by T I WADE
“By the time they get orders to fire, and Mortimer cannot issue the order, Mr. Jones should be igniting his rockets,” stated Bob, “and we immediately descend down to Creech at maximum speed while the F-16s chase Jonesy. I also think they will back off for a few extra seconds once I do level out and go into our dive, thinking that I am following orders.”
“Just remember to get all the two-way radio chatter on the camera feed. The live feed will be going to Joe Downs 20 miles north of us in Tonopah. It cost me a fortune for the ability to feed the footage on the one remaining communications satellite above us. More than an ad at the Super Bowl!”
“Just don’t rip her wings off on the pull out, Mr. Mathews,” smiled Jonesy at his friend.
“Mr. Jones, what happens once you have ignition? How much time do you need to get out of harm’s way?” Ryan asked.
“F-16, top speed, clean, about 1,400 knots; we will need seven seconds to outpace them if they follow us on afterburners. If the F-16s are carrying the latest “am-ram” missiles they can latch onto us. Missile’s maximum speed is about Mach 4, or just under 3,000 miles an hour. We should be out of harm’s way within 20 seconds of ignition.”
“What else do they have that is faster?” Ryan asked.
“An ICBM,” Jonesy replied, “but I think they used up all their high flyers, and the ones they have are not air-to-air compatible.”
“So, you guys have twenty seconds from launch before you can outpace any missiles they fire at you?” All of the retired air force crew nodded.
“Unless they have their laser within 20 miles,” suggested Jonesy. A C-130 is not a fast aircraft, and she will have to be within 150 miles of this base once we takeoff to get within a 20-mile firing range within 30-odd minutes.” Ryan got onto the intercom.
“Mr. Noble, do you have any aircraft on your screens, or is it too early?” There was no reply. “I forgot that we are blind in sight and communications down here. Even the “Choking Device” is in your cargo Mr. Jones. The radar screen is showing no aircraft within 30 miles of us, so I will monitor it from now until America One comes over the horizon. Mr. Noble will be over the horizon in about 65 minutes.”
“You have cameras recording the attack on the roof of Hangar One, why don’t you just come with us, Ryan?” Maggie asked simply.
“Yeah! Forget the bull of promising to be here,” added Jonesy. “Bishop and all his friends don’t really care. They don’t want you, they want your equipment.”
“I need to make sure this shuttle gets into orbit,” replied Ryan. “I also have my handheld that is also patched into the live feed going out of here, and I need to make a point to the viewers who watch the program one day, that Americans don’t bow down to pressure. We don’t take bullying, and we won’t lie down when we are being bullied. Thank you for your concern, but this one point must be made. If I run like a dog with its tail between its legs, it doesn’t show well for our side, it just brings me down to the enemy’s level.”
For twenty minutes the meeting covered every normal eventuality every pre-flight meeting did. The C-5 had just enough fuel to get into Creech, SB III was fully loaded at 4.15 tons, at absolute maximum, and this time ground control couldn’t help Jonesy. Also the sun could only be seen once they reached the 50,000 release altitude and would be much lower for him to get a fix on it to ascend on a perfect trajectory. It didn’t worry him. After thirty-four launches, he and Maggie could fly the shuttle as well as the five computers inside her.
Everybody went over to Hangar Six. The C-5 was ready to be loaded. The shuttle crew had set up the loading operation so that the new loading team, Ryan, Lieutenant Walls and Sergeant Meyers just had to start the wheels to send her into the hold. Ryan shook the hands of the last two crew members, who had set up the final loading, and were the first to enter the cockpit through the small side hatch. The passengers in the already closed cargo bay had said their goodbyes over dinner several hours earlier.
The inside of the passenger compartment was much like the inside of any passenger aircraft, but without windows. It had nine rows of four first-class quality seats, and their one piece of luggage was in a separate compartment below their feet. There was no food section and no toilet facilities for their short five-hour flight. Their strong seatbelt systems were tight, there was piped-in music and the first movie was already playing on the screen in front of them. Many had not been told about the possible dangers on this last flight and would not hear anything from outside, unless Maggie spoke to them.
Once the compartment had arrived at its destination, it would turn into America One’s 36-seat movie theater after it was welded onto one of the mid-level accommodation sections.
Jonesy said his goodbyes to Ryan by saluting him and, helmetless, entered the shuttle’s hatch first. Maggie also helmetless gave him a big bear hug and told him that he had better join them, or she was returning to get him. She knew she could, as she had been part of the design team to transfer the space ship’s massive hydrogen thrusters to SB III, or any of the shuttles for that matter.
The hatch was sealed from inside and Lieutenant Walls started the platform’s motor that slowly slipped the shuttle backwards into the Dead Chicken’s forward nose door.
Twenty minutes later the C-5 reversed away from Hangar Three for the last time and headed towards the runway. At the meeting Ryan had handed the C-5 crew their promised pilot cases full of cash.
Now there were three men left. It would take the C-5 five minutes to reach the end of the western end of the runway and they parked the shuttle loader neatly inside the now empty Hangar Six, closed the large doors, then closed the large doors to Hangar Three. All the remaining hangars were completely empty. A phone line extension now allowed Ryan to answer the only phone outside in the middle of the apron.
He thanked the last two men. They were already packed up with their suitcases in the two jeeps outside Hangar One.
“Just remember guys, you have about twenty minutes before this place could be buzzing, so make sure you are halfway to Tonopah before anything goes overhead, and stay a mile or so apart,” said Ryan shaking their hands. He watched the last two men drive out of the now open inner gates in their new jeeps, over the brow and out of view. They were to leave the outer gates open for the first time.
He was right about the phone call, just thirty seconds after the C-5 lifted into the air his phone rang. Now every second mattered.
“Richmond,” he stated after waiting for the seventh ring, the C-5 a spot on the horizon and already at a good height.
“Richmond, why is the C-5 taking off from your airfield?” asked Mortimer at the other end.
“Well, a bright and happy good morning to you too, General,” smiled Ryan.
“I’m cleaning house for your arrival and sending the C-5 and her crew back to Nellis. Her usefulness to me is over. Why do you ask? She doesn’t belong to me.” He heard Mortimer shouting orders; he was somewhere in the Pentagon he was sure. It would be dawn there, and it was rather early to be at work, Ryan thought.
“You do not have permission for the C-5 to leave your airfield!” Mortimer shouted angrily into the phone.
“I didn’t have orders not to, General. Why would it worry you so much? I’m here at my airfield getting ready for the honor of your arrival.”
“Yes, I’m an hour out and want the C-5 to return to your airfield, now!”
“For what reason, General? She’s heading back to Nellis and has no need to be here anymore.”
Then he heard what he expected. Mortimer was speaking to Bob Mathews in the C-5 ordering him to return. Bob Mathews had learned a few new ways to communicate from Jonesy, and told the General to go to hell. He was not returning and that was that. Then Mortimer heard the orders to Nellis to scramble jets. Ryan had added two minutes to their necessary time. The phone went dead. He had done the best he could and changed the radio frequency to a hardly used channel.
“Bob, you will have incoming soon. I heard him over t
he telephone talking to Nellis.”
“Well, he’s going to hell anyway. I just told him to hurry up and get there. We are at 7,300 feet and we have 1,300 feet per minute climb rate. That Jonesy always amazes me how accurate he can be. I do have a bogey on radar, north of you and incoming. It is slow, a C-130 if I’m not mistaken, maybe our expected laser team from Boeing, currently 90 miles from entering your airspace and at 30,000 feet.”
Roger that,” replied Ryan. “VIN is 15 minutes away from communications and hopefully on time. Where should he hit the aircraft, so as to not put her crew in danger, Bob?”
“Hit an outer engine; I’ve heard she is heavy and will have to do something about it. If that doesn’t work, hit the second outer engine. She won’t be able to fly straight and level and will need to land.”
Ryan returned to Hangar One. It was still chilly. March was a cold month for desert nights, and he needed a chair and the cup of coffee he had prepared for the possible wait.
Seventeen minutes later, VIN came over the handheld stating that he had Nevada in sight on his infrared. Twenty seconds later Bob Mathews reported two aircraft leaving Nellis.
“Maggie’s was the closest guess at around 19 minutes 20 seconds,” Bob smiled.
Dawn was just making a sliver of light above the horizon when Ryan saw the glimmer of light from the higher sun’s rays hitting the C-5 right above him at 27,000 feet. Bob was headed northwest, away from Las Vegas. The further distance gave him a few more seconds.
“Here they come, guys,” stated Ryan as he saw cold-weather afterburner trails in the faint light from the south. Now there were five of them. “Five incoming,” stated Ryan.
“I have them on radar,” said VIN. “I also see one incoming to your north at 80 miles, speed 350 knots.”
“That’s the one I want you to target VIN,” Ryan replied as his phone rang again.
“Ryan if you don’t give orders for the C-5 to head down, I will have to blow her out of the sky. She is a possible danger to National Security,” raged Mortimer getting angrier by the minute.
“Why would a Dead Chicken be a threat to National Security Mortimer? Grow up, she is only a danger to herself, and even I as a civilian know that you don’t have the power to fire missiles at one of our own aircraft,” replied Ryan watching the five streaks head towards the C-5.
“The president will be giving the order in a few minutes, if she doesn’t begin losing altitude.”
“Don’t try and bluff me, Mortimer, the president isn’t as stupid as you are. He will have to face trial for firing on American airmen. Maybe you should hand the controls over to somebody sane. May I remind you that there could be a laser aimed at you right now, if you don’t call off your jets and the C-130. You fire one shot, and the second aircraft fired at will be yours.” The caller hung up.
Dawn was getting brighter as the jets now nearly overhead and silent headed towards the C-5.
“Altitude 34,700 feet, bogeys twelve miles and closing,” stated Bob Mathews “We have a new very twisting target 200 miles to your east, Ryan. Did Mortimer crap his pants? With your threat, we should assume that is Mortimer trying to shake the target lock. Shows how little the twit knows. Ryan, turning southwards for my second last run across our restricted airspace. Good morning Foxtrot 16s, a little early isn’t it for you guys to be up and about? Colonel Bob Mathews retired United States Air Force here, flight commander of the Dead Chicken, an unarmed Charlie Five with 40 civilians on board,” stated Bob Mathews over the radio.
Ryan could hear the F-16 pilots ordering Bob to descend. Bob replied that this was restricted airspace and that they, the United States Air Force were trespassing. This made Ryan smile.
A new voice came in on the radio, an old friend. “Richmond, Joe Bishop here with Tom Ward, we are thirty-five minutes out with marines. I recommend you listen to Mortimer. Also get your security men to stand on the apron without their weapons. If we see anybody holding a weapon, we shoot them, no questions asked.”
“It is so funny that the generals running the U.S. military are a bunch of television freaks. What did you watch on television last night, Bishop, The Goon Squad? The airfield is unguarded; there are no soldiers with weapons here. The only occupant of the airfield is a civilian ready to hand it over.”
Ryan looked skywards again, the five streaks were about to meet up with the C-5.
“Ryan, 43,000 feet, we are nearly home, one minute to turning back to the north. I’m leaving the radios open so that you can get everything on tape,” Bob Mathews stated. “Ryan could hear that the F-16 pilots were issuing orders non-stop. The C-5 crew just got on with their jobs. Ryan’s phone rang again.
“Mr. Richmond, this is the President of the United States. You have a U.S. Air Force C-5 illegally flying directly towards Las Vegas and I’ve been told that it could have a bomb on board. If you don’t tell this aircraft to turn around and descend immediately, I have the authority as president to blow this aircraft up. Do you hear me?”
“Good Morning to you, Mr. President. That aircraft which I do believe is now turning northwards, away from Las Vegas does not have a bomb on board. It is in my private airspace and has 43 Americans on board. Among those 43 citizens are women and children. If you want to blow up an unarmed U.S. military transport aircraft, I can’t stop you,” Ryan replied. He could see that Bob Mathews had turned and was now flying northwest to allow Jonesy to get his bearings.
“I’ve been told by the air force that the aircraft is still heading towards Las Vegas.”
“Then you are being lied to,” replied Ryan.
“Foxtrot leader, affirmative, aircraft is heading northeast….”
“Shut up, Foxtrot Leader, you have permission to shoot that aircraft down. You have your orders, I have given you code Fox Three, now follow them!” interrupted Mortimer shouting at the pilot over the radio.
“Foxtrot Leader here. That is not your order to give. I can only accept Code Fox Three from the president himself. I will wait for correct command to order Fox Three. Target leveling out 47,000 feet and beginning to descend as ordered.”
“Ryan, you get that aircraft back down on the ground now,” ordered the president.
Bob Mathews hit bottom at 515 miles an hour and brought her nose up. The F-16s now heading away from the C-5 turned around. He headed up and watched the needle climb….….. “44,000…..47….49….they are coming in fast Jonesy. I’m releasing you Jonesy….God Speed my friend…. flight level 52…. shuttle away… turning over getting out of here…I see shuttle ignition. End of Act One.”
Ryan watched as the shuttle’s first-stage rockets blasted a hole in the dark sky above him.
“Fox Three! Fox Three!” shouted Mortimer. “Mr. President, shoot the bastards down”.
“May I remind you, Mr. President, that all this is going out live on CBS,” stated Ryan. “You give that order to shoot at an unarmed aircraft with women and children aboard and the whole country will watch it over morning corn flakes. I’m sure Charlie and Nora in New York will air it first.” He heard nothing over the phone. Over the radio he still heard Mortimer screaming his head off. The shuttle gathered speed, the jets again on afterburner heading up behind it. Mortimer’s voice was blocked out.
“Colonel John Jones, United States Air Force retired, to Foxtrot Leader, thanks, I owe you guys, heading through Mach 4. See if you can beat my co-pilot, Colonel Sinclair’s record, 91,000 feet, I believe?”
“Correct Colonel Jones. Foxtrot Leader, we are passing through 98,000 feet, Mach 5 and goodbye Earth. Colonel Maggie Sinclair, pregnant with baby, United States Air Force also retired, signing off from Earth.”
Ryan then heard Mortimer talking to the C-130 now in Ryan’s airspace and now in range of the shuttle.
“You use that laser and shoot down that damn spacecraft, or there will be hell to pay.”
“Pilots in the C-130, Ryan Richmond here. You might have a laser aboard. I’m sure you know about mine. It is currently aimed at y
our gas tanks in the rear of your aircraft. You fire at my civilian craft and I promise it will be New Year’s Eve fireworks for you all over again. Now turn around and go home before I go insane like that madman controlling you. You have five seconds.”
“Ryan, do not fire at that C-130,” came the familiar voice of the former President of the United States of America over the radio. “If you fire at the C-130 I will terminate my agreement with you.”
“Who the hell invited you to this party?” demanded the current president.
In between the bickering Ryan smiled as Jonesy told everybody that he was at 130,000 feet and at Mach 7. Mortimer was trying to get the laser to fire and unknown to him, the C-130 was already descending for Nellis. The C-130 would also need a Presidential Code to fire at the shuttle, and now the two presidents were too busy bickering, as if it was election time all over again.
The Dead Chicken was already on final approach when the two presidents stopped having a go at each other and the phone went dead. Bob Mathews was going in fast, telling the tower that he had just enough fuel to get her down. He landed sweetly at Creech and taxied onto the apron where a flashing military police jeep and showed him where to park.
The crew of three still holding their cases got into the jeep ten minutes later under armed guard and it drove off. They changed jeeps and in full military uniform entered a second jeep which got them to the main gate. A blue air force car was waiting for them, an envelope changed hands, and the guard saluted as three high ranking officers were driven out of the gate towards Las Vegas.
Chapter 26
