Stephen Coonts - Jake Grafton 2 - Final Flight

by Final Flight (lit)

  I'm all the khaki catapults have aboard." "Who's going to launch us?" Kowalski looked around the deck and shrugged his shoulders. guess I am," he said sheepishly.

  "But I'm sober, sir." The chief nodded at both comments, then added, "He knows more about launching procedure than I do, CAG." "Whose bright idea was it to flip that chopper upside down with the JBD?" Jake climbed the ladder into the cockpit. The ane captain followed him up to help him strap in. "Mine, sir," Kowalski said, looking up at Jake. "Didn't you hear my orders on the l-MC not to interfere with those people?" "I didn't hear any announcement, sir," Kowalski said. "What? I can't hear you. "No, sir," Kowalski said, louder.

  "Did you know that there was an armed nuclear weapon sitting on deck over there by the island, and the leader of that bunch had threatened to detonate it if anybody interfered with him?" Kowalski pressed both hands against the sides of his head. The plane captain finished strapping Jake in and went down the ladder. "I didn't hear your answer, Ski." "No, sir. I didn't know that." Jake motioned at the catapult captain. "Come up here." When the man's face was a foot from his, Jake said, "Do you know enough to launch these planes?" "I've seen the shooters do it lots of times, CAG." "You can practice on me first." Jake grabbed a handful of Kowalski's filthy T-shirt.

  "Son, you're a drunk. We need you sober or not at all.

  Promise me here and now, if you ever take another drink, you'll ask for an administrative discharge as an alcoholic." Tears filled Kowalski's eyes. His head bobbed. "Okay," said Jake Grafton. "Now give everybody a good shot. Take your time and be sure you know what you're doing." "You can trust me, sir." Kowalski said and disappeared down the ladder.

  JAKE GRAFTON eased the throttles forward to full military power and felt the nose of the fighter dip as the thrust of the engines compressed the nose wheel oleo. The Tomcat seemed to crouch, gathering strength as its two engines ripped the night apart.

  "You ready back there?" he asked Toad. As usual, Jake's heart was pounding as he scanned the engine instruments. "I'm behind you all the way, sir." Jake glanced over at the waist catapult bubble as he flipped on the external light master switch. The bubble windows were opaque. He looked straight ahead, down the catapult track at the dark-black void.

  The GEE'S pushed him back into his seat and the end of the deck hurled toward him faster and faster as the howl of the engines ropped in pitch.

  The deck edge flashed under the nose and then subsided, and he released the throttles and slapped the gear handle up as he let the nose climb to its optimum, eight degrees up, attitude.

  Accelerating nicely... 180.

  190... 200 knots, still accelerating and climbing, flaps and slats up, little wallow as they come in.... Passing 250 knots, he looked ahead for the lights of the KA-6 Intruder tanker, which had been the first plane off Catapult Four.

  Toad was on the radio to Gettysburg:.

  airborne, two miles ahead of the ship, passing two thousand and squawking. Jake eased into a left turn and looked back for the next plane. God, it's dark out here!

  There-a mile or so behind. Back on the gauges, still climbing and turning, still accelerating-Jake breathed deeply and tried to relax as his eyes roamed across the panel, taking everything in.

  The Tomcat that had launched from Catapult Four was on the inside of the turn, closing. Jake searched the night for the beaconing anticollision lights of other fighters leaving the little island of light that was the carrier. Nothing yet. Kowalski must be taking his time. That's good; better safe than sorry.

  Jake eased back the throttles and leveled at 5,000 feet, still turning.

  The second fighter was only a hundred yards away, closing nicely. It traversed the distance and slid under Jake and stabilized on his right wing, on the outside of the turn. The tanker was on the opposite side of the ship, so Jake steepened his turn to cross the ship and rendezvous.

  "Red Ace Two Zero Six, Volcano, over. "Volcano" was the radio call sign for the Gettysburg.

  "Go ahead, Volcano," Toad replied.

  "Roger. Uh, sir, we have received, uh..." The transmission ceased for a few seconds. "Maybe we should go secure.

  "Roger." After he turned on the scrambler, Jake glanced again at the carrier.

  Still no anticollision lights on deck or in the air. Come on, Ski! He turned his attention again to the little collection of lights in the great black emptiness that was the tanker. "Red Ace," the controller aboard Gettysburg said when Toad had checked in again, "we have received a high-priority message from Sixth Fleet and have relayed it to Battlestar." "Battlestar" was the United States. "Sixth Fleet has directed that there be no planes launched to pursue the intruders unless and until authorized by the president. Battlestar suspended the launch after we relayed this message to them by flashing light. Do you wish to hold overhead until we have presidential authorization for the mission, or do you wish to recover back aboard Battlestar?" Jake stole a glance at his fuel gauge as he closed on the tanker on a forty-five-degree of bearing. The totalizer had begun its relentless march toward zero when he started the engines. Fuel from the tanker would delay the inevitable, but not prevent it.

  "Any timetable on when you might hear from the president?" Jake asked as he matched his speed to the tanker and passed under it, surfacing on its right side.

  "Wait." The controller aboard the cruiser must be questioning his superiors.

  The tanker lights flashed, and Jake flashed his; now he had the lead. He could see the reflective tape on the pilot and bombarier-navigator's helmets whenever his own red anticollision light swept the plane. That was all. Just the outline of two helmets in the darkened cockpit. The tanker drifted aft so the pilot could look up the leading edge of Jake's left wing.

  Jake checked his right wing. The other Tomcat hung there motionless, suspended in his black, formless universe. "No, sir," the controller finally said.

  "Talk to you in a minute," Jake replied.

  He glanced at his reading indicator. Passing 210 degrees. He rolled wings level when the indicator read 80 degrees.

  "Toad," Jake said over the intercom, use your red flashlight to signal those guys to switch to two three two point six." Tarkington did as requested while Jake dialed the radio to that frequency. "Two, you up?" Jake asked. "Roger." This was the other fighter.

  "Shotgun's with you." That was the tanker crew. "Go secure.

  The response was mike clicks.

  With the scrambler engaged, Jake said, "Who's over there in the turkey?" He slowly nudged the throttles forward and lifted the nose. The needle on the altimeter began to move clockwise.

  "Joe Watson and Corky Moran, CAG." The needle on the vertical speed indicator swung lazily up past five hundred feet a minute, then eight hundred, and stabilized at one thousand. It was reassuring, in a way; he could make these little needles do precisely as he wished with the smallest displacement of stick or throttles. Jake added more power and tweaked the nose higher.

  "Joe and Gorky, huh? And you, Shotgun?" "Belenko and Smith, sir." "Well, this is how it is, guys. I'm going after those terrorists.

  Sixth Fleet ordered me not to. The president will probably approve of a pursuit, but we'll lose the chance if we wait around. 1 Those people killed a bunch of our guys and stole two nuclear weapons. I'm going with or without you. If you want to go back, that'll be fine. If you go along, the fact that I'm the man responsible and you're just following orders may not be a big enough piece of armor plate to cover your ass. I don't have any steel underwear to give you. Think about it." Silence. He had 90 percent RPM on both engines now and they were passing through 12,000 feet.

  He was wasting fuel climbing this slowly, but the tanker pilot probably had his throttles almost to the stops.

  "Uh, CAG," Toad said over the intercom.

  "Don't I get a vote in this?

  I'd like to stay out of prison if at all possible. I'm pretty young, you know. Whole life before me and all that. It seems to me-was "'Shut up," Jake Grafton said. "You're flying with me."
The scrambler beeped. "What do you think they might do with those weapons, GAG?" "They're not going to mount them on a wall somewhere as trophies." The jets passed through a thin cloud layer. Above it, Jake could see the pink light of dawn to the southeast. The stars were fading rapidly.

  It was going to be a good day to fly.

  "Red Ace Two Zero Six. This is Volcano on Guard." "Guard" was the emergency frequency, 243.0, which was constantly monitored by a separate radio receiver in each plane. "RTB. Return to base.

  Contact Volcano on... and he named a frequency.

  When that transmission ceased, the scrambler beeped in, and the voice from the other fighter said, "CAG, we hold Palermo five degrees port.

  What are we gonna do when we get there?" "What about you, Belenko?" "If you guys are going to tilt some windmills, we wanta be there to watch." "Oh, shit," Toad sighed.

  0 0 0 From his seat Colonel Qazi could see the light in the eastern sky. The airplane was heading right for the spot where the sun would shortly appear. The windows were round and small and covered with scratches which suffused the pink dawn. El Hakim was in the after part of the cabin watching Jarvis complete the task of wiring the trigger to the bomb. In the seat behind him, the bodyguard with the Uzi kept the gun pointed at azi's stomach. Qazi shifted in his seat and tried to get comfortable. His wrist and head hurt from the blows of the night and his entire body ached from the exertion.

  He heard someone walking this way. The dictator fell onto the seat beside the guard and leered at him.

  "You know, I assume," Qazi said, "that the triggers won't work." El Hakim's lips pulled away from his teeth, exposing them. "Oh es. I thought you might do something along those lines, soJarvis checked them before he left Africa. He replaced the timing devices." The dictator leaned forward. "They'll work now." Qazi looked out the window. The fiery disk of the sun had leeped over the horizon. "You tipped your hand when you suberted Ali," he said just loud enough for El Hakim to hear.

  "He was not a good double agent." El Hakim sat with his hands on his knees, the knuckles whitening. The muscles in his cheeks tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed, rhythmically.

  "Another possibility to be guarded against. Another precaution to be taken." He leaned across and slapped azi hard. "Look at me!" Qazi complied.

  "You knew I might discover your sabotage of the triggers. What precaution did you take against that?" Qazi merely looked at him.

  "Answer!" "Your only viable alternative," Qazi said slowly, calmly, "is to take these weapons back to Africa and use them as diplomatic tools.

  They will give you stature and respect in international councils. Your voice in the Arab world will... That is your only alternative, Excellency." "What else did you do, Colonel? Tell me now." "I called the Israelis and told them you were coming. You won't get within a hundred-was El Hakim stood speechless, his mouth open.

  He licked his lips.

  It wasn't true, of course, Qazi reflected. Too risky to give an aggressive bunch like that any advance warning of his acquisition of weapons that would change the entire power structure in the Mediterranean. But El Hakim was accustomed to calculating different risks.

  "You're lying," El Hakim spluttered.

  "You're bluffing." He tried to laugh. "It won't work with me." "The number in Rome is 6799362." El Hakim had him around the throat. He shook him like a dog 1 shakes a snake. "Traitor!

  You filthy, slimy traitor!" Qazi's cuffed hands wouldn't reach. He fought for air. He bit his tongue. The darkness closed in and his vision shrank to pinpoints. He could hear El Hakim shouting, but the words were being replaced by a roaring in his ears. Then suddenly the pressure on his neck ceased, leaving him gasping, chest heaving.

  too good for you. Oh, no! I will kill you slowly, make you die by inches." El Hakim stood over him, staring down. Perspiration glistened on his face. "You betrayed us. You betrayed me.

  And we will get through. We will use the weapon on the Jews." El Hakim leaned down.

  Saliva flecked his lips. "I have fighters coming to rendezvous. They will escort us in and we will push the weapon out the back and the parachute will open and it will detonate in an air burst a thousand meters above Tel Aviv." The perspiration was making rivulets on his face. "You will live to see it, Colonel." El Hakim struck him, then turned away toward the flight deck, breathing hard.

  The three American jets came from the north, from the sea. Far below, the airmen saw the city of Palermo and they saw the thin, irregular line where the land surrendered to the sea. The land was rough, convoluted, and as the sun crept over the rim of the earth the ridges cast long shadows into dark, misty valleys.

  With his throttles pulled back to max conserve, Jake remained at 25,000 feet and watched Joe Watson's plane fall away toward the city below as he listened to yet another transmission from the Gettysburg on Guard.

  The tanker was behind and to Jake's right. Both fighters had topped off just before they made landfall.

  In the rear cockpit Toad was scanning the sky with the radar. Nothing.

  dawn on a Sunday morning in September, the sky over Sicily was empty.

  "That's the seventh time they've called," Toad said, his voice revealing his irritation.

  "Persistent beggars, aren't they?" "Goddamn, CAG, Sixth Fleet! You can't give the finger to Sixth leet.

  For the love of-was "I'm not in the mood for you today, Toad. A lot of good men died trying to stop these assholes, and you're whining. Now shut the fuck up." The sun was a fireball just above the horizon.

  As his plane rned through the easterly heading Jake was blinded by the glare coming straight through his heads-up display. He squinted behind the green visor of his helmet and tried to see the instruments. They were almost indecipherable. His eyes couldn't look from brightness to darkness and accommodate anymore. It irritated him, as Toad did. So much at stake and nothing going right. What would Joe and Corky find down there? Was Qazi still there? Even if he was, where were the weapons? It was an impossible problem. He engaged the autopilot, knowing it would fly the plane more smoothly than he could and thereby save a few pints ffuel. A few gallons. He unfastened one side of his oxygen mask and swabbed his face with a gloved hand and let the mask dangle.

  Come on, guys. What's down there?

  "There's a chopper here on the mat beside a hangar with the door closed, CAG. As near as I can tell, it looks exactly like one of those that was on the ship. No one in sight. Not a solitary soul.

  Nothing down here but light planes, Cessnas and Pipers. What do you think?" Jake refastened his mask. "How many hangars?" "Two." "How about big trucks? Any semis parked around?" "Empty as a politician's promise." Had the bird flown? Jake had to make a decision and make it fast. Joe Watson was down low, burning gas at an appalling rate. "Could they be in the hangars?" "It's possible, I guess," Watson said, his voice dubious. Jake cursed to himself and swung his F-14 to the south. He leveled the wings and pushed the throttles full forward as he trimmed the stick aft. "Joe, climb to about five thousand and orbit the field as long as you can. If anybody gets nervous and tries to drive off in a van or semi, or if they open a hangar and you see a big plane parked in there, shoot it up.

  Understand?" "Roger." "Watch your gas and get back to the ship. Keep your eyes peeled.

  Belenko, I want you to go down to Cape Passero, on the southeastern tip of the island south of Syracuse, and orbit overhead at forty grand.

  Wait for me there." "Red Ace Two roger. "Shotgun roger.

  "Good luck, Joe," Jake said.

  The mike clicked twice.

  As they knifed upward through 30,000 feet headed southeast with the unfiltered sunlight filling the cockpit Toad murmured over the intercom.

  "Qazi got away, CAG, and you know it." He did know it. Qazi had two nuclear weapons that belonged to the United States Navy and he was gone. Gone where? Tripoli or Benghazi or somewhere else? If he was on his way to Africa, he was talking to Air Traffic Control. Jake began frantically flipping through the bundl
es of cards on his kneeboard, looking for the Air Traffic Control sector and frequency list. Why hadn't he thought of this sooner?

  He selected the frequency for the southeastern coast of Sicily and, after turning off the scrambler, dialed it in on the radio. His radio was UHF, and a transport, even a military one, would be using VHF. But the controllers normally transmitted on both VHF and UHF. Jake leveled at 40,000 feet. The throttles were in high cruise and he was clipping along at.86 Mach.

  "See anything?" he growled at Toad. "No, sir. Empty sky." How about that frigate that went through the Strait of Messina last night? It was supposed to be off the east coast of Sicily now. Jake looked up the frequency on another kneeboard card and dialed it into the second radio. He gave them a call and got an answer. They assigned a discrete IFF code, and he squawked it. He wondered how much help he would get if Vice-Admiral Lewis was talking to them. He had to use his real call sign because the frigate could read the classified IFF code, which was specific to this aircraft. Here goes nothing. "Buckshot, we're running a little intercept exercise this morning and I wonder if you've observed ny traffic out of Palermo in the last several hours headed south or southeast, over." "Wait one.