“Let’s hear it, Dragon flight.”
“Two’s in the green, four and five hundred all safe, eight thousand.” He had called out his overall status, his armament number and status, and his fuel remaining.
“Three’s in the green, four and five hundred safe, seven-point-seven.”
“Looks like everyone’s thirsty here,” Coursey said. The large external fuel tanks on the three fighters’ bellies were all empty — they were usually empty shortly after a heavy gross-weight takeoff — and the internal fuel loads were also depleted by half. They all had about an hour’s worth of fuel left, plus the required forty-five minutes reserve. “Lead’s got eight-point-one, four and five hundred. Break. King Two-Seven, this is Dragon Five-Four Flight of three on tac blue, over.”
“Dragon flight, this is King Two-Seven; read you loud and clear,” the KC-10 air-refueling tanker radioed back. “We’re receiving your position beacons, codes verified. We’re seventy miles north of your position on a heading of two-zero-zero, altitude twenty thousand feet. Over.”
“Copy, Two-Seven,” Coursey replied. “You’ve got three receivers at nineteen thousand feet, onload as briefed, point parallel auto rendezvous. Weapons all report safe and ready for refueling. We’ll do a few orbits out here to stay in our assigned block, then turn northbound at thirty miles.”
“Copy, Dragon.”
Coursey began some gentle standard-rate turns in order to burn some time without going outside his assigned airspace. A few moments later he heard, “King Two-Seven at fifty miles.”
“Copy. Dragon flight, take route spacing; stand by for auto rendezvous.” The two members of Coursey’s formation stayed in formation but increased the distance between aircraft to almost a mile. Dragon Four started a turn to the north, and Coursey watched to make sure his wingmen were staying with him.
“Thirty miles … twenty miles, stand by for turn …”
At seventeen miles, on the dot, Coursey’s F-16 Falcon started a left turn and gentle climb. A few moments later one of Coursey’s wingmen called, “Tally ho, ten-thirty position.” Coursey stared harder toward the crystal-blue horizon and finally spotted the huge green converted DC-10 airliner in the distance.
“Lead’s got a tally.”
It appeared as if the F-16 formation was on a collision course with the huge tanker, but in auto-mode it always looked like that. Coursey pulled his throttle back to ninety percent and pegged his airspeed at four hundred twenty knots. By the time the computer-controlled turn was done, the tanker was looming over the lead F-16 fighter’s nose like a storm cloud, and the autopilot beeped to remind the pilot that the rendezvous was completed.
“Dragon Five-Four flight, this is King Two-Seven boom operator radio check.”
“Dragon lead’s loud and clear.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
“Loud and clear up here. Dragon Five-Four cleared to the contact position; Two-Seven is ready.”
“Dragon Five-Four moving up on auto.”
The tanker’s nozzle was aligned less than a thousand feet ahead. Coursey punched off the autopilot and moved the throttle to eighty percent, which, after his years of experience he knew would give him the three-hundred-knot refueling speed he wanted; tiny speedbrake deflections would take care of any excess speed. He opened the air-refueling receptacle on the F-16’s spine and checked the status indications on his heads-up display. They showed ready for refueling.
“Dragon Five-Four stabilized pre-contact and ready,” Coursey reported.
Coursey carefully guided his fighter under the KC-10’s broad belly, following the rows of director lights arranged along the tanker’s bottom, until he received a steady yellow light — which placed the front glare-shield right on the tanker’s UHF antenna blade.
“Stabilize … “ Behind Coursey’s canopy the twenty-foot boom extended its tubular nozzle, and like some alien mating ritual the boom operator extended the nozzle into the F-16’s receptacle. Coursey’s HUD indicated CONTACT.
“Contact Five-Four.”
“Contact Two-Seven,” the boom operator replied. At that, the copilot on the KC-l0 activated the refueling boost pumps and began transferring fuel. When the boom operator’s flow panel showed a positive transfer rate, he reported, “Taking fuel.”
“Give me five thousand, and we’ll cycle,” Coursey said. Each fighter in the formation should take on a token load at first to confirm that their refueling systems were working; once all fighters could take fuel, they would spend more time on the boom and fill to full tanks. Five thousand pounds of fuel took only thirty seconds to transfer. Coursey disengaged from the tanker and swung out to the left to let Dragon Five-Five in on the boom.
The pilot aboard Five-Five, a young lieutenant who had just finished F-16 training and then reported directly into the Guard, had a bit more trouble completing the rendezvous. On his first attempt he moved no closer than ten feet from the extended nozzle.
“Forward ten, Dragon Five-Five,” the boom operator prompted. Coursey could see the F-16 inch closer, but he always pulled off too much speed or ducked down away from the nozzle.
“Forward twelve.”
Impatience got the better of him. This time he shoved in too much power and overcorrected. The F-16 slid under the KC-10 so far that the vertical stabilizer looked as if it was going to scrape against the refueler’s boom pod.
“Breakaway, breakaway, breakaway,” the boom operator called out. Not exactly an emergency situation but the KC-10’s response was automatic — the boom shot full up into its retracted position, the engines went to full power, the tanker began a steady climb. Dragon Five yanked off his power and slid out of sight. Coursey and Dragon Six stayed on the tanker’s wingtip as it pulled ahead.
“Two-Seven, this is Dragon Leader, Dragon Five-Five is well clear,” Coursey radioed to the tanker, trying to keep Five in sight. “Cancel breakaway. Clear Dragon Five-Six to the contact position, and clear Dragon Five-Five to the right wing. Five-Five, take a breather and try to relax.”
“Dragon Five-Five, clear to Dragon Five-Six’s right wing,” the boom operator said. The F-16 that had balked its hookup reappeared, sliding under Dragon Five-Six and moving into position on Six’s right wingtip.
“Dragon Five-Five is on your right, Five-Six.”
“Dragon Five-Six, clear to the contact position, Two-Seven is ready.” Five-Six moved smoothly down into contact position, and fifteen seconds later it was taking fuel. A minute later he was back off Five-Five’s right wing, and Dragon Five-Five was moving back into contact position.
“All right, Myers,” Coursey told the pilot of Dragon Five-Five, “you’ve already embarrassed yourself in front of these tankers toads — try not to do it again. Remember, these Falcons don’t like being muscled around. They respond to gentle inputs. Just like the ladies. Remember your visual cues and for God’s sake, relax.”
He watched as Dragon Five-Five again began his approach to contact position. Myers needed this hookup for much more than just to avoid embarrassment. If he didn’t get his refueling on this pass he’d have to take the tanker, turn north and attempt another contact while heading for Georgetown. It would be highly embarrassing for one of Coursey’s wingmen to come back alone because he couldn’t accomplish a refueling, especially in near-ideal weather conditions. But whatever else Myers had on his mind, he apparently had finally managed to put it behind him as he made contact with the KC-10 on the first try.
“Fill ‘er up, Two-Seven,” Coursey said. “We’ll top off in reverse order. I’ll be on radio two.” Coursey switched radios momentarily to his second non-scrambled UHF radio. “Barrier Control, this is Dragon Five-Four flight. How copy?”