Baghdad or Bust (6 page)

    “Pilot, Spotter, AAA’s coming up all over the place!”

     “Roger that, Spotter. We see it; they’re giving us one hell of a light show tonight!”

    We started to make a turn; I went to switch windows, and that’s when I slammed into Bad Boy. I don’t know how long he’d been standing behind me. His face was rather pale and his eyes were wide as saucers. I patted him on the back and handed him the NVG.

    “Nice light show tonight!” I shouted above the roar of the engine. I unplugged my headset from the auxiliary cord and plugged Bad Boy up.

    I walked forward into the mission compartment. I looked back just once to see Bad Boy standing there still as could be, face pale and eyes wide. I knew right then that this was his first time as Spotter at night. There was a tremendous difference between the day and the night light show, for only at night did the closeness of the threat seem so very real; and it was only at night that you could see just how much of the horizon it filled. It was raining AAA everywhere, as far as the eye could see.

    In short order, the first wave came in screaming, low to the deck. Bad Boy called out their ingress as Tennessee Jim slammed the system into jam. We’d reached our window.

    Below us, I knew the Iraqi AAA and SAM sites had lost their communications channels just when they needed them the most. I knew this because I’d targeted most of them and was quite proud of that fact—I was having a good day.

    The first wave of fighters raced in-country, while a second wave marshaled outside and below radar range.

    I heard Gypsy squawking in the background, and a few seconds later we began precautionary evasive actions. Only this time we didn’t dive, we climbed. Smoke trails had been seen by one of our CAP fighters—surface-to-air missiles had been launched. We had to gain altitude to save our necks.

    For an instant, my eyes glazed over; and then I continued my search for new signals. I hoped the missiles had been fired blindly, and more importantly, not at us. Fighters could launch chaff and other countermeasures—we could only climb or dive. Yet I couldn’t help noticing the ticking by of the seconds on the tiny clock in the corner of my screen. From the ground to our altitude by way of a missile was only a few seconds, no more. I waited. Nothing.

    The second wave had finished marshaling and they started to trickle in; the first wave had come in low. These boys were scraping treetops.

    I continued to poke away at my keyboard and watch the displays. The next few minutes were critical. We had to make sure the enemy had no idea that second wave was coming in. They were less than a minute from the target area when the first wave kicked in afterburners and made crisp ninety-degree turns. And then both waves were converging on the same area, hell bent on total destruction.

    So far, everything seemed to be going according to plan, for which we were all glad. I knew when the packages began their strike because suddenly everything I was watching sprang to life. Now, we’d have to work extra hard to make sure the packages made it out safely. With so many aircraft in-country it wouldn’t be an easy task, but we aimed to do it.

    The minutes that followed were, as always, extremely tense. We knew the time the first fighter was due to head out; still, our breaths stifled with anticipation when the radios keyed.

    Tennessee Jim keyed in on Private. “Stay at it; it’s almost over!”

    True to form, we stayed at it just a few more minutes. Soon we’d be heading back to base and it would all be over. Then I heard words from the copilot that I’d relive in solitary moments late at night, “Smoke trail, one o’clock!”

    Captain Sammy came up on Ship’s Hot and screamed into his mike, “Crew beginning evasive maneuvers!”

    There was a heart-sized lump in my throat. My heart pounded in my ears. A few seconds later, I heard Gypsy advise that we move to the back of our orbit box. We did, no questions asked. Captain Sammy brought the Lady around hard. Gravity thrust me into my chair, my neck tensed under the strain, my arms, lead weights, wouldn’t move.

    Moments earlier we had been played-out and more than ready for the end of the mission. Now we just wanted to feel the Lady level off; for if she did, hopefully it meant the sky was clear.

    The wing dipped, my head bobbed, my stomach churned. Then suddenly I was slipping out of my seat as gravity reversed—we were falling or so it seemed. Immediately afterward, everything became smooth, as if we were floating. I noticed then that I could move my arms, and everything had stopped jumping—we had finally leveled off.

    Yet we were given no breathing space because just then the egress began. We tallied the outgoing fighters one by precious one. Gypsy was squawking, and in the background I heard Phantom. It seemed like it’d been a while since I’d heard good old Phantom, our friends on the RC. But then again, this last week had been so hellish that maybe I had lost their squawk in the frenzy of it all.

    There were no better words to hear than Gypsy’s final confirmation. “The packages have safely egressed and are headed back to base! Shadow, you’re cleared off stations!”

    “Roger, Gypsy, we’re coming around and going back to base.”

    The crew’s cheer echoed throughout the whole of the Lady, but privately we also sighed.

    My blood pressure slowly returned to normal. Soon I could no longer hear the dull thump-thump of my heart in my ears. With it went the surge of adrenaline that had sustained me for the last few hours, and weariness swept over me like a storm. I closed my eyes and momentarily let my thoughts take me.

    Outbound pilots reported to Gypsy that they’d never seen the AAA so thick and that there was plenty of new SAM activity in the area—things we knew firsthand. In the coming days those nests would have to be targeted and destroyed or they’d start doing serious damage.

    Someone walked by my position, and I opened my eyes long enough to see that it was our visitor. I was sure he had seen quite a bit more than he bargained for. For a moment in my mind’s eye I saw Bad Boy’s face, his eyes wide, his expression something that wasn’t so much awe as shock.

    I knew a day was coming when we’d be closer still, a day when we’d be jamming the eye of the storm. The flack would be so close it would seem as if I could reach out and grab it, just as it could reach out and grab us.

Saturday’s night flight spilled over into Sunday and I got back to the barracks early Sunday morning. Mehmet, a Turkish gentleman who took care of our building, had a surprise for us Sunday, a home-cooked meal. He served up a steaming plate of roast chicken, potatoes and onions, and several loaves of fresh-baked hard bread. It was certainly the best food I’d eaten in a long while, and it made my duty a little warmer and brighter.

    Also, I realized something that a few others seemed to realize just then—the Turkish people were really grateful that we were there doing what we are doing. I had had apprehensions about the Turks because of the initial unrest when NATO forces began arriving, but those soon evaporated.

    We were settling into our new quarters. Everything seemed promising. It’s surprising how much the new quarters had changed people’s attitudes. There was renewed excitement even among the habitual mopers. I was confident that in a few days, everyone would have forgotten the PME except me. I wanted to remember it, so I could truly know how fortunate we all were when we finally got to go home.

    I was supposed to start mission planning cell the next day, so Monday’s morning flight should be my last for at least eight days. I could really use the break; twelve-hour days and a set routine would seem a breeze compared to flying a mission in the combat zone and ever changing schedules. Yet I wasn’t sure things would be the same if I were not flying.

    I’ve saved the best news for last. Late Sunday night I finally got a chance to talk to Katie. She sounded worried and sweet. The phone call went much better than last time. And yes, I told her I loved her several times.

    She told me she sent me a Valentine’s day surprise. I felt bad; I’d forgotten all about Valentine’s day. I looked at the Base Exchange for a card, but they were all sold out. So I made a valentine of my own—a hundred hand-drawn hearts and then a hundred more—I hoped Katie would get it by Thursday.

    Katie’s picture sat on the nightstand beside my bed. In it she was wearing a ruffled red dress pulled loosely about the shoulders. I had taken that picture on Christmas eve.

    I had gotten another voice tape from her a few days previously. I now had four. I’d grown accustomed to putting on headphones and going to sleep to the sound of her voice. She always mixed in a few of our favorite songs and she would sing the words in the background—she has such a beautiful voice.

    Katie told me that she had called my mother. I still hadn’t told Mom I was in the Gulf. Mom took the news hard. She and Katie talked for more than an hour.

    Mom said she had known something was wrong when I called the night before the war, but she hadn’t known what. Katie gave her my address, and she said she would write.

    I’m not sure why I hadn’t written her yet. I suppose it was because I didn’t want her to worry. I had tried to start a letter several times. It was just that nothing sounded right. And mom isn’t the sort of person who takes this kind of news easily.

Monday’s early morning Go went well, and I was home by early afternoon. I was supposed to start MPC on Tuesday; but as they hadn’t pulled me yet, I would be flying again today. Tennessee Jim asked if I’d mind flying again. I told him straight up, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

    Since the gym was so close, I no longer had an excuse to skip workouts. After almost four weeks without hitting the weights, I felt like Silly Putty. I was sore as hell, and every inch of my body ached. But I determined to go again the next day without giving the pain a second thought. I’m no monster, but as I gradually worked my way up to 275 on the bench, I felt good! When you can’t have sex, you might as well hit the weights; you have to vent aggression somewhere, and a good workout takes my mind off other things.

    I was pleased when the day’s flight went smoothly as well. The Gray Lady touched down just as dusk covered the Turkish landscape. As I and ten other tired souls piled out the crew entrance door, a westerly wind was blowing strong across the runway and as it raced to the mountains across the flat land it took with it what remained of the day’s warmth. The crew van still hadn’t arrived, but it wasn’t all that unusual to wait fifteen to thirty minutes for it to pull up.

    I used my A-bags as a seat and sat down for the long wait. Soon the sky overhead was black as coal. Crow and Patrick had already finished up their postflight checks, which included the final powering down and sealing of the plane, and joined us on the tarmac. It’d been a long day and a long flight. We’d had problems with the system the entire time. It’d been up and down so many times I’d lost count. Oddly, when it had mattered most, the Lady’s systems had purred; and we were thankful for that much.

    Tennessee Jim glanced at his watch and cussed loudly under his breath. Forty-five minutes had passed.

    Patrick was about to break the seals and head back into the plane when a pair of headlights approached along the darkened runway. I stood and stretched, then picked up my bags.

    “What the hell took you so long?” screamed Jim as we piled into the back of the van. “Click up the rear heaters; we’re freezing!”

    “I was supposed to get off at 18:00,” said Charlotte.

    “Boo-hoo!” responded Ice. “We could have been back in the barracks by now ourselves.”

    “Who’s your replacement?” asked Captain Sammy.

    Charlotte didn’t respond, she just cast her eyes toward the rear of the cabin and then put the van into drive.

    We’d already missed most of the post-brief with the other players, so we headed straight for ops. Captain Sammy was nice enough to give us his postflight briefing in the back of the van. “Good job today,” he said, and that was about it.

    At ops, we had only to turn in our additional gear, which included our .38s and bullets, then check in with intel. I was headed out the door and back to the van when I heard someone calling my name. I turned about on my heel, and saw trouble: Major James standing next to Tennessee Jim.

    I started toward them. Charlotte handed me the crew van keys. “Sorry,” she said in a subdued, yet relieved tone.

    “We need you to work MPC this evening,” Major James said, “You have any problems with that?”

    I looked Tennessee square in the eye. He knew I was pissed, but I knew better than to complain. “No, not really.”

    “Good,” Major James said, “you weren’t supposed to fly today, but it seems there was a mix-up. You were supposed to be on the night crew this evening, and the person you’re replacing is already in crew rest to fly. When you come back from dropping off the crew, see the duty officer. I’ll explain the situation to him. I’m sure after the next line comes back, you’ll be able to go get some rest.”

    Major James paused then added, “And thanks.”

    “No problem, sir,” I called back, and then, keys in hand, I headed to the van.

    I dropped part of the crew off at the new quarters, and then dropped everyone but Charlotte off at their quarters. Charlotte was in the main billeting building; so after she gave me directions, I headed off.

    “Sorry,” she said again when I dropped her off.

    “Hey, it’s not your fault,” I replied, then sped off.

    As directed, I checked in with the duty officer first thing. He gave me a list of names: people I needed to alert for the next Go. In a few minutes, I’d have to head out; but before that, I took a moment to catch my breath. My head was still spinning from the flight, and the adrenaline pump I’d felt during the flight was completely gone.