by Lewis, Rykar
“Fool! You think you could take on us all?” Tandy yelled, pressing his pistol’s barrel against the President’s pale face. “All you did was get yourself a bullet in the shoulder.”
The wounded terrorist groaned loudly, rolled over and died.
“It’s a good thing for him,” Tandy started, “I’d have killed him if he didn’t die. What an idiot.”
The President was losing blood, but he didn’t know what to do about it. He didn’t want to ask for help even though his efforts of applying pressure to the wound were not helping any. After all, wasn’t it better if he died fighting instead of live and know that he asked a terrorist for help? Yes, he determined it was better to go out of this world fighting.
The President curled in a tight ball and gasped for air. He knew he’d be dead in a matter of minutes at the rate he was bleeding. He just hoped his country brought revenge on these scumbags.
3
Thursday, January 16th – 2345 hours
The Lead F/A-18 Delta
Lieutenant Colonel J.E. Roberts, the pilot of the lead F/A-18 Delta, codenamed PAPA ALPHA ONE, maneuvered his jet near Air Force One and waited for further orders. Roberts wished he could let the hijackers of the President’s plane have it, but his orders were clear: “Don’t fire anything unless ordered otherwise.”
The pilot radioed to General Lawington at the command center. “SPYGLASS, this is PAPA ALPHA ONE calling for a report. Over.”
Lawington instantly replied, “This is SPYGLASS. Proceed PAPA ALPHA ONE. Over.”
“We’ve surrounded the plane, sir; there’s no reaction so far. What would you like us to do with them, sir? Over.”
“Just stand by PAPA ALPHA ONE. I’ll get back to you after I talk with GOLDEN TOWER. Over and out.”
The pilot shook his head and continued the pursuit, still itching to fire a Sidewinder missile at the hijacked plane. President or no President, the terrorists had to be stopped or they’d cross the Mexican border and be free to do whatever they wanted. And Roberts had no intentions of letting that happen. If need be, he could take matters into his own hands, but that was a worst case scenario. Perhaps the Vice President would come up with a good plan.
In an instant, Air Force One plummeted down, leaving the F/A-18 pilots up above, stunned and confused.
“SPYGLASS, this is PAPA ALPHA ONE, come in. Over.”
The general replied without hesitation. “Go ahead PAPA ALPHA...”
“SPYGLASS, did not copy that. Say the last part again,” the pilot begged.
“PAPA ALPHA ONE, can you...” The radio again crackled. “Do you copy? Over.”
“Negative, SPYGLASS, you’re cutting out. Air Force One is going down. We need orders. Please advise. Over.”
“PAPA ALPHA ONE, I did not copy the last part...We’re breaking up...I cannot understand you...Try again later. Over and out.”
“No!” Roberts screamed over the radio, but SPYGLASS never heard it.
Roberts dove after Air Force One, with the other F/A-18 following him close behind. Roberts didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t want to have Air Force One be flown into a building on some kamikaze mission and have hordes of innocent people killed. That’s what he suspected though, so he desperately needed to make contact with the command center. He needed orders as quickly as he could get them.
He tried again. “SPYGLASS, this is PAPA ALPHA ONE. Do you copy? Over.”
Absolutely no response came this time. PAPA ALPHA ONE had no way to communicate with the command center. Perhaps he could still radio in the F/A-18. Roberts decided to give it a try. “PAPA BRAVO TWO, this is PAPA ALPHA ONE. Do you read me? Over.”
Static filled the pilot’s radio, and again no response of any kind came over the headset’s earpiece. “There must be some kind of malfunction with it,” he told his Naval Flight Officer, who was sitting in the rear seat.
The lead F/A-18 pilot had absolutely no communication with anyone, no way to translate the information he thought to be true, and he was possibly the only one in the world who had an idea of what was going to happen. He just hoped his fellow fighter would catch on fast.
* * *
“PAPA BRAVO TWO to SPYGLASS. Over,” the second F/A-18’s pilot spoke into his headset.
“This is SPYGLASS, PAPA BRAVO TWO. Do you read me? Over.” It was not Lawington, but his female deputy who was filling in for him.
“Affirmative, SPYGLASS. Air Force One is diving at alarming rates, we think it’s going on a kamikaze mission. Requesting orders. Over.”
“Did you make contact with the lead F/A-18 yet? We were disconnected due to some malfunction of his radio. Over.”
“Negative, SPYGLASS. Haven’t heard a thing from him. We just followed his lead of diving after Air Force One. Over.”
“Roger. We’ll get your request to GOLDEN TOWER as fast as we can. Over.”
“How long will that take, SPYGLASS? We don’t have all day. Over.”
“No time at all. The general’s already talking with them now; I’ll update him on the scenario. Over and out.”
The Marine captain and pilot of the second F/A-18 concentrated on flying as he calculated the time before Air Force One could hit the ground. According to his calculation, only a few moments remained. The command center better be quick with the orders or the outcome of this ordeal could be fatal.
A few minutes passed before his radio crackled to action again. He hoped someone had made a decision because time was almost out.
“PAPA BRAVO TWO, we have a response. Over.” It was the general this time.
“Roger, SPYGLASS. Proceed. Over.”
“GOLDEN TOWER says just to watch and pray for all you’re worth. Over.”
The pilot was dumbfounded. What kind of an order was that? And what exactly was he supposed to pray for? “SPYGLASS, what does that mean? Over.”
“GOLDEN TOWER doesn’t want you to take any action against Air Force One right now. Over.”
“Sir, there’s a chance of Air Force One being a suicide plane. If that’s the case then the pilots will crash it into some major building and innocent Americans will die. What does GOLDEN TOWER say to that? Over.”
“GOLDEN TOWER says if there’s nothing solid, don’t take action. Over.”
The pilot swallowed hard, and then nearly argued. “SPYGLASS, we are talking about hundreds of innocent lives, sir. I do not doubt GOLDEN TOWER’S orders, but I’m wondering if they really know the situation unfolding here. Over.”
“PAPA BRAVO TWO, they are well informed. They know everything that’s happening right now, and they still say, do not, I repeat, do not take action. They need some more time to think things through. Over.”
“Over and out, SPYGLASS.” The pilot took a deep breath and watched as the enormous Air Force One, plummeted ever closer to the ground. A lot more was at stake now than just losing the President. That’d be bad enough, but having a plane crash into some building with the President inside of that plane was too horrific to imagine. The decision was not his to make, though. The only thing he could do was keep chasing the taillights of Air Force One.
* * *
Everyone in the Situation Room was sitting on pins and needles. Everyone had been informed about the possible suicide plane crash, and no one liked what was being portrayed on the screen, which was flashing images of Air Force One. Nobody knew what to do. Nobody knew what the terrorists had in mind, and nobody even knew whether or not the President was still alive. It would make sense for the terrorist to kill the President, then use the plane for a suicide mission. But what if the President were still alive? It was difficult to stop a plane on a kamikaze mission when the highest White House official was aboard it. But then again, no one was sure the plane was even destined for a suicide attack. For all they knew the terrorists could just be trying to fool everyone into thinking that they were going to fly Air Force One into a building.
Still, no one had any idea how to stop the President’s kidnapping or a suic
ide attack. The matter was delicate, and a single mistake could crush the White House’s last glimmer of hope. Every possibility for rescuing the President had been thought through a hundred times. Yet nothing seemed to be the right solution. Only one option had been suggested that actually had a slight chance of succeeding. That being to force the plane’s nose down by flying and slowing the F/A-18s in front of it, which would eventually make the plane land, or crash. Then agents would be sent into the plane to try and pull the President away from the terrorists. The National Security Advisor said the Marine pilots practiced the scenario and it was codenamed Operation NOSE DIVE. It would be extremely difficult, risky, and had a small possibility for success. But what other choice did they have? There was no other way that they could get the President out of there without the terrorists killing him. Sure there was still a chance that they’d kill him even if the White House decided to make the F/A-18s force a landing, but this seemed to be the only option. They had to try.
There was no more time for procrastination. The decision had to be made, and that decision belonged to Anders. He couldn’t make the wrong choice, he had to be calm and think the thing through, one more time. It made sense that they should probably take out the plane before the terrorists got away with the President. After all, wasn’t it better for the President to die now than to be tortured to death later? Still, it was a hard game to play, and even harder to win. Every senior advisor had recommended to make the plane land, then send in agents to get the President, dead or alive. Anders knew he had to do it. They were out of time, and every other option had been ruled out. The Vice President had to issue the order. There was no other choice. He just prayed it would work.
“Tom,” he started.
“Yes, Mr. Vice President?” The National Security Advisor had been waiting for the VP’s decision, as had the entire NSC.
“Tell General Lawington to carry out the plan.”
“You mean Operation NOSE DIVE?”
“Right. Get on it fast, there isn’t much time.”
“Yes sir, but that operation will be impossible with Air Force One’s position.”
“I know. But if and when it levels off, I want the F/A-18s to carry out the plan.”
“And if the plane’s on a suicide mission?”
“If the F/A-18 pilots are sure that’s what is going to happen, then instruct them to take it out. But have Lawington tell them not to do anything like that until it’s run by me. Got it?”
“Yes sir. I’ll get on it right away.”
The VP’s head dropped into his hands once more. He couldn’t believe he’d just authorized that. But there was still more work to be done. “Frank, what do you have on the ground?” he asked, not bothering to raise his head.
“Near Air Force One you mean?” Franklin Watkins, the Director of the FBI, wondered aloud.
“Yes.”
“Everything needed. I have several Quick Reaction Forces in helicopters that can carry out the rescue plan when necessary.”
“All right. Get several agents to carry it out. Personally instruct them on what to do, and have them nearby when the plane goes down. And do it quickly, will you?”
“Got it sir,” the FBI Director confirmed as he trotted out of the room, glad he could finally get involved with this operation. That was his job, and he loved what he did. He was determined to make this operation work, or die trying.
The VP again looked at the image of Air Force One, still diving down. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He had to keep his mind in the game. He couldn’t let it wander when his country, and his friend, needed him most. If all went well, Operation NOSE DIVE would be completed in less than half an hour. Anders couldn’t wait for this to come to a close. He just hoped that the President was alive, or he’d be in charge longer than just tonight.
* * *
“What do you think you’re doing?” Tandy yelled into the pilot’s ear.
“Hey man, I don’t like those Marine planes on our tail. I’m just shaking things up.”
“How is diving straight down to the ground shaking things up?”
“Maybe we can get rid of them.”
“Are you kidding, Marine F/A-18 pilots leaving the flying White House? Impossible,” Tandy declared, beginning to lose his temper.
“Okay wise guy, how else do you want me to stop them from shooting us down? Ask them over the radio? Say, ‘Oh please sir, would you stop tailing me, it makes us nervous?’ Well?”
Tandy wanted to put a bullet right through this military dude’s skull, but he held himself in check. He needed the pilot, and he wasn’t about to kill anyone he needed.
“Just make sure you don’t waste any time, because we have none to spare.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Watch it!” Tandy shouted, referring to the ground that was rapidly approaching them.
The pilot skillfully swooped upward just in time, jolting everyone on board. Everybody was petrified except Winnfield; he was completely oblivious to the whole matter. Unconscious, yet still bleeding, he was sprawled on the floor, looking more dead than alive. One of the terrorists had bandaged his wound and slowed most of the bleeding, but the President was still in poor condition. The bullet had passed clear through his shoulder and had clipped his shoulder blade on its exit. He was blessed that was the case. Had the bullet not exited his body he’d have had less of a chance to live than he already did.
* * *
The F/A-18 pilots had watched in horror as Air Force One swooped dangerously low to the ground, then climbed slightly, leveled off and began flying at low altitude. It now seemed to the pilots that the VP was still going to do nothing about this. The pilot of the second F/A-18 had no way of communicating with the other lead plane, so he was in the dark as to what his counterpart wanted to do. It really didn’t matter. This was the White House’s game to play, not theirs. What the Vice President decided would be done no matter what either of them thought.
“SPYGLASS to PAPA BRAVO TWO. Over.” Again the pilot’s radio interrupted his thoughts, and he hoped the general had some kind of order for him.
“Go ahead SPYGLASS. Over.”
“PAPA BRAVO TWO,” the general started, “GOLDEN TOWER informed me to tell you to carry out Operation NOSE DIVE when the opportunity presents itself. Everything relies now on your lead, since we have lost connection with the other F/A-18.”
The pilot cleared his throat. He didn’t know if the general was done or not, but he spoke up anyhow. “And if the plane’s on a kamikaze mission? Over.”
“PAPA BRAVO TWO, I have been instructed by GOLDEN TOWER to tell you to stand by until you can perform Operation NOSE DIVE. No more, and no less. Any questions? Over.”
The Marine captain was forced into a position of leadership now that the lead F/A-18’s radio had a malfunction. This was his operation to lead. He knew how it went, how it could fail, and how it could work. They had trained for this, and now was the moment to do it for real. He was ready.
“One question sir; who will be on the ground? Marines? Over.”
“Negative, the FBI has men on the ground as we speak. They’re ready whenever. Over.”
The captain’s heart sank a bit. He wished Marines could go in. He trusted them; he knew he could rely on them to do the job. Sure, FBI agents were great, but there was something about working with a fellow Marine that couldn’t be substituted by some government agent. Maybe it was because he was a Marine. Or maybe because it was true that Marines could handle this operation better.
“All right sir. I’ll be ready when the opportunity comes. Over and out.”
General Lawington also wished a Marine special operation capable unit could go in, but that was not his decision to make. Such was the old saying, “Our job is not to wonder why, ours is just to do or die.”
The general turned to his live video feed, which was broadcasting the whole chasing scene. Lawington saw PAPA BRAVO TWO move in for the kill. Air Force One had leveled off
and, though still flying dangerously low to the ground, was high enough to make him believe that the man flying had no intention of performing a suicide attack. At least that was a relief.
The now-lead F/A-18 flew toward Air Force One’s nose. The captain let out a sigh as his Naval Flight Officer yelled to him that the other fighter plane was following him. The captain had hoped that the pilot of PAPA ALPHA ONE would get the picture that he was carrying out Operation NOSE DIVE. He figured that he would. They both knew each other well enough to know what the other’s intentions were, just by their actions. They were trained to know that. They were experts. And that was why they had been assigned to this job.
PAPA ALPHA ONE took the right side, while PAPA BRAVO TWO took the left. Roberts had been informed long ago that if something went wrong, and communication to the lead plane was dismantled, then by default the other plane was deemed the new leader. So he let PAPA BRAVO TWO take point while he remained on the flank.
The captain pulled his F/A-18 out in front of Air Force One, just as Roberts was tightening the flank. Then he slowed. Not too much, but enough to force Air Force One to dive beneath him. He was above Air Force One, slightly, which prevented the option for climbing. He was still in front though, so the flying White House could not continue the speed it was going, or there would be a midair collision.
* * *
The terrorist pilot broke into a cold sweat. He knew what the F/A-18s were doing, and he didn’t like it. The only thing to do however was to dive beneath them, or they’d crash. And he didn’t want that to happen, so he plunged underneath them. He could have guessed what happened next. As he dove down, the F/A-18 out in front sped forward and down, once again forcing him to go even lower.
