Flight Of The Old Dog pm-1

by Dale Brown

  "C'mon, buddy," McLanahan murmured, "you can do it. "The distance between the bomber and the gate was decreasing rapidly. Briggs was trying to get the Jeep restarted. He gave it a few seconds, then jumped out and started pushing.

  Ormack brought the throttles back to idle, which seemed to make no difference.

  "We gotta slow down."

  As if in reply, three mortar shells exploded in front of the bomber.

  Briggs tripped and sprawled in the sand. Another explosion created a huge waterspout of sand off the right wing, and Briggs and his Jeep were lost in the rolling cloud.

  The explosions rocked the bomber as if it were caught in a typhoon.

  Ormack checked the airspeed. "Seventy knots. If we hit the brakes at this speed, they'll explode. We can't stop in time anyway. Briggs Briggs had managed to get the Jeep cleared off the runway behind the fence. He ran over and hauled on the right side of the gate. The heavy wide fence slowly opened. Briggs sprinted through the sandstorm and pulled on the left gate. A securing pole was dragging in the sand, and Briggs had to throw his entire skinny body against the fence to move it.

  "It's stuck," Ormack said.

  "This is going to be a real short flight if he doesn't open that gate," McLanahan said.

  But the fence wasn't moving. Briggs' legs were pumping, his once spit-shined boots scraping against the sand, but it wasn't helping.

  half-open when Briggs slipped and slumped. The fence was to the sand, then rolled to his right to jump back to his feet. As he did he saw the Old Dog.

  The aircraft looked like a gigantic pterodactyl coming toward him. And the pencil nose of the bomber, tilted down for takeoff, was aimed right at his heart.

  Briggs jumped up, his eyes on the monster with wings speeding toward him, and body-tackled the fence. The fence jumped a few feet, but Briggs kept on going, his legs didn't stop pumping until the blast of the eight turbofan jet engines swept him off his feet and into the fence.

  "He did it," McLanahan said.

  "We aren't out of it yet. "Ormack slowly throttled up to full power, then reached down and hit the flap switch. "After the fence we got three miles of concrete left. It'll take another minute to get the flaps down, another minute to accelerate this pig to rotate speed. We run out of hard surface in less than a minute.

  McLanahan finally found the flap indicator. "It's not moving… " "It probably jammed during one of those explosions," Ormack said, holding tight to the wheel."it might take them longer to come down-or the flap motors will burn out. One or the other.

  The indicator moved to ten percent. Twenty percent. A pause-then a longer pause. Thirty percent. The bomber began to.rattle.

  "Forty percent. "McLanahan scanned the instruments, then looked out the window. Through the dim morning light he saw the glitter of steel on the horizon. He stared harder. Perched directly in front of them was a large, boxy aircraft, with some men scattered around it.

  "What the hell is that?" Ormack was staring into the distance.

  "It's an airplane on the concrete," McLanahan said "They're blocking our path. "He glanced down at the flap' indicator again. Still forty percent.

  "The flaps stopped."

  "We can't do it. We need the whole dry lake now. "Ormack reached down and shut off the flap switch, freezing them at forty percent down.

  "Can we rotate with the flaps stopped?"

  "We'll run out of time before we hit that plane. We'll have to stop.

  .. pull the 'chute-" "Wait. "McLanahan searched the control panel near his le it arm, finding a switch marked "DEFENSE CONSENT."He flipped the switch from SAFE to CONSENT "Angelina. "He arched around in his seat. "Angelina. Turn on the missiles. The forward missiles."

  "What?"

  "The Scorpions. Turn 'em on.

  Pereira scrambled forward, clutching onto the pilot's seat.

  "Turn them on?We can't. They need to align, lock onto a target-" "I don't need them to align. "McLanahan looked out the sloped windows.

  Angelina followed his gaze, finally spotting the aircraft sitting on the runway. They could now see the attackers trying to level a bazooka at them. "Do it," McLanahan ordered.

  Angelina hurried back to her station. To McLanahan, the wait was excruciating. He glanced backward a few times, but as the plane rushed forward he focused on the camouflaged attackers. There were four of them-two firing rifles from behind the plane, two others loading the bazooka. "Angelina "Ready," she called behind him.%, "Fire."

  McLanahan threw his arms up in front of his face as he said it.

  IT He never saw the results-but then, no human could see the advanced AMRAAM air-to-air missile as it fired off the left pylon at Mach two.

  The missile leapt forward on a stream of fire. The primary solid-fuel engine had just barely reached full impulse burn when it plowed into the plane less than a half mile in front of the Old Dog.

  What McLanahan did see was a blinding flash of light and massive black cloud of smoke and dust. A split second later.

  the needlelike nose of the Old Dog plunged through the chaos Nothing happened-no crunch of metal, no explosion of the windscreen in front of him. A moment later the cockpit windows cleared, revealing a barrier infinitely larger than the plane they had just blown away-the seven thousand feet of granite called Groom Mountain.

  " Go for it," McLanahan called out to Ormack.

  Far behind the Megafortress, Hal Briggs had been pinned to the fence, his face mashed into the chain link by the force of the jet blast. He heard an explosion a few moments later, expecting the crash, the sound of exploding fuel, waiting for the fireball to engulf him. It didn't happen. It was an eternity until he could clear the stinging sand out of his face and eyes and look toward the horizon.

  What he saw was the Old Dog lifting off through a cloud of y and black dust over the morning Nevada desert. A lurr of burning metal lay se gra runway, with smoking bodies flung hundreds of feet away several yards from the sand-covered The Old Dog hovered perhaps fifty feet above the desert floor, nearly obscured by the cloud of dust. He could barely see the huge wheels retract into the huge body rocket into the clear morning air.then the aircraft rose like "Jesus H. Christ," Briggs muttered, sitting in a three-foot drift of sand and tumbleweeds. "They did it. They did it.

  Ormack flipped a switch on the overhead console beneath the cabin altitude indicator. Slowly the long, black needle moved upward and snapped into position. Half the windscreen was now obscured by the long SST nose, the windoi blending in with its sleek lines.

  "Watch the instruments," Ormack said cross-cockpit. E spite the noise inside the bomber, he and McLanahan were s' talking loud enough to be heard without the interphone. "Ge coming up. I hope someone got all the ground locks.

  reached across and moved the gear lever up. The red light the handle snapped on, "Instruments are okay," McLanahan said. He found the gear and icators on the front panel beside the gear level. One by one, the little wheel depictions on the indicators changed to crosshatch and then to the word UP, and the bumping and screeching of tires stowing in the wheel wells could be heard.

  "Right tip gear up… forward mains up… aft mains up…

  the left tip gear is still showing crosshatch."

  Ormack cross-checked the indicator with the TIP GEAR NOT IN TRAIL caution light-it was showing unsafe too. "It might be hanging there, or it could be part-way up. We probably ripped out the whole left wingtip. "He did some experimental turns left and right. "Steering feels okay. The spoilers seem like they're still working. "He glanced down and double-checked that he had shut off the fuel valves from the left externals. "We can try emergency retraction later."

  He ran a hand over his sweating face and scanned instru ents, left and right, as the Megafortress cleared the snowcovered Groom Mountain ridge line. "Looks like we lost all the eighteen thousand pounds in the left external A tankrobably lost the whole tank. The left external B is still with us p but it's feeding too fast, faster than the right externals. It's probably dump
ing all that fuel overboard. "He shut off the fuel transfer switch to the left external B tank. "That means we're short about forty thousand pounds."

  He looked over at McLanahan, who was still staring at the mountain ridges sliding under the Old Dog's sleek black nose.

  "Pat, check the hydraulics."

  McLanahan scanned die quarter-sized hydraulic gauges on the left control panel. At first he was diverted by the fancy schematics added on to the panel showing the direction and metering of hydraulic power from the six engine-driven hydraulic pumps.

  "Well?"

  McLanahan then noticed it. "Pressure on the left outboard spoiler-tip gear is low."

  Ormack shook his head. "Well, we're going to lose the left outboard system pretty soon. Make sure the standby pump switch is off."

  "It's off."

  "We're not going to try to emergency raise the tip gear," Ormack said.

  "The entire wingtip is probably smashed. We'd deplete the hydraulic system for nothing. "He checked airspeed and altitude. "Okay. We're airborne. Flaps coming up.

  McLanahan watched the gauge closely. A half-minute la they indicated full-up.

  "Well, something's finally working okay," Ormack asked. "Good job," General Elliott said above the noise in the cockpit. Ormack and McLanahan turned in surprise. The general was standing between the two ejection seats, nodding approval. McLanahan looked at his leg. There was a large bandage and elastic cloth wrapped around the calf and thigh. "How's your leg, General?"

  "Hurts like hell, Patrick. Feels like something took a bite out of it.

  But Wendy and Angelina did a fine job. Lucky we got so many first aid kits on board."

  "What the hell happened, General?Who were those guys that attacked us?"

  "I'm not sure, Patrick. I was advised by intelligence of certain rumors, but I never thought… it looks like now there was a leak somewhere.

  My hunch is that whoever authorized that attack expected those B-1s to be still in Dreamland.- Elliott cleared his throat. "I'll take it now Patrick.

  "You sure you feel up to it, General?Your leg-" "I'll let John push on the rudder pedal if I need it, Otherwise I can handle this beast.

  Get everyone else on belt and oxygen and stand by for a climb check."

  So saying, Elliott moved himself aside and let McLanahan climb out of the left side seat and pass around him to go downstairs. Then with help from Ormack, he settled himself into the pilot's ejection seat fastened the parachute harness.

  "All right," he said, readjusting the headset and placing his hands around the yoke. "I've got the aircraft."

  "Roger, you have the aircraft," Ormack acknowledg assuring positive transfer of control with a slight shake of the control column.

  "Let's clean up the after takeoff checklist. Landing gear?""Gear up, indicating five up," Ormack replied. "Left gear is reading crosshatch.

  Left outboard hydraulic system low and will probably fail soon."

  "Confirmed. "Elliott rechecked the hydraulic gauges.

  be okay for the time being. Flaps.

  "Lever up and off, flaps up."

  "Throttles.

  "Set for MRT climb. Nav, you up?"

  "Nav's up," Luger replied immediately.

  "Outside air temp zero, anti-ice off."

  "MRT EPR two point one seven."

  "Throttles set," Ormack said, checking the gauges.

  "Start switches."

  "Off and FLIGHT" "Air conditioning master switch."

  "Seven point four-five PSI, radar and defense, normal cooling air available," Ormack said as conditioned air rushed from the cabin vents.

  "Offense copies," Luger replied as McLanahan buckled his parachute harness and rechecked his equipment.

  "Defense copies," Pereira said mechanically, watching as Wendy Tork secured herself into her seat. Angelina scanned her instrument panels, then opened her checklist and began to bring up her array of armament equipment.

  "Slipway doors, open then closed. "Ormack reached up and flipped the SLIPWAY DOOR switch to OPEN on the overhead panel — The green CLOSED AND LOCKED light went on. He flipped the switch to NORMAL CLOSED and the indicator came on again.

  "Open then closed, check closed."

  "This beast climbs like an angel," Elliott asked. "We're past twelve thousand already. Crew, oxygen check. "He glanced around his seat.

  His helmet was nowhere in sight.

  "Go ahead and check them in, John," he asked. "I'll check mine when I get leveled off. "Ormack looked slightly embarrassed. He pulled the boom mike closer and said, "Defense?"

  "Uh… defense is not complete."

  "Neither is offense.

  Elliott looked in surprise at his co-pilot. "We don't 9" "Nobody," Ormack said.

  "Nobody has an oxygen mask?No helmet?" Elliott said over the interphone.

  "We didn't exactly have time to pack a lunch, General, McLanahan said.

  "Goddamn it," Elliott said. He checked the cabin altimeter on the eyebrow panel; it held steady at seven thousand feet.

  "Cabin altitude is steady at seven thousand. How about any masks at all?Emergency masks?Anything?"

  Ormack checked behind his seat. "The firefighter's mask is in place," he said, pulling the bag around and examining the mask. It was a full-face mask with a bayonet clip for the ship's oxygen system, designed for a crew member to plug into a portable oxygen "walk around" bottle and battle a cabin fire.

  "One oxygen mask," Elliott asked. "No helmets.""We'll just have to stay below ten thousand feet," Ormack asked. "We can't risk a higher altitude. A subtle loss of cabin altitude, the entire crew gets hypoxic-we'd be dead before we knew it.

  "We can't do that," Elliott asked. "This aircraft is top secret.

  We've got to get to a higher altitude and isolate ourselves until my staff or someone comes up with a suitable landing base.

  Under ten thousand feet, too many air and ground eyes can watch us." "Then I'll just keep this thing on until we land, sir," Ormack said.

  "A few hours at best. I can handle it."

  "No," Elliott asked. "The mask restricts your vision too much, and there's no communications hookup. Okay, ladies and gents, listen up.

  Until we get back on the ground, we're all in jeopardy. No one has any oxygen, at least not a safe supply.

  You can stick your oxygen hose in your face and go to "EMER' to get a shot of oxygen-as a matter of fact, we'll do that-but it's a real danger. We'll do station and compartment checks every fifteen minutes.

  Check around more often. Keep alert for signs of hypoxia. The co-pilot and I will take turns with the fire mask. Check around your stations to see what else we're missing."

  "Does it matter, General?"

  Wendy asked. "We're going to land soon, aren't we?"

  "When it gets dark, and when we find a base that can take us.

  Obviously, Dreamland is out. Tonopah or Indian Springs might be alternates. Angelina, Wendy, get in contact with mission control and-" "Problem, General," Angelina interrupted. "No secrets."

  "No communications documents?No encoding tables?

  I.F.F?"

  "I'm afraid not."

  "What do we have on board?"

  "The whole world will know about us in no time, General," Ormack said.

  "The attack on Dreamland, this plane, the whole thing. They can't keep all this secret. When this plane lands, the whole world will be on hand to see it.

  Elliott pushed on the yoke to level off at seventeen thousand feet, staring straight ahead over the long, sleek nose of the Megafortress.

  "I suppose you're right," he asked. "Level-off checks, John. Angelina, get a U.H.F phone patch through Nellis to Cobalt Control. That's my section in Washington. Advise them that we're okay and request a secure radio setup and frequency as soon as possible.

  "Roger.

  Just then a loud voice over all the U.H.F radios on board interrupted them. "This is Los Angeles Center on guard.

  Aircraft heading two-eight-five, a
ltitude seventeen thousand feet, squawk five-two-one-nine and ident if you can hear me.

  "That's us," Ormack said. Elliott reached down to his side panel, set the I.F.F frequency, turned the transmitter to ON, and hit the IDENT button.

  "Aircraft is radar contact," the air traffic controller replied.

  "Change to frequency two-nine-seven point eight."

  Elliott changed the frequency. "Los Angeles Center, this is Genesis on two-nine-seven point eight.

  "Genesis, ident and spell full call sign," Los Angeles came back.

  Elliott spelled the name.

  "Genesis?" Ormack asked. "What's that?"

  "It's an old classified collective call sign for military experimental aircraft from Edwards," Elliott told him. "We used it when we wanted to go to the high-altitude structure but didn't want anyone, even the military airspace controllers, to know who we were. Drearniand has launched a lot of aircraft without flight plans all over this area. I hope the guy asks someone else about it instead of me."

  "Genesis " the confusion in the controller's voice was apparent.".

  Genesis, we show no flight plan for you. Say your departure point.

  "Unable, Los Angeles."

  There was a longer pause. Then: "Genesis, your primary target is very weak. Say type of aircraft, intentions and destination.

  "This guy is trying to gut it out even if he doesn't know what he's doing," Elliott said to Ormack. He switched to the radio.

  "Los Angeles, Genesis is requesting direct Friant, direct Talon intersection and holding at Talon within fifty nautical flight level three-niner zero."

  "Unable your request through valley traffic witho plan, Genesis "Request you contact our command post on AUTOVON or Department of Defense DTS nine-ei, one-four-two-four, for our flight plan if it isn't in you in the next two minutes. Meanwhile, request direc direct Talon at the three-niner zero."

  "Genesis the controller, not accustomed telling him what to do, was clearly agitated. "Unable standard holding north of the Coaldale two-five-three radial between twenty and thirty DME, right hand one-seven thousand five hundred until we straighten & "Genesis is proceeding VFR at this time, Los A Elliott said.