Nightwatch

Chapter 53

It was from the wire operator, of all people, that Trent Warner learned about the other aircraft flying in close formation off their tail. After getting a confirmation that the object the startled airman saw out the window of his wire port was indeed another airplane, the Chairman flew into a rage.

“Has the flight crew forgotten that I’m supposed to be the first to know about any other planes we might encounter?” he shouted to no one in particular, then made a beeline straight for the stairway leading to the flight deck.

“Major Lassiter!” he exclaimed as he stormed into the cockpit.

“Are you asleep on the job up here? Why didn’t you tell me that we’ve picked up an escort? Is it one of my Tomcats?”

The Chairman’s eyes opened wide with disbelief when the individual seated in the pilot’s position calmly turned around, exposing the grinning face of Coach.

“Sir,” came a woman’s firm voice from behind, “if you’ll please keep your hands where we can see them, and back out of the cockpit.”

Shocked horror filled Wamer’s face upon learning that the speaker of these words was none other than Commander Brittany Cooper. The President’s military aide held a flare gun in her determined grasp, with Sergeant Rayburn close at her side.

“What’s the meaning of this outrageous act of insubordination, Commander? Put down that damned pistol before someone gets hurt! Have you lost your senses, woman?”

Brittany coolly answered him.

“It appears that you’re the one who needs a long rest, sir.”

“And how about starting with early retirement at Leavenworth?”

Red put in.

“So the conspiracy nuts have escaped, and now they’re spreading their dangerous, paranoid fantasies to the rest of my flight crew,” said the Chairman to Lucky, Jake, and Owen Lassiter, who had taken the navigator’s position behind Coach.

“What did they tell you, gentlemen? Don’t tell me it’s that coup d’etat crap again?”

The collision-avoidance radar began chiming, and Lucky leaned forward to inspect the screen.

“We’ve got more company headed our way, gents. There’re three of them this time, approaching on a direct intercept course from the north.”

All eyes went to the wraparound cockpit window, where the flashing red and green strobe lights of the lead F-15 Eagle that had already joined them took up a defensive position in the black sky ahead.

“Nightwatch six-seven-six, this is Strike Eagle Leader,” announced a clipped voice from the overhead intercom speakers.

“Please be advised that I show a flight of three bogeys coming in on zero-one-five. Eagle Two will remain in your six o’clock.

Over.”

“Strike Eagle Leader, this is Nightwatch six-seven-six,” replied Coach into his chin mike.

“We’ve got the bogeys on radar. Thanks for your concern. Over.”

“So our escort this early morning is compliments of the Air Force,” stated the Chairman with a bitter laugh.

“I hope they’ve got some fight in them for a change, ‘cause my Toms fly with an attitude.”

“Admiral, enough!” warned Red, who had had her fill of the Chairman’s intimidating head games.

“Back out of that cockpit, and keep that trap of yours shut!”

“Sergeant,” interrupted Major Steve Hewlett’s deep voice from the top of the stairway, “is that any way to speak to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff?”

The broad-shouldered Marine SIOP advisor stood there with a 9mm pistol in his right hand, and he pointed the barrel at Brittany.

“Drop it. Commander!”

Hewlett took a tentative step forward, and he directed his next remark to the silver-haired individual standing in the back of the cockpit.

“Are you okay. Admiral?”

“I am now. Major. Arrest them all, and throw the whole lot of them in detention.”

Hewlett took another step forward, and Red beckoned toward the gun that Brittany still had trained on the Chairman.

“One more step, Gomer, and Commander Cooper is gonna put another hole up the old man’s ass!”

“Major Hewlett, don’t listen to the darned fool,” commanded Warner.

“And besides, do any of you think it makes any real difference if I live or die? Our movement will continue regardless!”

“Nightwatch six-seven-six,” a male voice with a slight Southern drawl to it broke in over the cockpit’s intercom.

“This is Tomcat Leader, from aggressor squadron Baron, based on the Harry S. Truman. Be advised that your escorts have arrived for door-to-door service all the way to Andrews.”

“Nightwatch six-seven-six, this is Strike Eagle Leader. You are to disregard that offer. Eagle Flight will be your escort to Langley as ordered.”

“Strike Eagle, this is Tomcat Leader. On whose authority do you base your orders, sir?”

“Tomcat Leader, this is Strike Eagle, and my orders come directly from General Lowell Spencer, Deputy Commander of the U.S. Strategic Command. Please move out of our airspace so we can proceed to Langley. Over.”

There was a noticeable pause as the Tomcat Leader appeared to be mulling over this request, and the Chairman defiantly grabbed the auxiliary radio headset that was hanging beside Jake.

“Tomcat Leader, this is Admiral Trent Warner calling from Nightwatch six-seven-six. You are to ignore the instructions of Strike Eagle and provide escort to Andrews as I originally requested. Over.”

Jake reached up and ripped the Chairman’s headset plug out of the radio socket. At the same time. Coach spoke into his own chin mike.

“Strike Eagle Leader, this is Major Foard, Nightwatch six seven-six’s commander. I realize there are some contravening orders this morning, but be advised that I’m personally requesting escort to Langley, per the authority of General Spencer aboard Iron Man One. Over.”

“Major Foard, this is Strike Eagle Leader. Roger that, sir. My wingman in Eagle Two will be joining me off your nose for the flight to Langley. Over.”

Seconds later, the red and green strobes of the F-15 that had been trailing them could be seen through the cockpit window, taking up a position to the right of Eagle One. No further radio transmissions emanated from the overhead speakers, the only sound that filled the flight deck being a new outburst of warning tones from the collision-avoidance radar.

“The Tomcats are continuing their approach,” noted Lucky.

“Those idiots appear to be painting us with their attack radar!”

“Surely they wouldn’t shoot at us,” Jake said uncertainly.

“I warned you that they had an attitude,” the Chairman reminded them, a sly grin on his face.

“Commander Cooper, put down that damned flare gun, and I’ll act to defuse this ridiculous situation before it gets further out of control.”

“Don’t listen to him, Brittany,” Red urged.

Hewlett racked his pistol’s slide, chambered a round, and diverted his aim to include Red before returning to Brittany.

“You make one threatening move toward the Chairman, and I swear I’ll blow the two of you away.”

The collision-avoidance radar continued chiming, and Lucky was the first to spot the flashing strobe lights of the flight of three swiftly approaching U.S. Navy F-14 Tomcats.

“Oh, shit!”

he cursed, as two of the swept-wing jet fighters flared out to take up an outer position beside the F-15s, and the remaining Tomcat initiated an incredibly tight arcing turn to position itself directly ahead of them.

“Nightwatch six-seven-six, this is Tomcat Leader. I’ve just been informed by the Truman that Strike Eagle’s orders are unauthorized.

You are to immediately come around to course three zero-four, at an altitude of three-zero-one-five-zero feet. Over.”

“Tomcat Leader, this is Major Foard aboard Nightwatch six seven-six.

Be advised that I don’t intend to alter our current flight plan. You are to break formation and clear our airspace. Over.”

“Nightwatch six-seven-six, this is Tomcat Leader. I have been authorized to use any means at my disposal to get you to alter course to Andrews. Do you copy? Over,” Foard was tiring of this foolish game of chicken, and there was a definite tone of finality to his voice as he spoke into his chin mike.

“Tomcat Leader, this is Nightwatch six-seven-six. I intend to land this aircraft at Langley Air Force Base, as ordered by General Spencer, and that’s final. Over.”

The line went dead, and all the occupants of the flight deck watched as the three Tomcats abruptly broke formation and roared off into the night, the red-hot plume of their afterburners clearly visible in the crystal-clear black sky. While Lucky tried his best to follow them on radar, Jake vented his nerves with a long sigh of relief.

“Thank goodness that’s over with,” he remarked, a thin sheen of perspiration gathered on his brow.

“I mean, it’s not like they were gonna shoot us down for not changing our destination airfield.”

“Don’t be so sure of that, son,” said the Chairman heavily.

“Major Hewlett,” said Brittany, after transferring the flare gun to her left hand, “it’s time to end this impasse as well. I’ll lower my weapon if you do likewise. I’m certain that we can come to some sort of mutual understanding for the remainder of this flight.”

The Marine nodded in agreement, and both of them tentatively lowered their pistols. A sense of relief was shared by all, and Coach addressed them collectively.

“There will be plenty of time to sort this whole mess out once we’re on the ground. If the winds continue to cooperate, that will be in approximately ninety minutes. So please, keep those guns stashed away, and try to get along until then.”

“Coach,” interrupted Lucky, “we’re not out of the woods just yet. The Tomcats have broken formation, and we’ve been once more painted by their attack radars.”

This tense revelation was followed by the unexpected arrival of a blinding volley of tracer rounds that streaked past the cockpit, parting the narrow void between Nightwatch and its P-15 escort.

“Are those guys nuts?” screamed Lucky, who couldn’t believe that the Tomcats had the audacity to shoot at them.

“Tomcat Leader!” Coach forcefully exclaimed into his chin mike.

“You are to refrain from further firing at once! Do you read me. Tomcat Leader?”

There was an ominous silence, broken only by the urgent chiming of the collision-avoidance radar.

“Incoming bogey directly ahead of us!” warned Lucky.

“Break left. Coach! Break left!”

Without a moment’s hesitation. Coach turned his steering yoke hard to the left, and the sudden, steeply banked turn that followed caused the four occupants of the flight deck who were not restrained by seat belts to go crashing to the floor. Coach had no time to worry about them, his attention focused instead on the F-14 Tomcat that appeared to be headed toward them on a direct collision course.

He ignored the bite of his shoulder harness, and with the yoke still fully engaged, he looked on with horror as the Tomcat soared directly over the cockpit, so close that he feared the afterburners might have scorched the E-4B’s upper fuselage.

“That crazy son of a bitch!” cursed Coach, trying his best to pull out of the turn as smoothly as possible.

He ignored a frantic intercom page from Colonel Pritchard, who wanted to know the reason for this sudden turn, and reached up to activate the seatbelt warning sign.

“The Tomcats appear to be coming around for another intercept,” said his badly shaken copilot.

“We’re a damned sitting duck up here!”

“Major Foard!” shouted Red from the upper-deck rest area.

“Major Hewlett has just grabbed the Chairman, and they’re headed down the stairway!”

“Let them go!” Coach replied, his eyes riveted on the Primary Flight Display.

The fixed bar representing the plane’s wings gradually evened itself out against the green-tinted artificial-horizon display representing the earth’s surface. This indicated level flight, and before Coach could express his relief, the Tomcats returned — this time with tragic consequences.

The F-14s were attempting to divert the Eagles with a crossing pattern, with two fighters coming in from the right and one from the left. The startled occupants of the E-4B’s cockpit were seated at center stage, and looked on with shocked horror as the trailing Tomcat appeared to clip the wing of Eagle Two. There was a blinding fireball as both aircraft exploded, with only a single parachute spotted amongst the fiery debris that proceeded to shower from the skies.

“Goddamn it!” Coach cursed, jerking the yoke hard to the right to miss striking the remnants of the two doomed aircraft.

“I knew this was going to get totally out of control.”

They watched the remaining F-15 peel off to engage the unlikely enemy that was responsible for taking out its wingman, and seconds later, the E-4B’s radio crackled alive.

“Nightwatch six-seven-six, this is Tomcat Leader, and I’m smack on your tail. Now come around to course three-zero-four, at an altitude of three-zero-one-five-zero, or next time you’ll be the one going down!”

“Somebody sure wants this plane either on the ground, at Andrews, or blown out of the fucking sky,” said Jake.

“Which means they probably intend to continue orchestrating their coup from Nightwatch once we return home,” Coach surmised.

Lucky looked at Coach, his frustration obvious.

“We’ve got to get that fucking Tom off our tail.”

Coach returned his copilot’s supportive glance, and he flashed the slightest of grins as an idea suddenly came to mind.

“Wire operator!” he shouted into his chin mike.

“I need you to initiate an immediate wire-out.”

“But, sir,” countered the amplified voice of the perplexed airman manning the antenna operator’s station behind the aft lower equipment area, “there’s another aircraft directly behind us.”

“Son,” retorted Coach, “deploy the goddamn wire!”

“Wire is deploying,” Jake reported.

“Ten feet… twenty feet… thirty feet …”

“Nightwatch six-seven-six, this is Tomcat Leader. You’ve got ten seconds to change your course as ordered before I begin shooting. Ten… nine… eight …”

Coach breathlessly waited until the countdown reached five, then grabbed for the emergency wire cutaway lever, which was positioned on the far left portion of the flight control console.

“Tomcat Leader, up yours!” he cried into his chin mike, engaged the lever, and called out, “Wire away!”

The horrified wire operator provided the blow-by-blow commentary that followed. From the glass-enclosed confines of the wire port, he described how over seventy-five feet of drifting wire antenna got ingested into one of the Tomcat’s GE-400, augmented turbofan engines. There was an explosive flash, and the last thing he reported seeing was the F-14’s canopy being jettisoned, the pilot’s frantic attempt to bail out.

There were no celebratory high fives traded inside the E-4B’s cockpit, the crew instead refocusing their attention on the furious air battle that was taking place in the skies to their right. Fiery tracers and eerily glowing missile contrails indicated that the sole remaining Tomcat and the last of the Eagles were engaged in a winner-takes-all battle between fellow countrymen. It was a bizarre sight to behold — this initial engagement of America’s second civil war, fought not with huge armies, but with a couple of highperformance jet fighters over the mid-Atlantic.

“Coach,” warned Red from the upper-deck rest area, “we’ve got Major Hewlett and a security team headed up the stairway!”

“Shit!” cursed Coach.

“They’re not going to be happy until all of us are dead. Lower the fire door at the top of the stairs, Sergeant. And then you’d better reseal that access way we crawled out of earlier.”

The collision-avoidance radar began chiming once more, but nothing was showing up on the screen. Puzzled, Lucky scanned the skies, in the direction where the air battle was still taking place. And then he saw the oncoming contrail, and the pinprick, fiery plume of a single, misdirected Sidewinder air-to-air missile, headed directly toward them out of the pitch-black sky.

“Break left! Break left! Incoming missile!” he shouted.

Coach once more yanked the yoke hard aport. Unlike Air Force One, Nightwatch had no chaff dispensers, or any other defensive countermeasures, and all he could do was get them as far away as possible from the oncoming missile.

Just as the restraint harness began biting into his upper torso, indicating that Nightwatch was in the midst of the turn, the Sidewinder detonated. A massive shock wave caused the entire aircraft to violently shudder, with the majority of the blast directed to the plane’s underside. Thousands of pieces of shrapnel pierced the lower fuselage, the damages immediately indicated on the flight panel displays.

“I’m showing power anomalies in engines one and three!”

Jake informed them.

“Hydraulic pressure is dropping across the line, and we’re rapidly losing fuel from the main bladder. Initiating emergency fuel crossover procedures.”

Alarms were sounding throughout the cockpit, and both Coach and Lucky summoned their every last bit of strength to pull back on their yokes in a desperate effort to counter the rapidly falling altimeter. The lights flickered, and when smoke began pouring into the flight deck. Coach realized that his command had taken a lethal hit.

“Hang on!” he cried.

“We’re going down!”