His voice louder, Bocks said, ‘Carrie… please… tell us what you’ve got.’
A burst of static, and her voice came back, ‘…kill the little bastards. Right? We’ve got to kill the anthrax before it reaches the ground. Why not use jet fuel?’
Monty turned to Victor and said, ‘Is she right? Can jet fuel kill anthrax?’
Victor said, ‘I… I don’t see why not — jet fuel is petroleum-based, quite harsh to anthrax. But how do you get the fuel from their fuel tanks to the canisters?’
Carrie’s voice seemed to carry through the entire room. ‘Not fuel from our jet. Fuel from another jet. A refueling jet, like the Air Force KC-10 or KC-135. They have booms they lower to refuel aircraft. But instead of trying to fuel us up, they’d fly ahead of us while we’re descending to below three thousand feet. And when we cross that mark, they start dumping fuel. I’ve seen it before. The fuel makes a big cloud of vapor, and we and the anthrax will fly right through it. Very precise flying, but if it works… we can dump that anthrax into a big cloud of JP-4 aviation fuel. Kill it before it reaches the ground.’
Brian could not believe what he was hearing. Could it? Would it?
Monty said, ‘Victor — tell me it’ll work.’
Victor swallowed. ‘It’s… it’s possible… I mean, you won’t have a hundred percent… but hell, it’s a lot better than a shoot-down and having the anthrax spray out as the fuselage descends. Question is, can you get those refueling aircraft to those three AirBox planes in time?’
Monty got up and started running out to the Operations Center.
Lt Gen. Mike McKenna said, ‘Mister Zane, we’re working, working it right now… hold on, all right.’
‘All right,’ came the voice on the other end of the line. McKenna put the phone down. He waited in his office. Waited. Looked at the phone, knew that one of these days he’d have to meet this guy, face to face, and find out how in hell he did what he was doing without cracking. Right now, he could use some tips. Outside on the floor his adjutant, Colonel Anson, was huddled with other officers, talking, gesturing with her hand, and then she looked around at the other officers, nodded, and ran back up to his office.
She was out of breath. ‘General… with so many overseas on deployment… it’s… it’s…’
‘Go on.’
‘Two, We have just two KC-135s that can reach them, once we configure the refueling booms so they can dump the necessary fuel.’
‘Which ones?’
‘The flights in Missouri and Kentucky. We don’t have anything in the area that can reach the one in Pennsylvania in time.’
‘I see. All right, get on it, get those jets to the AirBoxes in Missouri and Kentucky.’
McKenna picked up the phone and said, ‘Mister Zane, got a mix of news for you
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Monty said, ‘Could you repeat that, general?’
McKenna said, ‘We will have two KC-135s airborne shortly that can reach the AirBox aircraft in Missouri and Kentucky. The KC-135 heading to Missouri just came back from a refueling mission over Nebraska. They’ll have enough fuel to do the job. The Kentucky KC-135 is fully topped off and is on its way. But your AirBox flight in Pennsylvania, one-oh-seven…it’s going to be tricky.’
‘Define tricky.’
‘If we can get the KC-135 in Kentucky to your AirBox flight in time — and if they can disperse the fuel in record time — and if your AirBox flight in Pennsylvania flies on an intercept mission to them… they might have enough time and fuel to pull off a rendezvous.’
‘That’s a lot of ifs,’ Monty said.
‘Like I said, tricky. But your one-oh-seven flight — if it doesn’t get pulled off…’
‘I know. A one-way trip.’
‘Hell of a thing,’ McKenna said.
‘On that we agree, general.’
Aboard AirBox 15 over the Ozark Mountains, Steve Jayson said to his captain, Trent Mueller, ‘Tell me again you’ve had experiences with KC-135s.’
‘That I surely have, son,’ Trent said. ‘Back in my days, humping C-141s, I refueled from them a number of times. But today it’s going to be some tough flying. We’re breaking all the rules, you know.’
‘No, I don’t know,’ Steve said. ‘Enlighten me.’
‘KC-135s are converted Boeing 707s, flying fuel tanks. Carries about 120,000 pounds of JP-4 aviation fuel. You’ve got your pilot, co-pilot, navigator and an NCO in the rear who operates the refueling boom. The boom is an extendable piece of equipment, deploys from the rear. Job of the other aircraft is to fly tight formation directly behind and below the KC-135. The guy at the rear, the “boomer”, maneuvers the boom into the second aircraft’s refueling port. Airborne refueling at its best.’
‘And what rules are we breaking?’
Steve heard his captain laugh. ‘Thing is, the receiving aircraft — us — is supposed to be below and behind the KC-135. Flying constant altitude and speed. But according to the ACARS message, we’re going to be flying just above the KC-135 as it’s dumping its fuel, and we’re both going to descend at the same rate. So that fucking anthrax flies into the fuel cloud. And, by the by, we’ll be flying into the fuel as well. Might screw up our instrumentation. Might cloud up our windscreens. Might cause the engines to choke up and cause a crash. Nice stuff like that.’
‘Holy shit,’ Steve said.
‘Nothing holy about it, pal.’
A message crackled in Steve’s earphones from the regional ATC: ‘Ah, AirBox one-five, your tanker, Cheyenne Six, is 270 for fifteen miles, heading three-six-zero at flight level two-two-zero.’
Steve toggled the radio microphone, ‘This is AirBox one-five, flying heading three-five-zero for rendezvous.’
‘Maintain flight level two-one-zero and two hundred and fifty knots. Contact Cheyenne Six on second radio on frequency one thirty-two point five.’
Trent said, ‘Steve, I’ll talk to the tanker. You keep talking to ATC.’
Steve saw Trent dial in the radio frequency and key his own radio microphone. ‘Ah, Cheyenne Six, this is AirBox one-five.’
‘AirBox one-five, this is Cheyenne Six. Air National Guard, at your service.’
Trent replied. ‘Glad to see you, guys. You got the brief, right?’
The pilot said, ‘Got it. Let’s do it.’
Trent swallowed. Just beyond a range of mountains, the gray form of the KC-135 came into view.
‘All right,’ Steve said. ‘We’re visual. We’ll be coming up behind vou shortly.’
‘Roger, AirBox one-five. You’re cleared in.’
Steve said to his pilot, ‘Air National Guard. Christ.’
Trent said, ‘What’s the problem?’
‘Weekend warriors.’
Trent was silent and Steve thought his captain hadn’t heard him. Then Trent corrected him.
‘Steve, most of these weekend warriors have ten or twenty years’ flying under their belt. They have a hell of a lot more experience then some active-duty guys. And these weekend warriors are putting their asses on the line to make sure that you and I don’t end the day as smoking pieces of charcoal — try not to forget that, all right?’
His face burning, Steve said, ‘I won’t.’
In an Air Force KC-135 designated as Pegasus Four — the aircraft was almost ten years older than the oldest member of its four-person crew — the navigator, Lt Jeannette Smith, tapped the pilot on his shoulder and said, ‘Sir, incoming flash message.’
The co-pilot and pilot both read the message, then looked up at each other. The co-pilot, Lt Travis Wood, said, ‘Can you believe this ?’