The day he last saw her she looked just like she had ten years before, in high school. She had followed him to the Air Force Academy, waiting those long four years until he graduated and even through their wedding during June Week.…Can you ever know anyone completely?
The memory still tore at him. Even the uncontested divorce, an Arizona “quickie” designed to numb the pain. He hadn’t seen her since that night.…
Bruce pulled himself out of his memories, for he knew that they could become a fixation causing him to tune everything else out. And that was a cardinal sin when flying.
There were too many new things to experience, new relationships to build. A fleeting thought of his father crossed his mind. It had been years since he had really spoken with him, and now he was going to be so close; maybe this was the opportunity to start over. Subic wasn’t too far away.…
Now over land, the fighters were left on their own. The KC-10 had peeled off when they had started to descend, winging its way up to Kadena AFB in Okinawa. The officers on the tanker had several more hours of flight time left, but at least they could get up and stretch — you could nearly play football inside the giant, wide-body aircraft. Cots for sleeping, a small kitchen — all the comforts of home. And a real toilet to boot.
Shaking his right hand to relieve cramping, Bruce grasped the throttle and clicked the mike switch.
“Foggy, you still awake?”
“Who do you think is minding the store when you’re off on Mars?”
“What are you talking about?”
Charlie snorted. “Check altimeter, Assassin.”
Bruce scanned the multi-display console. He was surprised to see that the flight had descended to less than twenty thousand feet. The descent had been that smooth.
Bruce normally allowed Charlie to fly the fighter whenever times were slow. Takeoffs, landings, and dogfights didn’t qualify as slow, but then again Charlie had a pretty good feel for the craft. Besides, he could never tell when Charlie might have to come through for him and fly the airplane back home.
It had happened before; it would happen again.
“Sorry, Foggy. Guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
“S’all right, keeps my mind off the bathroom.”
They were interrupted by the radio.
“Let’s tighten it up, Maddog. Move in to fingertip.”
“Twenty miles, Skipper. We’ve been cleared to break on initial to an overhead pattern.”
“Roger that. Welcome to Clark, girls and boys.”
Charlie read the checklist over the intercom, checking off items as they prepared for landing. The words came as clipped, short sentences, checking over the range of items in the craft.
“Fuel.”
“Ten thousand pounds.”
“Altimeter.”
“Passing nine thousand.”
The minutes passed quickly. They came in from the south, heading straight for the sprawling complex. A single volcanic mountain jutted up from the jungle floor to the west. A checkerboard pattern of green fields dotted the surrounding area. From a mile above ground the area looked peaceful, lush. The day was hazy, barely affording a view of mountains. Bruce knew that Subic Naval Station, where his father was now stationed, lay to the southwest, some fifty miles away. He couldn’t make out the Navy base through the clouds.
“Maddog, echelon right.”
Maddog flight moved from a full, V-shaped fingertip formation to a half V. Two thousand feet to the right lay a town — dingy streets and tin-covered buildings. All around were the remnants of half-built buildings, a morass of people, the tops of brightly colored jeeps, and a confusion of activity.
Then suddenly, they popped over a wire fence. The fence seemed to delineate a different world, a different universe. Bright green grass, razor-straight streets, and a permeating sense of orderliness.
“Fifteen hundred,” warned Charlie.
Bruce still followed in a tight wing, flying three feet behind Maddog Three’s wing tip and three feet to the left. They continued to fly over the expanse of Clark Air Base. The runway came up fast — even throttling back, they were on the landing strip almost before they knew it.
“Maddog, break to an overhead pattern on my command: one break!” Skipper’s fighter tore off and down to the right, turning hard to come in for a landing. The rest of Maddog continued on.
The feeling hit Bruce like a sledgehammer, the suddenness of it.
The months pushing through the divorce, the rut he had fallen into … and now he was starting a new life, away from Ashley, but with the promise of a wide-open beginning. And with his Dad not fifty miles away, it had to be an omen.
“Two’s in break.”
He felt better than he had in his life — even including throwing the hat at June Week, or his interception in the Liberty Bowl. There was a crescendo lifting him up, pumping him into excitement.
“Three’s in break.”
When Maddog Three’s F-15E Strike Eagle broke right, leaving him alone in the air, Bruce went nonlinear.
“Four—break.”
He jammed the stick hard to his front and right. His fighter flipped over and executed the “break right” upside down. The gear warning horn blared throughout the cockpit.
“Yahoo!” Charlie’s voice ricocheted over the intercom. “Go for it!”
They continued the tight turn upside down until the F-15E pointed at the runway. Buildings and cars whizzed by below them; Bruce didn’t look, but he could imagine the open-mouthed stares as people gaped at the upside-down fighter. Now five hundred feet above ground level, Bruce continued to burn in toward the runway, still upside down.
Charlie’s whoops added to the cacophony. Descending through three hundred feet, Bruce flipped the aircraft right side up and brought the aircraft on in. The airways were filled with excited voices — Bruce ignored them and greased his craft onto runway 02.
The fighter didn’t even bounce as it glided in. Bruce automatically started the rundown sequence, disarmed the ejection seat, and switched to the runway frequency.
“Taxiway Alpha to Joliet Ramp, Maddog. Parking assigned after a maintenance check — you are cleared for crossover.”
“Roger, tower.”
“Rog, rog, Assassin!” Charlie said. “You really know how to bring them in. Let’s hope nobody saw that, otherwise you’re going to be one hurting mo’fro.”
Bruce clicked his mike. He concentrated on taxiing the fighter.
By the time they arrived Bruce was too exhausted, too exhilarated to say anything. Charlie had kept quiet since landing, and the usual friendly banter was missing between the craft. Everyone was tired and ready to rest up for the next phase of the show — the start of the actual day-to-day flight operations.
When Bruce revved down his engines, the enlisted engineer popped him off a friendly salute and ran back to where a gaggle of people waited. She motioned to the group. They pushed aluminum stairs to the F-15E and she climbed up. As the cockpit opened, Bruce unbuckled and struggled out of his seat.
Long arms reached down to help him out. “Welcome to Clark, sir.” The female crew chief smiled down at him. She wasn’t a knockout, but she was pretty — and very female. It took a second before Bruce grinned. With his divorce, he had to keep reminding himself that it was all right to start looking again.
“Thanks.” He decided he was going to like it here.
As he pushed out of the craft, a blue-and-white staff car slid up to the fighter. A panel on the front of the car displayed an eagle — the symbol for a full colonel — with the words 4th tfw commander stenciled below the bird. Bruce’s eyes widened.
Bruce nudged Charlie. “Think he’s coming to personally welcome us to Clark?”
Charlie looked deadpan. “What you mean ‘us,’ Assassin? You’re the friggin’ pilot. And since that upside-down stunt broke every safety reg in the book, I’m not expecting the natives to be too friendly.”