Spirit Flight

by P. R. Fittante

  Her words struck him sharply, as intended. He said nothing.

  “You need to let her be, Frank,” she continued abruptly. “Go back to your own world. We don’t need you in ours.”

  The phone clicked. Frank absorbed the numbing sound of the dial tone for several seconds before hanging up.

  She was right. It was time he returned to his own world—separate from society but devoted to serve it. Tomorrow night he would offer his life to all those who demanded the job be done. All those complacent in the thought that someone would do it. Yes, he would do it.

  He realized his father would understand why. He only wished Anna could also. It wasn’t penance. It wasn’t ambition. It wasn’t heroism. He simply knew no other way.

  Chapter 28

  At forty-five thousand feet, the deep black fabric of the universe seemed more loosely woven. A luminous tapestry of stars filled the heavenly void, its infinite layers faintly shimmering through the upper reaches of the atmosphere. With no moon to conceal its timeless depths, the evening sky added to Frank’s feeling of complete isolation.

  They had been airborne for over thirteen hours, and in that time, had spoken to no one. Like a sleek black dagger cutting silently toward its target, the B-2 was poised to strike with unforeseen fury. Frank was alone at the controls. In the deck area behind the two ejection seats, Game Boy was stretched out on an air mattress, sound asleep. Frank was supposed to wake him up just prior to the next air refueling.

  They had been chasing the sun the entire mission, but without success. By design, the entire trip to Korea would be shrouded in darkness. Looking over the nose of the aircraft, he could just begin to see the glow of lights from Japan. To the left, his view of the South Pacific was obscured by a solid line of cumulus clouds. Bursts of lightning briefly illuminated the billowing walls of the thunderheads. Their interiors pulsed with the explosive charges, offering fleeting glimpses of the open ocean far below.

  Frank was enthralled by the silent light show. It was hard to believe they were flying into combat amidst such a heavenly backdrop. He wished the sixteen two thousand-pound bombs they carried were unnecessary. This was a moment to be enjoyed, undisturbed by the reality of what lay ahead. He thought it interesting how precious things become when life’s demands encroach upon them. Like the last day of summer vacation, or a Sunday afternoon in Anna’s private meadow, the moment should never end. The desire to linger in its splendor becomes overwhelming.

  A bright yellow master caution light brought Frank’s mind back to focus. He glanced at his status display and immediately understood the problem—“MMS POWER.” The mission management system controlled the B-2’s ability to deliver weapons. For some reason, a part of the system had failed. Using the data entry panel he located the power control for the stores management processors. The SMPs were the brains of the system. He quickly applied the essential remedy common to all complex computers systems—turn them off, and then turn them back on. He patiently allowed each processor to shut down before bringing it back online. The reset was successful, though he realized another such failure over North Korea could mean their long journey was for nothing.

  To avoid any further lapses in concentration, he began to check the health of the rest of the B-2’s systems. During Desert Storm, he never had so much time to think before entering combat. Those missions had been relatively short and intense. In contrast, only three percent of this flight would actually be spent in North Korean airspace. There was something surreal about flying half way around the world to drop bombs and then returning home in time for dinner the next day.

  The B-2’s color displays glowed brightly within the cockpit. Frank dimmed each one, then slowly paged through his top left display to check each of the aircraft’s systems. The fuel system showed a graphic of each tank, its quantity and whether or not it was supplying fuel to the engines. The entire display was green. Failures would show up in yellow or red. He hoped their next tanker was in position, since some of their fuel tanks were nearly empty. The remaining engine, electric, and environmental displays were also all in the green. The last display he checked was for the flight controls. It showed the elevons, rudders, and the GLAS. All of them were functioning normally.

  “Paranoid, Farago?” Game Boy’s voice crackled on the intercom. “You’ve probably been staring at that display the whole time I was asleep.”

  Frank turned to see Game Boy’s grinning face peering over his shoulder. “You slept so long, I thought I might do this mission by myself.”

  “I thought you were,” Game Boy said pointing outside. “I saw all those flashes and I thought someone was shooting at us!”

  Game Boy climbed back into the right seat and strapped into his harness, which he had left attached to the ejection seat. Once Game Boy had his helmet back on, Frank pointed to the blue line on their navigation display. “We’re fifteen minutes out from tanker rendezvous.”

  Game Boy nodded and began running the air refueling checklist while Frank put the jet into an easy descent. They would be joining with a KC-10 just off the east coast of Japan at twenty-eight thousand feet. Game Boy brought up the air-to-air radar and waited for it to paint the massive tanker aircraft.

  “Got a lock, off the nose at sixty miles.”

  “Roger.” Frank leveled the jet one thousand feet below the rendezvous altitude. He took it for granted that they could travel all this way and still meet their tanker at the designated point and time. The join up itself might be a little more difficult. It would be accomplished radio out and with minimal exterior lighting. His own two eyes would serve as their primary sensor for finding the tanker. Frank began to scan the dark horizon for some sign of the KC-10.

  “Showing three miles on radar,” Game Boy said. “See him yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “Two miles. When’s the last time you refueled at night?”

  “Been a few years,” Frank replied casually.

  Game Boy snapped his head toward Frank. “Dude, I’d be happy to get the gas for us,” he offered quickly.

  “Nope. You got the last one. It’s my turn . . . Tally ho!”

  Frank banked the jet slightly to the left, as he got his first glimpse of the tanker’s dim position lights.

  “Yep, I got him too,” Game Boy said. “I can see his boom light.”

  Frank maneuvered the B-2 directly behind the tanker and closed within fifty feet. The tanker filled their windscreen, blotting out the backdrop of stars. Its boom slowly extended, signaling clearance for contact.

  Frank gave the slightest push on the throttles. Mindful of the huge bow wave of air produced by the B-2, he wanted to approach the tanker as slowly as possible. Too fast, and he’d be pushing the KC-10 all around the sky. He saw a green ready light illuminate, indicating Game Boy had opened their receptacle door and they were ready to take gas.

  “I set the on-load for a hundred and twenty thousand pounds,” Game Boy stated. “That should pretty much top us off.”

  “About twenty-five minutes on the boom,” Frank added after a quick calculation.

  He guided the B-2 underneath the tanker’s tail, and waited for the boom operator to ‘fly’ the boom into their receptacle. Within seconds they made contact and started taking fuel. Using the tanker’s director lights, Frank kept the bomber perfectly positioned.

  “Frank,” Game Boy remarked, after the director lights went unchanged for several minutes. “You’re makin’ me feel inadequate. At least move the stick and throttles a little so I know you’re awake.”

  “Things are about to get a little tougher,” Frank commented as the tanker’s lights began to fade.

  “Great!” Game Boy said, scanning outside. “Leave it to a tanker crew to find the only cloud in the sky!”

  At that point, the tanker started a slow right turn. As the tanker rolled back out, Frank’s inner gyros tumbled. “OK, Game Boy. Tell me were not inverted.”

  “No, we’re level,” he said anxiously. “You need me to ta
ke the jet?”

  Frank glanced at his attitude indicator. He tried in vain to convince his inner ear that they really were level. He had to fight the urge to roll and pull the B-2 back to what he thought was level flight. “No. I’ll hang in there,” he said at last. “We’re almost done.”

  A minute later, they were back in the clear. Seeing a definite horizon, Frank’s eyes were finally able to override his inner ear. With the on-load complete, they thankfully parted from the tanker and started an immediate climb back to altitude.

  “Way to hang, big guy,” Game Boy said, slapping Frank on the shoulder. “I knew you wouldn’t give up in front of my hometown folks.”

  “Thanks,” Frank said suspiciously. “But what are you talking about?”

  “Japan, dude. That’s it right below us.”

  Frank banked the jet to the left and spotted the bright lights of Tokyo.

  “My grandparents were born there,” Game Boy said, surprised at how small the island appeared from above.

  “Still got relatives there?”

  “No one close. My grandfather fought for Japan in World War Two. He’s not too happy that I’ve spent most of my life flying nuclear bombers.”

  “Does he live in Hawaii now?”

  “Yeah. He’s on Oahu with my parents. But he’s not that much of a hard ass. Sometimes, he acts more American than me.”

  Frank stretched his arms and motioned for Game Boy to take the jet.

  “I got it,” Game Boy said, grasping the stick. “Why don’t you jump out and catch some quick Zs?”

  Frank shook his head. “Nah. That’s Russia to the north. I think I’ll stay awake.”

  The two men flew on in silence. As they crossed through Japanese airspace, they both kept a close watch on their threat displays. Any hostile radar, whether from a missile or an aircraft, would immediately trigger a warning. At that point, their safety would be in the hands of stealth.

  Frank had never felt so naked entering combat. No jammers to take out the enemy’s radar, no wild weasels to take out the SAM sites, no fighters providing air cover. They were absolutely alone—a soloist, tiptoeing across a darkened stage before a huge, hostile audience. The audience expected an entrance, but had no idea when. Frank could only hope they wouldn’t get caught in one of the many theater spotlights.

  They tracked west across the Sea of Japan, then made a slight course correction toward Wonsan. Ahead of them loomed the North Korean coast. Frank marveled at the peninsula’s distinct boundary of light. He could almost trace the DMZ between South Korea’s brightly lit cities and the repressed darkness of the North.

  “Looks like they’re under a blackout,” Game Boy remarked. “I hope that doesn’t mean they’re expecting us.”

  “They’re certainly lighting up the sky with their radars,” Frank said, glancing down at his threat display. Their ingress routing was designed to avoid all the known radar and missile sites that could possibly get a glimpse of them. However, several of North Korea’s early warning radars were already starting to register as active seekers. He only hoped they gave nothing in return. “It’s time to start thinkin’ skinny.”

  Game Boy returned aircraft control to Frank and started preparing for the bomb runs. As they approached the coast, he reconfigured his displays to show their weapon load, targets and radar update pages. Frank watched him rapidly manipulate a cursor with his side stick controller. He positioned it over each six-sided symbol on the weapon display that represented a two thousand-pound Joint Direct Attack Munition. Eight of these symbols were arrayed about a central rotary launcher. A squeeze of his trigger turned each symbol blue, indicating they were powering up. Within a few minutes, the GPS guided weapons would change to a green “Go” state. Game Boy repeated the process for the eight JDAMs in the adjacent weapon bay.

  A loud warble interrupted his preparations.

  “Uh oh. We’ve got company.” Frank pointed to his threat display. It showed two targets rapidly approaching from the north. “MiG 21s. Sixty miles and closing fast.”

  They both stared at the display, vigilant for any transition of the fighters’ radar from search to track.

  “I feel like a sitting duck,” Game Boy said uneasily. “There’s not a damn thing we can do but sit here and drive right at them.”

  Frank felt just as helpless. His only option was to let the autopilot keep them straight and level. Any aggressive turns would only cause the flight control surfaces to deflect, thus increasing their radar signature.

  “They’re still in search,” he said. “I’d guess about five thousand feet below us.”

  “Thirty miles,” Game Boy added, scanning the area off their nose. “No cloud decks to hide us. Even if they don’t get us on radar, they might catch us visually or with infrared.”

  “THREAT TRACK.” The emotionless statement came from a male, computer generated voice.

  Frank glanced at Game Boy. “It doesn’t mean they’re tracking us.” He checked his display for some change in the fighters’ course. There was none.

  Game Boy pointed at the control stick. “If Bitchin’ Bob calls a ‘missile launch,’ you better make this hog move.”

  Both pilots searched the night sky for some sign of the enemy aircraft. It was a futile act. Even if they saw a missile launch, Frank knew there was little they could do to out maneuver it. Still, it was better than getting hit blind, with no chance to react.

  “Ten miles. Still in track.”

  Frank suddenly pointed outside the aircraft. “I see them! Both of them! Twelve o’clock, slightly low.” He held his breath, anticipating the flashes of fire from underneath the fighter’s wings.

  “Look at that!” Game Boy shouted. “They’ve got all their lights on.”

  The pilots watched in disbelief as the MiGs flew directly under their nose. The fighters remained oblivious to the massive bomber less than five thousand feet above their heads. They disappeared behind the B-2, never altering course.

  Game Boy leaned back and gratefully caressed the top of the B-2’s glare shield. “Like two ships in the night,” he said with a sigh of relief. “I guess this stealth shit really works.”

  Frank didn’t allow himself to relax. “We’re still twenty minutes out from Pyongyang. There’s a lot of bad stuff between us and the west coast.”

  Game Boy nodded and turned his attention back to his weapon display. “You know,” he said suddenly. “For a few minutes there, I was thinking it might actually be nice to be low level. There’s some comfort, hiding down in the weeds. Cruising in at this altitude is like surfin’ naked—you figure, sooner or later, someone’s gonna see ya.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But if it works, hey, I’ll take it.”

  Frank agreed, but for a different reason. If he could avoid going low level, he would. The B-2 belonged up high, and he was content to keep it there as long as he could.

  Chapter 29

  For the tenth time, Melissa glanced up at the television above the operations counter. She anxiously awaited, and dreaded, the sudden appearance of a “Breaking News” logo. Instead, CNN’sTalk Back Live droned on with a discussion of missile defense. She knew it was evening in North Korea. Frank had to be getting close to his targets.

  “Well, look who’s here,” Bud Corum grunted under his breath. Melissa turned to see Byron Schmidt approaching the counter. Though he purposely ignored her, Melissa watched him closely. She had been looking forward to seeing Byron ever since her meeting with Frank at Whiteman two days earlier.

  “Mister Corum,” Byron said formally. “I’ve come to bid farewell.”

  Bud eyed him warily. “You goin’ for good?” he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

  “B-2 testing at Edwards Air Force Base has officially come to an end,” Byron reported with obvious satisfaction. “The Air Combat Command will assume responsibility for any follow-on testing.” He paused and glanced at Melissa. “With the loss of our lone test aircraft, future testing will be done by OT pilots at Whiteman
, augmented by American Aero pilots.”

  “So you consider your program a success?” Bud asked skeptically.

  “Why yes, as a matter of fact I do. With the exception of one regrettable incident that could have been prevented, I think we gave the Air Force the B-2 they wanted. And,” he added, lowering his voice, “in just a few hours, I think North Korea will find out just how potent an aircraft we’ve produced.” He smiled smugly and turned to leave.

  “Mister Schmidt,” Melissa said quickly. “Before you go, there’s something I’ve wanted to ask you.”

  Byron stopped and reluctantly turned to face her.

  “The day of the accident, after you left the control room, you never came back. And my commander said you never spoke to him about stopping the mission. Where did you go?”

  “Where I went does not matter,” Byron replied coldly. “What matters is that you should have stopped that mission. Even after I left, you hesitated to call for a termination when the TM signal was lost.”

  “Funny you should mention that,” Bud interrupted. “I’ve got a friend up at China Lake who works frequency management. He said they were told to stop relaying the telemetry from the B-2 to Edwards. Who do you suppose might have told them to do that?”

  Byron ignored Bud’s question. “Look, Miss Fairfield. I did everything I could to prevent the loss of that jet. I don’t think you or Frank Farago can say the same. The safety investigation will bear that out.”

  “The safety investigation is about to receive some additional information, Mister Schmidt. And I have a feeling you might know what that information is.” Melissa matched his emotionless stare. Now that she finally understood Byron’s motivations, she felt comfortable confronting him.

  “I think you knew the B-2 was at risk,” she continued. “I think you were terrified that something might go wrong during the flight controls testing. But you disguised your fear as concern. You did everything you could to stop that test. You cancelled it for turbulence the day prior, and you tried to get an American Aero pilot on board for Frank’s mission. Then we mysteriously lose the TM signal. But all along, the real stress was from TF in turbulence. I know now that the autopilot can’t handle it. Did you know that also?”