Force of Eagles (56 page)

“Sir, that’s great.”

“No, it’s not great. According to Air Force regulations the back-seater is usually given equal credit for those kills.” The colonel’s face was turning beet red. “It’s unofficial, but that means…I have on my base…under my command…the only staff sergeant ace in the entire goddamn
world
.” He flopped back into his chair, driving it against the back wall.

“But, sir, I didn’t do nothin’. Hell, I was knocked out—”

“Locke claims different.”

“There’s something else…” The colonel stood back up, leaned across his desk and shoved the canvas bag toward the sergeant. “This is your scrounge. I ought to court-martial you…”

“Sir, that ain’t mine. I left it behind at—”

“Byers, the Air Force Chief of Staff, one General Lawrence Get-the-hell-out-of-here-by-sundown Cunningham, says it
is
. My chief of supply says there are over twenty thousand dollars worth of parts…” The colonel fought for control. “Take it and get the hell out of here.” Byers grabbed the bag, saluted, and spun around.

The colonel’s voice stopped him. “Sergeant Byers, General Cunningham sends his thanks. Also…there’s a letter and a medal in the mail.”

*

The Pentagon

“Congratulations on your third star,” Cunningham said, scarcely able to maintain his civility. He motioned for his aide to leave and close his office door.

Simon Mado decided to play gracious and not push the general. Anyone could
feel
the hostility below Cunningham’s surface, ready to break out. “Thank you, sir, it was totally unexpected…”

Cunningham chomped his cigar, bit the end off without intending to. He decided to indulge himself. Just a little. “Yes, it was, you pigfucker.” His voice was nicely calm.

“Sir?”

“How about shit…you got promoted because the President and a clutch of generals thought you did a great job in Iran. Everything I’ve seen tells me you were the highest-paid radio operator in the Air Force. I had a major in the command center doing the same thing you were doing. You
look
like a hero because a gutsy AC-130 crew wasn’t afraid to press the real fight, Thunder Bryant never blew his cool, and Rupe Stansell was able to function as the task force commander—which was your job. You bought your promotion on their backs.” Cunningham leaned across his desk. “Why don’t you think about retiring, General?”

Mado squelched a slight smile building across his mouth. Time for you to get the message, you old bastard…“I don’t think that’s necessary at this time.”

It wasn’t over. Cunningham pointed at the door. “You’re going to need a hell of a lot of help to survive in my Air Force,” he promised.

Mado saluted deadpan and left.

Outside, Mado allowed a smile at Cunningham’s aide, even whistled a tuneless song as he went back to his office. The old S.O.B. is right about one thing, he thought. I am going to need help.

He went off to place calls to his divorce lawyer, and then to Barbara Lyon.

*

Fort Benning, Georgia

The two buck sergeants marched into the command sergeant major’s office and reported in. The sergeant major kept them standing at attention. “Lieutenant Jamison tells me you two were fighting at the Service Club last night after the awards parade.” The CSM’s voice was quiet. “He’s asked me to handle it. Why the fight?”

“Sergeant Major,” Wade answered, “there were four pukes out of the First Battalion telling everyone how rough it was at Grenada—”

“It was,” Kamigami interrupted. “I was there.”

“We know that,” Baulck said, “but those four assholes were still in junior high school when Grenada went down…”

“You two only fight when I tell you to,” Kamigami said, ending the discussion. “Be here at 0500 tomorrow morning. We’re going for a little run. Dismissed.” The two men retreated out of the office. Kamigami watched them go and made a mental note to find out who won the fight. Everything would be okay if Baulck and Wade had cleaned up on the other four…

*

Cleveland, Ohio

The small church in the inner city slowly filled as the relatives and friends attending the memorial service found places in the wooden pews. The patina on the altar and pulpit, the well-worn pews, the carefully polished candlestick holders all reflected the loving care of the church’s congregation. Most were surprised to see the Air Force colonel sitting in the front pew next to the family. His immaculately tailored uniform could not hide the gaunt frame beneath it. His was the only white face in the church.

When the time for the eulogy came the colonel stood up before the congregation and clasped his hands in front of him.

“I’m Colonel Clayton Leason and I was Macon Jefferson’s commander while we were in captivity at Kermanshah. You have all heard of Macon’s sacrifice and how he volunteered to pass a message to a fellow POW in an effort to save that man’s life. Macon was successful, but at the price of his own life. I’m not here to praise him, his actions have done that far better than anything I could say, but to ask for your help. When it happened I made a promise no one could hear—that I would make it right. But I don’t know how to make it right, and that’s why I’m here—to ask your help…”

*

Washington, D.C.

Susan Fisher was worried. She had not seen Allen Camm for two days, and now she had received a telephone message to meet him in the basement of the warehouse where the CIA’s isolation chamber, primary, was housed. The elevator doors opened and she stepped into the antiseptic hallway, walking briskly to primary. A technician was waiting at the door and ushered her in. She tried to mask her surprise when she saw not Camm but Burke, Camm’s boss, the head of the CIA. “Please sit down, Miss Fisher.” He was watching the TV monitor. Someone was in primary.

She almost lost control when she realized the bound figure in the darkened isolation chamber was Camm. He was lying naked on the floor, bound with wide straps, a mouthpiece taped into place. The mane of graying, carefully styled hair was unmistakably Allen Camm.

“How long has he been in?” Burke asked a technician.

“Thirty-four hours,” came the answer. “He’s tough. I don’t think you’re going to get the answers you want soon enough, Mr. Burke.”

“There are other people,” Burke said, and turned his attention to Fisher. “Well, Miss Fisher, do you care to tell us about Deep Furrow?” A glance at the screen and she started talking.

“Please, not here,” Burke said. “Another office…we have a stenographer waiting.” A technician escorted her out.

Immediately, the other technician threw the door to the isolation chamber open and turned on the lights, unstrapping the man and helping him out. He put on a robe and removed the wig he was wearing. “Don’t want to do that again,” he said.

“I appreciate your help,” Burke told the agent, “and I doubt such services will be required again.” Of course, the man would be rewarded for playing the role of Camm in the isolation chamber. Burke added that Miss Fisher realized an error had been made and that he expected Mr. Camm to be more than forthcoming upon his return. “If not, I
will
throw that son of a bitch into primary.”

*

Arlington National Cemetery, Virginia

A high loud deck scudded across the cold December sky, creating a bounded universe. For Stansell, it was a perfect domain, setting limits while holding the promise of things above, just out of sight, there for the reaching. He found the formal, predictable routine of the funeral comforting as the mourners gathered at the grave site…the flag-draped coffin, the honor guard, the ordered rows of crosses.

Dewa stood beside him as they waited for Thunder’s family to take their seats by the grave, aware that the man beside her had changed and would never be the same again. He radiated a quiet confidence, a sense of sureness about who and what he was that reached out to her. She searched the crowd, looking for familiar faces and was not surprised to see General Cunningham walking toward them. The general stood beside Stansell, another one of the many who had come to pay their last respects to James “Thunder” Bryant.

“He did good,” Cunningham said.

“They all did good, sir.”

The general turned to face him. “And you.” The look on Stansell’s face told Cunningham that the colonel had not accepted or realized the truth yet. “You proved an old belief of mine. With good leadership, training and for the right reasons, every one of them”—he swept the crowd with a broad gesture—“is an eagle. Task Force Alpha was a force of eagles. You made them that way.” He waited for it to sink in. “Come see me tomorrow. I’ve got work for you.” He fell silent as the interment started.

As the flag was being folded, the smoke trails marking the approach of four F-4 Phantoms from the west etched the sky. “Thunder loved that old jet,” Stansell whispered. As they approached in finger-tip formation, number three pulled up and away, leaving the others to continue in a missing-man formation, a final tribute to their fallen comrade. The lone Phantom climbed into the sky. “Jack,” was all Stansell said as the warbird disappeared through the clouds.

And then it was over and the mourners broke apart, going their separate ways. Stansell walked alongside Dewa back to her car. They stopped, not touching. “Dewa…is there anything for us?”

She reached out and caressed his cheek. “I hope so, Rupe…” It was enough for now.

Two solitary figures remained by the open grave. Mary Hauser did not move, waiting for Carroll. “It’s over,” she told him.

But it was not. The memory of Doc Landis, of all the others, of what they had been through would never be over. Both understood that as they walked off together from the gravesite.

Terms

ACM: Air Combat Maneuvering. The training that leads to ACT.

ACT: Air Combat Tactics. Dogfighting.

ACTIVE, THE: Main runway in use.

AGL: Above ground level; i.e., the height of an aircraft directly above the surface over which it is flying.

AIM: The designation for a U.S. air-to-air missile, i.e., AIM-9.

AIRCRAFT COMMANDER: The pilot in conunand of an aircraft regardless of the rank of other officers on board.

AWACS: Airborne Warning And Control System. A highly modified Boeing 707 that is an airborne radar sentry.

BACKSEATER: A Weapon Systems Officer.

BANDIT: A hostile aircraft.

BDA: Bomb Damage Assessment. A post-attack evaluation of results.

BOGIE: An unidentified aircraft.

BOQ: Bachelor Officers’ Quarters.

BTR-60: An eight-wheeled, Soviet-built armored personnel carrier. Can carry 14 to 16 troops. There are special versions for commanders and communications.

CAP: Combat Air Patrol. A protective umbrella of fighters.

DCI: Director of Central Intelligence. The head of all intelligence agencies in the U.S. government and the head of the CIA.

D-DAY: In military planning the day an operation or hostilities starts.

DIA: Defense Intelligence Agency. Coordinates intelligence for the Department of Defense.

DRAGON: A man-portable, shoulder-fired, medium range anti-tank rocket.

EMIS LIMIT: Emission Limit. A switch in the F-15E that turns off electronic emissions such as the radar that hostile defenses could detect.

FLOGGER: NATO code name for the swing-wing, Soviet-built Mikoyan MiG-23 fighter.

FORT FUMBLE: A polite name for the Pentagon.

FOX ONE: Brevity code for a radar guided air-to-air missile.

FOX TWO: Brevity code for an infrared guided air-to-air missile.

GATE: Brevity code meaning fly at maximum possible speed.

GBU: Guided Bomb Unit, i.e., a “smart bomb.” A GBU-12 is a five hundred pound laser guided smart bomb, a GBU-15 is a two thousand pound smart bomb with a laser/TV/imaging IR seeker head.

GCI: Ground-Controlled Intercept. The interception of another aircraft that is controlled by a ground or airborne radar station.

H-HOUR: The specific hour on which an operation or hostilities starts.

HUD: Head Up Display. A transparent glass screen in front of the pilot that displays tactical and flight information. Consequently, the pilot does not need to look down into his cockpit.

IFF: Identification-Friend or Foe. A radar transponder used for aircraft identification by ground-based radars.

INS: Inertial Navigation System.

IO: Illuminator Operator. Crewmember aboard an AC-130 gunship who controls the searchlight system in the aft cargo section of the airplane. He is also responsible for maintaining a visual lookout behind the aircraft for SAMs and Triple A.

IP: Initial Point. A small, easily identifiable, easily found point on the ground close to a target. It serves as the last check point and points the way to the target.

IR: Infrared.

JFS: Jet Fuel Starter. A self-contained, nonelectrical unit for starting a jet engine independently of outside power sources.

JINK: Continuous random changes in altitude and heading to defeat tracking by an enemy.

JSOA: Joint Special Operations Agency. The multi-service organization responsible for managing the elite units of the U.S. armed forces that carry out special operations.

JUDY: Brevity code for the aircrew taking over an air-to-air intercept from a GCI controller.

LANTIRN: Low Altitude Navigation and Targeting InfraRed for Night. This system uses two pods that contain a forward looking infrared sensor, terrain following radar, a missile boresight correlator, and a laser designator.

LAW: Light Antitank Weapon. A shoulder-fired, tube launched rocket with a shaped charged warhead. Good against light armor and vehicles. M-203: A single-shot 40mm grenade launcher attached to an assault rifle.

MARK-82: Designation for five hundred pound bombs.

MAVERICK: An electro-optical guided, aircraft launched, and-tank rocket with a shaped charged warhead. Extremely effective against tanks.