True Valor (26 page)

She turned to safety. She reminded pilots of the facts they had to live by—bingo fuel levels, minimum distances between planes, the code words for task saturation and vertigo. Both conditions could threaten the safety of a formation flight, and by using the code words it was possible to alert other pilots to what was going on even though it meant acute embarrassment to admit you were flying below par. The best pilots were honest early; the nuggets sometimes got in real trouble before they spoke up.

She went into detail on the emergency divert fields, search-and-rescue codes, emergency procedures over water and land, and location of tankers and order of refueling. She discussed geography and weather, clicking on a tape to show the latest weather radar clips for the flight area.

“No shooting at friendlies.” She tugged down a poster of a MiG. “This one is not friendly.”

Peter smiled. She’d borrowed it from Intel to make her point. There were enemies close by during this flight, and if flying at Mach 1 directly toward them, twenty miles of distance could blink by in a minute.

Satisfied her point had been made, she nevertheless spent two minutes on the flight characteristics of the MiG—how fast it could fly, turn, climb, the type of weapons it could be configured to carry. She went on to talk about known SAM batteries and AAA sites in the areas of the flight profile.

The pilots listened carefully and took notes. They were depending on her to give the details necessary to successfully accomplish the mission and to get home alive afterward. There was nothing casual about a mission briefing.

“We trap back on the carrier beginning at 1650. Remember to watch the crosswinds, fly the meatball, and grab the third wire. I’m open to questions.” There were few. “We’re concluded.”

“Good brief, Gracie.”

“Thanks, Thunder.”

In thirty-five minutes she would be on the flight deck settling into her Hornet, prepared to lead the mission she had just briefed. And tonight, ten minutes after the last plane landed back aboard the carrier, she would be leading the debrief of the mission. Every deviation from the mission briefing would be discussed in detail. Pilots learned early to check their ego and pride at the door. Debriefings were unanimously more difficult than briefings.

Her objective was simple: survive today, and tomorrow she would get a chance to do it all again.

TURKEY

Grace ~

Mail hasn’t arrived yet, so I’m sure I’m at least a few letters behind. Dasher set down the helicopter in a parking lot of what used to be a school. The roof collapsed, the walls— At least school was not in session at the time. It’s 1300 and it’s already been a very long day. Rebels planted land mines on one of the roads through the mountains. A UN vehicle ran over one. One dead, three injured. We handled the evacuation.

We’re now sitting in the parking lot waiting for word that our assigned tanker is overhead. We’ve been midair refueling the chopper ever since we came in-country. It’s an interesting way to handle getting around. When gas will arrive is not always predictable; I’ve learned to seize these quiet moments.

I’ve been watching the flights overhead. Honey, if those formations are your squadrons, you’ve been having long days too. Before we all go different directions for the day, we’ve been getting an 0500 gaggle briefing for the hundred of us based at Incirlik so that any one of us can respond should trouble be reported. It’s not a great solution to the lack of manpower, but so far it’s been workable. Yesterday we flew over the location where we were stationed last year. The plateau has a gash through it where the land tore open. Despite what I’ve seen around here, I was still surprised to see it.

I miss you, Grace.

“The tanker is inbound,” Rich called.

Bruce folded the letter in progress and slid it into his flight suit pocket.

OPERATION NORTHERN WATCH

I
RAQ
/T
URKEY
B
ORDER

The land below looked so quiet and peaceful. Grace checked the pilots in formation with her and then descended to twelve thousand feet. A smooth mission. The stress of the day had faded as she settled into the mental zone of peak performance. She had done a good job anticipating the details. She was ahead of the flight mentally, anticipating steps rather than having to fight a sensation of being rushed and having to keep up. She began taking pictures of the Tigris.

Below her, dark red swirls of sand burst up in eddies. When the summer winds blew at their maximum and became sand-bearing winds, the sky would turn red under the onslaught. She’d be willing to land on the carrier at night in the rain if only it would break the drought. She saw her first Iraqi tank north of Dahuk.

Bruce ~

I wish I could talk to you on the phone, in person, if only for a moment. I saw the first sight of what I’m sure has caught everyone’s attention: Iraq moving forces north, just as Syria has done. We’re stacking coverage, EA-6B Prowler and Hornets in dual formations with F-14 Tomcats holding in race car patterns above us. Everyone goes out with a full weapons load.

There is no sense of optimism aboard ship, only a growing reality that something is going to pull us into this growing conflict. I listen with intense interest for news of the world, but no one seems to have good answers about what is happening.

We will soon start flying coverage of eastern Turkey and the mountain passes that have been rebel routes in the past. If something breaks, the skirmish line will be on the ground simultaneous with one in the air. We are ready. With God’s help, I pray being prepared to fight will be enough to continue to deter that fight.

This note is to say I love you. The pressure of events has overtaken what I hoped to be able to write, to find words to capture the depth of that emotion. The change between the last deployment where I was one of the seasoned pilots to this deployment where I am now one of the flight leads is major. It’s what I wanted, and now that I have it I find it incredibly intense. “God is my helper” has become very real to me. I’m leaning hard against Him. Overwhelmed, pressured, I am leaning hard against the verse in 2 Corinthians 12:9 that says, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” It’s become my verse. God is bigger than this burden.

I’m sleeping well. Flying better than I ever have in my career. I can feel my plane around me, if that makes sense. A year ago I had to think about flying as well as think about the mission. Now it’s only the mission. The flying has now become instinctive.

I’ve circled around the same topic several times now and it’s obvious I’m tired. I’m calling it a night.

I love you. Gracie

Grace ~

Three letters arrived today. A sweet, fragrant treasure. Please don’t worry about me or our relationship. I know you, your days, your life, and I love you too. Knowing you are busy and working hard just makes me more eager to give you that long hug when I see you next. You are my sweetheart forever.

Bruce

Ephesians 1:17, my new favorite verse for you.

I do not cease to give thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers,
that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of him,
having the eyes of your hearts enlightened, that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power in us who believe, according to the working of his great might which he accomplished in Christ when he raised him from the dead and made him sit at his right hand in the heavenly places. Ephesians 1:16–20

Twenty-Nine

* * *

APRIL 4

B
IRECIK
D
AM
, T
URKEY

Diving in a rock dam—Bruce looked down at the water and wished he were somewhere else. Birecik Dam was the fourth largest gravel dam in the world, a huge curving pile of rocks that had taken six years to construct. It stopped the mighty Euphrates. Water behind the dam stretched for miles. It had taken five minutes of walking just to climb up to the observation platform from within the hydroelectric power station. The dam itself had been built to withstand an 8.3 earthquake shock. And it had. The power plant, however, had not. And Turkey desperately needed the power back on.

NATO, the U.S. Corps of Engineers, the Army Third Division—anyone with expertise had been brought in to help. Now the Navy SEALs and PJs were asked to lend a hand, and it was becoming obvious why. This was diving at its most dangerous.

“They are getting high sulfur readings in the water at this end of the reservoir,” the Army engineer said.

Sulfur. As in magma gas? Earthquakes shattered slabs of rock underground, breaking up rock formations that trapped oil and natural gas and water in large naturally occurring underground aquifers. And when magma flowed it found those new openings to the surface. “You think the earthquake opened a fissure?”

“It’s possible,” the engineer replied. “We’ve found few other explanations for the water readings. We can do a lot with water samples, but we can’t determine how big the problem is or how to stop it without someone finding the source of that sulfur.”

“And if you don’t solve it before you get water flowing again, you risk concentrations in the Euphrates sufficient to kill fish and make the water unfit to drink.”

“Not to mention damaging the hydroelectric generation equipment we are working to bring back online. Can you handle the dive?”

“We can do the dive.” It made sense now, why the PJs had been asked in addition to the SEALs. The SEALs did more combat diving, but the PJs trained to stand watch during shuttle flights. One of the worst-case scenarios was a shuttle encountering trouble just as it cleared the tower and having it come down in the shallow water right off the Cape Canaveral launch site. The PJs trained to work around hazardous fuels, to get into a partially submerged shuttle and get the astronauts out. “We’re going to need specialized equipment flown over.” Among other unique items, they had acid-proof, vulcanized rubber dry suits.

Bruce had no idea what was down in the water. If they had sulfur, he was willing to bet they had even more nasty things at the source of the contamination. “We need to see the last sonar soundings taken of the lake bed and a full briefing on what has been observed at the dam since the earthquake hit.”

“We’re trying to come online in the next couple weeks.”

“We can get equipment here by day after tomorrow.”

USS
GEORGE WASHINGTON
(CVN 73)

M
EDITERRANEAN
S
EA OFF THE
C
OAST OF
T
URKEY

“Did you see this latest out of Intel?” Peter asked, coming into the squadron ready room carrying a large photo.

“Something on tonight’s mission?” Grace closed the four-inch-thick flight manual for the F-14 Tomcat. To eventually lead a landing signal officer team, she had to know the flight characteristics of every plane in the air wing. Helping a pilot in trouble during twenty seconds of a landing meant she had better be instinctive and dead-on in her answers.

Peter laid down a LANDSAT satellite image of Lake al-Assad in Syria. From the high altitude, the lake looked like a lizard with a long tail and a big head with its tongue stuck out. She’d seen it last night during the regional security briefing given to all the flight squadrons. The lake had shrunk compared to the six-month-ago photo; the drought was now obvious even from the satellite shots.

“And this?” Peter set down a newspaper; the photo looked to be taken from the observation platform at the massive dam.

The water was filled with floating dead fish.

She checked the newspaper source to see if it was a smuggled photo printed in one of the opposition newspapers. She stilled. Syria had let this run in the official newspaper on the front page. They were conveying information but also making a political statement to the region. “Maybe a runoff problem from the Euphrates?”

“Something in Turkey is flowing downstream. I don’t like it. You’re talking about the primary water supply for a third of Syria. If it becomes contaminated—”

“An earthquake, now this. The ecology disasters are growing,” Grace said.

“I wouldn’t be surprised to find they are related.”

“There have been rumors of buried biological weapons within Syria.”

Peter nodded. “An underground contamination; something is killing the fish—it’s going to be an interesting day flying.”

They were flying today over eastern Turkey and the mountain passages, down into Iraq, and then patrolling the Syrian border on the flight back. A complex flight trying to cover many objectives. “Agreed. Any changes?” Peter was leading the flight today, had briefed it an hour ago.