Yet Jefferson’s plan appealed to me, I think because of its epic simplicity. We fly out, fire our missiles at the boarding craft, and defend against the enemy missiles by deploying anti-missile countermeasures. Easy. Also, Captain Jefferson’s confidence, whether it arose out of insanity or not, was contagious.
But I was experiencing conflicting feelings. On the one hand, I felt as though I were a mountaineer scaling Mount Nobility. On the other hand, it seemed as though I were a certifiable psychotic on a toboggan ride down Madness Mountain.
24
No Helmets
I would have loved to have more time to think things over, but this situation wouldn’t allow it. Sure, I had misgivings, but I plowed them under. I said to Jefferson, “Sounds good. Lead the way. Oh—aren’t you going to wear a helmet?”
“No,” Jefferson said. “I’m just going to trust this.” He reached downward out of the cockpit with his left arm and rapped the fuselage of the Banshee. “Solid as Gibraltar. I don’t need the heads-up display, either. I’ll rely on the cockpit display. What about you?”
Ideally, helmets would be a given. Otherwise, if your cockpit is breached, then you’re dead, period. Also, built into the helmets was a sophisticated heads-up display that integrated a great deal of information, not the least of which were targeting data and audible alerts. Yes, you can fly a mission without the HUD, but then you are glancing every which way inside the cockpit, and that impairs your effectiveness.
Nonetheless, I said, “Well—same here.”
What else could I say? If it’s all the same to you Captain, I’m afraid of decompression. I’m going to wear a helmet.
I don’t think so. It was like peer pressure, even though Jefferson and I weren’t peers.
Lennox and Nash were still beside me. They both nodded. They weren’t going to wear helmets either. I think we all felt that we were part of something bigger, when Jefferson invited us along. Sure, we were part of the Navy, and the Navy is big. But Jefferson was our captain, and we were following him into battle. Here was a guy who was out in front of us, as a leader should be. And you don’t always see that, even in the Navy. So, of course we went with him. We felt special—or at least I did.
Jefferson thumped his chest three times with his right hand and said, “I’m proud to be flying with the three of you. I can’t tell you how good it feels to have the support of members of my crew.”
I slapped the side of Jefferson’s Banshee three times, and I said, “Fair winds and happy landings, Captain. Semper fortis.”
Jefferson smiled solemnly and said, “Semper fortis.”
Nash and Lennox repeated the words back to Jefferson and, as I had done, slapped his Banshee three times.
Then the three of us headed toward our interceptors.
When I was almost to my Banshee, Waters and a couple more Marines arrived. Waters ran up to me and asked, quietly, “Astrid, what do you think you’re doing?”
I smiled weakly and said, “Dying, I’m pretty sure. Just go back to the ready-room, and make sure you get everybody to pray for us.”
Waters said, “Astrid, if you’re going, take this.” He handed me Nash’s Saint Mary medal. He said, “Don’t give it to Nash. I don’t know how he’d react. When you get back here—and make sure you do—you can tell him you had it with you.”
I said, “Better idea: I’m gonna give it to Jefferson.”
Waters said, “Do it.” He patted my shoulder and said, “Fair winds, my sister.”
I said, “Gracias, fair winds, my brother,” and Waters and the other Marines departed, probably in a state of high distress.
I ran to Jefferson’s Banshee and jumped up onto the wing.
Jefferson had been waiting for me to finish with Waters, and his canopy was still open. I handed the medal to Jefferson, saying, “Lieutenant Waters wanted you to have this. It’s Mary, patron saint of sailors.”
Jefferson took the medal. He looked at me and said, “Un beau geste.” He crossed himself, and then he kissed the medal and said, “Thank you, Astrid.”
I said, “Let’s all make it back in one piece.”
Jefferson nodded and said, “I’ll see you back here, soon.”
I said, “Count on it,” and I was off to my Banshee.
To be honest, though, I felt a little like Joan of Arc on her way to be burned at the stake.
25
No Fool Like an Old Fool, Except Maybe Three Young Fools
Within a half-minute, all four of us had released our magnets and were using our reaction-control thrusters to maneuver out of the bay.
We all pointed our Banshees in the direction of the enemy and remained in a row, each about fifty feet from the next.
Jefferson said, “Light your engines, then match my speed.”
My own engines lit with a roar accompanied by a cyclonic howl.
We flew next to each other, in a row, toward the enemy, with an acceleration of five Gs. In front of us was nothing but the purest blackness, except for the abundant stars. Our engines were burning brightly, though, and the flames from the nozzles dimly illuminated the exteriors of all of our Banshees.
My monitors showed the enemy drones as they neared the Valley Forge. We zipped past them without ceremony. I could also see the eight boarding craft on my screen, and the thirty interceptors, all marked with little icons.
We were moving at high speed toward the enemy, and the enemy was coming rapidly toward us.
My targeting system searched for a lock, and it coordinated with the computers on the other fighters so that we each would launch at a different boarding ship.
I knew that all of the locks would occur simultaneously, or nearly so. The Piranhas have their own countermeasures, including chaff and thermite flares, and I figured that once we launched, at least some of our missiles would get through.
And there it was: a high-pitched, unmistakable tone. And my monitor’s sights were directly over one of the boarding craft.
Within a second of my hearing the tone, I launched three missiles, and for a second I watched the ominous flames gushing from their engines as they shot into the blackness. I hoped that the countermeasures of the Piranhas would also help us in our fighters. We were certainly close enough to them. Before I looked away, I saw the other nine missiles shooting out from the Banshees of my teammates.
Now I was hoping for the rapid targeting of the remaining four boarding craft. Sure enough, almost immediately the sharp tone sounded again, signifying another lock, and my second volley of three missiles was off, as were those of the other three Banshees.
With that, we all yanked back on our control wheels, and our Banshees swept upward as we each executed a wingover, using our RCS thrusters, as well as our adjustable engine-nozzles, to change our vectors. The result was a reversal of direction at a position about a half mile above our earlier trajectories.
So far, so good. I studied the monitor to see the effects of our attack. Plainly all twenty-four missiles had released countermeasures, since the images on the screen showed thousands of specks. And then, to my gratification, four of the icons, representing boarding craft, disappeared from the screens.
And then, to my amazement, four more of the icons disappeared. We had destroyed all eight of the enemy boarding craft. Yes, the Kerleegans would likely send more, but I hollered loudly to myself in my joy at our complete victory against these eight. It was very unlike me to do that, but deep down I felt happy that I had accomplished something, and also I felt good that Captain Jefferson’s mission had been accomplished.
Then I realized that I wasn’t simply yelling to myself. The others heard me and said things like, “Yeah! We did it, Amundsen!”
In my book, the mission was a success. But it still remained doubtful that we would make it back alive. We weren’t out of trouble. All thirty of the Kerleegan escort craft were after us. They weren’t quite as fast as us, and they were well behind us. But if they launched missiles, it would be a tricky situation. We w
ould have to rely mainly on our own countermeasures.
Sure enough, the Kerleegan interceptors began launching missiles. Each enemy fighter carried four missiles. If they launched all of them, there would be one hundred and twenty missiles streaking after Jefferson, Lennox, Nash, and me.
When there were about thirty missiles pursuing us, Jefferson said, “Midshipman Amundsen, countermeasures.”
26
Out of Our Way! We’re U.S. Navy Pilots!
I released all my countermeasures. This included hundreds of thermite flares, as well as chaff to interfere with targeting. Halfway through the process, I saw on my monitors the explosions of many missiles, which had detonated on the thermite flares. Several missiles shot wildly in different directions, because of the chaff’s interference with their guidance systems.
Another storm of enemy missiles came at us. Jefferson said, “Midshipman Lennox, countermeasures.” Then, almost immediately, Jefferson added, “Midshipman Nash, countermeasures.”
I could see on my rearview video-display a spectacular array of thermite flares and detonations of missiles.
Jefferson said, “Launching countermeasures,” and he released his.
The last of the enemy missiles had been launched, and my monitors showed that the enemy fighter-escort, having exhausted their missiles, had peeled back.
Our countermeasures were doing their job. The detonations of enemy missiles were taking place by the dozen, and I wondered how many missiles would make it through.
I asked my Banshee’s computer, “How many enemy missiles remain?”
And my computer replied, “Twenty-four remain viable.”
Jefferson said, “We’re almost home. Twenty-four missiles to beat. If you have any extra juice, use it now.”
I don’t know about the others, but I already was using all available engine-thrust, supplemented slightly by my RCS thrusters. I also jettisoned about two hundred pounds of inert kinetic slugs, and I assume the others had done the same. But my fighter was falling behind the others.
Jefferson said, “All of you, light your cockpit lights. I want to see who I’m flying with.”
Tactically that was generally a poor idea. Under the circumstances it was probably okay, but it was a little ostentatious. It reminded me of the flamboyant General George A. Custer, and we all know how he ended up. Nonetheless, I liked the idea so much that I lit my interior lights without hesitation.
The others lit theirs, too, and it was comforting to be able to see them, though they were growing more distant in front of me.
Then a voice from the Valley Forge broke in. “Waters here, to Captain Jefferson. Excuse the interruption. We’re launching the rest of the Marlins. Happy landings.”
“Good show, Lieutenant Waters,” Captain Jefferson said. “We’ll see you soon.”
Then I could see, in front of us, the rocket blasts of our remaining twenty-eight Marlins. Waters had done the common-sense thing and launched Marlins in an effort to facilitate our escape, or to put it more bluntly, to save our hides.
The flames of the rocket engines of the Marlins, angling toward us in the blackness, were a dramatic sight. They came almost directly at us. Of course, they could distinguish between friends and foes, and they shot right past us.
More detonations!
A few moments later, Jefferson said, “We’ve still got two live ones remaining. Everyone under the Forge!”
I loved to hear Jefferson call our ship the Forge.
Jefferson said, “Lighting all lights.”
I followed suit, as did Lennox and Nash. We had our navigation lights on, also our anti-collision beacons, our formation lights, our floodlights, and our spotlights. If it could be made to glow, we lit it. Yes, it was arrogant of us, and maybe even a little imperious, but I was thinking, Get out of our way! We’re US Navy pilots! And I don’t think I had ever felt more proud than I did at that moment.
The four of us shot under the Forge, all of us doing about five miles per second, and our mothership disappeared behind us almost immediately.
But I was falling farther behind, and the enemy missiles were closing the gap.
27
Captain, Suggestions?
My Banshee was now about a hundred yards behind the others, and the enemy missiles were about the same distance behind me. I said to Jefferson, “Captain, suggestions?”
Jefferson said, “Yes, Amundsen. Hold her straight and normal.”
Jefferson evidently had power in reserve, and he leaped out even further in front of me and the others.
Then he said, “Lennox! Nash! Excellent work. Get back to the Forge.”
I saw the other two midshipmen veer back around, and I was thankful beyond words that they, at least, had made it through this difficult and dangerous mission.
Now Jefferson was far in front of me. I studied my monitors, wondering how he intended to help me out of this fix.
The Kerleegan missiles continued to gain on me.
Then events unfolded with great rapidity. Jefferson said, “Cutting engines and flipping.” Then he used his RCS thrusters and reversed direction, to aim his ship back in my general direction. Though his Banshee was pointed toward me, his momentum was carrying him in the same direction in which I was moving.
My ship closed in on him quickly, as did the missiles, which were now about forty yards behind me.
Before I knew it, we were almost on top of Jefferson, and he had opened fire with his fifty-millimeter cannons. I knew he was simultaneously targeting both missiles, which was a fairly routine practice.
Every fifth round was a tracer, and it was a sight to see. You might have sworn he was shooting at me, but I knew better. When we were almost in his lap, his cannons had done their job. Both missiles detonated, almost simultaneously, in brief orange explosions.
I zoomed past Jefferson. My ship missed his by the narrowest of margins. My port wing actually passed above his port wing.
He had slanted his Banshee a little to allow that to happen.
My proximity alarm sounded shrilly, but of course I wouldn’t have had a chance to change my course, even if I had wanted to.
It was all over in seconds. I experienced an acute sense of relief.
Since my speed was greater than Jefferson’s, I soon was much farther from the Valley Forge than he was.
Jefferson said, “Back to the Forge, Astrid. You did well! We all did.”
I cut my engine.
Jefferson rotated his ship again, so that it was pointed in the earlier direction, away from the Valley Forge. Then he relit his engines, sped past me, and did a series of amazing maneuvers, some of which I had never before seen executed in a Banshee. Jefferson spun the thing on its axis, like a thrown football, and then he did a barrel roll, which kept him in the same direction, but now at a higher level, and he did a few stunts I had never seen before. And this was all clear to me through my canopy, because his ship was still brightly lit.
Then he said, “Immelmann,” and he undertook a beautiful modified Immelmann, which was basically a wingover, and then he said, “I’m on my way back to the ship. See if you can beat me.”
I performed a wingover, and I flew back fairly fast, but I wasn’t really trying to win any race.
Jefferson was aware of that. He said, “That’s all right, Astrid. We can have a real race some other time.”
I said, “Sounds great, Captain. You’re on.”
28
The Flight Back
I was profoundly impressed by Jefferson’s piloting skills. I had never seen those kinds of abilities demonstrated by anybody in a Banshee, ever. It was almost as though Jefferson was flashing-back to his early days as a pilot. It’s not too unusual for younger pilots to engage in foolish stunts—I almost added, “like Jefferson just had done.” But as I said, this was beyond the abilities of practically everyone else—and Jefferson was in his mid-fifties.
Nonetheless, I thought the whole display was odd. What captain challenges one o
f his team members to a race back to the ship, immediately after killing maybe a couple hundred enemy soldiers?
Of course, I had killed the same number, and I wasn’t thinking about that at all. No, I was thinking how glad I was that my captain was skilled enough to take out those two remaining missiles. I was thrilled to be alive.
This war continued to be something strange as far as I was concerned, with many curveballs being thrown at me, and little if anything going according to plan. And I noticed a pattern in my behavior. I seemed to want to go beyond what was expected. What’s more, in doing so, I was engaging in reckless behavior. I began to wonder whether Jefferson was the crazy one, or me.
I seemed to be fighting this war on my own terms, more than on the Navy’s. That was a scary thought, but it was also liberating. I wondered whether I could keep it up—or whether I should.
As we flew back toward the Valley Forge, I began to wonder whether Jefferson might possibly have regained his sanity. I certainly hoped so. But it was self-delusion. Jefferson’s desire to carry out this mission was simply more evidence that he somehow had lost it. I decided to reserve final judgment till we returned.
Jefferson and I maneuvered back into the fighter bay, and all eight Marines were there to welcome us. Lennox and Nash were there as well, and they had already exited their Banshees. There was much joy and shouting.
Captain Jefferson was the last to leave his Banshee.
I was with Waters, reviewing some of the events that had taken place. He said that he and others had monitored everything via feeds from my fighter’s cameras.
Captain Jefferson walked directly over to us.
Astrid's War Page 8