Shadow Flight (1990)

by Joe Weber

  "He never saw the assailant," Obukhov answered, then added quickly, "he doesn't remember anything after he bent over."

  Levchenko fixed his eyes on his assistant. "I want every inch of this base searched again."

  ANIMAL ONE

  Major Vince Cangemi, turning toward his carrier, USS America, looked back at his right wing. He could clearly see two deep slices in the leading edge, along with numerous dents and scars close to the fuselage.

  The marine pilot quickly scanned his annunciator panel and engine instruments. "Oh, shit," Cangemi muttered when he noticed the right engine was cooking at the maximum temperature limit. The damaged F/A-18 had ingested the MiG's debris through the starboard engine.

  Cangemi waited while the outbound combat air patrol pilots talked with the E-2C Hawkeye, then keyed his radio switch. "Phoenix, Animal One is inbound with engine damage."

  "Copy, Animal One," the controller responded in a professional, low-key manner. "You have a ready deck. Come port fifteen degrees."

  "Port fifteen," Cangemi radioed, watching the right engine gauges cautiously.

  The Hornet continued flying, rock steady, for another minute and a half. Cangemi was just starting to relax when the F/A-18 yawed violently to the right.

  "Ah . . . Phoenix," Cangemi radioed as he checked the hydraulic pressure. "Animal One has a problem."

  "Roger, Animal," the controller said in a detached tone. "Say nature of your problem."

  Cangemi watched the main hydraulic pressure fluctuate, then drop rapidly toward zero. "I'm losin' my hydraulics."

  "Are you declaring an emergency?" the controller asked with an edge in his voice.

  "That's affirm, Phoenix," Cangemi answered as he watched the primary hydraulic pressure reach zero. "Animal One is declaring an emer--"

  Without warning, the Hornet's nose pitched up seventy degrees. Cangemi shoved in full left rudder, forcing the aircraft into knife-edged flight. The nose fell through the horizon as Cangemi pushed in full right rudder, bringing the fighter wings-level.

  The nose pitched skyward again, forcing the pilot to repeat the unusual procedure to control the Hornet. During the third rudder roll maneuver, Cangemi selected emergency hydraulic power and recovered control of his wounded fighter. He also noticed that he had lost more than 2,000 feet of altitude during the wild gyrations.

  "Understand emergency," Phoenix radioed. "Can you make the ship?"

  Cangemi studied his instruments and checked his DME. Forty-two nautical miles to go. "I think so. Looks okay . . . at the moment."

  "Do you want the barricade?" the concerned controller asked as he rechecked the flight deck status.

  Cangemi raised the nose slightly and mentally reviewed his NA-TOPS emergency procedures. "Ah ... negative. Not at this time." "Roger."

  Cangemi glanced at his fuel gauges, knowing he needed to plug into a tanker. He also knew he could not risk close formation flying with a questionable control problem.

  The pilot rechecked his DME, fuel burn, and rate of descent. He would arrive over the carrier with 700 to 800 pounds of fuel--only a few minutes in the thirsty fighter. He could not afford a bolter. He had to trap aboard America on his first pass.

  Cangemi watched the right engine parameters as the seconds ticked away. He listened while Bullet Two Oh Two, the sole returning navy Tomcat, checked in for a push time. He eased back on the left throttle, held his breath, then pulled the right throttle slowly back to match the reduced power.

  "Animal," Phoenix radioed, "your deck is eleven o'clock, twenty miles."

  "I have a visual," Cangemi responded, squinting through the early morning haze. He could see the long white wake of the fast-moving carrier. "I'm setting up for an overhead two-seventy."

  "Roger," the controller replied. "CAG paddles will wave you." The senior landing signal officer (LSO) would guide the marine aviator through the emergency landing. "Switch button five," the controller instructed.

  Cangemi clicked his mike twice to acknowledge the radio transmission, switched to the Carrier Air Traffic Control Center (CATCC), then switched again to the LSO standing on the side of the flight deck. The LSO platform was adjacent to the arresting gear at the stern of the carrier.

  "Animal One with a sick right engine, and ah . . . hydraulic problems."

  "Okay, Animal," the senior LSO said in a reassuring tone, "hang onto it. Left two-seventy into the grove."

  "Animal One," Cangemi replied a second before the right engine fire warning light flashed on and off momentarily.

  "Oh . . . no," Cangemi said to himself as he approached the carrier at 3,000 feet and 360 knots. "Just two more minutes . . . give me two more minutes."

  The fighter pilot watched the ship pass under him as he started slowing and banking to the left. "I'm going to trap on this pass," Cangemi said to himself, "if I have to taxi to the one wire." He lowered the flaps as the leading edge slats deployed automatically.

  The F/A-18 continued to decelerate as Cangemi lowered the landing gear and tailhook. He increased power on both engines to compensate for the drag, glanced at his angle-of-attack indicator, then looked out at the wake of the carrier.

  Concentrating on his approach, he did not see the right engine fire warning light flicker twice, then glow steadily.

  "Animal One," the LSO radioed urgently, "you have smoke-negative, you're on fire! You're burnin' Vince!"

  Cangemi snatched the right throttle to cutoff and activated the fire extinguishing system. The fire light remained illuminated as he tightened his turn toward the carrier.

  "Hornet ball!" Cangemi radioed as he added more power on the left engine. The angle-of-attack indicator continued to rise, forcing the pilot to ease up the port throttle further.

  "Roger, ball," the LSO replied, trying to quell his apprehension. "You're lookin' good."

  Cangemi, concentrating intently on the bright orange meatball, angle of attack, and lineup, did not detect the drop in emergency hydraulic pressure.

  "You're going low. . . too low!" the LSO shouted. "Power! POWER!"

  Animal One, seconds from touchdown, shoved the left throttle forward. The stricken fighter plane climbed through the glide slope as Cangemi tried frantically to force down the Hornet's nose. He recognized that the controls were frozen as the carrier deck rushed up to meet him.

  "Oh, god, I'm sinking like a rock!" Cangemi yanked the left throttle to idle and shoved on the control stick, diving for the deck. The burning fighter sank toward the end of the mammoth ship as Cangemi fought desperately to salvage the landing.

  "Wave off! Wave off!" the LSO shouted as the F/A-18, flying left wing low, slammed into the rounddown at the aft end of the flight deck.

  The fighter shed its landing gear, along with the left wing, then caught the number one arresting wire. The crushing impact, followed by the violent arrestment, separated the fuselage three feet behind the cockpit. The Hornet's nose and cockpit, minus the canopy, continued up the flight deck on its left side, stopping four feet from the angled deck edge.

  Cangemi, rendered semiconscious during the 160 mile-per-hour crash, struggled to free himself from the smoking wreckage. He could see waves passing almost directly below him.

  Three hot-suit firefighters and a paramedic reached Cangemi at the same time. They assisted the stunned aviator out of the remains of his cockpit, then placed him on a stretcher. The paramedic helped remove Cangemi's helmet, then placed it on the fighter pilot's chest.

  Cangemi looked at the helmet in astonishment, then said a silent prayer. The left side of the marine red and gold helmet had been ground paper thin where Cangemi's head had slid on the rough flight deck.

  Chapter Nineteen

  CABLE NEWS NETWORK

  The CNN anchorman adjusted his tie for the third time, smoothed back his hair, and waited for his cue.

  "Tensions in the Gulf of Mexico continue to escalate as President Jarrett attempts to resolve the B-2 hijacking. CNN has learned that another air battle has taken place, this
time over the Straits of Florida. Initial reports indicate that American carrier planes were attacked only minutes ago by Cuban-based MiG fighters.

  "A Pentagon source confirmed that two fighters from the carrier America were lost. The fate of the crews is unknown. Cuban losses are unconfirmed at this time.

  "Premier Fidel Castro has issued a harsh warning to the White House, prompting legislators to call for immediate sanctions against Cuba. In a statement released minutes ago, Premier Castro stated that any further aggression on behalf of the United States will result in a state of war being declared by his government.

  "The official newspaper of the Cuban Communist party, Granma, announced that any airplanes, including civilian aircraft, violating Cuban airspace will be shot down.

  "In related news, a bipartisan group of congressional leaders is calling for an investigation into the Stealth hijacking." The newscaster paused as fresh information was placed on his desk outside the view of the camera.

  "White House sources have confirmed that President Jarrett has increased the military alert status," he continued. "Our White House correspondent, Evelynn Myers, is standing by with an update. Evelynn?"

  The pleasant-looking, short-haired woman stepped a few feet to the right to allow a better camera angle. "I just spoke to a White House staff member who confirmed the increased alert status. Fighter aircraft and helicopters from every branch of the services are congregating at Homestead, MacDill, and England Air Force Bases. Unconfirmed reports indicate that B-1 bombers from Dyess and Ellsworth Air Force Bases are en route to Barksdale Air Force Base near Bossier City, Louisiana.

  "Reporters have been given a short release stating that the Army 82d Airborne Division at Fort Bragg, along with the 101st Air Assault Division at Fort Campbell, are on full alert. Secretary Kerchner also informed us that a marine corps special landing force, Amphibious Squadron Three, is embarked on the assault carrier Wasp. Another marine landing team is boarding a sister ship, the Essex."

  The television picture switched back to the anchorman. "Evelynn, what is the current status of the Marines at Guantanamo Bay? Is there any provision to extract them from the base?"

  "As far as we've been told," the reporter replied, switching her microphone to her other hand, "they will remain in place for the time being. The military does not want to risk flying any aircraft in or out of Guantanamo Bay. I spoke with a Pentagon source who said that the navy fighter planes at the base are remaining on the ground. The aircraft are manned-on immediate alert-to provide air cover if the Marines come under attack.

  "One other note. White House sources have indicated that President Jarrett has demanded clarification of Russian involvement from President Ignatyev. Secretary Kerchner, who has scheduled a news conference later today, stated that he would address this subject. John?"

  The anchorman waited a moment, adjusted his papers, then looked into the camera. "This item just in. The Kremlin has issued a statement denying any culpability in the Stealth disappearance.

  According to Soviet Foreign Minister Sergey Aksenhov, they are interrogating officials of the KGB and Cuban General Counterintelligence Directorate. Kremlin officials have issued an additional statement, saying that they will not participate in any military action we take against Cuba.

  "In related news, NATO forces have been placed on alert, pending the outcome of the B-2 situation.

  "We'll be right back," the anchor said without emotion, "so stay with us for the latest in headline news."

  When a weather update flashed on the monitor, the anchorman turned to a staff member. "You think this is the excuse they've wanted . . . to eliminate Castro and communism in Cuba?"

  "Hell, who knows what goes on in the puzzle palace."

  SAN JULIAN

  Gennadi Levchenko angrily dismissed the senior Soviet aeronautical engineer and turned to his assistant. "What is it, Natanoly Vitelevich?"

  Obukhov, standing outside the director's door, stepped inside. "Comrade director, the American--Simmons--is becoming a problem for us."

  "Get him in here," Levchenko blurted, too preoccupied with the security breach to concentrate on the American. "Are they searching the base again?"

  "Da, comrade director," Obukhov answered. "The entire base is sealed tight." As Levchenko shook his head in disgust, Obukhov stepped back through the door and motioned for Simmons to approach the director's office. "You're making things difficult for yourself, comrade," Obukhov warned the frightened defector sternly as he ushered him into Levchenko's office.

  "Sit down, Comrade Simmons," Levchenko said firmly. "What is your problem?"

  Simmons, sitting rigidly on the bench in front of the impatient KGB director, darted a glance at the small photo he held of Irina Rykhov. She had given him the black-and-white picture the afternoon prior to his commandeering the Stealth bomber.

  The pretty face smiled at Simmons, giving him strength. He remembered vividly Irina's clear, provocative hazel eyes. Her face had a pronounced Slavic tilt that set off her full, sensuous mouth.

  "Comrade director," Simmons began cautiously, "I am concerned about Irina . . . for her safety."

  Levchenko half listened to the scared defector, his mind busy with the repercussions of the breach in security. If the truth reached the Kremlin . . .

  "I am afraid," Simmons continued, unsure of himself, "for Irina. She promised we would be together here, in San Julian. Is something wrong?"

  Levchenko heard Simmons's last words. "Yes, comrade," Levchenko answered in his grim, specious manner. "Irina will be reunited with you in Moscow, for security reasons. We have had a security breach here, as you well know, and we cannot place Irina at risk."

  Simmons, showing fear and confusion, looked at the picture again. "When will I be able to go to Moscow?"

  "In a matter of days," Levchenko answered, trying to contain his anger and frustration. "Right now, Comrade Simmons, we have work to do, and I am counting on you."

  Simmons rose slowly. "Yes, comrade director."

  CIA HEADQUARTERS

  Norman Lasharr and his deputy, David Ridgefield, sat quietly, waiting to hear from Hampton Milligan in Key West. Ridgefield refilled their coffee mugs while Lasharr reviewed the latest message traffic. Both men glanced occasionally at the television monitor in the corner of Lasharr's office.

  "Well, general," Ridgefield said, picking up the discarded messages, "Wickham pulled it off."

  Lasharr remained silent a few seconds, then placed the messages down. "Yes, he did . . . the crazy son of a bitch. I wish we had another fifty like him."

  Ridgefield smiled slightly as he sat down catty-corner from the tenacious director. "I agree, sir."

  Lasharr started to speak at the same moment a special report flashed on the television monitor. "Dave, turn it up."

  Ridgefield pressed the volume button on the remote control next to his chair. Both men watched a harried, well-known commentator, tie askew, struggle to insert an earpiece.

  The anchorman looked into the camera. "Cuban President Fidel Castro, moments ago, issued a declaration of war aimed at the United States. Speaking from his home at Varadero Beach, Castro lashed out vehemently at President Jarrett and vowed to confront any military threat to Cuba."

  The newsman paused to adjust his earpiece, then continued quickly. "Castro has dispatched his brother, Army Commander Raul Castro, to personally take command of Cuban army troops advancing toward the San Julian Air Base. San Julian is the purported location of the missing B-2 Stealth bomber. White House sources have refused to comment."

  The commentator, seeing new information being rushed to him, followed the director's cue. "CBS will continue our coverage of the Cuban crisis after this word."

  Lasharr and Ridgefield looked at each other in astonishment. "Dave, get in touch with Hamp," Lasharr instructed, "and put a priority on getting Wickham out."

  "Yes, sir," Ridgefield replied as he reached for his SecTel 1500 secure phone.

  "I'll be at the White House,
" Lasharr said as he closed his thin attache case. "Dave, I don't want any screwups. Keep a lid on it."

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  9:18 A. M. Eastern Standard Time

  The situation room was crowded when President Jarrett and the secretary of state entered. "Gentlemen," Jarrett began, grim faced, "Secretary Gardner and I have issued a statement to world leaders. As you know, the Kremlin is denying any involvement in the hijacking."

  Alton Jarrett adjusted his glasses carefully and read the dispatch.

  "The president of the United States of America denounces Cuba's refusal to release our B-2 bomber and crew.

  "The government of the United States recognizes the declaration of war issued by Cuban President Fidel Castro.

  "The United States of America is, and will continue to be, committed to recovering our commandeered Stealth bomber and her crew."

  Jarrett removed his glasses and placed the message faceup on the table. "This episode is a tremendous embarrassment for Castro. The Soviets--Ignatyev--are sidestepping the issue and leaving Castro caught in the middle. There may be a rogue faction operating in the KGB, but Ignatyev apparently isn't going to admit it.

  "The dictatorial society that Castro has created is undergoing a major economic and ideological crisis. Moscow has withdrawn support, and Castro is feeling the pressure."

  The president looked around the table before speaking again. "It is my opinion that we can expect stiff resistance from Castro. He is a desperate man, caught standing alone or with whatever support he can muster in this hemisphere."

  Jarrett sat back. The Joint Chiefs, the CIA director, and the cabinet members waited to see who would speak first.

  "Mister President," the secretary of state said solemnly, "may I have a word with you . . . in private?"

  Jarrett paused, then looked at Gardner. "Sam, if you have a comment--any comment--you can speak candidly to the entire group."

  Gardner, displaying a twinge of irritation, leaned on the table and clasped his hands together. "Sir, if we--if you insist on pursuing your plan to invade Cuba," Gardner said cautiously, then stopped and shifted in his seat, "the ramifications--the Vietnam syndrome--will be devastating to your political career."