The
Concorde Incident:
The Ultimate Edition
A New Experience in Flight and
The Last Mission of the 137th TFW
Friday, September 30,
1988
Denver, Colorado
United States, 1500hrs
local
Aaron, Wahren, Kristine
"Golden Eagle" Vermes, and Alayne "Phantom" Engleslause
wait on the capitol's lawn for their mysterious contact to arrive.
Aaron received a call this morning
from someone at British Airways, who wanted to hire his team for a job. They
had been told to wait on the front lawn of the capitol building, under a
certain statue.
"Steve Johnson?" Asks a
man coming across the lawn.
He is really quite short, only
about four-seven, with thinning gray hair combed straight back over his head.
He also wears glasses. Aaron notices this immediately, as he himself had worn
the wretched things for just over eighteen years before having laser surgery to
correct for his natural near-sightedness.
"Yeah, that's me." Aaron
replies nonchalantly, used to replying to the pseudonym listed in the TOP
SECRET files, usually labeled one of three things: "Steven A. Johnson
& Associates, International Military Consultant Corporation or IMCC",
or "The ETF", or, in the case of the file in the NMCC in the
Pentagon, "The 137th Tactical Fighter Wing."
"Steve Johnson" is
actually a variety of people.
Matt Hunter, one of the ETF's
founders, originally used the title back in Kiev. He, Wahren, and Aaron have
all been "Steve Johnson" on various occasions since.
"I'm here to talk about the BA
job." The man continues, "will you follow me, please. Ladies."
He motions to Kristine and Alayne.
"Of course" Aaron
replies, then to Wahren in barely a whisper, "I've got a strange feeling
about this guy, he's already sweating."
"I noticed, and its not even
warm out here, actually, its a bit cold."
"And you were born WHERE,
exactly?" Aaron chides.
"So I is born in Minnesota.
Shut up. It’s still cold out."
"I told you that you shouldn't
have worn shorts." Alayne adds, joining in.
"Hmmph" Wahren replies.
"Nice comeback." Aaron
whispers.
Wahren glares at him.
The short little man leads them
across the lawn and in a side door of the capitol. They all promptly sit at a
table obviously more suited to little old ladies than Black Ops warriors.
The little man sits quite
comfortably at the table with Kristine and Alayne, who aren't near as small as
he, but neither are they as large as Aaron or Wahren.
"Let's get down to
business.", The little man begins, taking off his spectacles and rubbing
his eyes, "How about the figure of two million dollars for this job?"
"Overall?" Wahren asks.
"Each." Is the reply.
Wahren's eyes light up immediately.
Now, the ETF are officially a
military organization, but only in the loosest sense of the term, as tended to
be apparent in Wahren's shoulder length hair, Aaron's goatee, as well as both
men’s earrings in the left ear, a gold hoop for Aaron and diamond stud for
Wahren. The military, or more correctly, the Department of Defense, on orders
from the Commander in Chief, only use them for special jobs, and if they can
make a little money on the side, hey, that is okay with them, but they still
have to clear it through their government contacts.
"Oh, your government's already
agreed to the price."
Ahh, the magic words. Aaron thinks.
"We'll take it." Wahren
replies automatically
"Good, then here's what will
be involved......"
"So, what exactly is the
problem?" Wahren asks, not knowing if he really wanted the answer.
"The problem, Captain,"
Dave Brants replies, (They have learned the little guy's name.), "Is that
we have had threats from the Japanese, a little known terrorist cult calling
themselves the Rising Sun, saying that they will steal and destroy a Concorde
if we flew to New York for any reason. At first we didn't take them seriously,
but once they learned we don't scare easily, they killed the pilot and his
navigator for the October 7th flight, which has been chartered by a college
group who raised enough money to take a research and relaxation trip to the
United States. We found the two at their homes, their throats slashed ear to ear.
Same for their wives and kids. That, as you say, is the problem. We've heard,
trough our SAS, among others, that you're the best unknown anti-terrorism force
in the world, and we'd like you to stop them." Then Brants looks over the
four people in front of him.
"You certainly don't look like
a military organization." He mutters.
"Black Ops, thanks,"
Wahren mutters, "and we're not supposed to look military. That's the
point."
While Wahren and Brants are having
their verbal fencing match, Kristine leans over to whisper in Aaron's ear.
"Sounds like a bad version of
Arthur Haley’s Airport, if you ask
me."
"Yeah, it is a little corny at
that. Keep your eyes open." He replies, then, louder, "All right, Mr.
Brants, this is what we'll need for this mission....."
* * *
The four Eagles climb back into
Aaron's Plymouth Horizon after their meeting is concluded, and drive back to
Alayne and Hera "Shorty" Steel's apartment, where the rest of the
team is assembling to discuss the details of this operation.
While they are poring over a
computer mock-up Matt has programmed, a flight simulator for the Concorde, the
phone rings.
Hera picks it up, listens for a
minute, then motions to Matt.
Matt gives her a quizzical look.
"It’s your duty officer in
Tonopah." She replies to his unspoken question.
Matt picks up the handset and
speaks into the phone for about five minutes while the rest of the team haggles
over ways to subdue their foes.
After Matt hangs up the phone, he
looks over at the rest of the team with a look of resignation on his face.
"What's wrong, Shaba?"
Wahren asks, using the nickname Matt acquired from his squadron the year
before, and the ETF have adopted.
"Looks like I'm not going with
you, guys." Matt replies, "The Air Force is getting edgy about all the
photos of the Senior Trend people have been leaking to the press. I'm supposed
to go to Tonopah to help the USAF come up with a way to make the bird
public."
The team all look at Matt
questioningly.
The Air Force is going to take the
stealth fighter PUBLIC? They all think as one.
Matt has been involved with the
project since flying the original Have Blue test bed in 1977, so it is logical
to choose him as the Air Force representative to diffuse the situation.
"The AF has had the Trend
flying in a squadron at Tonopah since 1983, and has managed to keep it secret
this long. Why go public now?" Terry Carson asks him.
"I guess one of those guys who
camps out near the facility got a REALLY nice shot of one of the black jets
coming in for landing, so Lockheed and the DOD are having a tough time keeping
him from going to Aviation Week with it. So, I get to go find out what he has,
talk to him, and make him delay long enough for the USAF to go public
first." Matt replies as he starts to pack his duffel bag
So now their team is sixteen for
this mission, four on the ground and twelve in the air.
* * *
The next day, October 1, all twelve
members of the aerial team board a British Airways 747 to London.
The ground team had left the night
before on a C-21 Lear Jet to Lakenheath. On arrival, the air team checks into
their temporary lodgings, mainly speaking, eight dorm-sized rooms in an RAF
barracks. The ground team has already begun interviewing British Airways
employees, the ground crews, airport security, other crew that might have known
the murdered crew, the food services company and custodial companies that
service the airport, and the ramp rats that help load the aircraft to see if
they have seen, heard, or learned about anyone or -thing suspicious going on with
the Concorde fleet. They have also gotten lodgings in the same barracks as the
flight team, which will allow the ETF to touch base and compare notes
throughout the London portion of their mission. Luckily, they are the only
people in their building.
Right away, as the Eagles are
settling in and unpacking their luggage, a British Airways van appears and
whisks Aaron, Wahren, and Doug "Matrix" Danko away to the Concorde
simulator at Filton, where the three flight crewmen will learn over the next
week everything there is to know about Concorde and its operations, a course
that usually takes six weeks for the pilot and First Officer, and eight for the
Flight Engineer.
The crew also fly five circuits in
the Concorde to get used to her unique feel and handling, as compared to the
normal fourteen. These circuits include touch-and-go landings, engine-out
sequences, and full procedures to supersonic flight. At first, the three Eagles
have trouble with the touchy and difficult Concorde flight parameters, that is,
up until Wahren pulls out his portable CD player and hooks it into the SST’s
interphone system, filling the cockpit with Bon Jovi’s "New Jersey"
album, a particular flying favorite of the group being "Lay your Hands on
Me", and the difficulties they have been having up to this point cease.
Whenever jamming to their favorite music, the ETF flight crew maneuver the
tricky SST around the sky of the British Airways training area like twenty-year
veterans. Their instructors are obviously amazed by the Eagles’ quick
turnaround, and the three men have hit upon a secret that will soon become
something of a trademark with the ETF pilots.
The week flies by amazingly quickly
for the three men as they learn about such things as the special center of
gravity fuel shifts, the variable geometry nose, supersonic corridors, noise
restrictions, high-AOA, high thrust landings, and all the other wonders that
make up the Concorde.
The rest of the team spend the week
surveying the area and checking whereabouts and backgrounds of each of the
passengers for this chartered flight.
Also during the week, Alayne,
Terry, Kristine, Hera, Eric Wayne, and Melissa Pana all go through Cabin Crew
training, as the ETF feel it will be too risky to place a British Airways cabin
crew in such danger.
Finally, the week of waiting is
over, and the guys, Wahren, Terry "Tron" Carson, Doug, Mitch
"Maverick" Vannell, Aaron, Joe "Apache" Strano and Eric
"Red" Wayne, so called mainly because of the color of his hair, decide
to go look around downtown London.
That leaves the five women, Carmen
"Mikki" Ritter, Hera, Alayne, Kristine, and Melissa "Mel"
Pana, behind in the barracks, as they feel it wiser to get some sleep before
the 10 am flight the next day.
So, the guys find a local pub, and,
needless to say, got smashed to celebrate their new wealth. (Normal military
pay is not very high, Black Ops pay nominally higher, but this.....this is a
genuine windfall for the team.)
Wahren, knowing his friends quite
well, doesn't drink anything, and is the only one in enough control of his wits
to drive the guys back to the barracks at around 11:30 that evening.
Hence the start of a few very bad headaches, for European
beer is much stronger than the American equivalent.
* * *
Saturday, October 7,
1988; London, England, 6 am.
Big Ben tolls once, twice, then six
times overall.
Seconds later, the alarm clock on
the desk takes over where Ol' Ben leaves off, chattering away in all its
electronic fury.
Aaron Fieldman slowly rolls out of
bed, the covers all askew as he has tossed and turned in the night, as he often
does, then gets up to his full height of six foot two, wishing the hammer blows
in his head would stop.
He wanders across the room to where
the alarm sits on a its desk, and bashes it with his left hand.
He sighs blissfully as he shuts the
alarm clock off, then wanders to the shower. The man nicknamed Valder turns the
water on scalding hot, hoping to burn the last vestiges of the alcohol out of
his system.
Wahren Morast, in the other bed in
the cramped barracks room, raises an eyebrow when the alarm clock goes off,
cracks one eye open, then closes it again.
Peace
and Quiet He thinks as Aaron bashes the thing into shrapnel.
Wahren goes back to bed, or
valiantly tries to, until, less than three minutes later, Aaron walks back into
the room, toweling off his somewhat long, moppish-looking dark brown hair.
"Come on, Wahren, We don't
want to be late. We are getting paid for this job after all."
Wahren looks like he is about to
argue.
Aaron, looking down at his friend's
slightly more muscular five-eleven football player's physique, considers his
own condition at the moment, and groans.
The job, this is how he came to get
his splitting headache.
Wahren grins wolfishly up at his
friend as he notices Aaron's condition. "I told you...."
"Don't even start on me,
Wolf." Aaron mumbles, using Wahren's nickname within the group.
This all started eight days ago,
Wahren remembers as he walks down the stairs to find breakfast, shaking his
head of curly, dirt-blond hair at his friend's pitiable condition.
Wahren starts the coffee maker,
knowing it will be sorely needed this morning.
After breakfast the team load into
the van they had been loaned, and drive the fifteen kilometers to Heathrow
International Airport.
This is where their mission is to
begin.
They walk into the airport, show
the guard their British Airways credentials, and walk into the pilot dressing
rooms. It is here that the team splits up, going three different ways.
Aaron, Wahren and Doug go to the
crew dressing rooms, for they will be Pilot, First Officer, and Flight
Engineer, respectively. Once changed, they head straight out to the waiting Concorde
to begin pre-flight checks.
Terry, Alayne, Melissa, Eric,
Kristine, and Hera all change into Cabin Crew garb before being given a
briefing over the passenger manifest and the in-flight food and movie.
Joe, Mitch, and Carmen, however,
are already booked as normal passengers, in different locations on the aisle.
All twelve have weapons hidden in
various places, a practice which has come in handy in the past.
The group don't have to worry about
security, as they use their credentials to pass the metal detectors without
going through them.
Joe, Mitch, and Carmen sit with the normal passengers
waiting for their flight as the Cabin Crew pile on to the waiting Concorde, the
fastest commercial aircraft ever built.
* * *
Adam Mason, known to the ETF as
Mayhem, holds his left hand up, fist closed.
On that silent signal, Robbie
"DoughBoy" Sandler, John "Wizard" Terrance, and Neal
"Mukey" Hirsch halt in their tracks, standing as still as statues in
the crisp London air.
The four men, dressed in overall
medium gray fatigues, blend seamlessly into the buildings and streets
surrounding them.
They all know that Adam, who is on
point, must have heard or seen something ahead to make him pause.
Whatever it is soon passes,
however, for Adam opens his fist and moves his open hand forward.
The four men slip through the
shadows like wraiths, hunting down a tip that Hirsch has uncovered about a
possible meeting place of the Rising Sun terrorists poised to hijack the
Concorde in a few hours.
In a few more minutes, the four
Eagles are outside a warehouse in London’s famous Whitechapel district, their
personal firearms out, safeties off.
Though most criminals in England do
not carry firearms, as their U.S. counterparts do, not having a weapon nearby
is something that neither Mayhem, Mukey, Wizard, or DoughBoy feel is
acceptable, and, after all, their foes are not Englishmen.
Using hand signals, Mason splits
the team in half, sending Hirsch and Terrance around to the back of the
warehouse, as he and Sandler enter the front, hoping to catch whoever is inside
in a crossfire, and prevent anyone from escaping.
As the four men burst through the
only doors to the warehouse, two Asiatic-looking men dive for cover, leaving
the third man in the room, a Caucasian, leaning over a large table in the
center of the room, his head hung as if in acknowledgment that the game is up.
It is because of the man’s passive
stance that Adam is suddenly wary. The two Asiatic men have disappeared, and
this is never a good thing.
Adam holds up two fingers on his
right hand, points to his eyes, and moves them in a motion that simulates
scanning the warehouse.
From the other side of the
building, Neal nods and relays the information to his partner, John.
No sooner has the signal been
passed than the two Asian men spring from behind a stack of shipping crates,
their hands and feet a blur of motion as they attack Robbie and Adam with a
furious combination of kicks and punches.
With surprising speed for a man of
his size, Robbie Sandler blocks many of his opponent’s blows, and only a few
glancing punches get through.
Robbie returns the attack with an
uppercut to the jaw of his opponent that the smaller man tries to block,
receiving broken arm as Robbie’s strength carries the blow straight through the
man’s bones.
However, the broken arm seems only
to anger the man more, and he redoubles his efforts to take the man known as
DoughBoy down.
After another thirty seconds,
Robbie has had enough playing around and decides to put his opponent down for
good. After blocking a side-snap kick aimed at his ribs, Robbie grabs the M-16
on his back by its sling, and, in one fluid and amazingly fast movement, swings
the machine gun at his opponent with his left hand.
While the Asiatic man diverts his
attention to compensate for the swinging rifle, Sandler unloads with his right
fist, swinging a roundhouse to the man’s left temple that would make Muhammad
Ali proud.
Robbie’s foe slumps to the ground
like a sack of broken glass, and doesn’t move. He is either unconscious or
dead, judging by the blood flowing from his ears and nose, and Robbie doesn’t
particularly care much either way. As his opponent slumps to the floor, Sandler
looks over to see how his partner is faring.
Adam, too, has gotten sick of
trading ineffectual jabs and blocks with his combatant, and throws a left cross
at his man, who moves to avoid it, running solidly into Adam’s right foot in
his groin. As the man doubles over, Mason throws a massive uppercut with his
right fist that lifts the man off his feet, and he, too, crumples to the floor.
While all this has been happening,
Neal and John have been keeping the man at the table covered with their rifles,
as well as being ready to dispatch Robbie or Adam’s foes, if need be.
Now quite pissed off, Adam and
Robbie advance towards the table, stepping over their non-moving former
combatants on the way.
The man turns around, his hands
over his head. As he straightens an makes his turn, all four Eagles recognize
him, and reflexively make a surprised inhalation of breath.
The five-ten man, probably topping
out at 185 pounds, with light blond hair and brown eyes, looks a little different
than the last time they had seen him, as he has grown out a beard and now
sports a distinctive Black Adder tattoo curled around his upper left bicep,
visible since the man is wearing a muscle shirt. He used to be one of them,
back when the team was first formed, though the man had disappeared during the
early stages of battle in Operation
Valiant Response, and was presumed dead.
Recognizing David Marquette, Adam
grabs the former Army Ranger by the throat, lifting him off the ground with
just his left arm.
"You’ll probably want to talk
fast before you either run out of air, or Mayhem here looses his
patience." John Terrence adds helpfully to the man squirming in Mason’s
grasp.
"Too late again, Mason, just
like in Lebanon. The weapons are already aboard. I always seem to be one step
ahead of you." Marquette croaks.
"Only asking you this one
time, bub. Who are you working for?" Robbie asks quietly, the threat
evident not only in his words and Adam’s grasp, but in the deadly tone of his
voice.
None of these men take kindly to
traitors.
"Same people that helped me
walk you into that field near Beirut...never thought you’d walk away from that
one. Pity. And that’ all you’re getting from me." David wheezes as he
starts taking on a purple tinge.
"Sure about that, ‘cause I’m
thinking that’s not enough of an answer for Mason. Me, I’d rather just let him
kill you and figure it out on my own." Neal states.
"I’m.....not.....talking."
Marquette gasps as he starts to asphyxiate.
"Pity." Is all Adam Mason
says as he pulls his .45 out of his waistband and places it just above his left
hand, against the man’s throat, just below his jaw on the right side.
Feeling the cold metal of the
pistol’s muzzle, Marquette grins at Mayhem as he pulls the trigger. Blood erupts from the back of the man’s head
as the bullet passes through him, and Adam drops the traitorous former Eagle to
the floor of the warehouse.
"Let’s see you walk away from
that." John comments to the prone form as he and the other three men head
back to their waiting Ecoliner, four block away, and to Heathrow to search the
Concorde for the alluded-to terrorist’s weapons.
Though they comb the entire
aircraft for the next few hours, doing everything short of tearing the stuffing
out of the seats, the ETF ground crew only find three handguns and two packets
of semtex, either of which had enough plastic explosive to destroy the entire
aircraft, but not enough weapons to make them believe they have found
everything.
They have barely finished putting
the supersonic transport back in order when the Food Services crew arrives o
stock the galley and prepare the aircraft for the flight crew’s arrival.
After checking each of the
three-man crew for weapons, and examining the carts they have brought on board,
Adam, Robbie, John, and Neal exit the aircraft to take up positions around it
on the tarmac.
* * *
Prior to letting the passengers
board, Doug, as Flight Engineer, exits the aircraft and performs the British
Airways standard walk-around, checking the Concorde's two main, one tail
bumper, and one front landing gear and subsequent twelve tires, the four
massive engine intakes, and the aircraft's drooping elevons at the rear of the
wing, which droop before engine ignition due to the lack of hydraulic pressure
that keeps them level.
All ninety-five tonnes of fuel have
been loaded into Concorde's thirteen tanks.
Nearing the end of his walk-around,
Doug sees Adam Mason, the leader of the four man ETF ground team, walking
towards him from beneath Concorde's large delta wing.
"Matrix, we've had no one
suspicious enter the area, just the normal certified ground crew, and the boys
and I watched them to be sure they didn't do anything out of the
ordinary." Adam reports to Doug. "Whoever tries something will be a
passenger."
"Kinda guessed that, but
thanks for the head’s up." Danko replies.
Doug looks around Airport Terminal
Four, where the Concorde is parked, and sees Robbie "Doughboy"
Sandler, John "Wizard" Terrance, and Neal "Mukey" Hirsch
scattered around the tarmac, watching everything from strategic positions.
The four-man ground team has been
in place at Heathrow for the past week as British Airlines ground crew,
learning the schedules and faces associated with keeping Concorde flying, and
working twelve hour rotating shifts so that there are always at least two men
on site.
They have gone all over the
terminal in their guise as ground crewman, still managing to stay near Concorde
tail number G-BBDG.
If Adam says no one has tampered
with the plane, Doug knows without a doubt that no one has even moved funny in
the well-armed ground team's presence. The four men tend to have that effect on
people.
"All right. We'll see you guys
back in New York?" Doug asks.
Adam grins mischievously.
"We'll be there, but we have something to take care of first." he
replies.
Doug lets that slide, figuring he
really doesn't want to know what kind of errand the team has. Knowing the
quartet, it probably has to do with some of the British Airlines stewardesses
and their well-known hospitality.
Doug heads back into the cockpit to
join Aaron and Wahren just as they are finishing up recording information on
their notebooks.
Doug looks at one of the
transponders in the cockpit and sees it tuned to 121.85, the setting for the
Heathrow ATIS recording.
Doug tells the other two men what
Adam said as he settles into his station. Hera pops her head in from the cabin.
"All ready?" she asks.
"Yeah, start boarding."
Wahren responds.
Hera walks down the moveable jetway
to the terminal, and tells the women at the gate’s counter that they are ready
to begin boarding. Soon, the passengers are all loaded and the doors locked.
Aaron starts the two inboard
engines on the Concorde and puts them at idle thrust as the tractor pushes them
back to pre-taxi position.
Starting all four engines will
break the tow bar. and possibly put Concorde through the terminal.
While Aaron does engine start ups,
Wahren is on the radios, having tuned to 121.9, the Taxi/Ground control
channel, after talking to Clearance Control at 121.7.
As they receive clearance to taxi,
Aaron brings all four engines online, increases thrust, and slowly rolls the
big jet out onto the taxiway. As he does so, he and Wahren are going through
their pre-flight checklists.
While they start to taxi, Aaron
reaches over and retracts the high-speed visor from the cockpit windows and
angles the nose downwards at 5 degrees to be able to see the runway from their
elevated position seventeen feet in the air.
Aaron revs the Concorde's engines,
then brings them back to idle as he slows the aircraft to a stop on the hold
line for runway 27-9.
Wahren dials up 118.7 on the
transponder and calls Heathrow's tower for takeoff clearance.
"Heathrow Tower, Speedbird
Concorde zero-zero-one requesting takeoff runway two seven left."
Finally, they receive takeoff
clearance from the ATC tower.
"Speedbird Concorde
zero-zero-one cleared for takeoff runway two seven left." The controller
replies.
"Roger, cleared for takeoff
two seven left, Speedbird Concorde zero zero one." Wahren acknowledges as
Aaron positions the sleek plane on the edge of the threshold. All the checks
are now complete.
Now the fun of the kick-ass takeoff
begins.
Aaron sets the brakes and revs the
engines, then looks over at Wahren and Doug.
"Three, two, one, NOW!"
he says.
At the word "now", Aaron
and Wahren advance the throttles while Doug starts his stopwatch.
As he releases the brakes, the
Concorde gains speed, hurtling down the runway.
"Speed building, 100
knots." Aaron calls out.
"Power checks out." Doug
calls as his instruments report each engine using fuel at the rate of 20 tons
per hour while giving out 38,000 pounds of thrust in afterburner.
"Vee One." Wahren calls
out as they pass V1 speed, the decision speed where the Concorde can safely be
brought to a stop. Aaron nods and Wahren removes his hand from the throttles.
There is no turning back now.
"Rotate." Aaron calls,
and Wahren pulls back on the control column. The Concorde rotates to a thirteen
degree angle above horizontal.
Takeoff comes instants later as the
main gear leave the runway at 217 knots or 250 mph.
The Concorde lifts gracefully from
the runway and into the air, shock waves of disturbed condensation billowing
off the wings.
The Concorde looks almost swan-like
as she bites into the air over London.
"Vee Two." Wahren calls
as the Concorde roars past the safe climbing speed in the event of engine
failure.
"Positive rate of climb"
Doug calls out from the Flight Engineer's position. This indicates to Aaron
that there is at least twenty feet of air between the wheels and the ground.
"Gear up." He calls.
Wahren raises the landing gear.
Then Wahren flips on the intercom
and starts doing his intoned speech to the passengers and crew.
"Good morning Ladies and
Gentlemen...."
Aaron half listens as he pulls back
on the M-shaped control column.
"Two Forty." Wahren calls
as the Concorde passes 240 knots. Aaron pulls back on the column at that call,
raising the Concorde's pitch attitude from 13 degrees to 20 to maintain 250
knots.
Looking at his stopwatch, Doug
calls out, "Three, two, one, noise."
At "noise", the
afterburners are switched off and the angle of climb reduced to maintain 250
knots.
Wahren brings the aircraft to 12
degrees of pitch to keep the speed up. The afterburners have to be turned off
to comply with the noise restrictions around Heathrow. The procedure is even
more complicated at JFK International.
At seven nautical miles out from
London, the Concorde roars over a radio beacon near the town of Reading at
4,000 feet, and Concorde's speed is allowed to rise again.
As the big jet accelerates past 250
knots, Wahren calls out "Nose up."
In response, Aaron moves the
variable geometry nosecone into its cruise position and the visor rises into
place.
"Speedbird Concorde
zero-zero-one, climb and maintain flight level two eight zero." Calls
Heathrow Departure.
Wahren acknowledges the call as
Aaron sets the altitude into the autopilot.
While climbing to altitude, the
Concorde is at 400 knots, its max allowable speed between six and twenty-eight
thousand feet.
At 28,000 feet the auto throttles
kick in and take the bird up to Mach .95.
"Speedbird Concorde
zero-zero-one flight level two eight zero." Wahren calls to Heathrow,
"Requesting clearance cruise climb to flight level six zero zero."
"Speedbird Concorde zero-zero-one
cleared cruise climb flight level six zero zero."
"Jeezus.." Doug mutters,
"Sixty thousand feet. That's twelve miles up!"
Then he checks his panel.
"Checks complete to
afterburners. One mile to go." He says.
Aaron pushes the throttle fully
forward. The engines kick in as the counter reads zero miles to go.
"Inboard reheats." Wahren
calls as the inboard afterburners kick in, and the plane nudges as the thrust
is increased by 20 percent.
"Outboards." Aaron calls
as the airliner nudges again, the Mach meter hovers at 1, then a few of the
instruments fluctuate as the shock wave passes the static pressure ports on the
fuselage. The Mach meter reads 1.01.
They are supersonic.
Aaron turns to Wahren.
"So far so good."
"Yeah, let's hope it stays
that way."
* * *
Fifteen minutes after the Concorde
lifts off, the ground crew is back at the warehouse, which is completely empty.
There are no bodies and no traces the building had been recently used.
In frustration, the team pile back
into their van and race back to the airport, where the requisition a second
Concorde.
Within three-quarters of an hour of
the first aircraft’s departure, a second delta-winged SST is airborne and
headed for New York at more than its maximum published airspeed, racing across the
ocean at a blistering Mach 2.7 in an attempt to catch the other aircraft.
* * *
1 1/2 hours into the
flight, 60,000ft over the Atlantic, Mach 2.04
Joe Strano looks around the cabin
at the passengers, mostly college students of multinational backgrounds,
marking possible Rising Sun terrorists, as he has been doing throughout the
flight, and motioning subtly to Vannell, beside him, as the SST cruises through
the mid-Atlantic air.
Seeing Kristine and Hera pushing
the drink cart down the isle, Joe nudges Mitch, sitting beside him, then waves
an arm at the two women.
"Stewardess! I could use some
more coffee!" He comments with a smirk.
"Be there in a second,
sir." Kristine comments in a slightly-too-sweet voice, and Mitch can tell
Joe is starting to annoy her.
"Forget the coffee, sweetie, I
really just want you over here." Joe comments with a mischievous grin.
"What an asshole." One of
the college women on the flight mutters to the person beside her, who happens
to be Carmen Ritter, three rows behind the two ETF men.
"Glad we don’t have to deal
with him." Carmen comments back, wondering what Joe is up to.
Kristine looks as if she is about
to go strangle Strano in his chair, and Hera taps her on the arm and moves past
her in the aisle, grabbing a pot of coffee off the cart as she heads towards
the two ETF operatives.
"Hey, honey, I wanted the
blondie!!" Joe comments as Hera approaches.
"I have your coffee, sir, and
a question." Hera tells him.
Joe arches an eyebrow, and Mitch edges
as far away from his teammate as he can while still remaining in his chair,
expecting what is coming.
"Did you want this in your
cup, or your lap?" Hera queries sweetly as she holds out the coffee pot.
At this, Joe looks injured as he
holds his coffee cup towards her, brushing his index finger across her thumb as
she takes the cup, and seeming to loose his grip on the handle, and she knows
to grab the cup by the bottom instead of the handle, as Strano has told her
with that movement that there is a note under the cup. In a single fluid
movement, which Mitch, who is watching he exchange, can barely detect, Hera
pulls the scrap of paper off the bottom of the cup as she fills it with the caffeinated
beverage, then hands the cup back to Joe, pocketing the note as she turns back
to the serving cart.
As they continue on their route
down the aisle, Hera reads the note, and passes it off to Kristine, who
comments to her fellow attendant, "We’re getting low on Danish, I’ll go
get us some more.", and heads back to the galley, where she passes the
note to Terry, who is working the front of the cabin with Alayne.
After reading the list of seat
numbers Joe and Mitch have drawn up as to threats, Alayne heads for the cockpit
to ask the crew if they need any coffee.
A few moments later, Wahren breaks
off his conversation with Alayne, who has come into the cockpit to tell them of
the situation.
Doug looks up as the cockpit
suddenly becomes quiet.
As he looks in Doug’s direction, he
notices that there is a gap between Doug's console and the bulkhead. Wahren
wanders over to the Flight Engineer station to talk with Doug. As he does so,
he sticks his hand into the gap he has noticed.
"That wasn't there
before." Wahren comments nervously.
"Relax, the Concorde grows
with the heat of supersonic passage." Doug replies.
"Really?"
"Yeah, about eight inches
overall. You must have missed that lecture." Doug jibes.
"I was probably zoning again.
Or sleeping." Wahren responds with a wink. Strangely, Aaron hasn't joined
in on the vocal jousting.
Aaron seems impatient, possibly
even angry. They can all see that. And that makes him dangerous.
"This waiting is driving me
nuts." He finally mutters.
"I hate to admit it, but its
getting on my nerves, too." Wahren admits.
"Same here." Alayne adds.
"Then let's do something about
it." Danko states.
"Good idea, Doug. Alayne, will
you tell the others that something big is coming up and to get into their seats
and hang on!"
"O.K. But what are you going
to do?"
"You'll see."
Alayne groans on her way back to
the passenger area. She'd heard "You'll see" too many times in the
past not to. She warns all the Eagles in the cabin that Aaron is up to another
of surprises. This makes them all buckle in faster and tighter than they would
otherwise have done.
In the cockpit, Aaron flips on the
intercom switch.
"Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen,
I hope you are having a nice flight. I know that some of you on this plane are
wound pretty tight right now, and I ask the ones of you that aren't one crucial
question: Are you ready to face the Rising Sun and roll with the 137th
TFW??"
"......and roll with the 137th
TFW??" Aaron's voice drones over the intercom.
"Oh, no," groans
Kristine, "Now he's done it. He's forced the RS to show themselves."
"Let's get ready for a
fight." Melissa warns as she digs in her thigh holster for a 9mm Beretta.
Hera nods at Joe, who signals to
Terry, Carmen and Mitch. The signal comes back. They are ready.
Aaron reaches over and flips on the
seat belt sign. Then he again turns to the intercom.
"Now, if some of you are
mystified as to the meaning of that last announcement, let me clarify. I am the
leader of a group. That group, the 137th Tactical Fighter Wing, are the good
guys, while the Rising Sun are the bad guys. Now, just call us the Eagles to
make it easy." Aaron grins at Wahren, who gives a thumbs up.
Aaron turns to Doug, who crouches
by the cockpit entrance.
Aaron turns back to the intercom.
"Now, to make it easier on
everyone involved, will the Rising Sun please stand up and surrender?"
"Is he nuts?" Hera
mutters to Pana. "They'll never fall for that."
"Look again, Hera."
Melissa advises. Four men have stood up and placed their weapons on the floor.
"Let's go round them up. But be careful!"
As soon as Hera and Melissa step
into the aisle, three more men stand up from their seats and begin firing their
weapons, which they have pulled out of their seat cushions, from hidden
compartments deep inside that each man used a pocketknife to access during the
flight.
Melissa is hit in the left chest,
but manages to return fire before falling backwards, unharmed, as her
bulletproof vest has taken the worst of the impact.
Mitch and Joe catch two RS members
in a crossfire.
The passengers, having a reasonable
fear for their lives, have all gotten into crash positions.
Alayne runs down the aisle towards
the cockpit, shooting a Rising Sun member full in the forehead as he tries to
stop her.
Hearing the gunfight behind him,
Doug explodes out of the cockpit door, a gun in each hand, diving into the
aisle like Superman, both pistols firing as he hits the floor in a roll, coming
upright, firing away with his twin .45s.
Alayne is hit a glancing blow in
the knee not five feet from Doug, who drags her into the cockpit, laying down
covering fire all the while. Alayne is fine, Doug surmises after a quick
glance, but the cut looks quite nasty, though it has cauterized itself with the
bullet’s passage. An inch farther inward, however, and her kneecap would have
been shattered.
Aaron looks behind him as he hears
bullets ring out.
Doug is out the door and back in a
matter of two seconds.
Aaron grabs the intercom and says
two words into it.
"HOLD ON!" Comes over the
intercom.
Carmen is in the middle of a
firefight with a six-foot Rising Sun member when she hears that warning.
She dives to the floor and grabs a
chair as the Concorde goes into a barrel roll, exerting 3.4 G's on the
passengers. It also loses altitude quickly, not being designed with such maneuvers
in mind.
The unfortunates who aren't quick
enough to heed Aaron's warning are dashed against the roof of the plane as he
puts her into an inverted dive through 10,000 feet.
Most of the ETF are able to grab
support during the roll and dive, except for Mitch and Terry. Mitch flips over,
and, in an amazing feat, runs along the ceiling and walls as the Concorde
rolls. Terry is not quite as quick, and only half-flips before his maneuver is
halted by an overhead bin. Terry is momentarily stunned, but recovers quickly,
and manages not to drop his firearm.
Luggage flies everywhere as the
compartments pop open.
There is also an eerie screeching
noise as Aaron and Wahren fight to pull the Concorde back into a level
position.
They succeed, not 200 feet above
the water, trailing a plume of spray the engines are kicking up off the ocean.
The members of the Rising Sun that
remain conscious readily surrender, once they are able to regain their footing.
The others are tied up so that they cannot create a problem when they awake.
The rest of the flight is
uneventful, and Wahren sets the Concorde up for landing, pulling the throttles
back and dropping out of Mach as they descend through 35,000 feet.
Suddenly a loud computerized bugle
call warbles through the cockpit as the autopilot disconnect is engaged. Doug
moves the center of gravity of the aircraft forward to keep the aircraft in
trim as it sets up for approach. This is done by transferring fuel among
Concorde’s fuel tanks to offset shifting items and changing weight.
Wahren receives approach clearance
from New York at 127.4, then keys the mike to acknowledge.
"Roger New York, cross
three-five miles south-east of Sates at one two thousand feet, altimeter two
nine eight four."
Aaron sets 29.84 in the altimeter
window from the standard 29.92 they had been cruising at.
Aaron decides to let Wahren handle
the landing.
As the Concorde's speed falls, the
angle of attack (AOA) must be raised to maintain lift.
By the time the Concorde has slowed
to 250 knots, the angle of attack is over 9 degrees and the visor must be
lowered, and the nose is dropped to its fully down position of 12.5 degrees.
Kristine comes up to the flight
deck.
"All secure back
there...." She reports, which tells the crew that all the passengers and
prisoners are strapped in and ready for landing.
"All right. Go strap in and
we'll commence landing." Aaron tells her.
"Whaddaya mean 'We'?"
Wahren jokes as he sets his transponder to 119.1 to receive Kennedy Tower and
ask for landing permission.
At twelve miles out, the Concorde
is stabilized at 190 knots, and they are right on glide slope.
At nine miles, Aaron calls out
"Gear down and landing check list."
Doug reads off the checklist as
Wahren sets up the Concorde for landing.
There is a double "THUMP"
throughout the aircraft as the main gear lock down in harmony. Four green
lights appear on the instrument panel, telling Wahren that all four gear,
front, two main, and rear, are down and locked.
"Nose?" Wahren asks.
Aaron checks his instruments.
"Down and in the green."
"ILS engaged." Doug calls
as the Instrument Landing System takes over the throttles.
"One thousand feet
radio." Doug calls out again as his radio measuring device bounces a radio
wave off the ground and back. There are only 1000 feet between the ground and
the main gear.
"Speedbird Concorde
zero-zero-one, cleared to land four right, wind zero one zero at five
knots." Kennedy calls.
"Cleared to land Speedbird
Concorde zero-zero-one heavy." Wahren acknowledges.
"Five hundred feet." Doug
calls out.
"Stabilized." Aaron calls
as the Concorde stabilizes at 163 knots, with an angle of attack of fourteen
degrees and a eleven degree pitch angle.
"Three hundred feet."
Doug states.
"Decision height." Aaron
comments.
"I know. I didn’t sleep
through all the training. Continuing."
Wahren responds as the Concorde closes the gap between tires and earth.
At this angle of attack, the pilots
are thirty-seven feet higher than the main wheels, as is apparent as they near
landing.
Matthew Hunter stands on the rear
of a day-glow-green painted fire truck, waiting for his first glimpse of the
large, white, delta-winged aircraft he knows is on its arrival leg.
Behind him, near the British
Airways terminal, a small army awaits the Concorde’s arrival as well.
Somehow, the world’s media have
become privy to the fact that an anti-terrorist operation is about to be
concluded, and everyone seems to want a piece of the story.
Through a light fog and slight
drizzle, Matt can see the sky start to lighten to the south-east, and knows his
team are about to land.
"Alpha team, roll." The
man once nicknamed "Temnota" calls into his portable walkie-talkie,
and the three rescue vehicles nearest him start to roll towards the taxiway,
lights flashing.
Matt thumps twice on the roof of
his vehicle, and it accelerates to follow the others.
The fog seems to be sucked away
from the area of the landing lights, and Matt can see the supersonic airliner,
painted in British Airways livery, swooping in to land.
"One hundred feet." Doug
calls. "Fifty....forty....thirty...twenty...fifteen." he states as
the runway looms in the windshield.
The main gear float parallel to the
runway a moment, in ground effect, then, with a puff of smoke, make contact.
The smoke is blown into spirals by the wingtip vortices of the Concorde.
Now that the main gear are down,
Wahren selects reverse thrust and pushes down on the stick, bringing Concorde's
nose gear down.
The massive aircraft floats for a
moment, seeming to hang suspended in the air like some futuristic Pterodactyl,
as it fights ground effect.
The aircraft’s gear kick up a small
cloud of steam as it passes Matt’s position, and the vehicles around him emit a
rumble as they start to roar down the runway in pursuit.
"Bravo team, keep the press
back while we bring her in." Matt calls as he slaps a fictitious nametape
onto the front of his BDUs.
The DOD has sent one of the USAF’s
elite Special Operations units to secure the plane once it has landed, and Matt
pulled some strings to come along, as he had been in D.C. helping along the
declassification of the Senior Trend/F-117A program.
The fire truck beneath Hunter
bounces over the medians between taxiway and runway as the Concorde turns
towards the terminal.
"Oh, shit." Doug mutters
over Wahren’s shoulder as the Concorde turns onto the taxiway, and the
three-ring media circus swings into view.
"Things are about to get
ugly." Wahren replies before he flips on the intercom.
"Valder, get up here, we’ve
got a teensy problem."
In the main cabin, Aaron winces as
he hears his friend’s synopsis. He glances over at Kristine, who nods, then he
sprints to the cockpit, knowing Vermes has everything in the cabin under
control.
"Aw, Hell." Is Aaron’s
reaction to the sight before them.
Wahren slows the aircraft to twenty
miles an hour and taxis to their designated terminal after contacting approach
control. It is then that the three men in the cockpit notice their peculiar
escort of crash/fire trucks. Looking out the left side window, Wahren can see
Hunter waving in their direction from his perch atop one of the trucks. Their
teammate flashes a series of hand signals to them, telling them to stop just
shy of the terminal.
Acknowledging the signals, Wahren
taxis the Concorde to within a hundred yards of his designated terminal and
shuts down the engines. Off to their right, the three men can see another
Concorde being serviced, steam still rising off its fuselage. Wahren looks out
the window at Matt, who gestures in the direction of the terminal and winks.
An air stair is rolled up to the
Concorde, and the wounded are transferred to the waiting ambulances. The rest
of the passengers, all a little shaken up, are then surprised to see a
seven-man assault squad rush onto the aircraft and begin ushering them out.
Matt enters the airliner and nods
at the other Eagles still in the aircraft, receiving an overt nod in reply.
"Its a damn zoo out there.
Every press agency in the world seems to be here, and they want to interview
the rescue team." Matt tells them.
Wahren throws on a pair of mirrored
sunglasses and grins.
"But they’re not going to get
a chance. General Louron is already trying to herd them away from the aircraft
for a press conference." Matt continues with a look of slight annoyance in
Wahren’s direction.
Lt. General Giles K.
"PITA" Louron, a three-star with USSOCOM, the United States Special
Operations Command, fields questions in front of one of the windows overlooking
the two Concordes on the tarmac below.
"Now, I’m sure all of you can
understand the sensitive nature of these kinds of missions, and I’, hoping you
understand that to allow interviewing members involved in this mission will put
them, and their families, in danger, not to mention destroy their usefulness as
covert operatives." He states as the press watches the passengers and the
airliner’s crew exit the aircraft behind him, their cameras rolling to try and
get the SpecOps commandos as they leave the jet.
The fifty-year-old General, who, at
five two and a hundred sixty pounds, looks more like a Marine Drill Sergeant or
Olympic weightlifter, summarizes the nature of the just-completed mission and
describes some of the history of the Concorde and U.S. Special Operations.
Hunter and his crew owe me for this
one, Giles thinks as he wraps up his impromptu briefing. The Lt. General is one
of the ETF’s main supporters within the military hierarchy, and one of a handful
of people outside the team that know of their existence.
The Eagles have all changed into
civilian attire and mixed themselves into the ranks of the passengers as they
disembark the aircraft.
Aaron, Wahren, and Doug have
exchanged uniforms with three of the commandos Matt has brought on board, and
they act as escorts for the "passengers" getting off the Concorde.
As she nears the end of the air
stairs, Kristine is the first of the team off the aircraft, and hears a low
whistle to her left.
She squints into the shadows and
sees two Airborne Express vans beneath the terminal’s overhang, surrounded by
grinning, and very heavily armed, men in civilian attire.
Adam Mason glances at the
overhanging terminal, then tilts his head slightly.
Kristine nods, and waits until she
is out of sight of the people in the building before walking into the shadows
to join the ETF’s ground team. Wearing his trademark gold-tinted Oakleys, Adam
grins at Kristine as she walks over to them.
"We barely beat you guys here.
That pilot British Airways loaned us pulled everything he could from the
girl." Adam tells her, a slight gleam in his eye.
Kristine catches the look and grins
as the rest of the team exits the aircraft and joins them.
"Don’t get me wrong, I still
hate to fly." Adam is quick to tell her.
Vermes nods solemnly, trying to
keep a straight face.
The ETF members all climb into the
waiting vans, one driven by Adam and the other by Robbie Sandler, two of the
best wheel-men in the crew. The two vans stick to the shadows for as long as
possible, before cutting across the airport and merging with city-bound
traffic.
Later that night, the team is all
gathered in a CIA safe house in the woods near Florence, New Jersey, after a
grueling four-hour debriefing. They are watching a replay of the day’s top news
stories, of which they are one, when the phone rings, at just about the time
they see the camera zoom in on Wahren and Aaron exiting the aircraft, escorted
by Matt.
On the second ring, Matt picks up
the phone’s handset, listens for a few moments, then hangs up.
"Well, its official, gang.
We’ve been ‘disbanded’ after the publicity surrounding today’s mission."
He comments, "We’re supposed to separate and re-join our former
occupations. I’m supposed to leave for Tonopah tomorrow, and a courier will
bring a dispersal and departure schedule for the rest of us in the morning.
We’re not even supposed to maintain contact with one another. This comes from
the DOD brass on high." Hunter finishes.
This news is greeted with confusion
by the members of the Eagle Task Force.
The team has been together for five
years, and the unspoken question of "What do we do know?" hangs in
the room like fog on an English moor.
None of the Eagles look forward to
going their separate ways and breaking up the family they have become.
Sitting in an easy chair in the
corner, Terry Carson grins and flips a look at Matt as a plan starts to form in
the back of his mind. From the answering look Hunter gives him, he has had the
same idea.
So the 137th Tactical Fighter Wing
is no more, long live the ETF. Wahren Morast thinks, looking at Aaron and
knowing it is time for the two of them to check out the newest Air Force
fighter.
* * *
Three months later, after a review
by the Pentagon of the whole affair, the 137TFW is officially disbanded by the
President, and the members went their separate ways, meeting only occasionally
and fading into the background. To this day, they are still TOP SECRET, and
some people deny they ever existed. Though the 137th is disbanded, the ETF
lives on, and still receives government funding, as shall be shown in
subsequent actions.
* * *
T H E
E N D
or is it?
* * *
Written by
Brian R. Kupfer
and based on the
characters created by Brian R. Kupfer and Jye R. Meier for their book,
The ELITE EAGLES
