The room was silent as Mark quietly made his way over to where Klubb was standing. Klubb stood behind the podium, holding his Sharpie, and wasn’t sure why Mark was coming so close to him. Mark leaned over close enough so that only Mike Klubb could hear what he had to say. Klubb pulled back and scrunched his face.
“Mikey. For Christ’s sake… your zipper is down,” Mark whispered to him, then walked away.
Ford and the snow plow driver slid off the hood of the truck, and fell down in-between the front bumper and the tall and wide yellow blade of the plow. The drop on to the icy pavement was actually a blessing in disguise. This small area was just enough space to fit both men safely and acted as a natural barrier to protect them from the hot gases and flames of the explosion. The blade of the plow was enormous, wider than the truck itself, and had terrific height to push thick, dense snow. This abnormal height and width may have saved both men from severe burns, or worse.
Their heads were down, eyes closed, but they both felt the wave of heat pass over them. Ford was first to make a move. “Let’s go! Let’s go! This way,” tugging the driver on his arm, and crawling out on their hands and knees from their hiding space.
The driver slowly followed Ford, and they were able to crawl, then slowly jog, away towards the approaching fire trucks. The driver, dazed, stumbled and then fell. Ford couldn’t tell if he slipped on the ice, or if the event just overtook him with emotion. Between the cold temperature, the high winds, the accident and explosion, it was a lot for anyone to take in. Ford turned back and helped pick him up off the tarmac.
“Thanks… thanks,” the driver passed to Ford. “What’s your name?”
“Stevens. Ford Stevens. I’m the pilot on that B-1.”
One ambulance stopped at their position, while another few stopped at the aircrew area off near the buildings. The medical teams immediately tended to the driver and Ford, helping them into the rear of the vehicle. Ford stayed only to ensure the driver was taken care of, then jumped out to reach his aircrew.
The airport fire engine apparatuses approached the burning B-1, spraying dry chemical material from powerful high-capacity pumps with their water and foam cannons. The $700,000 Oshkosh Stryker high-speed fire engine, unique in look and size, was built to negotiate rough terrain inside and outside the airport area, and carried large capacities of water and foam. The 44-ton six-wheeler was designed to be able to accelerate from 0 to 50 mph in less than 35 seconds. The Ellsworth Air Force Base Crash, Fire and Rescue Team aimed the bumper and roof-mounted foam and water turrets using joysticks, and sprayed the jet from 150 feet away at 2,600 gallons a minute. The twin agent nozzle/injection systems inserted a stream of Purple-K dry chemical into the foam stream to knock down the fire faster.
The second Oshkosh apparatus, looking near identical to the other, was more elevated, and extended its extinguishing roof-mounted boom arm 60 feet in the air to spray foam. The third truck was Ellsworth’s newest, and had a reinforced nozzle, called a ‘snozzle’, that pierced the side of the B-1 fuselage, dispersing the form agent inside the fuselage, to fight the fire from the inside. The Snozzle was also able to provide cover to any escaping aircrew, generating a raining ‘water umbrella’ over the B-1’s airframe at 250 gallons per minute.
As Ford stepped out and towards his aircrew mates, the driver hollered over, “Hey, thanks, Ford.”
Ford gave a wave to the driver, and arrived to the rear of the second ambulance, glancing over at the B-1 and watching the sun come up for the day. It would be a long day, explaining who did what, in addition to a establishing a timeline to the Air Force Mishap Investigators. Ford was pleased no one was seriously hurt, and looked down the flight line to could see crowds gathering.
“How is everyone?” Ford asked his crew, seeing them all in the back of the ambulance. They gave smiles in return, and Ford was reassured they were all going to be fine.
Ford, though, may not have been fine himself. He had one hell of a headache, an uneasy stomach, and was nauseous. He was in terrific physical shape, yet today, he did not feel himself at all. Something wasn’t right, and Ford just could not put his finger on what was bothering him. He didn’t let on to anyone of his recent condition, and wanted to confide in the flight surgeon who just arrived.
“Hi Ford, how are you feeling?” asked the flight surgeon in the back of the ambulance.
“Well, Doc, my adrenalin is pumping. Got myself a stomach ache, and I’m a bit nauseous. Just don’t feel myself.”
“Completely normal. Let’s go over to the clinic so we can do the blood and urine work. Don’t worry about it. Normal procedure after a mishap. You okay with providing that?”
Quietly, Ford answered the flight surgeon. “Absolutely, Doc. Yup. Will ride over with you guys.”
Before departing, he wanted to give one last zinger to the crew. “Hey Pinky, we still have the spare aircraft. Who wants to fly this morning?” Ford asked with a smile. The aircrew all turned their heads, even McCoy, and stared at Ford with straight faces. If looks could kill, Ford would be dead.
Although Ford was joking about taking up another jet, most aircraft maintenance departments did assign aircrews a spare aircraft, in the event there was a maintenance issue with the primary aircraft upon start-up. Sometimes after starting a jet, a new problem could develop and the crew would have to switch over to the spare.
Ford took his ride to the medical clinic with the Doc, took out his phone and opened the text app. He saw had a few texts, and replied back to only one of them. He typed to Wu.
Wu: You are never going to believe what happened today. Let’s talk soon.
“Well, Mark, you certainly know how to spice up the morning,” commented the Deputy. The Deputy stood in front of his seat rubbing his chin, looked down at the ground for a brief second, and then looked up. “You have your work cut out for you. Let’s see the data on your concept. I like it. When should we meet again? Tomorrow?”
“Yes, sir. Totally. I’ll get the team on it right away.”
“For everyone in here,” as the Deputy Director stepped forward, then turned facing the audience, “I embrace diversity of thought, as you’re aware, which is why I listened to this closely this morning. If Mark is wrong, so be it, he took the chance. We had nothing to lose by listening. If he is right, well, then….it changes the national security ball game, doesn’t it?”
Most of the analysts quietly answered with a yes or a yeah.
“Mark, if you and the crew get any hard data today, I’ll need it soonest. I’m heading to the Hill later, and the Director is meeting with USD (I), and he’ll want to know.”
The Under Secretary of Defense for Intelligence (USD (I), is one of five Under Secretaries that report to the Secretary of Defense. A Senate confirmed position, he is the lead intelligence officer in the Defense Department, and sits in the prestigious outer ring at the Pentagon, called the E Ring, a few doors down from the Secretary of Defense. Like a bulls-eye, the Pentagon’s outer ring is the E Ring, while the most inner ring is called the A Ring. Other agencies that report to the USD (I) at the Pentagon are the National Security Agency (NSA), the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency (NGA), and Defense Intelligence Agency, in addition to the Military Services that each have their own intelligence agency.
What complicated the intelligence community in Washington was the newly formed Director of National Intelligence position, established by Congress in 2004. The Director, known as the DNI, serves as the head of the Intelligence Community, overseeing and directing the implementation of the National Intelligence Program and acting as the principal advisor to the President, the National Security Council, and the Homeland Security Council for intelligence matters related to national security. This complicated arrangement meant that many agencies had two bosses, the Secretary of Defense, as well as the DNI, which provided a sporty atmosphere for everything from briefs to the President to funding turf wars.