“Thanks. Um, let’s use this, ah… this tampon. Here take the wrapping off, and plug the bullet wound.”
“Tampon? For real? Where the hell did you get that?”
Wu laughed. “I was at the…”
WHOOP. WHOOP. WHOOP. PING. PING. PING.
Wu put his right hand up to silence the warnings.
“WARNING. FUEL LOW. WARNING. FUEL LOW.” said the female voice again, over their flight helmets. Wu did it a second time, reaching up to the dash and pressing the light with his gloved fingers.
“Shit! Get in those flight checklists there on your right, Ford,” Wu said, pointing at Liu’s pile of checklist and kneeboard cards. “Fuel leak is… bigger than I thought. Get us a max range airspeed and power setting. I’ll take a look at some of the winds and get us the best tailwind we can,” Wu directed Ford.
Wonderful… written in Chinese, of course, Ford said to himself. “Okay, okay, Wu. Slow down. It’ll take me a minute to translate this shit to English.”
“Stop complaining,” Wu replied back.
Ford had his head in some of the Devil Dragon aircraft performance charts. To make the most of the range of the Devil Dragon, they needed to get the maximum distance for each pound of fuel burned. It was a basic math formula regarding fuel flow, pounds of fuel burned per hour, aligning it on paper with some thrust curves, mixed in with some multiplication and division, and you get a rich, detailed chart that spits out power setting and airspeed to get the jet the furthest distance available.
“We won’t be able to fly anywhere close to the Mach numbers you talked about, Wu. According to these charts, and if we really are leaking fuel, we have to slow way down. I’m talking way down. Then, climb, and ride her out. Looks like we can only fly at about 250 knots or so,” Ford told Wu.
Wu closed his eyes. “So sorry, Ford. This jet is capable of so much more. At least we’ll have the altitude to keep us safe.”
“With these slower speeds, we’ll see the sun coming up. At least a daytime landing is better than night. And we’ll have about 5 hours to catch up with each other.”
All this way, and out of fuel! Ford thought to himself. Come on, ole Dragon, keep flying….
Mark’s phone was still connected on the ship’s Wi-Fi network, a benefit the U.S. Navy provided to the ship’s crew in order to keep in touch with loved ones back at home. It was up and working most of the time, and today it was giving users full strength.
He felt the vibration in his pocket, pulled it out, and read to himself.
Ford: METS
No shit? he’d thought. Phenomenal. Mark was pumped that the mission was going as planned. Certainly, he was not aware of the difficulties Ford and Wu had getting out of town, but was genuinely joyful the team could pull it off so far.
“Hey, Emily… Robert, got a sec?” as Mark walked to a corner of the dark CDC. “Just heard from Ford. He texted me METS… he’s in the jet now. Gone,”
“That’s bollocks! Bugger!” exclaimed Emily, using one of her British sayings again. “Any timeframe?”
“Nothing other than the code word,” Mark answered.
Robert nodded, his way of approving the operation, ever so stoic. “Well, time to get the Deputy on the horn. Figure we have two big items to bring to his attention. And one for Muddy.”
“We do? What?” Mark asked.
“The way I see it, we should have NSA boys go in and start deleting their phones off the servers at the Chinese telecommunications companies. No trace. Should be easy for them to do remotely,” Robert recommended. “Second order, he should get the Director more involved, and if not available, go over to the Pentagon and talk with the Secretary of Defense. The SecDef. Like, right away.” Mark raised his eyebrows, and Emily nodded in agreement. “The ‘what if’ scenarios are tremendous. Like what if they get caught? What if they have an accident? You know how that works. And, although above my pay grade, talking the National Security Council.”
Mark looked at Robert, then at Emily. “Hmm. You’re right.”
“Yeah. And, finally, this flight deck crew. The colored shirts. They have never recovered a jet like this. This is a black program, and since we can’t limit how many folks are going to see Devil Dragon, we need to do something to limit the leaks. We’ll have to have Muddy call them in, maybe introduce one of us for a talk on what they are about to do.”
The SecDef, or Secretary of Defense, was the overall senior leader of the Department. Nominated by the President of the United States, and confirmed into office by the Senate Armed Services Committee, then by the full Senate. Certainly, the SecDef is the most powerful civilian in the Pentagon and he is responsible for nearly everything that goes on in DOD, from civilian and military policy, to human resources to intelligence. Good or bad, it’s on the SecDef’s watch.
“Good points, Robert. We’ll need to get Deputy Burns on the phone then, and perhaps gin up some talking points for him,” Mark admitted. “Let’s use the ship’s phone system.”
The three walked over to Muddy, seeking to explain that the jet was inbound, but without a timeline.
“Muddy, you have a moment?” Mark asked.
“Yup. What’s on your mind?” Muddy asked.
“A few items, Muddy. First, we just received confirmation via a text message that our pilot, Captain Ford Stevens, reached the Devil Dragon and was taking off. So, they are coming. As we both know, not only will this be difficult on radar, but they won’t be able to talk on the frequencies. Perhaps, only a suggestion, treat this it like a lost comms situation. We bring it up because your radar folks, in addition to your flight deck crew, won’t know when, or what, type of jet is landing. This mission of the highest sensitivity on a national security level. And with today’s young sailors, the Generation Y and Millennials you have up there, for heaven’s sake, no personal cameras or cell phones. Nothing,” Mark explained.
“Totally. Understand,” Muddy said.
Robert cleared his throat. “Muddy. I’d also like to ask something… offbeat. It’s regarding sensitivity and classification. It is possible, say in 15 minutes, to gather your flight deck guys, your colored shirts up there, by the island, for a talk by us? Team DIA? I’ll start out down here with your air traffic control folks, the radar team, and then the electronic warfare guys. I can swear them to non-disclosure statements verbally, and legally,” Robert explained.
“Yeah, that is pretty non-standard….but I guess something like this is unheard of. Okay. We’ll do it,” Muddy agreed. “XO, make it happen,” he turned to Big XO with the order.
The XO called up the Chief Petty Officer of the Ship, and explained that he would be announcing soon that all the men and women on the flight deck meet at the island in 15 minutes. A ‘special meeting,’ he phrased it, and both men knew for sure that the rumors would be flying around the ship in two minutes or less.
“CDC! MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE?” the XO said loudly. “Now that I have your attention, everyone step over here to the light table.” The CDC, about 18–20 sailors and officers, made their way over. “Sir, floor is yours.”
“Thanks, XO. Ladies and Gentleman, I want to introduce to you three members, guests from Washington, of the Defense Intelligence Agency. The DIA. They are here on a special mission, and need our help tonight. Please give them your attention,” Muddy announced.
“Thank you, Captain. Hello, everyone. My name is Mark, and these are my teammates Emily and Robert. We are with the DIA. We are here on a historic occasion, and so are you. I appreciate your time tonight. Within a matter minutes, or hours, depending on how the mission is going, a Chinese stealth bomber is going to land on this ship. Inside the jet, the pilots are friendlies. They are not going to attack us, so don’t worry. I bring this to your attention because anything can happen as they get closer.”