“UFO, Lefty. Aliens are coming,” Padre said over the intercom. Then transmitted outside on the UHF freq, “Okay, sir. Wilco. We’ll look for your traffic,” he quickly transmitted back to the ship.
“GUNFIGHER 78, how do you hear?”
“Four by four, GUNFIGHTER 78.”
“GUNFIGHTER, turn left to zero-three-zero, climb and maintain angels ten. Report upon arrival.”
“Ooohh, Lefty. A female controller. She likes you.” Padre said on intercom, then transmitted outside, “roger, Gettysburg, GUNFIGHER in the climb to angels ten.”
Padre pulled more collective with his left hand and pulled back the stick. The Cobra zoomed from their current altitude of 300 feet above ground level to 10,000 feet. It took them only five minutes or so, and they reported upon arrival.
“Well, here we are, smoking and joking. I don’t see shit up here. But keep your eyes open, Lefty,” Padre told Lefty. “No sleeping up in the front. Hey, tell your girlfriend we’re here at her altitude.”
“Gettysburg, GUNFIGHTER, reporting in at altitude.”
“Squawk 1256. Turn right to two-two-zero and fly max endurance airspeed.”
“Come on sweetheart. Really? How many bags of gas does she think we have out here? Max endurance airspeed? I have to look in the charts?” then transmitted, “1256 and roger, we’ll look it up.”
“Smooth, kid. You look it up.”
“You look it up, you lazy fucker…,” replied Lefty, who really was a righty.
Padre cut him off. “Hey. Shut your pie hole. Look at that over there… shit. What the hell is that up at eleven o’clock, left to right, passing away from us?” Padre asked.
“Huh. Never seen that aircraft before. Looks like a… what, a black… F-117? But different. Something isn’t right about her. Tough to tell size from here, but this one looks bigger, much wider,” Lefty said to Padre.
“Gettysburg, GUNFIGHTER 78. Reporting in with your unidentified aircraft.”
“Go ahead, GUNFIGHTER.”
“From my position, we see a black jet, high altitude, heading 240 magnetic at about 300 knots. Closely resembles an F-117 stealth fighter from the U.S. Air Force.”
“Gettysburg 6 copies. Thanks, Gunfighter. You’re cleared to resume training with controller or on own. See you upon landing.”
“Roger, sir. GUNFIGHTER 78, request vectors for a PAR…”
Gettysburg CO put down the headset he had up to his ear, and turned to the OOD for a connection to Lincoln. It took a bit longer than he had hoped because it was a challenge for the Lincoln crew to locate their skipper.
“Muddy, hey, Rocko Cooper here. Got your aircraft. Ready to copy? Okay, we had a Marine Cobra crew attached to us… got him vectored around for a bit. At 1658Z, the flight crew, from 10,000 feet at our 080 radial, reported that they saw a black jet at high altitude, heading 240 magnetic at about 300 knots. They said it looked like an USAF F-117. A… eh… a stealth fighter. No electromagnetic detection or passive emissions. No radar signature,” Gettysburg nodded. “Yup. Got it. Will pass to my crew. Thank you. Cooper out.”
Gettysburg CO paused and didn’t say anything, then called over the OOD.
“What’s going on, sir?” asked the OOD.
“Get the ATC controller and bring her over here for a moment,” asked the CO.
A tall female sailor came over, not sure why she was coming over in the middle of her shift to talk with the boss. She approached him timidly.
“Yes, sir?” she said quietly.
“Good morning. Just wanted to pass good job on the vectoring. I also wanted to pass, and OOD, this goes for you as well… that was a foreign jet from another country and the intelligence community is working it. It is a sensitive mission, so we aren’t going to talk about it. Forget it ever happened, okay? For the rest of your life, this didn’t happen,” the CO said, nodding his head yes. “Until death. And OOD, I want to talk to that GUNFIGHTER crew upon landing. They can get their asses in here, too.”
The black Suburban passed the security checkpoint on the west side of the Pentagon, police lights in the grill illuminating the front of the SUV. Martin knew the uniformed Pentagon Force Protection Agency officers well after serving in Washington for so many years, and gave them all a wave as they drove through. Martin took the Deputy and Jason over the red, pop-up, anti-terrorism physical barriers with ease, and up the twisted cement vehicle ramp to the parking lot on the River Entrance side of the Pentagon. Martin then drove through the River Parking Lot, and stopped in front of the staircase so Mr. Burns could exit.
The River Parking lot was full of black, four-door sedans and Chevy Suburbans, all with dark tinted windows, some engines running and some parked in numbered spots. Some sedans were for Military Service Secretaries or Secretaries in the Office of the Secretary of Defense, while others were for the General and Flag Officers in Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. It seemed like every General or Admiral had at least a one vehicle, sometimes two, along with a junior officer Aide to carry comms gear, weapons, and correspondence. From Combatant Commanders to four stars senior leaders assigned to distant places like Korea or Europe and visiting the Pentagon, most or all of them traveled with some variety of speechwriters, protective security detail, Legislative Liaisons, Political-Advisors, and Public Affairs Officers. If a visiting head of state was visiting, a defense minister, Prince, Prime Minister, Minister of Defense or senior member of the House or Senate, or anything close to those titles, the River Lot could be full of competing agency vehicles. It was a site to see for any visitor to the building, but on this day, Deputy Burns didn’t have time to screw around.
Jason got out first and walked around to meet Deputy Burns on the sidewalk. They both stepped up the wide exterior staircase, passed in-between the thick five-story tall marble columns, and through the large golden wooden doors. Jason led them through another security checkpoint and up the historic black marble stairs that every President has walked on since January 14, 1943. Deputy Burns always stopped to glance at the framed Oath of Office, no matter how jammed he was for time, that hung in the corner of the landing. It reminded him, and all who passed there, what their legal and moral obligation was to their country.
“Sir, I don’t know all the details, but do you want me to go in first and talk to the General, or do you just want me to bring you to the Secretary of Defense’s Office and wait?” Jason asked, as they made it to the top of the staircase.
“Thank you, Jason. I’m good with speaking with both the General and the Secretary,” the Deputy said, making a left at the top of the staircase in the E Ring.
Like rings on a bulls-eye, the inner ring of the Pentagon was the A Ring. It had a view of the internal tree and grass-lined courtyard, and was where the less powerful players of the Defense Department sat in their desks. The most outer ring of the Pentagon, the E Ring, was where the power in Washington sat. The Secretary of Defense, the Deputy Secretary, the Service Secretaries, and Under Secretaries, and the Generals and Admirals of the Joint Staff, all sat in the outer E Ring.
Just then, the Deputy Secretary of Defense walked by, along with his people, heading down the staircase to another floor. The Deputy usually handled strategic topics of importance internal to the Department, ranging from new weapon systems being acquired to readiness of the force to dealing with the Service Chiefs. Most senior leaders thought of the Deputy Secretary as handling internal business to the building, and the Secretary handled things outside the building, such as the President, Capitol Hill, international diplomacy, and shaking hands with the troops.