Authors: Richard Herman
Waters had stood on the ramp during the recovery of the G models. As C.J. walked up to him the wing commander wondered how much he could let Conlan get away with before he’d have to jerk him back into line. Conlan was, after all, infamous for his high-spirited approach to air-defense suppression with the Wild Weasels. If it wasn’t for his airmanship and tactical abilities, he would have been court-martialed long ago.
C.J. saluted Waters, and with a fly-boy insouciance better suited to an old “Steve Cannon” comic strip, said, “I’m here, Colonel. You can start the war now.”
An eerie quiet descended on the base as fog muffled noise and gave a ghostlike quality to images flitting through the mist. Maintenance needed the break in flying to Anally bring the wing’s fleet of F-4s into top-hole condition.
On the second morning after the arrival of the Wild Weasels, Major Yaru-Lau announced the wing’s combat status had reached a one and Waters congratulated Leason on his accomplishment—the wing had made it past the first big hurdle.
After the morning briefing Waters called Fairly aside. “Mike, I’m putting the Weasels under Steve Farrell in the 377th. But it’s Bull’s job to teach people how to fly with them. He’s going to need help. Pick a pilot to be your squadron weapons-and-tactics officer to work with him and the Weasels. Have your man at a meeting in Intelligence today at 1300. By the way, your troops did good at Woensdrecht.”
Fairly picked up the hint. “Jack Locke will be there at 1300.”
“Good choice,” Waters said.
Jack was pleased at the news he’d be the squadron’s new weapons-and-tactics officer but disappointed when Fairly told him he couldn’t have Thunder to work with him.
“I’ve got other plans for the wizzo. You’ll have to do
this one on your own,” Fairly told him and walked away. Time Jack got weaned from his wizzo.
In the back vault of Intel, Group Commander Childs had shown up with Waters, who proceeded to introduce the men to C.J. and his bear. “We’re going to start training for an attack on Ahlhorn,” he then said, pointing to a German air base on a wall map of northern Germany. “For us it will be the equivalent of an attack deep into enemy territory. Alongside of it, Woensdrecht was a piece of cake. Ahlhorn will be defended by the Tactical Leadership Program at Jever.” He pointed to another German base near the North Sea. “They’ll challenge us with an active air-defense, which is where the Weasels come in. We’re going to have to fight our way in, suppress the base’s air defenses and fight our way out.” The colonel looked at Jack. “This one will not be a piece of cake.”
“Colonel,” Jack said, “the only rough thing about Woensdrecht was the low level and timing over the North Sea. Flying at a thousand feet and 420 knots to an IP like we did in Holland isn’t flying low or fast. And that’s our best tactic for penetration into any target. The Rapiers at Stamford proved that…”
Sara was right, Waters thought. There was a lot of Locke that reminded him of himself when he was a new young fighter pilot. There was a potential in Jack beyond anything in Morgan or Conlan when they were upcoming jocks at Red Flag. But he still had a long road to go and plenty to learn from C.J. and Bull.
“Good point, Locke. Group Captain Childs will explain the low-level flying structure in Germany. After he’s finished, get into bed with C.J. and Stan and figure out how you’re going to integrate the Weasels with your tactics. Okay, that’s it,” and he left.
Childs threw a blue three-ring notebook on the table in front of them. “That gives the story of flying low level in Germany. You can legally operate between four and seven hundred feet most everywhere until you’re in a low-flying area; then you can descend to two hundred feet. Ahlhorn is in a low-fly area. However, the RAF likes to operate at two hundred feet wherever we please, but we do avoid
most villages and built-up areas. Mustn’t upset the natives too much—”
“Don’t the Germans file violations like crazy?” Jack broke in.
Childs smiled. “Let us just say that the low-level structure in Germany is one way we remind the Germans that we were not invited there.”
For the rest of the afternoon and the next morning, C.J. and Stan worked with the small group. Stan outlined the way a G-model worked and how they could detect and electronically counter radar-guided threats. C.J. took over and covered the three different missiles the Weasels carried that homed onto the radar-transmitting guidance signals to SAMs and Triple A. With a Weasel in the area, a radar operator led a short, exciting life. “There are several ways we can integrate our operations to get you onto and off a target, but in most cases what the old heads used to say is still right—’tell me what the threat is and I’ll tell you what my tactics are.’ Okay, time we chase our bodies over to the base theater to hear Bull shake up the troops with the Ahlhorn mission.”
Jack met Morgan outside the theater as the crews crowded in for their next briefing. While they waited Jack said, “Tell me about C.J.”
“Strange case,” Morgan said. “Supposedly he’s not even that good a pilot, but he’s been asked to join the Thunder-birds
twice
. He’s written articles on strategy for the Air University Review and been called simple minded. You figure it out. The guy’s kicked out of a Pentagon assignment after an arrest for drunk driving. He also wrote a satire on official policies. It is not worth your career to be caught with one of the bootleg copies at the Puzzle Palace, but rumor has it that Sundown keeps a framed copy in his bathroom. Maybe that’s C.J.’s secret weapon…”
Bull finished up his briefing with: “Some of you are wondering why an old bird like the F-4 should still be so alive and well when the F-15s and 16s are eating up the sky. It’s because the Phantom can do
many
things well and has two engines and two crewmembers. It can take a lot of battle damage and still survive in a high-threat environment. It also offers a damn creditable air-to-air counter
against the latest MiGs, especially since being retrofitted with the AIM-9L Sidewinder. Sure, the new birds can do any one of the things it does better, but none can do all of them as well. I’ve been talking about the Phantom’s potential. It’s your job to make it live up to that potential. The man in the cockpit
still
makes the difference.”
Jack and Thunder had been visiting Eastern Radar. When they turned at the roundabout in front of Gillian’s shop, Jack got Thunder to pull over, jogged around the corner to the shop and found her behind the desk scheduling appointments.
“How would you like to see the base this afternoon? The 378th is launching a mass gaggle on Woensdrecht. You might enjoy it. Pick you up at one?”
Before she could answer he had run back to the waiting car.
“He
does
seem sure of himself,” one of the stylists who worked for Gillian observed.
Gillian said nothing but was thinking how glad she was he’d come back.
Jack was glad he had planned on finishing Gillian’s tour of the squadron by watching the 378th crank engines and taxi out to the runway. The activity and the precision of the engine start and canopy drill fascinated her.
“Can we watch them take off?” she shouted over the noise.
Jack’s answer was to commandeer a pickup truck and drive out to the takeoff end of the runway, beating the taxiing Phantoms, then hand Gillian a set of Mickey Mouse ear protectors as the Phantoms arrived and the first four lined up on the runway.
When the pilots lit the afterburners the shock wave rocked Gillian back as the Phantoms thundered down the runway. Ten seconds after the lead started his takeoff the second pair started to roll and the vibration of the noise pulsed through her body, seemingly reaching every nerve and bone. As the second flight of four taxied into position she took a hesitant step toward the runway, but Jack held her back. She shook off his hand and stood there, meeting
the force of the noise alone until all twenty-four aircraft had launched.
The silence after the launch was as deafening as the noise had been. Gillian turned to Jack. “Oh, my God…” She reached out and put her hand on his cheek, surprising him by the warmth of her touch. They stood there for a moment, not saying a word.
“I don’t know what happened to me,” she said. “I think it must have been the incredible noise, the power of it…it excited me, I admit. That
is
the secret isn’t it? I mean, the power in those beasts. Controlled and caged and
you
fly them—like riding a whirlwind.” She seemed to blush. “Is that too silly, Jack? I don’t care…No wonder it draws you in so…”
Jack drew Gillian into his arms. She had it right, no question. She knew…knew him, which excited and even scared him a little…
“What am I going to do with you?” he said, pulling her to him.
“Well, you can start by letting me show you London. You’ve given me part of your world; it’s my turn to show you some of mine.” For starters, she added to herself.
The London that Gillian first showed Jack included an aunt’s elegant home in Mayfair, meeting her friends in a variety of pubs, and the theater. Over breakfast Sunday morning Jack told her that he now wanted to play tourist and see at least one of the standard sights.
Gillian checked the weather, found that it would be cold and
sunny
…a miracle in London. “That’s it then,” she told him. “Greenwich by river.” They caught the tour boat for Greenwich at Tower Bridge, and Jack saw why the famous observatory should only be seen from the river. The rigging of the clipper ship
Cutty Sark
dominated his first impression until he saw the expanse of the buildings designed by Christopher Wren.
In bed early Monday morning, Jack reached out for Gillian—she wasn’t there. A sudden hurt, an ache of loneliness hit him before he realized he was panicking, that she had gone no further than the bathroom. When she came back to bed he pretended to be asleep, not wanting to let
her know how he felt…still confused—even afraid—about what was happening to him.
The next day when Thunder decided he’d had enough of waiting around for the Ahlhorn mission, delayed by the rotten weather, Jack grabbed at his suggestion that they get a pass and try some skiing in the Alps. Without saying as much, it was an escape from more than the tedium of waiting for the weather to clear…
19 March: 1930 hours, Greenwich Mean Time 2030 hours, Davos, Switzerland
The cold of the Alps and getting to the hotel in Davos that they’d been booked into made them almost nostalgic for the wet but tolerable English countryside. Never mind, they’d determined to have a time and proceeded to begin with a quick trip to the bar, which was crowded with some especially succulent women, including two who identified themselves only as Jane and Diana. The getting together didn’t take long—everybody knew what everybody was there for, including but not restricted to the slopes.
And the next day, after a run from the top of the Weiss-fluhjoch down the Parsenns-Klosters trail, Jack and Thunder again got together at the bar with the ladies, who this time were conversing in French, with two men, a Frenchman named Paul and another, an Arab, named Reza.
Paul was especially interested to hear that Jack and Thunder flew F-4s, and soon let them know that he and Reza flew fighters, that he himself was actually a test pilot. They promised to talk more the next day.
Early in the morning, after a restless night, Jack decided to try the sauna, and found it was coeducational, with Jane already there, as though waiting for him…? A very nice coincidence. What the hell, he was supposed to be getting away from the pressures, personal included. She was sitting on a middle bench and patted the place beside her. She turned to him when he sat down, apparently taking his erection as a compliment. After that, there really wasn’t much to say. What happened was sex, a purging. So why didn’t he feel more satisfied?
Meanwhile, Jane’s friend Diana was languishing and despite her advances, not having any luck with Jack’s remarkably built buddy Thunder, who seemed to have found somebody else he preferred.
The Arab, Prince Reza Ibn Abdul Turika, of the Saudi royal family, was, on the other hand, pleased with his good fortune. He was impressed with the two American flyers and also listened carefully to the Frenchman Paul Rainey celebrate the technical merits of the French Mirage 2000 fighter as opposed to the much older U.S. F-4. He understood that the French government had given Paul the tough assignment of convincing him that his government should purchase new delta-wing Mirage 2000s.
Jack’s arguments came down to the crucial difference being the relative skills of individual pilots. Paul then asked the two Americans to come with him to the airfield near Nancy, where they were conducting a combat evaluation of the Mirage. He’d arrange a demonstration ride for them, he said.
The next day at the airfield the weather was cold and cloudy. When they got to the hangar Jack stopped dead in his tracks. “For God’s sake, where in hell did you get
that?
” He was referring to the lone occupant of the hangar—a pristine F-4E.
Paul then proceeded to tell how the F-4 was a gift from the Ayatollah in 1980, who was paying back the French for giving him asylum during the Shah’s regime—and particularly enjoyed giving a plane that had been given to the Shah originally by the Americans. The French had shipped the plane in crates to Nancy, and their technicians had only recently reassembled it and trimmed the engines. They had only flown it twice, Paul said.
“What are you going to do with it?” Jack asked him.
“We want to fly it and use it as a standard for comparison. Maybe you would like to fly it for us?”
Reza watched the exchange closely, understanding that Paul obviously assumed his Mirages would perform well and impress Reza as compared to the older American Phantom. But then he added an unexpected zinger of his own.
“Jack, I would like to fly against you in the Mirage.”
Paul protested, sure that Reza, a newly qualified pilot in the Mirage, would hardly be able to stack up against the two highly trained American pilots. But Reza insisted, and he was the potential customer. So Paul salvaged matters by urging that at least he should fly with Reza in another Mirage as his wingman. The fight would be documented, shot for shot, by video gun cameras.