FIRE ON HIGH
“Fire On High” is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. All characters and settings copyright Tigermark 2003 unless otherwise noted. Request permission before using them, please.
Chapter 2
“Oh I have slipped the surly bonds..”
"High Flight"
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.
John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
Courtesy USAF Museum ( To read John Magee’s brief biography, go Here .)
Jason held his silence the next morning as he rode out to the flightline in the truck with Lt. Col. Mastifson. The rotwieller was rambling on about what a great honor and/or opportunity this was for Jason.
“You know, Captain O’Whitt, that if I’m impressed with your flying today I could see fit to use my connections to insure you get a command of your own. No easy task since you’re not Academy,”
Jason just nodded, his mind already on the flight. They would be taking a fairly direct route, Nellis to Tinker AFB (Air Force Base), OK to Campbell AAF (Army Air Field), KY to Shaw. Jason’s two biggest concerns, other than resisting the temptation to put his paws over his ears as his CO droned on, were fueling and weather. Fueling, because it was Sunday and many bases only had a weekend skeleton crew on duty, and weather because of scattered spring thunderstorms forecast from Kentucky to the South Carolina border ahead of a cold front.
They finally arrived at their aircraft, the last two on the transient ramp. The rest of the 78th FS fighters had already departed. They would go last, as they had the most direct route. Their crew chiefs would fly back on a C-141, leaving about 30 minutes behind Lt. Col. Mastifson and Jason. Flying non-stop, the crew chiefs should arrive at Shaw about an hour before the first of the 78th’s F-16s. They would then help park the aircraft, assist the pilots with shutdown and deplaning, and start on any immediate maintenance needs. All were hoping for an early day of it, but with Lt. Col. Mastifson, you could never tell.
Jason winked at Sgt. Gustafson as he approached his aircraft to start his preflight. The canid snapped to attention and saluted as Lt. Col. Mastifson walked past, then winked back at Jason. The rotwieller all but ignored his crew chief as he approached his aircraft and began his preflight in the glow of the ramp lights.
“All ready to go?” Jason Asked.
“A-1 top condition, Cap’n,” Sgt. Gustafson replied, “Now go fly his wings off!”
“Nothing doing, Josef,” Jason said, shaking his head, his tail twitching slightly, “I just want a nice, easy, quick flight home with no problems. I’m going on leave as soon as I can get debriefed and out of the building at Shaw.”
The Sgt. gave a cockeyed smile and said, “Whatevah yas say, sir.”
Jason smiled back and went on with his preflight, checking control surfaces, hydraulic and electrical connections, pulling gear safety pins and pitot covers. Soon, checks completed, Jason mounted the boarding ladder and climbed into the cockpit. He eased himself into the reclining seat, designed to help its pilot withstand higher G loads, and made sure his tail was in its cradle correctly. Sgt. Gustafson climbed up and helped him strap in and connect his G-suit, O2 and comm lines. With a light tap on his helmet, the NCO let Jason know he was ready to go. The wermerainer then clambered back down the ladder and removed it to its place beside the big red CO2 fire extinguisher off Jason’s port wing. He quickly donned an intercom headset and ran to plug it into the jack just behind the engine inlet. He then walked to the front of the jet to assist Jason with the engine start and control checks.
Jason heard Lt. Col. Mastifson call in for engine start, and when clearance was received, he told his crew chief, “Let’s go, Josef”
The canid gave him the all clear to start signal, and Jason initiated the starting sequence. The engine rumbled to life and spooled up to speed quickly, and Jason and his crew chief went through the aileron, rudder, and elevator checks. The side stick, fly-by-wire system in the F-16 made it feel like a video game.
Now ready to go, Jason awaited the word from his flight lead to pull the wheel chocks. Lt. Col. Mastifson was slow giving the call, and Jason watched their ETD (Estimated Time of Departure) pass without comment. The Eastern sky was now aglow with pre-dawn light. Two minutes later, the call came over the radio in the Lt. Col.’s overdramatic Boston accent.
“Pull chocks. Clearance to taxi received.”
Jason told Sgt. Gustafson over the intercom, “Finally, Josef, Pull chocks”
The wermerainer ran quickly, tail wagging, and removed the wheel chocks and disconnected the intercom line. He ran to the side and placed those items by the boarding ladder, and then moved to the port front side of the aircraft. He raised a professional salute, which Jason returned. Holding the brakes on, Jason awaited movement from his CO’s aircraft.
A few seconds later, grumbling over the ship-to-ship frequency about being late, Lt. Col. Mastifson began to taxi out of his parking spot. Jason followed carefully behind and to the starboard side of his commander’s aircraft. Together they taxied out and eventually stopped short of Runway 3R to await takeoff clearance. Jason heard the tower clear them, and followed Lt. Col. Mastifson’s F-16 out onto the runway.
Lining up, the rotwieller called out, “Full Afterburner, hold for my signal.”
The two jets went to full afterburner, the brakes Jason now almost stood upon barely holding the aircraft still as the nose pitched down onto the gear.
A second later the Lt. Col, radioed, “Release brakes, here we go.”
Jason released the brakes and immediately began to work the rudder and throttle to maintain his position beside his flight lead. A short roll down the runway, since it was still just before dawn and the normal heat at Nellis hadn’t kicked in yet, and the two aircraft lifted off, tucked up landing gear, and pulled back into a steep climb.
Working to keep formation as they turned eastward toward the mountains, Jason was locked onto his commander’s starboard wing as though bolted onto it.
“Finally,” he thought, “It feels good to be heading home.”
# # #
Alex awoke to the blare of the alarm clock. Instantly awake, he rolled from the bed and slapped a paw down on the incessant buzz. He had not slept well, and a vague feeling of unease still crept around the back of his consciousness. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs, and then headed to the bathroom for his morning visit and a quick shower. It was one of those mornings when he felt every year of his age.
After the water had warmed him and he’d given his fur a good scrub, Alex felt better. Shrugging off his earlier feelings as just pre-mission jitters, he toweled himself dry and quickly donned boxers, t-shirt, and his fresh flight suit. Clean socks and his flight boots completed his attire for the day. Alex grabbed his flight cap, threw on his A2, grabbed his keys from the tray on the desk and headed out.
Taking the government car, Alex drove by the all-night chow hall for a quick breakfast to go. He didn’t overfill his stomach in anticipation of pulling high G’s in the mission later in the morning. He then stopped by his office to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. From there it was down the hall to the squadron briefing room to meet his CO and get ready to start the day.
Alex walked up and knocked on the door to the small “Prep room” where the briefers gathered before a mission brief. Hearing a voice say, “Come,” he opened the door and entered.
Colonel Higgins was the only fur there, and as Alex walked up to him, he put his paws over his eyes and said, “Wow! Too much glare off those silver leaves for this early in the morning!”
“Ha ha, very funny. Just remember, you ordered me to have ‘em on for today, so it’s your own fault,” Alex teased back, his tail flicking back and forth.
Col. Higgins gave Alex a smirk, then smiled and said, “How are you this morning, Ice? Rested and ready?”
“Ready, but not that well rested. Had odd dreams,” Alex replied. He and Scatcat Higgins shared a bond of friendship and trust. He knew better than to not level with his CO.
“You OK to fly?” Scatcat asked, a touch of concern in his voice.
“Sure, no problem. I’ve had a cup of coffee and a little breakfast, so I’m rarin’ to go!” Alex relied confidently.
Colonel Higgins looked him over carefully. His eyes were bright and his manner sure. Finding no cause to doubt Alex’s condition or readiness, Col. Higgins let the matter drop.
“As soon as the Intel and Weather furs get here, we’ll brief and go,” Col. Higgins said, switching to all business mode.
“Yes, sir,” Alex replied, letting the Colonel know he had switched modes as well. Shortly, a knock came on the door and Col. Higgins called out, “Come.” The door opened and two enlisted furs entered. A TSgt. skunk with the badge of a senior meteorologist, and a brown and white rabbit doe SSgt. walked up to Col. Higgins and Alex.
Both enlisted furs came to attention and saluted, the skunk saying, “TSgt. Riggs from base weather and SSgt. Weatherbee from Intel reporting, sir.”
Col. Higgins returned the salute and said, “Relax, we’ll go brief in a minute. Are you two ready? Got your slides set to go?”
“Yes sir, we’re ready,” SSgt. Weatherbee replied. Alex noted that this briefer would have no problem keeping the pilot’s attention. Now if they only listened to what she said, as well.
“Good,” the Lion-in-Charge said, “Lt. Col. O’Whitt, lead the way.”
“Yes sir, here we go,” Alex replied. He then led the way out the prep room door and into the main briefing room.
The briefing room looked like a classroom at the front, with a chalkboard and projection screen. Where a teacher’s desk would have been stood a podium for the briefer. From just past there to the back of the room were rows of fold-down seats with little metal ashtrays on the seatbacks. In the back of the room was a small area with no seats holding an overhead projector and slide and movie projectors. The logistics officer had already placed a transparency of the unit’s emblem, an eagle rampant on a blue background, up on the screen.
As Alex entered the room, he noted the other ten pilots of the 32nd FS were already seated in the front rows. A liaison rep from the F-16 attack squadron they would be escorting was also there. Before his second step into the room, Alex’s clear baritone called out.
“Room, Ten-HUT!”
The pilots all snapped to attention as their CO entered behind Alex, followed by the enlisted furs.
“Seats, Gentlefurs,” Col. Higgins said as he reached the podium. Alex took the slides from the two briefers and headed toward the back to the overhead.
The Colonel began the briefing by saying, “OK Eagles, ready to fly and fight. . .”
# # #
Jason was glued to Lt. Col. Mastifson’s starboard wing as they climbed out of Tinker AFB, OK enroute to Campbell AAF on the Kentucky/Tennessee border. The morning sun in their faces was beginning to fade in high clouds to the east, and the cumulus clouds in their immediate area were showing signs of developing into thunderstorms as the day progressed.
“Good show so far, Stalker,” came across the radio, Mastifson using Jason’s personal call sign in his overly formal tone.
“Thank you, sir,” Jason replied absently. He was having to work hard to keep formation with the other F-16, because Lt. Col. Mastifson didn’t always hold the steadiest course, and he rarely took into account that Jason was there in his turns. Jason had been more than ready to press on from Tinker. The weather fur there had told them that isolated thunderstorm activity was already popping up in Northern Kentucky. Jason wanted to get in and out of Campbell before the weather station there closed for the day, as it did on weekends.
“Bushmaster One One, Fort Worth Center,” came the call over the radio, “come left to zero seven zero, cleared to FL310.”
“Fort Worth Center, Bushmaster One One, copy come left to zero seven zero, climbing to FL310,” Lt. Col. Mastifson replied. Jason’s plane might as well have been a pilotless drone set to follow Mastifson’s lead, as he shared no tasks with his wingfur. For his part, Jason kept track of the navigation fixes and radio frequencies for his own protection in case they started to wander off course. He was kept very busy flying the aircraft, as the close formation his CO demanded didn’t allow for the use of the autopilot.
As they crossed the Oklahoma/Arkansas border at 31,000 feet and a steady 500kts on the indicator, Jason glanced out ahead, taking his eyes off his flight lead for a split second. Far in the distance, he saw the distinct anvil shapes of the storms in Northern Kentucky. Eyes back on the other aircraft, Jason frowned. If they were caught on the ground at Campbell, they’d run out of crew time and have to spend the night. As much as he hated the thought of that, he knew it would be preferable to delay his leave a day than to fly through a thunderstorm.
The pair streaked across Arkansas and soon it was time for their descent towards Ft. Campbell. Memphis Center cleared them down to 18,000ft. and handed them off to Campbell approach. As Western Kentucky began to slip by beneath them, Lt. Col. Mastifson contacted Campbell Approach Control.
“Good day, Campbell Approach, Bushmaster One One is a flight of 2 F-16’s, requesting vectors for a full-stop landing and taxi to ramp. Also request refueling upon arrival.”
“Bushmaster One One, Campbell Approach, Good day, sir. We’ve been expecting you. Fuel will be waiting on you at arrival. Come right to Zero Nine Five, descend and maintain twelve thousand,” came the immediate reply from the controller at Campbell.
“Copy Campbell, coming right to Zero Nine Five, descend and maintain twelve thousand,” Lt. Col. Mastifson replied in his airy Boston accent. As he throttled back and set up for their approach, Jason wondered if the Southern voice from Campbell thought it sounded as phony as he did.
A minute later, as the Land Between the Lakes area passed below, Campbell Approach called again.
“Bushmaster One One, Campbell Approach, come right to one one zero, descend to six thousand. Be advised there is thunderstorm activity ten miles North of your current location.”
As Lt. Col. Mastifson acknowledged the instructions, Jason glanced to the north and saw a group of thunderstorm tops. He then returned his attention to his leader. They were being vectored around to come in from the north to land on Ft. Campbell’s two mile long Runway 23.
They continued their approach, and at 5 miles out Campbell Approach handed them off to Campbell Tower. Jason almost couldn’t believe his ears as his CO requested a tactical pitchout to landing. The maneuver called for them to come in over the runway at 500ft and “Peel Off” to a short right pattern and final approach. Jason’s tail thumped against its cradle, expressing the frustration he felt at this grandstanding waste of time.
Nevertheless, He followed the Lt. Col. through the maneuver, and soon Jason’s wheels chirped onto the pavement as he touched down. Behind him, the sky was growing steadily darker to the north and west.
# # #
“That’s it, Gentlefurs. I’ll meet you in the van. We’ll start preflight in 30 minutes. Remember, fly aggressive, but fly safe. Eagles Up!” Col. Higgins said as he concluded the briefing.
“Eagles Up!” came the response as the pilots of the 32nd Fighting Eagles rose to attention. They remained there until Alex and the Colonel left the room. The two enlisted furs had departed earlier after giving their presentations. Col. Higgins led the way, Alex in step beside him, as they walked out to the large panel van waiting to take the pilots to pick up their survival gear and get suited up.
“I like your idea, Ice,” Col. Higgins said as he and Alex found a seat on the passenger-side bench that ran the length of the van’s cargo area. They both curled their tails behind them so they wouldn’t be stepped-on when the rest of the furs arrived. They could have taken a separate vehicle, but both officers liked to keep the bond between themselves and their fellow pilots strong.
“Well Scatcat, it only makes sense. Two elements of 6 aircraft, 3 mile separation horizontally, 3,000 ft. separation vertically. Lets whichever element is closer handle the first bogey,” Alex replied confidently.
“Yep, and it also keeps the elements close enough to get to each other fast should all 12 Belgians bounce us at once,” Col. Higgins said. Alex could tell that his boss’ mind was already well ahead into the day’s activities. The rest of the pilots arrived and had soon boarded, joking and jostling in a grand display of esprit` de corp. Alex and Col. Higgins joined in, further boosting the bond between these furs and their leaders.
As the van pulled out for the flightline area, Col. Higgins said quietly in Alex’s ear, “Too bad we’re losing you to NASA; you’d be a heck of a good Squadron Commander.” Alex smiled in return.
Soon the van stopped and a chipmunk SP stuck his head in the door briefly. A few seconds later they pulled out again and proceeded along the flightline to the ALS(Aircrew Life Support) building. They pulled up in front of the building and the group got out and went inside. They each stepped up to a counter and were issued the survival gear they would carry on their person for the day’s mission. From there they went into a locker room and proceeded to the section reserved for their squadron. The pilots had an assigned locker for their helmets, G-suits and parachute harnesses. The ‘chutes themselves were part of the aircraft’s ejection seat, as was most of the survival gear.
They then went out and got back in the van for the short drive to the aircraft-parking ramp. For this part of the drive, the pilots were quiet, as each mentally prepared himself for the mission they would soon be launching on. Shortly they arrived at the area of the ramp where their aircraft were parked. Their F-15C’s were outlined in the glare from the portable Light-all units. The van stopped and the 12 pilot’s disembarked, each heading for his aircraft. The crew chiefs and maintenance furs were waiting for them, and each saluted their pilot as he arrived.
SSgt. Carl Racine snapped off a smart salute as Alex walked up. Alex returned the salute and handed the raccoon his helmet. They walked over to the aircraft and repeated the walkaround from the night before. Alex then continued the thorough preflight inspection as he removed the gear safety locks and pitot covers. If he’d been carrying actual live ordinance, here is where he’d remove the safety pins on those, as well.
Satisfied that everything was in order, Alex turned to his crew chief and said, “Looks great Carl, should have a great flight.”
“Thank you, sir” the raccoon said in his southern drawl, “The keys are under the visor, like you asked.”
Alex looked at SSgt. Racine with a wide grin. The raccoon winked at him and said, “Let’s get you going. There’s some naked F-16’s out there in need of a good top cover.”
Alex now gave a feral grin that caused the crew chief to shiver. Carl was very glad not to be on the receiving end of the intent behind it. Alex climbed the boarding ladder and settled himself into the F-15’s cockpit, making sure his tail was placed properly in its padded cradle. The F-15 is a large fighter, and the cockpit was roomy even for Alex’s 6’2” frame. Once closed, the visibility out of the bubble canopy was excellent. SSgt. Racine climbed up and assisted Alex in strapping in, then handed the tiger his helmet. Alex put it on and after all the connections were safely attached, the raccoon clambered back down and removed the ladder.
Alex set the frequencies on his radios, entered his transponder and IFF codes, and then looked out to find his crew chief. SSgt. Racine was already in position in front of the aircraft, ready for engine start and control checks. Upon hearing the clearance to start engines on the radio, Alex indicated to the crew chief that he was ready. They would be doing the start and check sequences using paw signals, to save the time it would’ve taken to disconnect and stow an intercom set.
SSgt. Racine lifted his paws above his head and made a circular motion with his right paw. Alex went through the startup sequence for his port engine. It rumbled to life and quickly spooled up to speed. The procedure was repeated for the starboard engine, and then SSgt. Racine and another maintenance fur disconnected the power cart and moved it out of the way. The raccoon moved back to the front and assisted Alex as he checked his flight controls. Once that was accomplished, SSgt Racine walked to the portside front of the aircraft and awaited Alex’s signal to pull the wheel chocks.
Momentarily, the call from Col. Higgins in Eagle One came over the ship-to-ship.
“Eagle Flight, Eagle One, Call out status”
“Eagle Two, ready,” Alex called.
“Eagle Three, ready,” from Capt. Bollinger, a german shepherd with the call sign “Tags.”
“Eagle Four, ready,” Capt. Jorgenson, a leopard called “Rings.”
“Eagle Five, ready.” Capt. Vance, a cheetah called “Zips.”
So it went until the last two aircraft, who were the rookies of the group.
“Eagle Eleven, ready sir,” 1Lt. Atkins, a labrador mix with the call sign “Scoot.”
“Eagle Twelve, ready sir,” came the final reply from 1Lt. Richard, call sign “Nines,” a coyote and most junior of the group.
“Alright Fighting Eagles, let’s roll. Pull chocks,” the strong voice of Scatcat Higgins sounded over the radio.
Alex indicated for SSgt. Racine to pull the wheel chocks, which the raccoon did in a rush. The crew chief then went to the port side of the aircraft, clear of the wing, and stood at attention. Alex nudged the throttles and began to taxi out behind Col. Higgins’ aircraft. SSgt. Racine raised a paw in salute. Alex returned it and then placed his concentration on following his CO to the runway.
In a short time, all 12 F-15’s were waiting at the runway for takeoff clearance. They would be doing minimum-interval takeoffs, meaning that after the first pair of aircraft started down the runway, the next pair would follow 10 seconds later. The
“Eagle Flight, Rhine-Mien Tower, you are cleared for takeoff. Contact Departure Control once airborne. Good hunting, gentlefurs,” the controller in the tower said.
“Rhine-Mien Tower, Eagle Flight copies, rolling.”
Alex watched the afterburners of the two lead Eagles come on and they began to accelerate down the runway. Ten seconds later, the second pair did likewise. Soon it was Alex and Rings Jorgenson’s turn.
“Eagle Two rolling,” Alex called as his afterburners kicked in. He released his brakes, his wingfur following suit a split second later. The two F-15’s rocketed down the runway, and in a few seconds Alex called out V1 (takeoff speed) and pulled back slightly on the stick. The pair of Eagles leaped from the runway, raised gear and flaps, and accelerated uphill to catch up with the rest of the squadron. In less than two minutes they had settled into formation amid Europe’s usual scattered to broken late-Spring clouds. Two more minutes and the flight was at 30,000 feet. They turned west and settled into the routine of cruising to the exercise area.
Alex smiled to himself. The hunt was on.
# # #
Jason quickly finished the cheese crackers and soda he’d bought from the vending machines in the small pilot’s lounge at the Campbell Army Air Field Base Operations building. As soon as Lt. Col. Mastifson returned from the rest room, they would check NOTAF’s (NOtices To AirFurs), get a fresh weather brief, check in with Flight Dispatch, and then head for their aircraft. He could see through the glass door at the end of the building that the skies were steadily darkening to the north and west. Jason frowned to himself, his tail flipping, frustrated by the wait and the company of his vain, arrogant CO.
Presently, the Lt. Colonel emerged from the restroom and sauntered over toward the doorway.
“Well, keeping an eye on that weather? Good lad,” the Rotwieller said.
“Yes sir, looks like it’s moving in fast,” Jason commented. At 38 years old, he hadn’t been considered a “lad” for quite some time.
“Ah, well then, let’s go get our briefing and planning duties done, shall we?” Lt. Col. Mastifson said.
“Yes sir,” Jason replied.
The Lt. Colonel led the way up the short hallway to the flight planning room. They checked the clipboards for NOTAFs and then turned to the weather counter. Two Air Force Weather furs were bustling about and conferring on the other side. A TSgt. bulldog and . . a white tiger SSgt? Jason took note. There weren’t that many of his species around, especially in the Air Force. Before he could say anything to the enlisted fur, though, Lt. Col. Mastifson stepped forward.
“I would like a weather update from here to Shaw AFB, South Carolina,” He said, giving the impression of someone asking a schoolchild for information. The bulldog looked up, and then pointed to a sign on the counter that said No Weather Briefings Given the Last 15 Minutes Before Forecast Time.
“Uh Oh,” Jason thought, “Here comes the explosion.”
Lt. Col. Mastifson drew himself up to his full height and thundered, “I’M TRYING TO GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE THOSE STORMS HIT!”
The two forecasters looked at each other, then the tiger said, “You go ahead, Steve, I’ll keep working on the forecast while you brief these guys
The bulldog retrieved a form and began filling it out to record the weather brief. A couple of minutes later, and the Rotwieller was holding the completed form and turning from the counter. The weather wasn’t too bad toward Shaw, Jason noted, as long as they got going before the storms arrive at Campbell. The VOQ was sounding better and better, but Jason knew it’d have to be pouring rain and lightning overhead for Lt. Col. Mastifson to stop now.
Without a word to the weather fur, Lt. Col. Mastifson headed for the door, saying, “Come on, Stalker, we’ll give them a nice, tight formation on our takeoff. Show these Army types, eh?”
Jason stopped short.
“Formation? Into that, sir!” he said, uncertain he’d heard correctly.
The rotwieller turned back to him, his tail for once slightly twitching, and said, “Yes, of course”
“Sir, that’s not a good idea in this situation. Why don’t we single-ship launch and rejoin after we clear the weather?” Jason said firmly.
Lt. Col. Mastifson’s eyes narrowed, and he growled, “Are you questioning my judgment, Captain?”
“If you insist on doing a formation takeoff into IMC (Instrument Meteorological Conditions), yes sir I am.”
Jason saw a vein pop out on the side of the rotwieller’s head, causing the fur to bulge outward. Lt. Col. Mastifson’s words were like ice as he said, “Then understand this, I am giving you a direct order to do a formation takeoff. We won’t hit IMC so fast that you won’t be able to get on instruments, if we hit it at all.” He looked disdainfully back toward the weather counter.
Jason thought quickly. If he refused and couldn’t back it up, he’d be court-martialed. Remembering something his brother Alex had said, that sometimes discretion is the better part of valor, he said quietly, “Yes sir, I will execute a formation takeoff.”
“And report you to the flight safety office as soon as we get home,” Jason thought to himself.
Lt. Col. Mastifson calmed down slightly, saying, “Keep it nice and tight and I’ll forget we had this conversation, Captain.”
Jason looked sour, but still managed a “yes sir” as his CO turned and crossed the hall to Flight Dispatch. After a quick check with the fur there, they walked rapidly out of the building to a waiting truck.
Shortly, they arrived at their aircraft. The fueling had been completed, and after a quick check to make sure nothing amiss had happened in their absence, they climbed aboard their respective aircraft and started engines.
Lt. Col. Mastifson led the way to the end of the runway. Jason could see the rain falling in the distance, and now he wished it were already there. He’d have to be on his toes to get on instruments when they entered the broken clouds that had rolled over the airfield as they did their preflight.
“Campbell Tower, Bushmaster One One, we are ready for takeoff,” the Lt. Col. called in.
“Bushmaster One One, you are cleared for takeoff. Contact Campbell Departure at one one eight point one, have a good flight,” came the reply from the tower.
The lead F-16 rolled onto the runway and went straight into afterburner, Jason’s F-16 locked to his starboard wing. A short takeoff roll and the two became airborne. The landing gear came up, and they started a gentle climbing left turn away from the approaching thunderstorms. The two aircraft disappeared into the clouds at about 2500 feet.
TSgt. Bailey and SSgt. Bodreaux watched the F-16’s takeoff from the porch of the Base Ops building. As the sound of the engines faded away, TSgt. Bailey said, “Boy am I glad to see that one go. The tiger was pretty quiet, but that Lt. Colonel was a royal pain!”
“Yeah, I noticed him. He was pretty quiet. I thought he was gonna take the canid on about the formation takeoff, but it looks like they did alright. Hope he doesn’t get into any trouble over it,” SSgt. Bodreaux replied.
“Well, Marc, time to call it a day. That thunderstorm’ll be pouring on you before you get home,” the bulldog said as he turned to go.
“Yeah, so I’d better get going. See you tomorrow, Steve,” the tiger replied as he also turned to go, his curiosity about the white tiger pilot forgotten.
# # #
Alex’s was the last aircraft at the tanker. As he finished refueling, they were only 20 miles from the RP (Rendezvous Point) for the F-16’s they’d be escorting. The AWACs (Airborne Warning And Control) aircraft, call sign Sightline, was already keeping Col. Higgins busy with information about the airspace ahead.
His tanks full, Alex called out, “Gasser, Ice says thanks. Eagle Two disconnecting.”
“Copy breakaway, Eagle Two. Gasser says you’re welcome.”
Alex slipped the F-15 easily away from the big KC-10 and rejoined his squadron.
Col. Higgins called out on ship-to-ship, “Time to go play, guys. Establish your sections. We’ll go into the area at 27 thou. As briefed.”
As Alex slipped into the lead slot of section 2 and they made their turn toward the exercise area, he noted the blips on his radar that were probably the F-16’s they would be covering. They were down at 15,000, coming up from Alex’s starboard side.
As the smaller fighters passed below, a call came in, “Eagle Flight, this is Mudbuster One. Ready?”
Col. Higgins replied, “Mudbuster One, Eagle One, go for it, guys. We gotcha covered.” Two clicks on the mike to say thank you, and the F-16’s began to set up for their attack run.
Eagle Flight entered the exercise area and established its patrol formation, each element moving apart until the desired separation in distance and altitude was achieved.
Almost as soon as they got set up, the AWACs controller called out, “Eagle Sections One and Two, Sightline, two bogeys (unidentified aircraft, possibly hostile)coming in from three three two at twenty five thousand, coming in fast, range 20.”
Alex called out, “They’re high and fast, Scatcat. You’re closer.”
“Eagle Three and your wingfur, with me, breaking formation to intercept,” Scatcat Higgins called as he and his wingfur, 1Lt. Scoot Atkins, peeled away and headed towards the unknowns. Capt. Tags Bollinger and his wingfur 1lt. Nines Richards followed closely behind. They could have actually shot from where they were with the AIM-120 long range missiles they could have carried, but the day’s rules of engagement called for a positive visual ID before engagement, so they had stuck with the simulated Sparrows and Sidewinders. Col. Higgins had taken the two rookie pilots of the unit with him and Capt. Bollinger, leaving Alex in charge of the remaining aircraft. This was not grand-standing on the Colonel’s part, just a good way to show the rookies how to go hunting.
Alex and the rest of the squadron continued to patrol over the advancing attack group. They could hear Col. Higgins and company on the radio;
“We’re coming up on ‘em fast!”
“Take ‘em down the port side.”
“Eagle One, Sightline, bogeys are five out directly off your nose.”
“Copy Sightline, we have visual.”
“They’ve split up!”
“Roger, Tags, you two take the one to starboard, 2 o’clock.”
“Copy Scat, we’re on ‘em.”
“I’m on him, Scatcat, Belgian F-16!” this from Scatcat’s wingfur, Scoot.
“OK Rookie, watch for a hard left turn maneuver”
“There he goes!”
“Line ‘em up an’ lock 'em up.”
“Missile, missile, missile.”
“Got ‘em! I got ‘em!”
“Good, Rookie. Let’s go see if Tags needs any help.”
“Tags is good, Scatcat, ours is bugging out,” Came the call from Tags Bollinger.
“Make sure he stays that way,” Scatcat replied.
“Ah, nope, he’s turning back into us.”
“Copy Tags, take your shot.”
“Roger that, Nines is on ‘em,” Tags informed the
“OK he’s locked, missile, missile, missile, and down he goes.”
Alex smiled into his O2 mask. His CO had read that one right, but that was too little and too far away. It was probably a div--.
“Eagle Two, Sightline has, ah, eight bogeys ten North of the attack group, right down in the dirt, heading One Eight Zero at 400 kts.”
“Eagle Two copies, confirm only eight?” Alex replied.
“Confirmed Eagle Two, only eight.” “Only?” the controller on board the AWACs thought.
“Still two missing,” Alex thought. Should he take them all down after the bogeys? The last two could still be sitting on the ramp in
“Eagle Five, Eagle Two, Zips, take the group after them. Remember the hard deck is five thousand. Stay high and come down fast on them. Hit ‘em hard and even out your odds. Remember the contrail altitude is 280, so stay below that. Now go get ‘em.”
“Copy Ice, what are you gonna do?”
“Watch out for their two missing friends, now go. You with me, Rings.”
“Right with ya, Ice.”
Alex watched the other F-15’s peel off and head to intercept the bogeys. He and his wingfur flew on in silence as they waited for Zips Vance to call the bounce.
“OK, Visual confirmed. Lets go get ‘em,” called Zips a minute later.
“Ice,” called Col. Higgins, “We’re headed that way to give Zips a paw. ETA 20 seconds.”
“Copy Boss,” Alex said. “Now if it was me, I’d show up,” he thought, glancing down at his watch, “about . . now.”
As if on cue the radio crackled with, “Eagle Two, Sightline has two bogeys 20 south at 35 thousand, heading three five five at 650.”
“Copy, Sightline, our two missing friends.” Alex really smiled now. If he’d taken the whole group down after the low bogeys, there would have been nothing between these two and the attack force.
“Lets go, Rings, full ‘burner,” Alex said as he kicked in the afterburners and pulled hard left and almost straight up. The F-15 was one of the few aircraft in the world that can accelerate vertically. They would have no problems reaching 35,000 feet well before the oncoming bogeys got to their location.
“It’s two on two, Rings, so it looks like it’ll be ship to ship,” Alex said as they reached 35,000 and pulled back out of afterburner. He could just make out the oncoming Belgian aircraft.
“Right on your nose, range eight,” called the AWACs controller.
“Copy, Sightline,” Alex replied.
The two F-16’s now reacted to the Eagle’s presence, suddenly turning east and splitting up.
“I’ve got the one on the left!” Alex called his target.
“Copy, I’ll go right,” answered the leopard in Eagle Four.
Alex and Rings split as Alex began to track the F-16 he’d chosen to intercept. It was turning away from him, then abruptly turned back into him. Alex smoothly tracked the smaller jet as they closed on each other. At two miles out, the F-16 turned again, trying to lure Alex into a tight turn. Alex balanced the big F-15 in the turn, nose high and power on, and stayed with the Falcon. He lined up the pipper on the sight in his HUD (Heads Up Display) and began to get indications that the other jet was in range. A few grunting high-G turns later and Alex was maneuvering behind the F-16, trying to get a lock-on. The F-16 now suddenly turned and came straight at Alex. He let the Belgian pass him on the port side.
Knowing that the F-16 would try to out-turn him and come in behind him, creating a maneuvering fight where the Falcon had the advantage, Alex pulled straight up and went full afterburner as the F-16 passed. Quickly looking back over his shoulder, Alex kept the F-16 in sight as the smaller jet pulled a high-G turn to the right. The Belgian pilot was expecting Alex to have made a turn also, either right or left, and so lost Alex sunward for a couple of seconds. In that time, Alex had gained over a thousand feet in altitude, and had pulled out of ‘burner inverted, wings level, with the Falcon still in sight. Alex quickly pulled the nose down and rolled upright. The F-16 had now spotted him and made another high-G right turn, but it was too late.
Alex heard the tone in his earphones that meant he had a lock-on on the smaller jet, and called out, “Locked on! Missile, missile, missile!” to let the other aircraft know he’d been eliminated.
The F-16 went straight and level, and Alex heard, “Very well done, my friend,” in a heavily-accented voice, “Thank you for the flying lesson.”
“You’re welcome. Good tactics, better luck next time,” Alex replied over the Guard frequency that the aircraft all shared. The F-16 waggled it’s wings and headed out of the exercise area for home.
“Great job, Ice! I got mine, too,” Rings Jorgenson called on the radio. Alex could see the other F-15 about 3 miles away, and another F-16 departing the area at high speed.
Before he could reply to his wingfur, Col. Higgins called on the radio, “Good show, Eagles! Rendezvous at checkpoint Delta at 25 thousand.”
All the 32nd FS Eagles made their way to the location the Colonel specified, formed up, and started the flight home, feeling very good about their performance that day. The flight back was uneventful, and soon the squadron was back on the ground at Rhine-Mien. They parked their aircraft, and after an exuberant greeting from their crew chiefs, went to store their gear and turn in their unused survival items. Colonel Higgins had decided to wait until the next day to do the debrief so that reps from both the
Seeing he had some time left, Alex went to his office to see if anything needed his attention. He opened the door and went to his desk. Several folders of paperwork had found their way to his inbox. With a resigned sigh, Alex said to himself, “Love the flying, hate the paperwork.”
Looking at his watch, he thought, “I’ve got plenty of time, I don’t have to be at Tasha’s for dinner ‘til around 10 since she works late today. I’ll get this stuff out of the way before I go home.” He sat down and began to slog through the reports and forms. Shortly before Alex was planning to leave, there came a knock on his door.
“Come,” Alex called, wondering who’d be stopping by now.
The door opened and Colonel Higgins stepped in, followed by a thin spaniel Alex didn’t recognize.
Alex quickly stood up, but his CO raised a paw, saying, “Sit back down, Alex. We need to talk to you. . .”
End of Chapter 2
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