Rock hit the wall again. “It shouldn’t have been him! He should have sent me!”
“He couldn’t.” Logan looked back at Rock. “Don’t you see? He couldn't ask or order that of you. He’d sent enough men to their deaths, and he knew this time it was his turn. Don’t hate him for that, Rock. Someday it may be your turn, and you’ll be the one to make that sacrifice. You don’t want your friends hating you for your sacrifice. You’ll only want their love and respect.”
Rock studied Logan. Then he stood at attention and saluted in the direction of his fallen buddy, a friend he would never see again. No more was spoken as the Concorde slowly increased in speed. An unexplainable sadness gave way to silence in their loss.
Main Operations Center, USS Roosevelt
Persian Gulf
Brodie waited impatiently next to the comm officer.
“I’ve got them, sir. Just key the microphone.”
“This is Captain Brodie of the USS Roosevelt to the USS Kennedy. Are you receiving me captain? Over.” He waited for an answer.
“Captain Baird of the USS Kennedy responding. How can I help you, Captain?”
“Captain, there is a civilian aircraft flying into Vietnam that may need some assistance.”
“Would this aircraft be a British Concorde supersonic transport?”
“Yes, it would!”
“Does it carry American servicemen?”
“Yes.”
“How about nuclear warheads?”
Brodie keyed the microphone. “I believe it’s carrying nuclear warheads, but how is it that you know so much about this flight?”
“They’ve been transmitting an SOS broadcasting this information. What should I think of it? They’re broadcasting on an unsecured band. If they’re really American, it’d seem they’d know better than that. What should I make of all this?”
“They really are American, and they really need help. Help that only you can provide. Will you assist them?”
“Well, they’re still in Vietnamese airspace, and right now, we’re tracking about two dozen fighters converging on them rapidly. Now, we’ve scrambled twelve aircraft, but I can’t send them in without presidential authority. We’d be looking at an act of war.”
Miller grabbed the microphone. “Captain, you can’t let anything happen to those men. It’s of paramount importance that you send fighters in to assist them.”
“To whom am I speaking?”
“Special Agent Dick Miller, NSA.”
“Special Agent? I don’t suppose you come with authorization to invade another country, do you?”
“No, Washington cannot openly give that, but you know that! You also know that if these men are to be saved, it will be because someone took the initiative to save them... Captain, that can only come from you.”
Brodie placed his hand on Miller’s shoulder and shook his head. Miller understood that he should say no more and handed the microphone back to Brodie.
“Captain Baird, I know those men. There are good men aboard that flight, both Marine and Special Forces. Now I don’t know why they went into Vietnam in the first place, but I do know they would have a good reason if they did. Captain, I’m speaking to you man to man. I can’t order you to help, and I wouldn’t do that. I realize you’d be putting your career on the line. We lost a lot of good men in the war, and it would be a shame to lose more now when we can do something about it. Now, you do what you think is right, Captain. That’s all anyone can really expect of you.”
Brodie laid the microphone down and waited. The air was silent.
Suddenly, Baird announced, “We lost many good men. I lost friends there. I guess it wouldn’t hurt for us to get in the way of those fighters, would it?”
Brodie waited in silence as the two captains silently reflected on the past. “Let’s just not make the same mistake twice.”
“Gotta go, Captain. We’ve a lot to do if we’re gonna help those men.”
Concorde Flight
Ten miles east of Hanoi
Gulf of Tonkin
“What’s this?” Rob pointed to a small screen in the center of the control console.
Logan glanced in the direction Rob pointed. “Radar.”
“I know that, but what are those dots?”
Logan looked closely at the screen. About a dozen small dots were at the top of the screen rapidly dropping to the bottom. “Those are aircraft, and they’re coming right toward us. We should see them up ahead any minute now.”
As they watched ahead, a group of small glowing dots appeared which quickly grew in size and darted past them on either side. Then the aircraft turned around and quickly pulled up behind them. Some were above them, and some were below. Some were to the right and some to the left. They were surrounded.
Finally, a single fighter pulled up alongside, and an English-speaking voice came from the speaker. “This is Snow Cone. Are you reading me?”
Rob keyed his microphone. “Yes.”
“Are you aware that you are currently in Vietnamese air space?”
“Yes, Snow Cone.”
“Can I be of some help?”
“Snow Cone, we believe we are being pursued. Can you confirm that?”
“Roger that. You are being trailed by about two dozen bad guys. What are your intentions?”
“Just to get out of here alive.”
“Roger that. Do you have a call sign?”
“Call sign? Oh, uh, Gray Matter? Gray Matter, okay?”
“Hold straight and true, Gray Matter. We have you boxed in...”
Logan and Rock watched out the side windows as several other groups of fighters approached. Suddenly, another voice spoke in not-quite-so-fluent English. “American fighters, you are in violation of the Republic of Vietnam’s airspace. You will leave immediately.”
After a short pause, Snow Cone spoke. “This is Captain Raine, and that is our intention. Our squadron has accidentally strayed off course. We will be in international waters in two minutes, and you have our apologies for the mix-up.”
“There has been no mix-up! Your squadron has deliberately invaded our sovereign airspace, and now you are trying to give protection to a renegade aircraft guilty of attacking our country. You will move away from the transport now or face reprisal.”
The American squadron was strategically placed around the Concorde so that the MIGs couldn’t get a clear shot. They were in a very vulnerable position, but one they had to take.
After another short pause, Captain Raine’s voice spoke again, full of force and authority. “You are well-advised not to take any hostile action against us or the transport. The transport is carrying American citizens...”
“The transport carries soldiers, so I tell you one last time: leave at once!”
Raine never answered. Instead, six F-18 fighters shot forward and split into two groups. One group swung around the back of the MIGs to the right. The other swung to the left, leaving only the six F-14s gathered around the back of the Concorde for protection.
Taylor leaned forward. “They won’t take on these fighters over us, will they?”
“It’s the principle of it,” Logan answered quietly. “They’ll pursue us to the end of the world.”
“You American fools!” The MIG pilot fired several missiles at pointblank range into an F-14 off the Concorde’s right side. The F-14 exploded in a thunderous blast. The F-18, still at full speed, mixed into the middle of the MIGs firing missiles and their cannons. Three MIGs exploded just seconds apart.
Rob watched as three of the covering F-14s bank hard and swerved back toward the pursuing MIGs while the remaining two F-14s swung back and forth behind the Concorde. He pushed his throttle all the way forward and kicked the afterburning engines of the four large turbofans into action. The airplane leaped forward as an incredible air war erupted behind them.
Rock and Logan pressed their faces up against the windows to see behind. There, twisting in endless circles, were the vapor trails of MIG-23s, F-14s, and F-18s, lo
cked in mortal combat. Only a single F-14 remained behind the Concorde for protection. Whether the other had been shot down they would never know. But one thing they knew for sure: the brave pilots of the USS Kennedy paid a tremendous price that day for their freedom.
The radio now blazed with activity from a dozen different voices.
“Tin Men, come right to three-one-seven... Take J formation...”
“I’m hit! I’m hit...”
“Sweep right!”
“Strawman Two, there are two bandits closing behind you.”
“I see them! I need help! Get them off me... I’m hit! I’m hit!”
Logan reached down and turned the radio off. “There’s nothing we can do for them. They’re on their own just as we are. Those men are doing what they have to. Now we have to do what we must, and that is to get this airplane back to the States. Now, Hawaii’s several thousand miles in front us, so let’s slow down and start conserving fuel.”
Rob looked troubled, but nodded his head in agreement. Far below them, the crew of the Kennedy stood on the deck of their large carrier and watched with apprehension as the supersonic Concorde streaked high across the sky over their heads. Men shouted, threw their hats into the air, and danced. The Kennedy had provided cover and protection for the Concorde to escape. The Kennedy and its crew had stepped up to fight. The attack on their aircrews in international waters was beyond forgiveness. They were drawn into this fight, and fighting is what they did best!
Behind the Concorde, the skill of the American pilots was paying off. All the F-14s were lost, leaving only four F-18s. Against them, locked in battle, were the remaining seven MIG-23s. Captain Raine’s F-14 was destroyed, leaving a talented and capable Lieutenant Cal “Savage” Thornton in command.
“Seal up that hole, Strawman Two,” Savage ordered. “We can’t allow a single one of them to get through!”
The F-18s these pilots flew were remarkably agile, single-seated, twin-engine fighters, capable of accelerating even when flying straight up. But the pilots of these aircrafts were just as agile. They fought with the cold methodical precision of a toolmaker and the delicate skill of a highwire circus performer.
“Come right, Strawman Two, to zero-three-niner. Remember, there is no victory until the enemy is defeated.”
Savage’s constant voice helped calm his men as the battle raged. He pressed his own fighter down on two MIGs that split from the rest. He swung the nose of his fighter while firing his Vulcan cannon, and both MIGs exploded seconds apart. He then turned his fighter back to join his friends in battle.
But even before he could return, the last MIG was sent burning in a graceful winding circle, a dance with death, as it plunged into the sea. He looked around to count his wingmen. There were four including himself! That meant that fourteen men had been lost. He turned to gaze into the distance in the direction of the departed Concorde, wondering who was aboard that aircraft and for what reason his men were required to give their lives. He silently saluted the nameless crew as he turned his fighter back toward the Kennedy.
Rob continued to fly east as the brilliant noon sun rose higher into the sky. Heading east actually worked to shorten the day. The three men in the flight cabin remained quiet, lost in their thoughts. Many good men had died, and everyone couldn’t help but wonder what else lay ahead for them. But the quiet was soon interrupted as the flight cabin door opened and Taylor walked in. “Has anyone noticed the red fluid out on the left wing?”
The lack of response told Taylor that something was wrong. He looked around the cabin. “Where’s Wright?”
It took some time for Logan to answer. “He’s gone.”
“Gone? Where? What do you mean, gone?”
“He shot down the first MIG.”
Taylor looked even more confused. Then his expression changed as he started to understand. He looked at the outer door. “You mean... We heard the door open... What happened?”
Logan looked at Taylor. “He jumped out and...”
Rob didn’t want to hear it. “Tell me about the red fluid.”
It took a moment for Taylor to switch gears. “There seems to be some kind of red fluid on the left wing.” He looked out the side window. “You can’t see it from here, but from the back cabin, it’s very obvious.”
Rob motioned to Logan. “Would you go back there and take a look?”
Logan walked to the back and looked out the side window. There was an a red spot about the size of a small garage floor smeared across the wing, and it appeared to be getting bigger. He turned and rushed back to the forward cabin. “It’s hydraulic fluid! A bullet must have ruptured a hose sometime back, and we’re just now seeing it.” He looked around. “Who’s going to navigate us now?”
Up until now, they had depended on Wright’s guidance, but with him gone, someone else would have to step up.
“I can navigate,” Taylor volunteered.
Logan handed him the charts. “We need to know how long it’s going to take us to get to Hawaii.”
Rob had remained unusually quiet. “What happens if we can’t land in Hawaii? I think we’d better get on the horn and find out.”
Taylor sat down in the co-pilot seat, adjusted the radio controls, and spoke into the microphone. “This is the Concorde flight calling Hawaii. Mayday! Mayday! Over.” He continued transmitting for several minutes, pausing between messages, until a voice finally answered.
“This is Pearl Harbor. We are aware of your flight and circumstances. How can we assist?”
“We are a military flight requesting prior clearance as well as permission to land.”
“Negative on that, Concorde. We are in the process of being clobbered by a tropical storm. This whole part of the Pacific is in turmoil. You must continue on to the mainland.”
Taylor looked over to Rob. “Can we make it there?”
Rob shrugged. “I really don’t know.”
Taylor keyed the microphone again. “Do you know how far these Concordes can fly?”
“Why would you ask us? That is a question I would think you’d ask your pilot.”
“Well, we don’t exactly have a pilot. We’re kind of on our own.”
There was a long silence. “Concorde flight, I’ve discussed your situation with our technicians. They believe you should be okay, but you’ll need to slow your speed to around three hundred miles per hour to conserve fuel. I will contact the Naval Air Station near San Francisco about your situation and need for priority landing. Is there anything else?”
Rob keyed the microphone. “Yes. Do you have us on radar?”
“Yes, we are following your path by means of remote surveillance.”
“Can you give us a bearing for San Diego?”
“Yes. Come left to zero-eight-three degrees. Over.”
Rob made a slight turn to his left to bring the compass to the new heading. “Thanks for the help, Pearl Harbor.”
“Sorry we couldn’t be more help, Concorde flight.”
“Roger that.” Rob turned to Logan and Taylor. “We have two concerns now. The first is to avoid that storm, and the second is the hydraulic fluid leak. Captain, I want you to check our course and see how close we’ll pass to Hawaii. Logan, we need to know more about our hydraulic problem.”
Dusk was approaching, and Rob was feeling the drain from lack of sleep. He needed rest and so did the others, but who would fly the airplane? As he tried to concentrate on the problems they faced, the rabbi appeared in the flight cabin’s doorway. He walked behind Rob’s seat. “The hydraulic fluid leak is a problem. Hydraulic fluid is the life blood of the airplane. One of these gauges should be a hydraulic pressure gauge and should give you an indication of how much you have left.”
Rob scanned the console, found the gauge, and described his findings to the rabbi. “The gauge is color-coded. It begins with a red line which turns green and then back to red. The needle is in the lower part of the green field.”
“It begins and ends with red because wit
h too little pressure, your outside controls cease to operate. Too much and your seals blow. We must monitor this carefully. When the needle gets into the lower red field, we must land immediately. We can’t be that far out into the Pacific. We need to try to make it to Taiwan or Japan.”
“Well, Captain, I’m afraid we can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re carrying nuclear weapons, and no country is going to let us land. Especially since we don’t have a pilot, and there’s a possibility of crashing, throwing radioactive material all over. You see, no country on God’s green earth is going to let us land.”
Ron Schwartz - The Griffins Heart.txt Page 37