The F/18 Hornet was originally deployed in the late seventies, and it had been ruling the skies since. The aircraft was equipped with two 17,700-pound-thrust F404-GE-402 turbofan engines with speeds of up to 1,190 miles per hour and a flight ceiling of 50,000 feet. It was armed with a M61A1/A2 Vulcan 20mm cannon, AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles, and AIM-120 advanced medium-range air-to-air missiles. The hornett was an every-type-of-climate fighter, with advanced, integrated avionics that projected onto the windscreen, giving Eric the advantage of not having to look down at his instruments. He wasn’t just a pilot behind the stick of that jet—he was a weapon.
Eric was walking through preflight with his crew chief when Captain Howard walked over.
“No flowers? Captain, I’m disappointed,” Eric said.
“Lieutenant, there’s no way of knowing what you’re walking into when you get to Phoenix. I have a few men there waiting for you, but what’s happening inside the city could be a problem. It’s unfortunate, but you need to be prepared to fight the battle on two fronts.”
“I know, sir.”
Captain Howard saluted, and Eric returned it in kind. The hatch of the jet lowered, and Eric pulled his mask on. He waited for the towers’ clearance, and when the jet’s engines accelerated, he could feel the crushing pressure of g-forces thrusting him back into his seat.
Eric climbed to his cruising altitude and took one last look at the USS Ronald Reagan below.
Never in his life had he wanted to see that ship again so badly.
Eric touched down at Luke Air Force Base, and the rest of the pilots that had flown with him began to make their own landings. When he climbed out of the cockpit, Eric was greeted on the runway by a dirty-faced colonel.
“Lieutenant Stephenson,” Colonel Brack said. “It’s great to have you here.”
“Do we know how close they are?” Eric asked.
“The last satellite images we received had Gallo setting up a forward operating base in the border town of Nogales just south of Arizona. We sent a scout team in last night to survey the area. We should receive a report by this afternoon.”
“What's our personnel situation?”
“Could be better. We have five hundred boots on the ground, and with the addition of your airmen, we have forty planes.”
“Everybody loves a good David-versus-Goliath story. Where are we at with the city?”
“Phoenix?”
“Yeah.”
“It's a shit show.”
“We need to send a unit into the city to help stabilize it.”
Eric pulled the glass door to the main office building open and stepped inside. What was normally a bustling area with uniformed men and women going about their daily tasks was now a ghost town. Five hundred airmen sounded like a lot, but spreading that over a base that was meant to hold five thousand made it look practically empty.
“It's not much, but we're trying to make it work,” Brack said.
“Where's your communication post? I need to make a call,” Eric said.
Eric paced back and forth on the floor. He was alone in the room, as requested. He held the radio firmly to his ear. He wanted to make sure he could hear everything for this conversation.
“I understand that, Captain, but we barely have enough men to keep this base running. We can't risk sending more men into Phoenix to stabilize the city,” Eric said.
“Lieutenant, it's not your call. I understand you’re spread thin, but so is everyone. Now's not the time for excuses. We just need to buckle down and get it done. I don't care how you do it.”
“Sir, if Gallo's men attack when we're in the city, we'll have our defenses divided. Timing is everything right now.”
“I agree, Lieutenant. That's why you're going to ensure the people left in Phoenix have something to hold onto. They're in the same boat we are.”
“Yes, sir.”
Eric set the satellite phone on the desk. The rumbling engine of a truck rolled past the window outside, and Eric fell backward into a chair. He buried his face in his palms and tried to rub the impossible task given to him from his mind.
He wanted to help the people in Phoenix as much as the captain did, but they didn't have the time right now to scramble a scout party to head into the city. Gallo could attack at any minute. Right now, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.
If Phoenix was anything like what he had seen in San Diego, then it was going to be bad. Phoenix had already been dying before the president's orders, and now that they were cut off from the rest of the country, with no resource shipments coming in, the likelihood he would be able to get everyone to stand together and sing Kumbaya would err on the side of difficult.
The roar of the base sirens snapped Eric out of his stupor, and he burst out of the office. He sprinted across the tarmac to his jet. His dog tags flung out behind his neck, holding on for the ride. He didn't need to ask what the alarm was for. Gallo's men were heading their way.
The honed efficiency of the dozens of scramble drills that each pilot had endured was on full display as everyone rushed to get the fighters into the air as fast as possible. The crew chief was running around finishing his prep on fuel, hydraulic fluid, and liquid oxygen. Normally each jet had its own crew, but right now there was only a handful of crews for forty planes.
Eric climbed inside the cockpit, and the crew chief climbed the ladder after him.
“Your fuel tanks aren't completely refilled yet, Lieutenant,” the crew chief said.
“Looks like I'll have to kick their asses fast,” Eric said, strapping on his helmet. “And besides, the Navy loves it when I save them gas money.”
The crew chief climbed down as the cockpit hatch closed. Eric pulled on his flight mask. His hydraulics and oxygen were good. The crew chief had done his work fast. Eric flipped on the control panels, checked his instruments, and radioed the tower.
Eric's hands found the stick. As the jet slowly rolled forward, he watched the signals of the ground control. Eric could see the other jets behind him, lining up in preparation for their takeoff.
The roar of Eric's jet boomed as he ascended from the runway. The acceleration to six hundred miles per hour happened in the blink of an eye. He climbed to thirty thousand feet and checked his radar, searching the airspace for enemy aircraft.
“This is Hawk Seven keying in,” Eric said.
“Adonis keying in.”
“Blue Eagle keying in.”
“Coms are good,” Eric said. “We are danger close.”
The mix of F/18C Hornets, F/22 Raptors, and F/A-18 E/F Super Hornets pierced the Arizona sky. It was a sight Eric hadn’t seen since his tour in Iraq.
“All right, boys, who's buying the first round of Coronas?” Eric asked.
“I'll get the chips and salsa,” Blue Eagle answered.
“Keep your eyes peeled, Hawk Seven,” Adonis said.
“C'mon, Adonis. It's almost lunchtime. We're just trying to think ahead,” Eric replied through his radio.
“Well, get ready to work up an appetite. Migs incoming.”
Eric's radar flooded with dots from enemy aircraft. He banked left, hoping to come up around them. The first bogy he came into contact with barrel rolled out of his vision.
“Damn, these boys are fast,” Eric said.
Twenty-millimeter cannon fire exploded through the air. They were outnumbered two to one. If Mexican fighters made it past their air defenses, then they'd have a clear path to Luke Air Force Base, and once they wiped that off, there wouldn't be anyone left to stop them. Tower radioed their intelligence.
“We have confirmation of enemy bombers. They are priority. Don't let them break into Phoenix airspace.”
“Copy that,” Eric said.
Eric's jet cut through the sky like a hot knife through butter. The airspace was crowded, with both sides scrambling to prevent each other’s mission. Eric spotted a cluster of enemy migs surrounding a bomber then accelerated to engage. Two broke off from the pack and tried to
circle him, but Eric barrel rolled right, splitting the pair in two.
“Adonis, one of the bombers just entered Arizona airspace. I've engaged two of the fighters. It only has one escort left. Take him out,” Eric radioed.
“Roger that, Hawk Seven. I have pure lead.”
Machine gun fire narrowly missed Eric's jet as he tried to simultaneously lock in the enemy bogy in front of him and out-maneuver the jet trying to take him down.
The enemy fighter finally made a mistake, thinking he could bank left. Eric felt the move coming and gambled, maneuvering his own jet in the same direction. The missile system locked on, and Eric fired. The jet exploded in a massive fireball against the blue sky.
“Good effect,” Eric said.
Then Eric's alert systems signaled he'd been targeted. His instruments flashed. He banked right hard, using the F/18’s superior corner speed to outrun his pursuer. The pressure from the g-forces pounding against Eric's body felt as if it would crush him. The weight sitting on his chest was unbearable. He felt lightheaded. He was having trouble breathing.
The missile launched from the Mexican fighter. It cut through the sky, sailing just below Eric's left wing. After the miss, he banked right hard, getting out of his climb and circling around to the aircraft that had fired on him. The turn was sharp, and he narrowly missed colliding with another jet.
“It's getting busy up here, fellas. Watch yourselves,” Eric said.
“This is worse than chow time on the boat,” Adonis said.
“I knew you were getting hungry for lunch,” Eric said.
Explosions rocked the sky. Eric and the other pilots might have been outnumbered, but they were better trained. One by one, they picked off the Mexican fighters, exposing their bombers like sitting ducks.
After forty minutes in the air and the loss of more than thirty of their aircraft, the Mexican fighters finally hightailed it out of the airspace. Shouts and cheers filled the radio waves all the way from the cockpits to the tower.
“WOOOO!”
“We had some tigers up here today, boys.”
“Just in time for lunch.”
Eric looked down at his fuel gauge. He was low. He wasn't sure if it was enough to get him all the way back to base.
“Hey, Adonis, I'm running low on fuel here,” Eric said.
“Head on back, Hawk Seven. We'll keep an eye on things,” Adonis said.
“Roger that. Hawk Seven retuning to base.”
Eric cruised at twenty-nine thousand feet, attempting to make it to the base as quickly as possible.
“Hawk Seven, we have you on radar. You are clear for landing,” Tower said.
“Tower, I'm coming in on fumes, so you might want to have the SIB forms ready,” Eric said.
“I don't think the safety board will be investigating you anytime soon, Lieutenant.”
Eric started his approach. The runway was half a mile in the distance. The altimeter's level decreased. He had just engaged the landing gear when his left engine cut out.
“Tower, I've lost engine two,” Eric said.
Engine one shut off immediately after his transmission with five hundred feet left to descend. The controls shut down. Eric did his best to glide the aircraft the rest of the way, but it was like trying to land a brick at two hundred miles per hour.
The nose of the F-18 dipped. The lines of the runway came into view. Eric braced himself for impact. The front wheel of the jet hit the runway first then snapped in half from the pressure, causing the front of the plane to smash against the concrete. The cockpit crumpled from the pressure like tinfoil. The rear landing gear broke from the angle of the front of the jet and crashed into the runway. The jet skidded a few hundred feet, sending sparks flying behind it, until it finally came to a stop.
Smoke rose from the plane's engines, clouding Eric's view outside the cockpit window. He removed his helmet and pressed his hand to the throbbing pain piercing the left side of his forehead. He could feel the warm, slippery texture of blood.
Eric removed his straps and forced the cockpit open manually. He stood up but collapsed back into the pilot seat. He felt dizzy. He coughed from the smoke filling his lungs and the air around him. In the distance, he could see the flashing lights of an ambulance and fire truck heading his way.
The lights looked blurry. Eric squinted, trying to steady himself and control the pounding in his head. His fingers gripped the sides of the cockpit, and he forced himself up. He brought one leg over the side of the cockpit, then the other, and slowly set himself down on the runway, where he collapsed after a few steps.
7
Once the sun went down, the temperature dropped dramatically. Brooke was always amazed at how quickly the desert environment changed. During the day, she did everything she could to stay cool, but at night she found herself yearning for the morning sun.
It was their first night camping since they'd left home. The solar station had been equipped with enough power to run the A/C and heat, which all of them were missing at that moment.
“Couldn't we have just stayed at the station?” John asked.
“I know it's hard, but we have to keep moving,” Brooke answered.
Brooke unfolded a space blanket and wrapped it around John's shoulders. The material crinkled and bent like aluminum foil. Emily brought her hands to her mouth and blew on them, trying to warm them up. Brooke wrapped another blanket around Emily.
“I'm going to start setting things up,” Brooke said.
She had made the wise decision years ago to invest in a quality tent. During one of her first trips into the solar field, the company truck had broken down and their radio cut out. Brooke and her partner didn't have any cell reception since they were in the middle of nowhere, so they had to spend the night. The company-provided “shelter” offered almost zero protection from the desert elements. She'd never been so miserable in her life.
After that, she had purchased the Trango 3. Its packed weight was only eleven pounds, it slept three, and it only had five poles, making it incredibly easy to set up. It contained a large dry-entry vestibule, which helped keep out the sand during storms. The 40D Nylon 238T Ripstop FRDWR fabric that the tent was made of was incredibly durable. This tent could take a beating in any season, which was good, because the deserts of the Southwest were undeniably harsh.
Ten minutes later the shelter was ready, and the three of them climbed inside. Even though the tent slept three, it was a bit snug. Luckily for both Brooke and John, Emily didn't take up much space.
Brooke zipped up the rain fly in case another sandstorm decided to head their way in the night. She curled up next to Emily and John and lay down by the door. It took all of sixty seconds before the three of them passed out.
The tent felt like an oven by the time they woke up. If it hadn’t been for the heat, Brooke could have slept the rest of the day. The frigid desert night had reversed to its normal sweltering heat.
Brooke stirred Emily and John awake. She unzipped the front door of the tent and watched as sand flew into the entrance vestibule. It felt well into the one hundreds already.
The water jugs in the back of the cruiser were hot to the touch. Brooke grabbed a handful of sand from under the cruiser. It was still cool. She dug a small hole underneath and rested the jug inside it. She wanted a chance for it to cool down before they drank it.
John and Emily still looked half asleep when she walked back into the tent, but at least they were sitting upright. Emily's hair resembled a rat's nest, and half of John's hair lay flat on the left side of his face.
“Are we going to Phoenix today?” Emily asked, her voice echoing into her water bottle as she took a sip.
“That's the plan.”
Brooke had one spare gas can left, and the cruiser was running on fumes again, part of the reason Brooke had wanted to camp last night. Aside from being exhausted, she needed some time to think about their next move.
Phoenix was no doubt turned upside down. If it was anythin
g like what she had seen in San Diego before they left, then it would be risky to venture into the city.
Most of the smaller towns that had sprung up during the solar energy boom dried up once the water restrictions were put into place. It was a long shot to find any fuel stations that were still operational, especially now, but she wanted to exhaust all options before heading into Phoenix.
Brooke went back outside and dumped the remaining fuel she had brought from the solar station into the cruiser. It was five gallons. They might be able to squeeze another ninety miles out of it. Once it was gone, they'd be traveling by foot.
She checked the water jug in the sand. It was still warm but not as hot as when she had pulled it from the cruiser. She filled three water bottles and made everyone finish them before they started out for the morning. After a breakfast of granola bars, Brooke disassembled the tent. Once their gear was stored securely in the back of the cruiser, they all climbed inside and buckled up.
“Grab the map for me, John,” Brooke said.
John unfolded it on the dash. Emily joined the two of them up front, poking her head between the seats and looking at the vast map of the Southwest spread before her.
“We should be somewhere right around here,” Brooke said, pointing to the outskirts of Phoenix. “If we continue east, we should run right into the old riverbed of the Gila River. We can use that as a landmark to make sure we’re headed in the right direction.”
“There used to be water here?” Emily asked.
“Yup, but that was when you were really little,” Brooke answered.
“I can't wait to go swimming in North Carolina,” Emily said.
Emily had both elbows wedged on the corner of Brooke and John’s seats. She pressed her hands against her face, smooshing her cheeks together as she looked longingly into the distance.
Brooke wanted to make her daughter's wish a reality more than anything in the world. If she could actually pull this trip off, it could be a fresh start for them. She knew it would be difficult, but with Daniel's connections in Congress, he might have enough authority to arrange for them to stay there permanently.
Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction Page 173
