by Bobby Akart
Gunner was growing angry. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with my mind. I’m good to go. I always have been!”
“I’m telling you that there were folks in the Department of Defense who wanted you out, and I’ve made sure that you’ve stayed in. Our sessions, the ones where you clam up or refuse to let me help you, have been portrayed as making great progress. Even though what happened Sunday is beginning to make me wonder.”
Gunner sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. The unconscious gesture lasted only a moment, when he realized what he’d done. He quickly sat up and rested his hands in his lap. “Look. I admit I’ve been through some tough times, but I’ve always responded to the call of duty. The people in Washington don’t know what—”
“Gunner, don’t worry about them for now,” said Dr. Dowling as he checked his watch. “We’ll save that for another day. For right now, we’ve got to get you prepared to meet with the colonel. I’ve gotta tell ya, she’s got smoke coming out of her ears over this. Your no-show yesterday didn’t help.”
“Is she gonna ground me? Or worse?”
“Not if you’re careful with your words. Gunner, I need a promise from you. A commitment.”
“Go ahead.”
“Let me help you through this. I swear you’ll be glad you worked with me.”
“Kinda like a pet project.”
Dr. Dowling laughed. “Yeah, if you want to call it that. You’ve got to be open and honest with me. After what I’ve disclosed to you today, I believe I’ve earned your trust. Can you reciprocate?”
Gunner grimaced and then smiled. “Yes, Doc. I can. Thank you.”
“Okay, good. Now, let me coach you through the ass-reaming you’re about to get from Colonel Bradford.”
Chapter 10
Tuesday, April 3
Colonel Joanne Bradford’s Office
Base Administration Building
Eglin Air Force Base
Gunner slowly walked from the medical facility across the large grassy compound, with his two military policemen in tow. Base personnel, some in civilian dress and others in Air Force fatigues, shuffled about, delivering paperwork or going from one meeting to the next. One of the things that Gunner had learned about the military in his ten years in service was that there were far more administrative paper pushers and meeting-goers than there were soldiers. He understood there was a need for support personnel, but there was also a greater need for airmen, sailors, soldiers, and Marines.
Before Gunner left, Dr. Dowling reminded him that the Air Force was experiencing a shortage of pilots, and that was one of the safeguards protecting him from being forced into retirement at the young age of thirty-five.
A dire report was issued in 2021 that the Air Force needed to recruit and train over two thousand pilots. The requirements were high and the training was stringent. The Air Force Major Command told Congress it needed twenty thousand pilots between active duty, the Air National Guard, and reservists.
The biggest challenge for the Air Force and the DOD was that nearly thirty thousand civilian pilots were due to retire from the commercial airlines by 2030, leading to a talent grab between the industry and the military. The largely unionized civilian pilot pool offered salary opportunities that the military couldn’t compete with.
Further, Air Force pilots didn’t just spring up out of flight simulators. There was a process of undergraduate training, or UPT, followed by a more flight-oriented training process before being absorbed into operational, combat-ready squadrons. For years, the Air Force was only capable of graduating fourteen hundred pilots through UPT in a given year. That didn’t keep up with their attrition rates due to retirement and lack of reenlistment as pilots sought greener pastures in commercial aviation.
The fighter pilots who remained in the Air Force did so because of their commitment and dedication to their service, coupled with love of country. In a word, they were hard-core, like Gunner.
“The colonel will see you now, sir,” said an airman who exited Colonel Bradford’s office. He stood to the side and gestured for Gunner to enter.
Gunner had a good relationship with his superior officer, one that dated back to his arrival at Eglin. Colonel Bradford had risen through the ranks, taking advantage of career advancement opportunities that presented themselves until she became the second in charge at Eglin behind Brigadier General Harrison James. With James nearing retirement in the near future, it was assumed that Colonel Bradford, who had been taking on more of his duties in recent months, would be the logical replacement. She stood to be the first female base commander at Eglin.
Gunner, despite being inappropriately dressed, a mistake he regretted following his conversation with Dr. Dowling, still offered his superior officer a snappy salute, which she returned.
Colonel Bradford was hard to read, a trait that suited someone at her level of command. Gunner, who was a major, was in line to become a colonel at some point, but his career path was not suited for administrative duties. He’d always be assigned a combat role or, as the last several years had shown, special operations missions that would always be considered extraordinary.
“Have a seat, Major.”
As advised by Dr. Dowling, Gunner canned the Chatty Cathy routine and stuck to what he knew best—keep his mouth shut and his opinions, and other forms of nonsense, to himself.
Gunner sat, but Colonel Bradford remained standing and immediately began wandering her office, ultimately stopping in front of a large window overlooking the entrance to the administration building.
“Where should I start?” she began with a hint of snark in her voice. “Your treatment of the Boeing civvies on the tarmac? The out-of-this-world climb that was completely outside of the project’s protocols? Failing to show up for the mandatory postflight psych eval? Reporting to my office in blue jeans, an untucked golf shirt, and sneakers?” She spun around and glared at him, her glare demanding a response.
Gunner tried. He really tried to check himself. He’d heard the admonishments of Dr. Dowling. The honest advice that would most likely keep him in the game. But, somehow, the words came out without a filter.
“Well, Colonel, let’s start with the fact that I’m still alive. That’s a good thing, at least as far as I’m concerned. But, more importantly, do you wanna know what I think about the bird?”
Colonel Bradford looked toward the ceiling and then back to Gunner. She shook her head in disbelief. “Major, you can’t charm your way out of this one. I don’t do charm, and you know that.”
“I’m not being charming, Colonel. The fact is that the F/A XX has great potential, but it still can’t stack up with the J-20 and the Su-35S. If it can’t make that climb, it won’t be able to chase their bogies out of our airspace, and most importantly, our guys won’t be able to outmaneuver them when we’re in theirs.”
“That’s beside the point, Major. That stunt. And, make no mistake, it was a stunt. Everyone from the representatives at Boeing to Senator Gaetz, who ripped me a new one on the phone yesterday, wants to know why you destroyed their hundred-and-eleven-billion-dollar aircraft.”
“Colonel, I didn’t destroy that bird; it fell apart at the seams. It’s got the kind of category 1 problems that plagued the F-35 variants years ago. Don’t get me wrong. It performed as expected, until I asked it to do what our pilots need it to do. Otherwise, it’s just another version of the F-35s we’ve been flying for decades, only with more whistles and bells and a fancy coat of paint.” In military parlance, a category 1 flaw in a plane could prevent a pilot from accomplishing a mission.
Colonel Bradford sat down across from Gunner. She studied him intently for a moment and then asked, “Major, do you have a death wish? Look at me. No BS, Fox. Do you wanna die? Because you probably should have yesterday.”
She opened a file folder that sat on her desk. Gunner’s eyes quickly glanced at the letterhead from Dr. Dowling’s office.
“No, ma’am, I do not want to die. Nor do I want a fellow fight
er pilot to die because they think they can rely upon a newfangled jet that can’t perform when they need it.”
Colonel Bradford stuck out her chin and nodded. “I’ve always admired your capabilities, Major. I’ve been in your corner from the moment you volunteered to be a test pilot. I pushed for your expedited training at Maxwell. I made sure you were inserted into Test Pilot School ahead of other candidates. And, until now, the feedback you’ve given the Air Force and the defense contractors has been invaluable.”
“Yes, ma’am, and I hope to continue.”
She sighed and let go of the memo, allowing it to remain in plain view for Gunner to glance at. “I have to explain to Boeing, and Congress, why there are millions of dollars of scrap metal strewn across the Gulf of Mexico. They’re looking for a scapegoat, as you can imagine.”
Gunner remained silent. He wanted to know why they built an aircraft that almost got him killed, but he was following Dr. Dowling’s orders to keep quiet, finally.
Colonel Bradford took a deep breath and rendered her judgment. “I’ll deal with Senator Gaetz and Boeing. My concern is where do we go from here. For now, you’re grounded.”
“But, Colonel—” Gunner began to protest before she held her hand up to stop him.
“Wait, Major, I’m not finished. By grounded, I mean no test flights until you go through FFD evals with Dr. Dowling.” Fitness for duty evaluations were required in two basic situations in which it’s determined that a soldier might be considered a danger to the well-being of himself or others, or if their actions were deemed detrimental to the efficiency or general atmosphere of their unit.
Sometimes, military personnel exhibit problematic behavioral conditions, including substance abuse, peculiar conduct, or suicidal tendencies. Other times, serious medical conditions arise that interfere with their duties. Either way, a psychiatrist or licensed psychologist conducts an extensive evaluation to determine if the individual was fit for duty.
Gunner feigned surprise and dismay at her conditions, but he’d actually been given a heads-up by Dr. Dowling that this would be required of him. It was part of the commitment that Gunner had made earlier.
“I understand, Colonel,” said Gunner.
“Now, that said, you’re to remain on the call list because, as you know, the world is a dangerous place and you have many talents of use to our nation. Be ready, Major Fox, because you never know when that call will come through.”
Gunner took that as his cue to be dismissed. He stood at attention, snapped a salute, and thanked the colonel for being fair with him. Minutes later, he was walking across the compound, relieved to be without his military police escort, and still employed, but contemplating how he was going to get back to his boat.
Chapter 11
Wednesday, April 4
The News-Reporter
Serving Wilkes County since 1896
Washington, Georgia
TRAGEDY STRIKES WASHINGTON-WILKES
Tragedy has struck the Washington-Wilkes community as the bodies of four local teenagers were found pinned under the wreckage of a one-car accident in Reedy Creek. The Georgia Highway Patrol has confirmed that the driver and all three passengers, one male and two females, were killed in the accident that took place off a bridge overpass on Lundberg Road. Names of the victims are being withheld at this time pending identification of the bodies and notification of next of kin.
According to investigative reports and eyewitness statements, the group of teens were seen driving at a high rate of speed northbound on Lundberg Road in a late-model Dodge Challenger. One driver reported that the vehicle had been seen swerving in the dangerous, wet road conditions.
From police reports, a portion of guardrail was demolished and part of the concrete bridge railing was knocked down where it was struck by the vehicle. Then, according to the statement of one rescue worker, the vehicle severed the tops of several trees before crashing through branches that were unable to arrest their fall. When the vehicle landed on its roof at the bottom of the ravine, the victims either died from the impact or by drowning in the swift-moving waters of a swelled Reedy Creek due to the recent heavy rains. Reportedly, one of the teens had been decapitated.
Investigators are now attempting to retrace the whereabouts of the teenagers Sunday night in order to determine what caused this terrible tragedy. Alcohol was believed to be involved.
Chapter 12
Wednesday, April 4
Deerlick Astronomy Village
Crawfordville, Georgia
Jackie Holcomb couldn’t stop sobbing when she heard the news. The investigators from the Georgia State Police had come around Tuesday morning after the vehicle was found and the tags showed it was owned by the parents of Nate Phillips. Nate’s parents told the investigators that he was supposed to have gone to Deerlick that evening, but they hadn’t been in touch with him until they became concerned about his whereabouts. His father had come by twice, checked their building on the property that contained Nate’s telescope, and left. The third visit came from the police.
Jackie had received a call from Nate’s mother earlier, who asked her to secure his telescope and other property until they could muster the will to pick it up. Jackie felt horrible for the Phillips family, having suffered a similar tragedy when her nephew died in a horrific car accident on Interstate 20 in nearby Thomson.
She entered the small cabin, which was nothing more than an uninsulated storage building that had been bought from a local Mennonite community and dropped into place off a flatbed trailer. It had a covered front porch, giving it a cabin-like appearance, and the roof had been modified to allow Nate’s telescope to protrude through without allowing rain or other moisture to penetrate the roof.
A small desk in the middle of the room contained Nate’s things, namely his Apple MacBook computer and several Air Force Airman’s Journals bearing the logo that read Aim High – Fly – Fight – Win. Jackie knew that Nate had had great things ahead of him, and his fascination with the stars would likely have landed him a career in the Air Force or with NASA. Now, that had all been wiped away in a single, horrific accident.
Jackie wiped the last of her tears from her eyes and exhaled. She felt like she was intruding, taking a peek into the young man’s soul without permission. He was a good kid and didn’t deserve to die.
After gathering herself, Jackie, a seasoned astronomer in her own right, studied Nate’s equipment. She noticed the red light flashing on the astroimaging camera attached to the EDGEHD. This piqued her curiosity, so she touched the space bar on the MacBook, which had entered sleep mode. The display immediately responded and revealed the app Nate was using to record his view of the skies.
She studied the recording and then glanced through the eyepiece, which revealed a clear view of Comet Oort’s enormous tail. She furrowed her brow and glanced at the footage. She contemplated stopping the recording, but then she queried why Nate would set up the recording in the first place. In a whisper, as if out of reverence for the dead, she spoke her thoughts aloud.
“If I can go back to the time the recording was first established, I might provide the investigators some insight as to when Nate and his friends were here last.”
Jackie stopped the recording and settled into Nate’s chair, pulling the MacBook close to the edge of the desk. The smell of stale beer caught her nostrils and she searched for the source. As she turned in her chair, her legs swung into two empty cans that were sent rolling around under the desk. Disgusted by the smell of the alcohol, and the fact that it had likely led to the kids’ deaths, she angrily kicked the cans across the small space until they caromed off the plywood and two-by-four wall.
With a sigh, and a slight sense of relief from being able to work out a little frustration, Jackie turned back to Nate’s computer. With her telescope rig, she employed the same application that he used, and was familiar with its processes. First, she saved the footage to the MacBook’s hard drive. Then, in case there was a failure of the ha
rd drive for some reason, she sent herself a copy via Apple’s AirDrop, a service available to transfer files among Macintosh and iOS devices.
She started the video and made a mental note of the time stamp to provide to investigators. Naturally, she’d let them draw their own conclusions, but she presumed this was the approximate time that Nate and his friends had left the DAV.
The next several minutes changed Jackie Holcomb’s life. She watched and her eyes grew in astonishment. She rewound the video countless times, frantically trying to control her fingers to make the proper keystrokes as she took raw screenshots with no additional markings, and then recreated the same screenshots, marking an area in the sky that caused her heart to leap out of her chest.
For an hour, she took more and more screenshots: some clean copies, others with circles and arrows and approximate lines of trajectory.
Periodically, she stood and walked around Nate’s building, wiping sweat off her brow and messing with her hair. She would glance out the single window from time to time, wondering if anyone knew she was there.
She talked to herself, sometimes in silence, and when she assured herself that she was alone at the DAV for the moment, her words poured out in a burst of excitement.
“What am I supposed to do with this? My calculations are rough, nothing like what they’ll do at the MPC.”
Then her mind found its way back to Nate. Had he seen what she’d discovered? Is that why he chose to record the event? But why would he leave? Was he too drunk to comprehend the magnitude of what he’d found?
“My God,” she muttered as she fell back into the chair, staring at the laptop one final time before she closed it up and fled the cabin. “What in the hell am I supposed to do now?”
Chapter 13
Wednesday, April 4
