assist if needed. Two, and twelve, plus nine and ten, and seven and eight are the first sortie, and I’ll lead the rest in the afternoon. Weapons on each bird are two-one thousand pound GPS guided bombs. Drop altitude will be twenty thousand for any strikes.”

  Immediately I wonder about any air to air missiles, and the Colonel looks at me and seems to read my mind. “We are not carrying any air to air ordinance, as there will not be any air targets encountered, guaranteed. Your digital maps have all been uploaded for the theater, remember we are on a purely strike mission for your personal settings, and uploads. Any questions?”

  Captain Hanford pipes up loudly, “I’m expecting my new bedroom furniture to be delivered today Colonel, could you have someone sign for it, for me?”

  “I’m afraid it will be returned to sender Captain, that’s a shame.” He grins.

  “Oh, that is. It was such a lovely looking set, on line anyhow. Damn, how am I ever expected to entertain like this, really?” She teases with great effect as the guys all crack up.

  “Okay, Major Hoyt, get your sortie in the air.”

  The Major calls out, “Seven, eight, nine, ten, and twelve; you are with me. Let’s get going.”

  I am on the Major’s wing at thirty thousand feet as the other two flights flank us several miles away. We keep radio traffic to a minimum always, just when something really must be sent. My radar is off, as we have the always present AWACS to see for us, long range. I am just enjoying the early morning sky at altitude, where I belong.

  “Romeo September two, Cent Com. Package delivery request at coordinates; uploading now. Confirm address receipt.”

  “Rodger Cent Com, address received. Delivery in route.” The Major acknowledges. “Twelve, you are up. We’ll be in release range in four. This will be a full package delivery.”

  “Rodger that two. Full delivery.” I activate my weapons system to ground mode, and arm the two big GPS bombs in the weapons bay. The GPS coordinates have been received, and I upload them into the bomb’s computer. In two minutes I open the weapons bay doors. We have changed course, but I am still right on the Major’s wing as he likes. In just a few minutes he radios me, “Ring the doorbell twelve.”

  “Package in route, delivery is imminent.” My bird pops straight up quite a bit, as the weight falls away. I correct quickly and smoothly.

  We circle back as we wait for further orders.

  “Romeo September two, Cent Com, requesting additional delivery. Confirm.”

  “Cent Com, Romeo September two, affirmative, additional delivery in route.”

  The Major drops both of his bombs in a moment, and we wait. It hits me then, that I probably just killed some people. That was too easy…it doesn’t seem right. This is for real, people are dying way down there below us, and our guys too. I hope I helped our guys out. As long as their GPS coordinates were accurate, I should have.

  “Rodger on deliveries being received Romeo September two. Gratefully so. Good job. Remain on station until relieved, Cent Com out.”

  Even though the Major and I are out of bombs, the other two flights with us are fully armed. So we simply cruise through the clouds, in such grace and beauty, yet now I know we are not beautiful birds strictly, we are quite deadly as well. I am officially a killer now. It gives me pause.

  We land back in Bagdad just after noon, and the other sortie is already gone. The major and I have data action reports to fill out immediately after our debriefing by Major Hoyt himself. I have to list the exact time, coordinates, altitude, airspeed, and such of when I released my weapons. I submit it with a keystroke, and the Major finishes his report shortly after.

  “You did very well today Lieutenant. Just so you know, I received word that our strike took out a rebel position that was chewing our boys up. We saved lives Stephanie, remember that please.”

  “Thank you sir. It did sort of hit home you know.” I sigh in relief, and yet with remorse.

  “It should. That means you are human Stephanie. I know this war seems quite inhumane, but we did save some of our troops today. That means something Romero! Everything!” He grimaces.

  “I can do it again sir.” I nod with a grimace as well.

  “Good, let’s save some worthy American lives then Lieutenant.”

  “Rodger that sir.”

  He takes me to the chow hall with him for lunch and we are joined by the others of our sortie who are already there.

  “Hey, did you hear about those two Scottish queer boys, who challenged the Brits’ gayest fellows to a fag-off?” Captain Fielder asks in jest.

  “Oh please Captain!” my fellow female pilot, and friend Captain Hanford protests. I already knew she is gay like me, though I have no attraction to her in that way.

  “Oh sure, it was a famous match. The Scotts were named Patrick Fitzgerald, and Gerald Fitzpatrick, and they went up against Ben Dover, and Phil McCracken.” He starts laughing, and even Captain Hanford and I also are busting up, it’s so stupid.

  “So who won?” Major Hoyt asks all dead pan, his usual demeanor.

  “It was a complete blow out, and they all claimed victory!” Fielder dies laughing, leading the rest of us to hysteria too, even Major Hoyt.<
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  After dinner we are all waiting in the rec lounge for the second sortie to return. Just before the sun nears the western horizon, we hear the Raptors screaming overhead. All of us immediately head out to watch them land, counting them for our own ease of mind. There are six Raptors in the pattern, and we all sigh relief, and then silently watch as our brothers land.

  We wait for them to get chow, and they eventually join us in the rec lounge. The Colonel tells that they were called for a large strike package just before evening, and that things seem to be heating up in An Bar province. We should all expect more of the same in the coming days. It is still just now sinking in to me that I have killed, I don’t quite know what to think about that. Even though I didn’t see any of my victims, I know they were there. They were trying to kill our boys though, at least I hope that’s who I hit. What if they were innocent civilians though? Collateral damage as they like to call it, I guess so we can all still sleep at night. No, it was rebels, had to be.

  The next day is a repeat of the previous one, except we are not called on for a strike. We land, debrief, and eat lunch before we all wind up in the rec lounge. I break out my model again and start step two, within an hour several other pilots come from the PX with model kits of their own. It looks like maybe I started something here. Turns out to be a great way to stay calm and relaxed after a stressful day, kind of Zen like.

  After the second sortie returns, and dinner; I watch some TV with my new family. That’s what they are all like, and I have been welcomed into their fold with open arms. This is my dream all right, all except the part about killing people. That isn’t what I thought it would be like at all. It is without any mercy or compassion, or anger even. Just push the button, and fly away, not my problem.

  The next three days are almost identical, including the weather, or lack of as it is. This place is just damn hot, and dry, no wonder the people here are so uptight. Finally we will have a stand down day tomorrow, and that means that the officers club is open. Just about the whole squadron winds up there, and I am determined to buy the Colonel his drink to get the rest of his story from him. Just as I am making my way to him, the whole building shakes, and in a moment we hear a distant loud clap of thunder it sounds like. Everyone pours outside, but none of the sirens are going off. We all see a large bubbling ball of smoke rising against the city lights some ten miles away.

  “Car bomb.” The Colonel states.

  Still the alarms don’t go off, so we all go back in the club. Then not a minute later the building shakes much harder and we hear a blast not far off. The alarms go off, and we all run to the nearest bunker. We all just sit there with the loud blare of the sirens for nearly an hour, before the angry noise stops, and the all clear is given. By this time I am ready to hit the sack, so I do.

  For the next five days we fly sorties, sometimes two a day, and for the second time I am called on to drop my bombs. I do it with no hesitation, but there is a nagging thought there; this is wrong. Finally on the next stand down day I am able to get the story out of the Colonel at the club. All the pilots there shush up as he tells it, each listening with close attention.

  “The Fulcrums climbed pure vertical right onto our six, and were already at twenty thousand when we were alerted to them. Damn those things are fast, let me tell you, never under estimate your enemies’ capabilities. Anyway, I had the two elements with us break hard right and to disengage, while Major Hoyt and I broke hard left, coming around to go head on with the Migs. They came at us. I got a radar lock on warning just as I turned my ECM on, and it broke the lock on right away. We were closing too fast for me to line up a shot, so I planned our next maneuver. The Mig pilot must have got frustrated, because he fired off a heat seeker way too close as we were about to pass. It went ballistic right away. I broke left hard again as we passed, and they split; one right, and one left. I fell right behind the left one and the sidewinder was just about to hum itself right off the rail, so I let it fly; right up his tail pipe. Just then Major Hoyt had the second Mig coming around on his six, so I called him to break hard left, and I broke right rolling into an Immelman. As I came around I saw that Fulcrum right on Hoyt’s six, who was dropping flares like there’s no tomorrow, and jinxing all over the place. The Mig launched a heat seeker at him, but it went for a flare. Then I set my radar to bore sight acquisition and pointed right at the Mig as I backed off the throttle to get some distance. The instant I had lock on, I fired off an AMRAM at him. There was nothing left of that Fulcrum hardly at all.” He shakes his head.

  Major Hoyt nods.

  “Romero.” The Colonel barks. “Why did I use an AMRAM instead of a sidewinder?”

  I think about just for a second. “So there was no chance you might shoot down Major Hoyt by the sidewinder mistaking his heat signature for the Mig’s.” I remember that they did cover this in training.

  “Outstanding Romero.” He smiles.

  I can’t believe how quickly the first three months of our deployment have passed, but the days do seem to be getting longer, slowing down. I have sent and received numerous letters to mom and dad, and a couple to my grandparents too. Debbie finally sent me a letter, and gave me her address to her permanent duty station; Langley Air Force base in Virginia. She is flying a Raptor as well, for the three hundred twenty fifty Fighter Weapons Wing. It is a domestic air defense squadron, and I am glad for her that she doesn’t have to kill people.

  Many of the pilots in my squadron have taken to building models as a hobby, and the Colonel even got a glass counter display case that he put in the rec lounge for us to display our works in. My big Raptor is proudly on the top shelf painted and numbered as my real bird is. Now I am working on a very detailed and intricate kit of the space shuttle. Boy wouldn’t I love to fly one of them. Now that would be a ride. I just turned twenty one last week, and the squadron threw a party for me. They all bought me model kits for presents, and strangely enough all of them were ones I had looked at in the PX, with interest. I love all the guys, and Captain Hanford especially well. To them I really am their kid sister, yet they all say that I’m just as good of a pilot as any of them. I don’t know about that, but I do appreciate the compliment.

  On all the missions that I have performed strikes, I have only once known what my target was. The GPS coordinates are simply sent by Cent Com, and I merely upload them to the bombs. Then when we are in range, I touch the button, and someone dies. I’m just a damn grocery clerk…no, not even the clerk, just the delivery girl. I could be blowing up babies as far as I know. Oh who am I kidding, I know there have had to have been collateral damage from some of my bombs. What gives us the right to come here to these people’s country and blow them to pieces? Just because we have the might? So if you cannot fight someone else’s might, you have no right to live. That’s the law of the jungle there. But just what kind of animal uses Mach two capable fighter bombers to drop precision guided, high explosive munitions on each other? I have to get a grip, these thoughts are not helping me.

  Something loud wakes me up cold, and then the alarm sirens go off. I grab my side arm and run for the bunker just outside in my skivvies. As everyone else piles in close to each other, an explosion thunders from close by.

  “Mortar attack!” The Colonel barks with a growl.

  It is very dark in the bunker, and you can feel heavy breaths around you, from frightened people. Suddenly another explosion, but more distant. Then we sit and listen to the alarms for an hour until the all clear is given. By then everyone is wide awake, yet still wanting sleep. So we go back to our quarters to try. We lob bombs at them, and they lob bombs at us; yup it is insanity.

  The last six months have dragged by slowly, I guess I’m definitely not having fun any longer. I haven’t even built a kit in two months, just kind of tired of everything about this place. Some of the fellows have taken to drinking every chance they get, and fairly heavily too. I don’t want that for me, it sure wouldn’t help anything, just make it worse. I’m still wres
tling with being paid to kill people, and paid very well too. It is on everyone’s mind I think, how could it not be? There is no way I will ask for a transfer, dad could swing it if I asked, but these people are my family, and I’m not going to go running home like a scared little girl on them. I will fight with them, and die for them if necessary. Thank goodness we only have two and a half months left on our rotation. The down time back home will make me whole, and I can’t wait.

  Just before evening chow today, the Major summons me to go with him. I follow wondering what’s going on. Am I in some sort of trouble? It’s hard to tell by the Major’s dead pan demeanor. He takes me to the rec room and I see the whole squadron is lined up and standing at attention, even the enlisted ground crew. The Colonel is waiting, facing me down at the far end of the room. Major Hoyt delivers me to him, and stands aside at attention. I am at full attention myself.

  “Second Lieutenant Romero, give me those damn bars.” He points to my collar rank insignia.

  I guess maybe I am in trouble. Quickly I take both sets of single bars off, and hand them to his waiting hand. Then he surprises me.

  “Unless you do something stupid, and are busted in rank, you will never be called second Lieutenant again. Plain old Lieutenant it is. Congratulations Romero.” He comes and pins my new double bars on my collar.

  Hey, I just got a raise.

  He salutes me, and I return it sharply. Then he shakes my hand with a proud grin. Yup, Colonel Hall is my daddy. I wasn’t due for consideration for a few months yet. He dismisses us and the whole squadron congratulates me personally. It’s so nice to be appreciated, especially by people who I admire above most all.

  Chapter 5

  Finally our rotation home is here, and we take the long non-stop flight back to New Mexico. Of course we had to leave all of our models there, but I like the idea of the next squadron seeing our work. I call dad right away after we land, as we have thirty days furlough effective immediately. He’s there within an hour, and I fly back home. On the drive to the house, he stops me by a drive-in for a shake.