exactly the places he wanted them. Grey ran through a quick console orientation — quick because there was very little to review. The system was so automated that there were very few human-activated switches left. “We monitor and check everything,” Zane said, “and let the computers do their thing. Two minutes to power-up. The computer does power-on checks itself on the mission schedule. Make sure you’re ready — things happen fast from here on. Sing out if you see any anomalies. Otherwise, sit back and enjoy the ride.”
As power-up time approached, Daren silently prayed the old airman’s prayer: God, please don’t let me screw up. “O-kay,” Daren said nervously.
“Bobcat Two-three, AC is ready for power-up.”
“A ‘please’ would be nice,” Daren quipped. He keyed his mike button and spoke, “Bobcat Two-three, MC is ready for power-up.”
“So far so good, guys,” Grey said after the computer completed its checks. “Ready for a tow to the surface.” Engines were not started, and aircraft did not taxi on their own power, inside the Lair unless absolutely necessary. After Grey called the flight leader and reported ready, ground crews hooked a tow bar up to the bomber’s nose gear and pulled the bomber out of its parking spot with a large aircraft tug.
Moving inside the Lair, Daren thought, was like driving a big SUV inside an underground parking garage with very low ceilings — it seemed as if every girder and piece of concrete above them was sure to hit the vertical stabilizer, and even with the wings fully swept, the wingtips seemed to pass just a few inches away from the other parked jets. He instinctively ducked his head when approaching a structural crosspiece in the ceiling.
Daren saw B-52 bombers as they were towed past, including a couple with huge rounded-nose turrets. “Those must be the Dragons,” he said. “Airborne lasers on B-52 bombers. Incredible.”
“Yep,” Grey said. “Fucking amazing jets. They’re still Strato-Pigs, but — my God — when that laser lets go, it still sends a chill down my spine.”
“Who’s the squadron commander?”
“Colonel Nancy Cheshire,” Zane replied. “She’s one of General McLanahan’s test pilots from Dreamland. The Fifty-second Squadron is technically not activated yet, but they’re organized and run just like the other flying units. Just two aircraft, and neither will be mission-ready for at least another year, but they’ve already flown a bunch of sorties, and we know they work. I’d like to have one on every sortie I fly over Indian country,” Zane added.
The Vampire was pulled alongside the lead EB-1C bomber, and the tow bars were disconnected. “Okay, we’ll motor up to level two and start engines there,” Zane said. Level two had special exhaust chambers that channeled the exhaust away more efficiently than did the passive system used in the main complex. “After that, the computer will do the before-takeoff checks, then motor up to the surface, get a last-chance inspection, and then we go.” It was weird to be staring straight ahead at solid rock directly in front of the EB-1C’s windscreen, and Daren was thankful when the engines were started, the last of the pre-takeoff checklists were done, and they were raised all the way to the surface.
It was mostly sunny but windy on the surface, with an occasional cloud of dust blowing past the windscreen. “Lovely day in Battle Mountain, guys,” Grey said. They noticed that Rebecca Furness and John Long themselves were doing the last-chance inspection — Daren could still see Long scowling at him from inside the car.
“Bobcat flight.”
“Two’s ready,” Grey replied. On intercom: “Ready, guys?”
“MC is ready,” Daren announced.
“Banyan ready.”
“Meadows ready. Let’s light this candle!”
“MC, you have the aircraft,” Zane announced.
“Me? Are you kidding?”
“Best way to learn, sir,” Grey said. “No matter how much you want to freelance the training program, sir, you’re going to have to do a check ride, and part of the check for the MC is a takeoff, landing, stabilized precontact position behind the tanker, instrument approach, and visual approach. Might as well get as much stick time as you can.”
“Too bad takeoffs aren’t automated, too, like everything else,” Daren commented.
“They are,” Grey said. “The system actually does a very good formation takeoff. But we don’t do autotakeoffs or much formation stuff anymore. Besides, I like hand-flying the jet every mission, and takeoff seems like a good time to do it. Doing takeoffs is a good way to get a feel for the jet. Besides, if the system decides to burp on takeoff, there’s less chance of an accident.”
“In that case how about I just watch the first one?”
“I’ll watch your gauges,” Grey urged him. “Take thirty-second spacing behind the leader, fan right twenty degrees, turn when he makes his turn, and go into trail on him. I’ll be right here if you need me, sir. We’ll fly with the mission-adaptive stuff on — you won’t believe how smooth and easy it is.”
“I haven’t done a takeoff in many, many moons,” Mace muttered.
“It’s as simple as becoming aware of when she’s ready to fly,” Grey said encouragingly. “We know what the book says the takeoff run should be, and it’s pretty accurate, but the Vampire is like a thoroughbred racehorse — you’ve got to be sensitive to when it’s hesitant, when it’s ready to run, and when to give it full rein. Rotate around one-fifty, climb to one or two hundred feet in ground effect, raise the gear, and then lower the nose until we reach three hundred knots. Once you hit three hundred, raise the nose and maintain three-fifty. As long as you maintain at least two thousand feet per minute, which should be no problem at our gross weight, we’ll clear the mountains easily. I’ll back you up on heading and keep an eye out for the leader. Ready?”
“Ready — I guess,” Daren said.
“You got the aircraft,” Zane said, giving the control stick a shake.
Oh, shit, Daren thought. Here we go. “I have the aircraft,” he acknowledged, shaking his control stick in reply.
The pilot of the lead EB-1C Vampire bomber got clearance for takeoff, taxied off the elevator to the end of the runway, lined up on centerline, locked brakes, lit afterburners, released brakes, and shot down the runway.
A few seconds after the leader lifted off, Daren locked the brakes and smoothly moved the throttles forward. He paused at the first detent, then smoothly moved the throttles into the afterburner zone. “Good nozzle swing… zone five, now… brakes off.”
The Vampire bomber leaped forward as if it were shot from a catapult. Daren was pressed hard in his seat. The pressure on his chest was surprising, much more than it had been in the supersonic FB-111. It was hard to believe that a plane this big could accelerate so fast. It seemed only seconds later that Zane announced, “Coming up on rotate speed… rotating, now.” Suddenly the Vampire broke ground and soared into the air like an arrow fired into the sky. “Positive rate… positive altimeter… gear moving.” Daren checked that all the gear lights were out — and by the time he did, the bomber had reached almost three hundred knots.
“Watch your airspeed — there’s your barber-pole max V,” Grey said. “Don’t be afraid to pull it up. The faster we get to altitude, the better.”
“Guess I’m a little rusty,” Daren commented. He pulled back more on the stick and retrimmed but found he had to pull and retrim every ten seconds or so to keep the bomber at three-fifty. They were now climbing at well over eight thousand feet per minute. “Christ, she’s like a bat out of hell,” Daren muttered.
“You got that right, sir,” Grey agreed. “Mission-adaptive technology. The whole airframe becomes a lift- producing device until we hit three hundred knots, and then the computer takes it away little by little, till just a small part of the wing and fuselage produces lift. That way there’s no induced drag caused by a lot of lift-producing surfaces. Sounds weird, but it’s true. The faster we go, the faster we
A few moments later Zane put his right hand on the control stick. “Good job, sir,” he said. He shook the stick.
