'I'll tell you what, Eddie- 'Go ahead, General, I've got plenty of gas-and firepower.'
'I've got more than a code-word, Eddie, I've got a story. A story about a certain wing commander at a conference in Omaha. About a certain air division commander's wife. A story about a blond kid in an Italian family 'Stop crappin' around, Elliott-' 'My mission is no crap, Sands. I may not be doing it by the book but I'm Special Ops. We both get to tell our stories to headquarters when we land. 'Elliott quickly switched to interphone. 'Patrick. Range to the interceptors?'
'Twenty-five miles.'
'Well I've got a story about a certain hot-shot one-button in the Philipines that should prove entertaining,' Sands hit back.
'I had dinner with the Secretary two weeks ago, Eddie.
While you were chipping ice cubes out of your undies I told him that story. He bought me a martini afterwards. Look, we're running out of time, I don't want those fighters any closer. 'On interphone he said, 'Frequency clear?'
'Yes, sir,' from Wendy. 'The interceptors are contacting their command post for engagement authorization' 'You're on, Eddie,' Elliott said.
'Cutlass flight, this is Alpha aboard Icepack one-oh-one on channel nine.
'Copy you loud and clear now, Icepack,' the lead pilot of the F-15
Eagle two-ship formation replied. 'We have visual contact on you but not on your receiver. Heavy Milling on all frequencies. Permission to join on your receiver's wing for positive ID.'
'Negative,' Sands told him wearily. 'Positive ID already established.
Status is Red Aurora. Red Aurora. Alpha out.'
'Patrick?'
Fighters are turning,' McLanahan reported. 'Heading back toward the coast.'
'Shut down U.H.F again, Wendy,' Elliott said. His order was instantly confirmed by a loud crackle of static on the radio he was monitoring.
'That won't be necessary, Genesis,' Sands said over the VHF refueling frequency. 'We'll play ball, damn you. But the fighters and my command post will just get nervous if they can't talk to us.'
'I'm counting on you, Eddie.'
:'Open a window and we'll shake on it, Genera 'Wendy, open up three-eleven again,' Elliott asked. 'Leave everything else shut down.'
Sands unplugged his interphone and oxygen connections and cleared off to the air refueling pod in the back of the converted DC-10 airliner.
He strapped himself into the long wide boom operator's bench and stared out the window beneath their feet.
'What's his ranges' Sands asked the boom operator.
'Almost two miles. Still can't see him. And it's not even completely dark yet.'
'Genesis, this is Icepack. You guys are either very small, very dark, or both. Turn your lights back on or we'll be up here a long time trying to plug you.'
'Who's in the pod, Eddie?' Elliott asked.
'Just me and the boomer.'
'No other spectators, Eddie. Deal?'
'I got a feeling I don't want to see this,' Sands muttered over VHE ' Okay, agreed. Let's see what's such a big goddamned deal — ' 'Lights are coming on.'
The formation lights revealed the size of the unknown receiver, but nothing else. It appeared like a group of stars flying the formation behind the KC-10 tanker.
'We're also going to need fuselage lights, Genesis,' the boomer said.
'I've got your receptacle light okay but no azimuth or elevation references.'
'Give 'em the fuselage lights, John,' Elliott said. He was busy adjusting his seat down and forward for the best position for refueling.
Roger,' from Ormack. Just then the Old Dog began to slide to the right. Ormack pressed on the left rudder pedal and looked anxiously at Elliott.
'General?You okay?'
'Sure, I've got it.'
'We're yawing to thexight. Straighten her out. Let up on the ly straightened out.
right rudder. 'The Old Dog slow' 'You've got the refueling, John, Elliott said, relaxing his grip on the yoke. His head rested on the headrest on the back of the ejection seat, his chest heaved.
'But-' 'I was testing out the rudders,' Elliott told Ormack. 'I pushed the right pedal but didn't feel anything happen so I sscd harder. I still can't feel anything… I think I've lost pre my right leg.'
'Goddamn,' Ormack said, grabbing the yoke and putting his feet on the rudder pedals. 'I've got the aircraft.'
'You've got the aircraft,' Elliott responded, shaking the yoke. Ormack gave it a shake to confirm he had control. Elliott slid a hand down his right leg and over the calf. A few hours earlier such an exploration would have caused almost excruciating pain. Now, nothing.
He could feel his finger pressing on the muscle beneath his knee, but he felt nothing. It was an eerie feeling, like touching a hunk of salami…
Ormack looked anxiously at the huge KC-10 looming before them, its boom extended, waiting.
'General,' Orinack said firmly, 'I'm aborting this mission-' 'No.' 'McLanahan had a point, sir. It's not worth your le 9 'Refuel this aircraft, Colonel,' Elliott said finrily. 'We're not stopping now.'
'But, General, I-' 'I said refuel this bomber. Two men have already sacrificed their lives for this mission. 'He grabbed the yoke, gave it an angry shake and put a gloved hand back on the throttle cluster between them. 'And if I have to refuel this plane without your help I will. Understand?'
Ormack slowly nodded. 'All right, General, all right…
I've got the airplane… but I need a pilot, General. A onehundred percent combat ready pilot. Do I have one?'
'Well, my right calf is about twenty-five percent, John. But your pilot who also happens to be commander of the Old Dog is one hundred percent. Refuel this plane.'
Ormack nodded in surrender, looked at the air-to-air TACAN distance readout. 'Icepack, Genesis is approaching one-half mile. 'The boom operator gripped his fly-by-wire digital boom controls and stared into the darkness below. The wingtip position lights of the mysterious receiver were just barely visible, as were some fuselage and upper-position lights. The slipway-door light danced eerily in the gloom before him, and he had to close his eyes to avoid getting the 'leans,' a loss of equilibrium caused by the moving light without any horizon references. There were lights out there, but even at a half-mile he couldn't see any airplane body to go with them.
'Genesis,' the boom operator said, 'be advised I have your lights but have insufficient vertical, horizontal, and depth references for a safe call to precontact position.'
'We have a good tally on you,' Ormack told him. 'Clear us to precontact and we'll give you range countdown to contact. If you can't see us that way He looked to Elliott.
'Clear us to precontact,' Elliott said, filling in for Ormack.
'Stick the boom out there, booms. We'll put this plane underneath it and you plug us.'
'Roger, Genesis,' the boomer said uneasily. 'You are cleared to precontact position, with caution.'
'Roger. Moving in.'
Sands and the boom operator stared anxiously as the slipway door light moved toward them.
'One hundred feet,' Ormack reported as his own depth perception finally snapped in. Before, he had merely aimed the top of the Old Dog toward the nozzle light ahead; now he could better gauge the actual distance involved.
'Still no-' The boom operator paused. For an instant he could discern an object passing just on the edges of his wide pod window. He tried to piece that glimpse into a whole airplane, but it was impossible.
'Stabilized precontact,' Ormack reported.
'What?' from the boom operator.
