Imminent Threat (2 page)

    Happy, six-pack in hand, stepped outside and casually ambled to the picnic table. Where was Bobby with that case? I can’t stay awake much longer. “That bravo looks great, Happy! I’d die for one right about now,” I said.

    Happy turned around and held the six-pack out.

    “You shitting me?” I asked.

    “No, take one.”

    I accepted, no questions asked. “You got an opener?”

    “Nope.”

    I looked at the beer in my hand, “Where’s the opener?”

    Happy slapped me on the back, “You’ve been in Germany too long, my friend. It’s a twist top.”

    “Twist top. Imagine that!” I twisted the top and was raising the beer to my lips when the crew van pulled up.

    The duty driver called out my name and waved me over. I wondered whether if I pretended not to notice him, I’d be able to finish my beer. Deciding I wouldn’t, I took one long sip before handing the beer back to Happy, who just sort of looked at me.

    “Shit, I would’ve finished the bravo,” he whispered after me. Good old Happy.

    “What’s up?” I asked the duty driver.

    “You need to head down to ops ASAP!”

    The duty driver put the van in reverse. “Hey, wait a minute. You going to give me a ride? Do I need my gear? Is something wrong?”

    It became painfully obvious that either the duty driver didn’t know or he didn’t want to be the one to deliver bad news, so I hopped into the passenger seat without my gear.

    We arrived to find a bustling ops center. One crew was leaving, another just coming in. I saw at once that the big board had changed. My name was now listed with a different crew, a crew that had an early morning alert. I tried to find out why the switch had been made. I asked the duty officer, but he didn’t know or wasn’t saying. I was certain I’d have to wait until pre-brief to discover exactly why the names had been swapped around.

Alert came all too early. It seemed my head had just touched my sleeping bag when I was awakened by a light shining in my eyes.

    Some hours later I found myself in intel. Thankfully, the briefing was short, yet I couldn’t help noticing that our orbit box was slowly pushing forward. We were scraping the edge of Iraq’s northern border now, a grim thought with the AAA and SAM units pushing into that mountainous region. Mounted on top of any of those hills, heavy caliber anti-aircraft artillery and any surface-air missile could cause our great fears to be realized.

    As we waited for a pre-brief from the pilot and the mission controller, we read through the various intelligence read files. When the pilot’s briefing finally came, it was short and oddly energetic.

    Tennessee Jim was my new mission crew commander. When he got up in front of the big map, his mouth full of chew and an almost filled spit cup in hand, I nearly broke into laughter. Spit dribbled down his chin as he spoke and described the myriad of scribbles spread across the map. To be honest, I never liked the guy; somehow, I’d always thought he’d be better off on that farm of his in Tennessee. He wasn’t Captain Willie, but then again he wasn’t anal retentive like some of the other MCCs I could’ve ended up with. I’d also find out real quick why the crews had been changed.

    “Today, we’ll be supporting the biggest package to date,” Tennessee Jim said, spitting into his cup as he spoke, adding after a momentary pause, “we’re stepping up the heat in that oven so to speak. Our mission remains the same: Command Communications and Control Counter Measures—C3CM. We’ll jam until we just can’t jam no more.”

    He went on and on in that Tennessee drawl of his, describing the missions of the Wild Weasels and the Ravens, the Screaming Eagles and the Fighting Falcons. When he finished, his spit cup was running over and dripping onto the floor. He seemed to notice it just then and he dumped it into a nearby trashcan. The wad of chew in his mouth followed the cup an instant later.

    I quickly found out that when he flew, he was all professional. It was only afterward that I could have transplanted him to that farm of his in Tennessee where he would have been perfectly in character.

    This new crew was a strange mix. The mission crew was three females and five males—Tammy, Ziggy, Sparrow, Chris, Mike, Popcorn, Tennessee Jim, and me. The front-end all males—Sammy, Bill, Ice, Crow, and Patrick.

    With the exception of poor Ziggy who Happy would replace, this would be the crew I’d fly with for almost all of my remaining flights. They were one strange bunch. I fit in just fine.

    Today was Ziggy’s first flight. She was visibly trembling as she climbed into the seat on position three. She’d been working as a daytime duty driver since arrival. Chris was the mission crew supervisor and an old friend. My opinion of Tennessee Jim had wavered somewhat. Still, I wasn’t sure if I’d like flying with him. I guessed I’d have to wait and see.

    “Lock ‘em and load ‘em,” called out Tennessee Jim, just after preflight checks. He was referring to our .38s. I loaded mine: one, two, three, four, five, six rounds, lickety-split.

    Ziggy on Three dropped all six rounds onto the deck, not once but twice. “Just put the damn thing away,” Tennessee Jim advised over Private A, which was a good suggestion.

    Crow, the AMT, screamed out, “Righteous!” onto ship’s Interphone, followed by, “Ready to rock and roll back here.”

    “Let’s get this damn thing up in the air,” Jim’s voice hissed into my headset immediately afterward.

    Bill, the Nav, responded with, “How many newbies you got back there?”

    “Three, I’d imagine.”

    “That’s three cases the way I see it,” called out the pilot.

    “Crew, MCC, you heard the pilot, bravos in my quarters after the flight. And you newbies know who you are.”

    It was right about then that I realized why the crew van had left the PME with only two people in it, the driver and me. This was the crew that was set up in billeting. They had been keeping a very low profile since then. I’d be glad on tomorrow’s flight when Happy signed on; at least the two of us would be leaving the PME together.

    “Crew, Before Engine Starting Checklist,” tweaked the pilot’s voice into my headset; and for a time, it was back to business.

    I listened to the checks, to the engines start one by one, and before I knew it, I heard the pilot’s voice advising, “Crew, we’re rollin’.”

    I started thinking about the Weasels, the Eagles, the Falcons, and all the other players we’d be supporting today. Today’s targets were especially important. We weren’t turning up the heat in that oven for nothing.

    I would have given anything to be in the back spotting when the packages came through although during the daylight you really couldn’t see much. The night was when the real light show began.

    I wasn’t feeling too keen. My sinuses were congested. I couldn’t get my ears to clear and the slow build-up of pain from changing pressures dulled my senses. The system wasn’t operational yet, and as I glanced at my watch I knew we were getting close to the combat zone. I started to worry.

    The Nav helped to confirm my fears a few minutes later. “MCC, Nav, fifteen minutes till we hit the zone. How’s the system look back there?”

    “Nav, MCC, it looks like the AMT is having some difficulties, but he hasn’t said anything yet.”

    Crow looked up from his position. He was clearly flustered. “MCC, AMT, this system is FUBBed. You wouldn’t believe all the gremlins I’ve found!” FUBBed meant fucked up beyond belief. “I’m going to have to take the system all the way down and back up again.”

    “Pull your dick out, AMT! We’re fifteen minutes to orbit. You got ten minutes!” admonished Tennessee Jim.

    Crow began to race around, powering down the system components.

    “Damn it all to hell,” muttered Jim as he tweaked Private. “MCS, MCC, get Phantom on the horn now! Have them give us everything they got. Get that list and pass the damn thing out.”

    Chris began his radio call to our buddies on Phantom. I was sitting Six. After tapping him on the shoulder and pointing, I got pen and paper ready to back him up.

    “Crew, MCC, don’t dick around when the system comes up, if it comes up. Get logged in and get ready to enter the list the MCS passes to you. Call them complete as soon as you’re finished. I’m not going to acknowledge the damn thing, so press on afterward.”

    We gave a quick thumbs up acknowledgment.

    Phantom was responding to our call now. I readied my pen, started writing down the list.

    “MCC, AMT, this thing is still FUBBed I’m going to have to take it down again. There’s no way I can do it in time.”

    “Four, MCC, unplug and help the AMT power back down. The rest of you get that damn list ready.”

    Popcorn unplugged from his position and raced back to the AMT’s position. I was worried now. We were supposed to be supporting the largest package to date and we couldn’t even get our system up. If we didn’t get Iraqi ground and air communication systems jammed by the time the packages began to ingress, there were going to be losses. Today they might not be only Iraqi.

    The pilot and MCC were faced with a dilemma. Worst-case scenario would be to call an abort for the majority of the inbound missions. In any situation we had to forewarn Gypsy of our problem. The package did have Ravens and Weasels, but they jammed radars.

    “MCC, AMT, I’m going to pull the controller and replace it.”

    “Do it. How long’s it going to take?”

    “At least five minutes.” I heard the AMT breathing into his mike. He’d gone up on Flight Crew Hot so he didn’t have to push the button anymore to tweak.

    “You got three. Get on it.”

    After confirming the list, I tore my piece of paper into four parts and handed them out. The MCS gave me the thumbs up. He was busy on radios with other things.

    “MCC, Nav, we’re seven minutes to orbit. How’s it looking back there?”

    “AMT, MCC, you got that in yet?”

    “Almost, give me a minute,” hissed the AMT into his headset. He was breathing heavier as he ran back to his position. He looked on, waiting for the thumbs up from Popcorn. Popcorn was ferociously tightening the bolts on the controller box.

    “System’s coming back up,” Crow advised, “let’s see how it goes this time.”

    “MCC, Pilot, we’re three minutes to orbit, we going to abort this thing or not? I got to tell Gypsy.”

    “AMT?” hissed the MCC. I didn’t realize until then that the MCC had gone Hot also.

    “MCC, Pilot?”

    “MCC, Pilot, hold one.”

    We waited at the ready. If the system came up, positions One through Four would start entering Phantom’s list. Mike and I sitting Seven and Six would start searching for other signals. The MCC and MCS would do everything they could to ensure that all the tracked signals were jammed as appropriate before the package ingressed.

    With only minutes to spare, it’d be a minor miracle if we could pull it off. I crossed my fingers. I think a lot of us were praying. Praying seemed to be something you did much more in combat than any other time. Looking back, I can see how strange it was to pray to God above for such things. In that moment it didn’t seem strange at all though.

    “MCC, Pilot, it’s now or never.”

    “AMT?” hissed the MCC.

    “She’s coming up! Prepare to log in, in five—four—”

    “Pilot, MCC, that’s a negative on that abort. We’re going to be green in a moment.”

    “Shit,” Crow hissed. “MCC, AMT, that didn’t do it. We’re going to have to try again.”

    “Stick a cork in it, AMT. Do whatever you got to do. You got two minutes.”

    “Hold on to that green light, Pilot. We’re still tits up.”

    Crow was pointing at a box strapped down in the equipment storage area while he started winding out screws. Popcorn scrambled over to get it.

    “What’s the word back there, MCC? MCC? We got a green light or not? MCC?”

    I looked left past Mike on Seven and saw Tennessee Jim staring at his blackened screen. He was up Hot, so he didn’t have to push a button to respond; all he had to do was talk. It was fairly clear from the expression on his face that he wasn’t responding just because he was stubborn.

    “We’re on orbit,” called out the Nav. “Five minutes till first wave ingress.” Bill had spoken up to calm Captain Sammy. Yes, we were on orbit, but we still had five precious minutes till package ingress began. The question was, was that enough time to get the system up and rolling?

    Crow sighed and slumped down into his seat. Popcorn raced back to position 4. “Cross your fingers!” tweaked Crow.

    A moment later I heard Crow sigh again. “MCC, she’s coming up.”

    We waited spellbound, fingers at our keyboards, ready to go as soon as we were cleared in.

    “MCC, AMT, clear to log in!”

    “You got that, Nav, the dick dance is over. We’re coming online in three mike!”

    “Crew, checking out the system. She looks good. Cleared in.”

    “MCS, Six, there’s no spotter back there,” I cautioned.

    “Two, MCC, clear to the rear.”

    “Roger, MCC,” responded Sparrow.

    “Seven, MCC, I want you to be our data signal coordinator. Six, MCC, you’re our voice signal coordinator. Your expertise will help you confirm signals faster. Crew, you got that?”

    We gave a crew thumbs up.

    “I’ll take your list,” Chris said over Private B. Sparrow gave it to him, and then raced to the rear. The seconds began to tick away as we worked on our assigned lists.

    “MCC, Six, checks complete.” I looked over to the MCS to see how he was progressing on Sparrow’s list while working radios. He was coordinating with Gypsy, so I pointed and took the first list from him.

    Mike called in next. “MCC, Seven, checks complete.”

    “MCC, Four, complete,” called out Popcorn.

    “MCC, Nav, is there a spotter in the window?”