As the two men strapped in, Lynche shouted over the noise of the rear engine, “I love it when a plan comes together!”
After ringing off with Hunter Friday morning, Lynche's first call went to the Schweizer CEO, Saul Ferrier, who confirmed they had a new SA-37B, but it was being prepared for immediate delivery to the US State Department for one of their International Narcotics and Law Enforcement programs. Lynche's next call went to the current head of Air Branch. After he showered and put on a suit, he headed for CIA headquarters for a discussion in a SCIF.
The Chief Air Branch, new in his position and with virtually no aviation experience, agreed to meet Lynche in Elmira to see the aircraft in person and meet the Schweizer CEO and Navy SEALs who were interested in the aircraft. The Air Branch Chief was en route in an Agency Gulfstream G-III.
McGee’s calls to the SOCOM and DEVGRU commanders also resulted in an agreement to meet the next day in Elmira, New York. The SOCOM commander’s G-III lifted off from Norfolk, Virginia, with the SEAL Team Six commander and XO. The other eight seats were occupied by Special Operations personnel. Everyone wore civvies for the trip, and some had high and tight haircuts. All sported small waists and powerful chests that indicated their true occupation as the world’s finest commandos.
Hunter thought he was going along for the ride, but, as soon as he buckled in and put on his headset, Lynche said, “Your airplane.” Lynche turned in the seat, shook the SEAL’s hand again, and kept up a running dialogue all the way to their destination.
Lynche was amazed at the way McGee’s ultra-wide shoulders and thick chest took up the complete rear seat. Hunter fired up the front engine, called the tower, and taxied to the duty runway, ripping quickly through the check list. Early on Saturday morning, there was little traffic.
ATC cleared them direct to Elmira. Hunter ran the throttles to takeoff RPM, checked the manifold air pressure for both engines, and released the brakes. Lynche and McGee continued their discussion on family and cohorts, as the little white and red push-me pull-you bounced down the runway.
The combined tractor and pusher engines produced its unique sound of competing propellers. In the frigid temperatures, November 777SH quickly lifted off.
Ninety minutes later, Hunter dropped the gear and began a straight-in approach to Elmira Regional Airport. Once clear of the active runway, Lynche turned around and said, “My airplane.”
Hunter released the controls. “Your airplane.” He raised both hands.
McGee was fascinated by the two pilots’ back and forth. He hadn’t seen or heard of pilots handing over command of an airplane before. He was usually too busy jumping out of one to notice. Every movement and radio call was a coordinated event. Clearly the two men had flown together many times.
“Hunter, you’re the luckiest shit on the planet,” said Lynche as he taxied the Skymaster toward the Schweizer ramp, where a dozen purposeful men and a portly gentleman were deplaning from two nearly identical white-and-blue Gulfstreams.
Nodding to the nearest aircraft, Lynche said, “I bought that jet. It still looks great.”
“Timing is everything good, Sir,” Hunter replied. “Let’s not park behind one of those jets. If they start up, they’ll blow your baby right over.”
“Now how the hell would you know that?” Lynche often wondered where Hunter got his ideas. Maybe he just observed things differently than others.
“I’ve seen what happens when big dummies don’t think about such things,” Hunter explained. “The guys who fly jets don’t think about it. The GA pilots get pissed off when they park behind jets, and the jet flips over their little airplanes when they pull out of the chocks. Happens all the time, really.”
Lynche shot Hunter a look, raising his eyebrows twice as he detoured around the jets to the building with the large Schweizer Aircraft Company sign. Thirteen men, some with the best security clearances that could be granted by the US government, stopped walking, their eyes followed the taxiing Skymaster to the closest hangar door.
Before Lynche shut down the engines, a well-bundled, raven-haired woman opened an outside door from the offices beside the hangar. “Gentlemen, please come in out of the weather.”
At 10° Fahrenheit and a steady westerly wind, the invite to go inside should have been a galvanizing moment, but no one wanted to break his indifferent stride to the door for fear of being labeled a wuss. The rear prop hadn’t fully wound down, as Hunter jumped out and began securing the aircraft, chocking the nose wheel, stuffing intake covers into the open ports on both engines, and covering the pitot tube.
When McGee deplaned the Cessna 337, several men with shaggy hair immediately came over to greet him. In the lee of the airplane, it was obvious the group was oblivious to the cold.
Lynche and Hunter saw love, respect, and admiration ooze from the troops, as they became reacquainted with the legendary SEAL Team Six commander.
Several gave a loud, “Hooyah!” when McGee said something with his frosty breath. After a minute of smiles and short phrases, McGee stepped back and said in a command voice, “Gentlemen, I’d like you to introduce you to SIS Greg Lynche, former Chief of Air Branch, and this is Duncan Hunter. Mr. Hunter is one of us and should have been a SEAL. Call him Apex.”
“Hooyah, Apex!” barked several men to a confused Duncan Hunter.
Lynche and Hunter pulled on their coats while standing on the ramp. Hunter, slightly embarrassed by McGee’s compliment, was confused at being given a name. He handed McGee his coat.
“Let’s get inside,” McGee said. “I saw a pretty woman in there who’s a lot better looking than any of you.”
Lynche walked smartly toward the portly gentleman from the CIA jet. McGee walked toward the slightly open door, leading the troop. He saw Hunter carefully inspecting the Skymaster. Even in bone-chilling weather, habits were hard to break. Duncan performed a post-flight inspection, checking aileron bearings, brakes, tire wear, and the engine for oil leaks. He pushed the Skymaster hard to get to Elmira on time and wanted to make sure he hadn’t broken anything on the beautiful red-and-gold Cessna 337.
When he finished, he ran toward the door where the other men disappeared.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
1030 December 13, 2002
Schweizer Aircraft Company
Hunter, entering the anteroom of the lounge, was surprised to find no one there. He glanced at the hundreds of pictures of Paul, Bill, and Ernest Schweizer, the three brothers who designed, built, and tested their gliders in the 1930s, then he paused to scan the colored and black-and-white pictures of Schweizer gliders and small helicopters. Having been to the hanger several times, he turned left down the hall toward the offices and conference room, but those were vacant, too.
“Must be in the hangar,” he muttered, reversing course down the picture-laden hall to the hangar’s double-door entryway.
The sound of the door opening echoed in the large room. Saul Ferrier turned and saw Duncan. “I think we can get started now.”
The CEO held court. “This aircraft is the culmination of sixty years of building high-performance sailplanes. In 1966, Schweizer worked with Lockheed to develop a powered motor glider for the US Army in Vietnam. Several prototypes were immediately pressed into service. We received a contract with Lockheed to build another prototype that went into limited production, the YO-3A. Lots of observation airplanes were being built and employed in Vietnam—the O1 Bird Dog and O-2 Skymaster, to name a couple. I think the best-looking Skymaster in America is parked out front.”
McGee, arms akimbo, shouted, “Hooyah!”
Twelve men responded, “Hooyah!”
A very proud Greg Lynche smiled and crossed his arms.
“From the R&D done on the YO-3, we developed the SA-37 motorglider for the Air Force Academy. Greg, you came to us in 86 or so to develop a reconnaissance version of the 2-37?”
Greg said, “Yes. As Chief Air Branch, we worked to develop the airplane you see here. This airplane served as a platform
for FLIR and low-light cameras. If you can get a FLIR up close, you can see things in great detail. Nothing I’ve found does that like a quiet airplane at night. I brought a video that shows the difference between nighttime high-altitude surveillance and low-altitude surveillance.”
“How high can this aircraft fly?” asked the thick-necked, small-eared bodybuilder in the group.
“It’s fully pressurized to 35,000 feet.”
“How low can it fly without being heard?”
“The tested altitude is still classified,” Hunter said, “but anecdotal stories from old YO-3 pilots say they could get a couple hundred feet over large numbers of VC, as they worked near or crossed running water. They got close enough with first-generation FLIR to make out who they were viewing. That was the prize for analysts and intelligence officers.”
The man wearing four stars said, “That’s the problem with the Predators. We can see seven guys going into a building, but you really don’t know who they are. If they’re seen laying IEDs along the road, the Air Force has no problem taking them out with a half-million-dollar missile. Some of us would like to know who the hell we’re blowing up.”
“Saul,” Hunter asked, “is the conference room set up for showing Greg’s video?”
“It is. There’s some brunch if you guys are hungry. Shall we? Nicky can show the way.”
Lynche and his successor migrated to each other early and spoke quietly, following the brunette. The SEALs and Army SOF almost moved in unison, like a school of fish that changed direction without any noticeable collisions. When the four-star moved left, the solders moved left. If McGee moved right, the SEALs moved right. It was purposeful yet entertaining.
All followed Ms. Nicky.
Hunter sidled up to the head of the company, who stood next to the motorglider’s wing. “Saul, anything interesting going on?”
“Want to buy a company?”
“Sir, that’s not a good line. I take it, if you sell, these little darlings will go by the wayside?”
“This is probably the last one. They’re expensive to produce, and others think they can do the same thing with unmanned systems. You know other motor gliders are being produced.”
“Yes, Sir, but they just have an engine. Your airplanes are special purpose, silent, and handmade. I’ve been afraid something like this might happen. There’s a tremendous wave of interest in unmanned systems. The problem is, the decision-makers have no clue what they’re getting into when they divert precious funds for unmanned systems and don’t question the high cost of reduced capabilities.
“The same systems that reduce the need for pilots require much more manpower to support them. Last year, the US embassy in Peru wanted some unmanned coverage for a counterinsurgency op. Greg’s old place couldn’t support, so they turned to the Air Force, who sent down two C-130s and a hundred guys to support a pair of Predators. The Chief of Station told them to not get off the airplanes and go home. We did the work. By the way, you guys did a remarkable job with that airplane. I'll build your airplanes if you sell the company. I'm serious.”
“Thank you, Duncan.” He sighed. “Let’s go get a bite before it’s all gone.”
The Schweizer CEO and Hunter, entering the conference room, found Nicky Tweed, the business director, setting up a sideboard of drinks, cold cuts, soup, and chili for their guests. Each man got a helping plate of meat and cheese and commented favorably on the soup and chili before sitting at the conference table, waiting for the show to begin.
Lynche took center stage, as Nicky handed him a wireless controller. The CIA man, General Jones, and Captains McGee and Goodfellow sat near the front. Saul Ferrier remained standing.
“The real capabilities of the SA 2-37B are amplified when coupled with a high-quality FLIR, such as FLIR’s Star Safire and WESCAM MX-20, that offer the greatest-possible detail achievable. There are other aspects of a FLIR that can be helpful. Lights, please.”
Hunter turned off the lights and studied the crowd. He saw the same level of interest when he was with the Border Patrol.
A FLIR image was projected on the large front screen, taken during Lynche's and Hunter’s run to South America in 1999.
“As you can see by the symbology, this video was shot in Colombia while looking for FARC, drug labs, boat docks, and other campsites. Here’s what we thought was a barbecue high up on a mountaintop in the early morning hours when sane people would be in bed.
“We had reports of several US citizens being taken hostage for political and monetary reasons. The Colombians asked the US Embassy if we could locate the hostages. You can see when the airplane revved its engines, the noise from the prop propagated to the ground. Watch what happens.”
McGee looked at Hunter, wondering if that was what Duncan did with Lynche.
The video slewed left before returning to its primary focus. Then the camera zoomed to show the men freezing place for three seconds, then they leaped into action, retrieving weapons, running down a jungle path, tossing cigarettes into the bush, and taking defensive positions around a hut in the trees.
Many of the men around the table became animated and cracked quiet jokes. The CIA man furrowed his brow. Saul Ferrier found it fascinating. Hunter took a copy of National Geographic from a stack of magazines and skimmed through the pages. “Definitely not the response one would expect when hearing something strange while partying on the top of a mountain,” Lynche said. “Let me fast forward here and show you what we were looking for.”
When the video returned to normal speed, white images began walking back up the hill with a couple of bodies remaining in place. The camera zoomed in on the hut.
“The aircrew made a pass directly over the hut at a couple hundred feet. The FLIR clearly shows a dozen heat signatures in the structure. Those were the hostages. With the fire extinguished on the hilltop, the aircrew got as close as they thought prudent.
“When the tape was analyzed, our folks could determine who each of those guys was and could match his mug shot to the FLIR tape. That’s what quiet airplanes can do that no other aircraft can. Oh, yes.” He let the video continue. “What could you do with this?”
The tape showed a close-up of each terrorist’s face with a tiny green dot dancing on his forehead.
“Sniper killshot!” an Army officer barked. “Hooyah!”
The CIA man turned in his chair. “We used a quiet airplane to resolve the Japanese embassy hostage crisis in December, 1996. Isn’t that correct, Greg?”
“That’s correct, Sir.” Lynche momentarily scowled at Hunter, who seemed intently focused on National Geographic.
“For those who may not know, the Tupac Amaru Revolutionary Movement, MRTA, took hundreds of diplomats, government officials, and business executives hostage at the residence of Japan’s ambassador to Peru. The media wrongly called it the Japanese embassy hostage crisis. Some of the hostages were released. Others were held hostage for about 125 days.
“The USG choreographed a raid with the Peruvian Armed Forces commandos. We got some SOG snipers in the area, and the overhead illuminated the militant guards along the walls of the compound. Snipers took them out.”
Without looking up, Hunter said, “At night.”
“That’s right,” the CIA man said. “All the MRTA militants died.”
“Hooyah!” someone said.
“Duncan,” McGee said, “your basic CONOP is getting a quiet airplane in position to find targets. Once detected and ID’d, you relay positional information to ground forces for real-time situational awareness. Then the ground forces engage or kill the enemy.”
Hunter set the magazine in his lap with his index finger holding a place. “Or any option you want to execute. If you wanted to snatch a high-value target, having a Night Rider as your eyes in the air I think increases your chances of success.”
When there were no follow-up comments, his gaze returned to the magazine, then he scanned the room as if deep in thought before gazing at the ceiling.
&nbs
p; “Let me tee up another video for a couple more examples,” Lynche said. “You guys are smart, but the adversary always has a trick up his sleeve. Here we go. I shot this from less than 1,000 feet over the Rio Grande. This train of people is actually a line of over 120 illegal aliens. Those two vehicles are Border Patrol agents with NVGs trying to find illegal aliens. If we had been able to radio the guys in the truck…. ‘Agent Smuckatelli, wake up! Take four paces to the right, and you’ll make your quota for the month.’”
Laughs and calls of “Hooyah!” went around the conference table.
“Mr. Lynche, Mr. Ferrier,” the four-star general said, “I think your airplanes could be a game-changer, especially for troops in the mountains. What will it take to get a couple for SOCOM?”
“The bird in the hangar is the last one off the line,” Ferrier replied. “We have no plans to build any more. It takes about nine months to build one. If we doubled the workforce, we could do it in five months, but with a single jig, that’s the best we can do.”
“What about the one in the hangar? It's slated for State? I might be able to borrow it from them.”
“It’s mine, actually,” the CIA man said. “I might be able to let you use it until you get one of your own.”
“That would be fantastic, Sir. We need a plan for more quiet aircraft and fast.”
Hunter finally looked up. “Sir, Duncan Hunter. There may be a way to get several additional quiet assets in very short order.”
Confused, nearly everyone looked at him, but Ferrier and Lynche smiled.
“Sir, there are several YO-3As in museums. Typically, they’re on loan from DOD. If you could get them restored, which could take a couple months, you could have half a dozen operating quiet aircraft inside the AOR within three months.”
“Tell me more,” the four-star general said.
“Sir, of the eleven built, 001 is in the museum in Fort Rucker. I believe 002 is at the Hiller Museum in Washington State. 004 and 006 are in private hands awaiting restoration. They could be persuaded to be loaned to you if they were restored. The same thing with 008. It’s with the Confederate Air Force in California awaiting restoration. 010 was used as a parts donor for 011, which is with NASA. Six airplanes.”
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