The only defense Jack had against the fighters no doubt searching for him was the ground, and so he dropped the Phantom down to the deck, skimming the flat marshlands that bordered the coast. The mileage indicator clicked to 112 miles as he saw the faint outline of a bay in the dark. He knew where he was and changed heading slightly to the east, heading in a direction away from the base. He could only hope the MiGs were being deployed as a blocking force directly between the target they had struck and Ras Assanya.
The glowing Master Caution Light caught his attention. How long had that been on? He punched it off and checked the warning panel on his right. The “Check Utility” pressure light was illuminated and the Utility Hydraulic Pressure gauge read zero; he had lost his primary hydraulic system. He ran over the systems he had lost and what he would have to do; no brakes, no gear lowering, no flaps. He went over the emergency procedures that he had spent hours drilling into his memory: blow the gear down, blow the flaps down, lower the hook, take the arresting cable stretched across the approach end of the runway. Hell of a time to have to act like a Navy carrier pilot…
Eighty-five miles out from Ras Assanya the oil pressure on his number one engine fell to zero and he had to shut it down before it froze up and created the same intolerable drag C.J. had encountered. Without a choice, he started to climb, gaining the altitude he needed to fly the disabled aircraft — the telltale buzz of a strong search radar came through his earphones, the enemy had found him.
“Well, I’ve done this one before,” he said to his unconscious wizzo. Of course, if Thunder were okay, he’d jettison the bird, but he wasn’t, so get on with it. He remembered the emergency landing that he and Landis had made at Stonewood when they had lost an engine and their Emergency Hydraulic pressure. The conditions had been perfect for an emergency landing that time and Tom Gomez had still told them to eject. Now the option wasn’t available when he wanted it the most. He keyed his radio, calling the tower at Ras Assanya. “Rats Tower, Wolf Zero-Nine, Mayday, Mayday.” For the first time, he was aware of the loud wind noise in the cockpit.
“Roger, Wolf Zero-Nine,” the tower responded. “You are weak and barely readable. Say position and emergency,” the tower controller answered, and at the same time hit the alarm button to the crash trucks and hospital clinic…
Lieutenant Colonel Steve Farrell, waiting out the recovery of Wolf Flight in the tower, did not hesitate when Jack told him about their battle damage and the condition of the Phantom. “Wolf Zero-Nine,” he radioed, “recommend controlled ejection. Overfly the base and point that pig out to sea. Eject when you are over the runway, we’ll catch you and the bird will glide for two miles before it crashes, well clear of us.”
“Negative,” Jack replied. “Thunder can’t take an ejection. I’m taking the approach end barrier.”
Farrell acknowledged Jack’s decision and keyed the crash radio, telling the crash truck, clinic and Waters about the emergency.
“Boss,” Farrell said to Waters, “if he prangs on the runway he’ll close us down. The rest of Wolf Flight is still airborne and we have to recover them—”
“They’ve got a tanker and can go someplace else. If they have to land here for an emergency or for fuel we’ll bulldoze Jack’s bird off the runway.”
“What if the crew is still in the plane?”
The knot of decision grew tighter for Waters. “They go with the jet if they’re still in it.” Waters ran for his truck, wanting to be on hand to do what he could…
The tall crew chief stood beside the crash truck, watching his Phantom, 512, come down final. His hand was on the collar of the crash team’s leader. “I’m going with you,” he told the man. “I’ll pop the canopies open for you—”
“Get your hands off me, and you ain’t coming with us; you’ll get in the way… ”
“You hurt my bird and I’ll squash your head, shithead. Personally, you hear?” The crew chief threw the man back into the truck…
Doc Landis sat in the ambulance, waiting. If anybody could pull this off, Locke could…
Unconsciousness was starting to swirl around Jack again as he fought for control of the wounded F-4. The airspeed needle hovered around 280 knots, over fifty knots above the recommended airspeed for final approach. But whenever he inched off the power he could feel a loss of control and had to inch the power back in. It was going to be high-speed approach and touchdown. As he brought the Phantom over the approach lights he carefully bled the power off, inching down to 240 knots, on the very edge of controlled flight. He ripped the throttle of his good engine aft as the gear slammed onto the runway. The F-4 bounced back into the air, its hook missing the arresting cable, but the big rudder exerted enough authority to steer as Jack fought to stay on the runway, and the hook snagged the second cable two thousand feet further down the runway, jerking the Phantom to an abrupt halt.
The ambulance reached the Phantom seconds after the crash truck, and Doc Landis held his breath as he received the unconscious pilot and wizzo that the rescue crew handed down to him.
The shop buzzed with its normal Friday afternoon gossip as the wives from Stonewood streamed in, getting their hair coiffed for the weekend. The wives had an excursion on for Stratford-on-Avon Saturday and Sunday, so Gillian and her people were busier than usual. From the comments, some less subtle than others, it seemed a number of the ladies were using the trip as cover for a weekend with someone other than the husband. Gillian was glad when Beth Shaw arrived. She liked the older woman, a straight-on set who disdained gossip and obviously cared about her husband and his cadre.
“Is something wrong, Gillian? You seem upset… ”
“No… I guess it’s because we’re so busy.” And changing the subject, “What’s a stand-down, Mrs. Shaw? Everyone keeps talking about it.”
“Well, it seems the wing has stopped flying combat missions, at least for the time being,” Beth told her. “Everyone is hoping that it will become permanent and the men will be coming home. Haven’t you heard about it?”
“The shop keeps me so busy I don’t have much spare time,” she said, deciding not to tell Beth Shaw she deliberately ignored the newspapers, TV and any talk of the war, afraid they would remind her too much of Jack.
“Yes, well, the wing has been so successful in its last few missions. Thankfully, no one was lost. One crew was wounded but they landed safely. There are rumors that feelers have been extended on both sides to stop the fighting. It’s in the morning papers.” Beth knew a good deal more, thanks to her husband’s recital of the 45th’s proud record, but she also knew that a general’s wife had to button up, as he put it. Still, no harm in talking some about what was in the papers. “The two wounded men were a Captain Locke and a Captain Bryant, I believe. Did you know them? I understand Captain Jack Locke is considered quite a catch… ”