“Don’t listen to him, Brittany,” Red urged.
Hewlett racked his pistol’s slide, chambered a round, and diverted his aim to include Red before returning to Brittany.
“You make one threatening move toward the Chairman, and I swear I’ll blow the two of you away.”
The collision-avoidance radar continued chiming, and Lucky was the first to spot the flashing strobe lights of the flight of three swiftly approaching U.S. Navy F-14 Tomcats.
“Oh, shit!”
he cursed, as two of the swept-wing jet fighters flared out to take up an outer position beside the F-15s, and the remaining Tomcat initiated an incredibly tight arcing turn to position itself directly ahead of them.
“Nightwatch six-seven-six, this is Tomcat Leader. I’ve just been informed by the Truman that Strike Eagle’s orders are unauthorized.
You are to immediately come around to course three zero-four, at an altitude of three-zero-one-five-zero feet. Over.”
“Tomcat Leader, this is Major Foard aboard Nightwatch six seven-six.
Be advised that I don’t intend to alter our current flight plan. You are to break formation and clear our airspace. Over.”
“Nightwatch six-seven-six, this is Tomcat Leader. I have been authorized to use any means at my disposal to get you to alter course to Andrews. Do you copy? Over,” Foard was tiring of this foolish game of chicken, and there was a definite tone of finality to his voice as he spoke into his chin mike.
“Tomcat Leader, this is Nightwatch six-seven-six. I intend to land this aircraft at Langley Air Force Base, as ordered by General Spencer, and that’s final. Over.”
The line went dead, and all the occupants of the flight deck watched as the three Tomcats abruptly broke formation and roared off into the night, the red-hot plume of their afterburners clearly visible in the crystal-clear black sky. While Lucky tried his best to follow them on radar, Jake vented his nerves with a long sigh of relief.
“Thank goodness that’s over with,” he remarked, a thin sheen of perspiration gathered on his brow.
“I mean, it’s not like they were gonna shoot us down for not changing our destination airfield.”
“Don’t be so sure of that, son,” said the Chairman heavily.
“Major Hewlett,” said Brittany, after transferring the flare gun to her left hand, “it’s time to end this impasse as well. I’ll lower my weapon if you do likewise. I’m certain that we can come to some sort of mutual understanding for the remainder of this flight.”
The Marine nodded in agreement, and both of them tentatively lowered their pistols. A sense of relief was shared by all, and Coach addressed them collectively.
“There will be plenty of time to sort this whole mess out once we’re on the ground. If the winds continue to cooperate, that will be in approximately ninety minutes. So please, keep those guns stashed away, and try to get along until then.”
“Coach,” interrupted Lucky, “we’re not out of the woods just yet. The Tomcats have broken formation, and we’ve been once more painted by their attack radars.”
This tense revelation was followed by the unexpected arrival of a blinding volley of tracer rounds that streaked past the cockpit, parting the narrow void between Nightwatch and its P-15 escort.
“Are those guys nuts?” screamed Lucky, who couldn’t believe that the Tomcats had the audacity to shoot at them.
“Tomcat Leader!” Coach forcefully exclaimed into his chin mike.
“You are to refrain from further firing at once! Do you read me. Tomcat Leader?”
There was an ominous silence, broken only by the urgent chiming of the collision-avoidance radar.
“Incoming bogey directly ahead of us!” warned Lucky.
“Break left. Coach! Break left!”
Without a moment’s hesitation. Coach turned his steering yoke hard to the left, and the sudden, steeply banked turn that followed caused the four occupants of the flight deck who were not restrained by seat belts to go crashing to the floor. Coach had no time to worry about them, his attention focused instead on the F-14 Tomcat that appeared to be headed toward them on a direct collision course.
He ignored the bite of his shoulder harness, and with the yoke still fully engaged, he looked on with horror as the Tomcat soared directly over the cockpit, so close that he feared the afterburners might have scorched the E-4B’s upper fuselage.
“That crazy son of a bitch!” cursed Coach, trying his best to pull out of the turn as smoothly as possible.
He ignored a frantic intercom page from Colonel Pritchard, who wanted to know the reason for this sudden turn, and reached up to activate the seatbelt warning sign.
“The Tomcats appear to be coming around for another intercept,” said his badly shaken copilot.
“We’re a damned sitting duck up here!”
“Major Foard!” shouted Red from the upper-deck rest area.
“Major Hewlett has just grabbed the Chairman, and they’re headed down the stairway!”
“Let them go!” Coach replied, his eyes riveted on the Primary Flight Display.
The fixed bar representing the plane’s wings gradually evened itself out against the green-tinted artificial-horizon display representing the earth’s surface. This indicated level flight, and before Coach could express his relief, the Tomcats returned — this time with tragic consequences.
The F-14s were attempting to divert the Eagles with a crossing pattern, with two fighters coming in from the right and one from the left. The startled occupants of the E-4B’s cockpit were seated at center stage, and looked on with shocked horror as the trailing Tomcat appeared to clip the wing of Eagle Two. There was a blinding fireball as both aircraft exploded, with only a single parachute spotted amongst the fiery debris that proceeded to shower from the skies.
“Goddamn it!” Coach cursed, jerking the yoke hard to the right to miss striking the remnants of the two doomed aircraft.
“I knew this was going to get totally out of control.”
They watched the remaining F-15 peel off to engage the unlikely enemy that was responsible for taking out its wingman, and seconds later, the E-4B’s radio crackled alive.
“Nightwatch six-seven-six, this is Tomcat Leader, and I’m smack on your tail. Now come around to course three-zero-four, at an altitude of three-zero-one-five-zero, or next time you’ll be the one going down!”
“Somebody sure wants this plane either on the ground, at Andrews, or blown out of the fucking sky,” said Jake.
“Which means they probably intend to continue orchestrating their coup from Nightwatch once we return home,” Coach surmised.
Lucky looked at Coach, his frustration obvious.
“We’ve got to get that fucking Tom off our tail.”
Coach returned his copilot’s supportive glance, and he flashed the slightest of grins as an idea suddenly came to mind.
“Wire operator!” he shouted into his chin mike.
“I need you to initiate an immediate wire-out.”
“But, sir,” countered the amplified voice of the perplexed airman manning the antenna operator’s station behind the aft lower equipment area, “there’s another aircraft directly behind us.”
“Son,” retorted Coach, “deploy the goddamn wire!”
“Wire is deploying,” Jake reported.
“Ten feet… twenty feet… thirty feet …”
“Nightwatch six-seven-six, this is Tomcat Leader. You’ve got ten seconds to change your course as ordered before I begin shooting. Ten… nine… eight …”
Coach breathlessly waited until the countdown reached five, then grabbed for the emergency wire cutaway lever, which was positioned on the far left portion of the flight control console.
“Tomcat Leader, up yours!” he cried into his chin mike, engaged the lever, and called out, “Wire away!”