Battle Born

by Dale Brown

  we thought we missed. Chappie is ready to spit nails because he thinks he shut down all the threats, which he did, but the Navy kept on transmitting like they never got hit, the bastards." Chappie was Al Chapman, his dead defensive systems officer.

  "Seaver . . ."

  "Hold on, boss," Seaver said, pushing on. "We're yanking and banking and jammin' and jivin' our asses off. Everyone's pissed at me because they thought we missed the first two targets and because I wasn't doing enough for bomber defense. That's bullshit too-we shacked all three targets-but ..." He stopped, ashamed that he had patted himself on the back and then said something negative against the dead. He could feel the icy stares on the back of his neck and knew the others, Furness too, resented it.

  "Anyway, we nail the third target. Dead-on. We fly right into a SAM and triple-A nest on the other side of the ridge. A shitload of SAMs and triple-A-the smoky SAMs are everywhere, a couple dozen of 'em. We scram left away from the trap. We're at two hundred hard ride. I put the spoiler override switches into OVERRIDE, pop the speedbrakes and pull 'em into idle power, and start our two point five Gs pull to cornering velocity. Speed comes down nicely. Override switch back to normal, speedbrakes down. Now watch."

  The visual display showed the steep bank, with more and more earth replacing sky in the cockpit window. Seaver pushed the throttles to max afterburner and pulled the stick right, but nothing happened-the steep bank stayed in, and they dipped earthward. Seconds later the simulator crashed with a sound resembling Wile E. Coyote hitting the ground in a Road Runner cartoon.

  "Seaver, I don't know what you're trying to prove ..."

  "I know why we crashed, boss," he said. "Look: over ninety degrees of bank, airspeed slowing . . ."

  "You cross-controlled your jet," Furness told him. "You know you're not supposed to do over ninety degrees of bank while TF'ing."

  "But look at the speedbrakes," Seaver said insistently. "Just like the Powder River accident a couple years ago. Low altitude, steep bank angle, tight turn, and the speedbrakes are still extended. Sink rate builds up . . ."

  "But you said you retracted the speedbrakes."

  "They had to be still extended, boss," Rinc said.

  Long rolled his eyes in disbelief. "So you say.” I know I did," Rinc said. "Either they didn't retract, or they stuck extended. But they didn't retract."

  "CITS said they did," Long told him. CITS, the Central Integrated Test System, was a monitoring, recording, and troubleshooting device on the B-l bomber that acted like a flight data recorder. The CITS was heavily armored and designed to withstand a crash. They had recovered the stricken bomber's CITS module, and its memory was successfully retrieved and analyzed by the Air Force.

  "I think something happened, something that prevented the speedbrakes from retracting, or retracted them too late," Rinc insisted. "The smoky SAMs were all around us-it's possible one of them got stuck in the spoiler wells. In that case, CITS would report them retracted even though they were still deployed. But that's the only way that crash makes any sense."

  All he saw were blank faces staring back at him hostilely.

  Seaver knew his arguments were falling on deaf ears. Since he had initiated the ejection sequence and punched everybody out long after the Bone had de-parted coordinated flight, they were putting the blame squarely on him.

  Several long awkward moments passed. Then Rebecca Furness turned to the systems officers and simulator operators behind them and said, "Excuse us for a minute, guys."

  Seaver got to his feet. "If you'll excuse me for a minute, boss, I'm going to take a leak, and then I'm going to get all the sim data together and upchannel it to Air Combat Command. We'll need to independently verify what we found and give this information to the accident board."

  "Save your own butt by blaming the dead, huh, Seaver?" Long said under his breath, but loudly enough for the other squadron members to hear. Furness scowled.

  Seaver inwardly winced at the remark but simply said, "It happened, John. It was some kind of technical malfunction. We can prove it." Looking about, he saw no sympathy in the faces around him.

  Within a few moments, everyone had departed but Furness, Long, and Seaver. "So. You saw the flight surgeon today?" Furness asked. "What did he say?"

  Seaver proudly produced a sheet of paper. "He signed me off for flying," he replied. "I know the squadron is getting ready for the pre-D. I realize I have a bunch of training to catch up on, but I know I can get back up to speed in time to recertify along with the rest of the squadron."

  Furness examined the paper with a rueful shake of her head. The flight surgeon had given Seaver full medical clearance for flight duties, even though he was still undergoing physical therapy. The sign-off usually meant that the crew member was off all medications and was observed to be free of any apparent psychological or emotional difficulties as a result of the crash.

  More important, for Seaver, was the sign-off that allowed him to train for the predeployment certification, or pre-D.

  The pre-D was the unit's biggest gauge of its combat effectiveness. Air National Guard bomber squadrons were "replacement" units, not frontline combat-ready units. In the event that the bombers were needed, the squadron would be "federalized," or transferred from the command of the Nevada state adjutant general to the Air Force and "gained" by an active-duty bomb wing. The Guard aircrews would be tasked to ferry the aircraft to the deployment base, either in the United States or overseas; and the best crews might fly actual combat missions if there was a shortage of active-duty crews. In order to prove they were ready for full integration into the active force, twice a year the squadron was sent either to Ellsworth AFB in South Dakota or Dyess AFB in Texas to undergo a grueling two-week drill to demonstrate their combat readiness.

  Fail the pre-D, and you could be dismissed from the squadron. If too many crews failed, the entire unit could be decertified. The unit already had one big black mark against it-Seaver's crash. Having even one crew fail a pre-D could bring the entire squadron down.

  Furness put the paper aside, glancing at Long. "You know you're not supposed to go to the flight surgeon or ask him for any sign-offs without asking me first," she said to Seaver.

  He narrowed his eyes quizzically. "No, I didn't know that, boss. I must've filed that piece of info in the 'Like I give a shit' folder when the President briefed it."

  "Don't be a smart-ass, Seaver."

  "But I didn't go to the doc to ask for a sign-off-I went for a scheduled rehab follow-up. He asked me how I felt, poked and prodded, and then said I looked okay enough to go back to work. He did the sign-off. I didn’t ask him for shit. If he's out of line with you, that's his problem, not mine." He looked hard at his squadron commander, then asked, "It sounds like maybe you don't want me flying or participating in any pre-D work-ups. There a problem here, boss?"

  "I don't know, Seaver," Furness said. "I don't like seeing you in here when you're supposed to be recuperating, that's all."

  "I'm all right, Beck," Rinc said. "I'm ready to get moving." He looked at her, then at Long's scowl. "What else, guys?"

  "Start by telling us the real reason you lost it, Seaver," Long said acidly.

  "Excuse me?" Seaver asked incredulously. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "You heard me, Seaver," Long retorted. "The wreckage and the bodies are still warm and you already want another crew and another plane . . ."

  "Those 'bodies' were my friends, Long Dong," Seaver said bitterly.

  "They were my friends too," Long said. "But I for one don't think you deserve another chance until you fully explain what really happened out on the range."

  "Like I told you and the accident board," Seaver said, "we were in trouble. We were scramming away from the SAMs. I popped speedbrakes to get us down to cornering velocity. I admit I went over forty-five degrees of bank, but I had the TERFLW paddled off and I was flying it visually-if we were in the clouds, I would've kept TERFLW on and done forty-five. But we were un
der attack, dammit! I tried to roll out but couldn't straighten her out. I knew something was wrong, so I gave the command to eject-"

  "Bullshit you did," Long said.

  Seaver looked angrily at Long and finally nodded. "Okay, maybe I didn't give the command," he said.

  "But the plane was in a bad skid, a high angle-of attack, a steep bank, and we were still at two hundred hard ride with TERFLW doing an inverted fly-up. I was trying to fly it out, but I lost it. When I couldn't get it back, I didn't think. I just reacted."

  "You're damned right you didn't think. You screwed up," Long shot back. "Did you ever think to give us a yellow light?" There was a yellow PREPARE TO EJECT and a red EJECT light that were manually activated by the pilots in a controlled ejection situation. Normally during a flight, the crew's ejection mode switches were set to AUTO, which allowed either the pilot or the copilot to eject the rest of the crew. Even on the ground, Long and most other crew members couldn't actually say the word "eject," as in the "red EJECT light." He and every other flier knew it was a command that demanded an instantaneous response. Seeing the red EJECT light was the same as issuing the "Eject! Eject! Eject!" order verbally.

  "No. There was no time."

  "There could have been, if you didn't have your head so far up your ass," Long said angrily.

  The memory of his dead fellow crewdogs hit Rinc Seaver hard, and the anger welled up out of his body like air out of a popped balloon. Seaver had been training both Chappie and his wife, Daphne, to fly-Daphne had already soloed and was just a night cross-country from her check ride. Rinc was godfather of one of their kids, even though none of them were very good Catholics. They were the closest friends-no, the closest family-Seaver had. Chappie left his wife and two kids, a son and daughter, behind.

  "You're damned right. No one else went. No one else even initiated the sequence," Long said bitterly. "You know what I think, Seaver? I think you couldn't handle it. You were getting hosed by the Navy, you were confused, you were disoriented, and you were scared, so you panicked and hit your handles!"

  "We were in a skid, we were headed down, and I thought I could save it."

  "That crash was your fault, Seaver!"

  "No it wasn't," he cried out. "I proved what happened. I tried to fly it out, but the left bank was still in and we never leveled out. I knew I lost it, and I went. I did the best I could."

  "You caused that accident, Seaver! There was no reason for that crash except for your stupidity."

  "John . . . ," Furness said softly, as if trying-not very convincingly-to tell Long to stop arguing.

  "You oughta be grounded, Seaver," Long dug in, jabbing a finger at the OSO. "You oughta be kicked out of the Guard. You oughta be kicked in the fucking ass!'

  "You don't have the balls to try it, Long!"

  "Enough, John," Furness said, forcefully this time. She looked sternly at John Long, her second-in command. "We're not going to solve anything here. The accident board will have its report in a couple days, and then we'll all know for sure." Then she looked grimly at Rinc and shook her head. "But our problem right now is one of trust, Seaver. Even if you're found not responsible for the accident, who's going to trust you? Who's going to fly with you? And if you're grounded, who's going to trust you to properly plan a mission or give a tactics briefing?"

  "What the hell do you mean?"

  "I mean, you're going to have to prove to this squadron that you can handle it, that you can follow orders, that you can be part of a team and not think about yourself."

  "I damn well can be part of this squadron, Beck!"

  "Shut up and listen," Furness broke in angrily. "I'm not going to fire you unless directed by higher headquarters or unless I feel your membership here is dragging this unit's performance and morale down. Both situations are out of my control. It's going to be up to you to prove that you can fly with Aces High."

  Furness grabbed the flight authorization form, scanned it, then signed it. "You can fly again, Seaver, we can't spare the manpower to keep you sitting on your ass for another two weeks. I want you to do a full annual check ride, including open-book, closed-book, orals, sim, pubs check, and flight evaluations."

  "No sweat, boss," Seaver said confidently. "I've already talked with Scheduling, and I got a crew and a plane penciled in. I'll be ready for a flight check by the end of the week."

  "You better be," Furness warned. Long shook his head and snorted as if saying "No way," but they both knew that if any member of the squadron could be ready for a flight check in less than seven days, it was Seaver. "If you pass, you can accompany us to our pre-D work-up-but I'm not going to let you try to requalify until I'm positive your head is on straight and you're ready to do your job."

  "Hey, boss, give me a break," Seaver said. "I'll be mission-ready and up to speed before we go to pre-D. All I ask is for a chance to qualify."

  "I'm not worried about you, Seaver," Furness said bitterly. "I'm worried about the morale of this unit if we fail the pre-D. I choose the crews that qualify, and right now I don't think you'll be ready in time."

  "But . . ."

  "Do me a favor, Seaver, and shut up and listen. This entire unit has been through hell the past several weeks. We're all hurting, not just you. But what do we see? You're in here cooking up wild excuses for the crash."

  "They're not wild excuses, boss. I think I know ...""You don't get it, do you? You might have the answer, you might not. But it doesn't matter. Right now we don't want to find out that someone screwed up. We all just need to know it's gonna be okay, and everyone needs to pitch in, including you. You should start thinking about ways you can help this squadron pull itself together, rather than worrying about clearing your precious reputation."

  "What the hell am I supposed to do, boss?" Seaver asked hotly. "Give everybody a big hug? Serve tea and cookies and explore everyone's feelings? Flog myself with a horsehair whip?"

  "You do whatever you have to do to make this squadron believe you're one of us, Seaver," Furness responded. "If you do it, everything will eventually get back to normal. If you don't, we'll be on our way to being disbanded. Think about it. Now get the hell out of here and go home."

  There was silence for a long moment. That was Seaver's indication that he was dismissed.

  After he left, Long shook his head. "Fucking weasel," he said. "He's sticking to his lame-ass story."

  "Ease up on him, Long Dong," Furness said. "Whether he's going to make it or hit bottom, let him do it on his own. I just hope that if he doesn't make it, he doesn't pull this unit down with him."

  OFFICE OF THE SECRETARY OF THE AIR FORCE, THE PENTAGON, WASHINGTON, D.C.

  LATER THAT SAME DAY.

  I am getting ready to go overseas for a major military exercise," Secretary of the Air Force Stuart Mortonson raged, "and now you drop this on me. General

  Hayes, you'd better have a real good explanation." This, Mortonson thought, was definitely one of those times when being the chief civilian officer of the nation's youngest military service was a totally thankless job.

  Mortonson, formerly a dean at Stanford University and lieutenant governor of California, got his post in the Pentagon as a gift for helping win California in the last presidential election. The position meant a boost for California's aerospace industry and lots of grant money for California institutes and universities, which were two good reasons why Mortonson was being groomed to run for the Senate or for governor of California. But except for making a few speeches or visiting a few bases, no one ever saw or recognized the secretary of the Air Force-unless something went wrong. Then everyone knew your name.

  First, it was the B-l bomber crash in Nevada back in April. Technically, it was a Nevada Air National Guard plane, not an Air Force plane, but that kind of hairsplitting was useless from day one-it was and always would be an Air Force problem. The Navy squawked about how reckless the crew was, complained about all the violated rules of engagement, and demanded the Air Force clean up its act. Mortonson took th
e scolding from the secretary of the Navy and the chief of Naval Operations, got the third-degree stare-down from the secretary of defense, and loudly promised everyone to get to the bottom of the incident and kick some butts.

  But now a new controversy had surfaced, and again it involved the Navy. During a scheduled antimissile weapons test over the Pacific Ocean, some very odd things had happened, and the Air Force guys on the scene, including the Air Force's chief of staff, were being very, very closemouthed about it. The Navy, which had some ships in the area, squawked again, accusing the Air Force of testing a new warhead-possibly even a nuclear device-on a Navy range with Navy personnel in close proximity without informing anyone or setting up proper safeguards.

  Air Force Chief of Staff Victor Hayes fired off an e-mail message to the secretary of the Air Force less than an hour after the test, asking for an immediate secure video- or phone conference. Mortonson was out of the office and didn't have access to a secure phone. Hayes arrived back at the Pentagon just a few hours later, asking for an immediate face-to-face meeting with the secretary and with Major General Gregory Hammond, director of the Air National Guard Bureau. Hammond was in charge of the office that interfaced the secretary of the Air Force and the chief of staff of the Air Force with the governors and adjutant generals of the states that had Air National Guard units. But by then the shit from the Navy had hit the fan, and Mortonson changed his schedule and took this meeting.

  Of course, all this was going on in the middle of one of the biggest military exercises of the year: Team Spirit 2000 was going to kick off in less than two months. Often the controversial political football in peace negotiations between North and South Korea, Team Spirit 2000 had become the largest joint war game in the Pacific. Land, naval, and air forces from the United States, South Korea, and Japan were going to participate in the three-week-long exercise, practicing and demonstrating joint military maneuvers over a broad conflict spectrum and geographic area.

  This was the first year that Japan was going to be a full participant instead of an observer or support entity. Because it was in the midst of near-collapse, with a severe government downsizing and financial reorganization program in effect, and still suffering the aftermath of the nuclear detonation in Yokosuka Harbor three years earlier, everything possible was being done to include Japan in major Asian defense events so as to try to keep that nation from sliding back into isolationism or extreme anti-American nationalism. Its ban on all combat-armed American warships in its territorial waters and its threat to close all U.S, military bases were ominous signs that such fears were valid.