a reserve fighting force that can be mobilized and ready to fight in a matter of weeks or months. It’s a trade-off. We don’t spend as much money keeping their men and machines in the inventory, but we don’t have those forces available quickly or at such a high state of readiness.”
“You’ve given me the politically correct reply, Victor,” Mortonson said, “but I want to hear what you
“They’ve been flying the fast jets for years, sir,” Hayes replied. “The Reserve forces account for about one- third of all the missions flown by the Air Force. In some missions, like air defense, they account for
Mortonson glared at Hayes. “Dammit, General,” he said, “are you ever going to give me a straight answer? Do you think it’s a wise move, a wise investment, to have the Guard and Reserves flying planes like the B-1 bombers?”
“Yes, sir, I do,” Hayes replied resolutely. “I believe in the concept of the citizen soldier. I’d rather see talented, highly trained crews get out of the active-duty force and fly in a Guard or Reserve unit for a few years than be sucked into the civilian market where we can’t use their skills. The Guard and Reserves preserve a good bit of the hundreds of thousands of training dollars we spend per crewman — if he didn’t fly in the Guard or Reserves after active duty, we’d waste all the investment we made.”
Mortonson carefully considered that argument. “Point taken,” he said, nodding. “That’s too big an issue to handle right now anyway. General, I’m not going to consider your antiballistic missile squadron idea at this time. We’re going to have our hands full trying to convince the Joint Chiefs, SECDEF, and the President that we’re not a couple of maverick nutcases ready to plunge the world into a nuclear holocaust…”
“Sir, before you say no, here’s what we have right now,” Hayes said quickly. “We’ve got weapons, avionics, training materials, and spares ready to equip two more planes. The gear is already bought and paid for. If Terrill Samson gets authorization and funding, he can put together two more Lancelot planes within three months, and ten more within a year. Let’s find a couple of airframes and some crews and give it a shot. If it doesn’t work, we haven’t wasted anything. If it does work and you want to proceed, we’re already in motion.”
Mortonson hesitated — another good sign, especially for a guy known to make snap decisions. “These will be Air National Guard assets?”
“We’ve already got several candidates lined up,” General Hammond said, “and we can begin the selection process immediately. All we need is a go-ahead.”
Mortonson hesitated once again, then nodded. “All right. Put it together for four airframes only. But be prepared to put it all back on the shelf if SECDEF or the White House says no.” Both Hayes and Hammond nodded. “Speaking of the Air National Guard, what’s the current status of that Nevada Guard unit?”
“They are fully operational, with five manned planes, one plane without a full crew, and one spare,” General Hammond responded. “The five crews are reserve mission capable, which means they can be called up, used as replacements, or trained to full combat-ready status within sixty days. They begin their unit requalification course in a few weeks.”
“If they pass it, they stay — if they don’t, we pull the plug on them,” the secretary of the Air Force said flatly. “We don’t have the money to waste on ineffective units, even if the state is putting up a bunch of money to support them.”
“Sir, I think this Nevada Air National Guard unit might be exactly the guys we’re looking for with this new antiballistic missile intercept squadron,” Victor Hayes suggested. “The mission demands an experienced and hard- charging crew…”
“No way, Victor,” Mortonson interrupted, waving a hand in dismissal. “Frankly, I’m hoping for the sake of our budget that they
“I think it’ll definitely send a message, Mr. Secretary,” Hayes said. “I think the message will say, ‘Don’t be aggressive, don’t risk it, because if you screw up, you’ll be shit-canned.’ Sir.”
“My message about shaping up or you’ll find yourself unemployed applies to the commanders as well as the airmen, General Hayes,” Mortonson said acidly. “It should probably go double for you and General Samson. You take risks, you’d better be prepared to accept the consequences. That is all.”
CHAPTER TWO
Although the Nevada Air National Guard had a very nice all-ranks dinner club in Reno — in fact, one of the finest in the nation — few of the members of the 111th Bomb Squadron used it except for official social functions. Years earlier, back when the Air National Guard flew the RF-4 Phantom, the squadron members had “adopted” a run-down little bar and casino on South Rock Boulevard near the old Cannon Airport, now the Reno-Tahoe International Airport.
The bar’s real name was the Quarry, because it had been built near a small quarry used to provide sand and gravel for the concrete for Reno’s new airport’s runways, but no one used it. It was known to all as Target Study. It provided a convenient and convincing excuse or explanation to someone asking about a squadron member’s whereabouts, as in “He’s at target study” or “I’ll be at target study for the next couple of hours.” Because it was close to the airport, it also made for a fine place for crew members to wander up onto the roof and watch the planes come and go.
It was the first time since his accident that Rinc had been back in the place. Out front, there were six tables, a few booths, a couple of card tables, a few slot machines and video poker machines, and the bar. The place had become decorated over the years with photos, memorabilia, books, signs, and other items from the Air National Guard flying units in Reno, and from visiting flying units from around the world. Every new guest was required to sign his or her name on the walls — most chose the bathroom of the opposite sex. Signatures and messages at the bar itself were reserved for VIPs or high-ranking officers. Anyone uninformed enough to wear a tie or bring a hat into the place had it snipped off or removed and tacked up on the rafters, and there was a huge collection of these trophies overhead.
Behind the bar, up on the shelf next to the expensive liquors, Rinc knew there was a full set of B-1B tech orders, and he had no doubt they were in inspection-ready condition. There were also tech orders of all the planes the Nevada Air Guard had ever flown since its inception in 1946: P-39, P-40, P-51, T-33, and F-86 fighters, RB-57, RF-101, and RF-4 tactical reconnaissance fighters, and C-130 Hercules cargo planes, all in equally perfect condition. In the back was a billiard room with slot machines, movies, newspapers, and computers. It was off limits to all but Aces High personnel of all ranks.
Martina — no one knew her last name — was out front behind the bar as usual. She virtually came with the place, and she was most definitely in command here. Martina weighed more than 260 pounds and could have just as easily been the bouncer. Rumor had it that pilots paid off big bar tabs by sneaking Martina onboard their planes. She supposedly had over a hundred hours in the RF-4 Phantom, although it seemed impossible she could ever have squeezed herself into the seat.
“Hey, Rodeo,” she said, greeting Seaver as if she had just seen him the day before. She poured him a large glass of diet cola. Martina knew the flying schedule just as well as the crews did, and she always knew when a guy was within twelve hours of a sortie and would stop serving him alcohol. Woe to any flier who tried to argue with her.
Rinc was looking the place over, drinking in the welcome atmosphere. There was no air-conditioning, and it was stuffy and musty-smelling, but it still felt cozy, much like his dad’s old ham radio room in the basement of their house when he was a kid.
His eyes were drawn to the back of the bar and the “Snake Eyes” board. Fifty-three years of photos of dead members of Aces High were pinned up there — and yes, he saw they had added the pictures of his dead crewmates to the array. In fact, it was a crew photo, their Fairchild Trophy shot taken in front of their plane…
