"HAWC has four B-52s undergoing modification to Megafor- tress, including one"-Orinack motioned to a tall officer in the rear of the conference room--commanded by Major Kelvin Carter, that will act as backup aircraft for this test. " Carter's copilot, a young female captain named Cheshire, gave Ormack a look. "You included, Captain Cheshire," Ormack added quickly.

"Can it, Cheshire," Carter whispered to his copilot.

"Then don't you be hogging all the glory," she whispered back, trying to keep a straight face.

"Roll call for Mission Three Sierra: aircraft commander will be myself," Ormack went on. "Colonel Jeffrey Khan will be copilot, and in the instructor pilot's seat upstairs will be Mr.

George Wendelstat from the House An-ned Service Committee, acting as safety observer. Welcome, Mr. Wendelstat." Several in the room wondered how they'd manage to shoehorn Wendel- stat in through the entrance hatch.

"Rounding out Dog Zero One's flight crew is radar navigator Major Edward Frost, navigator Major Linda Evanston, elec- tronic warfare officer Dr. Wendy Tork, and fire control officer Dr. Angelina Pereira. Good luck to us all."

McLanahan had to choke down his feelings. It seemed so strange for him to be left out of the crew roster for the Mega- fortress' first combat-exercise flight. But it was no longer his project. He had safely flown the Old Dog from Nome back to Dreamland eight years ago, and had not stepped inside her since.

It was like being reunited with an old friend who didn't recog- nize him any more.

The huge flat-screen liquid-crystal monitor behind Ormack changed to a digital time face. "Time hack, coming up on twelve-oh-four Zulu in fifteen seconds . . . five, four, three, two, one, hack. One-two-zero-f6ur Zulu."

136 .

This day had been years in the making-two years of rede- signing and computer testing by the engineers after the plane had returned to Dreamland; three years of rebuilding by a bat- talion of workers, and three years of experimentation and testing by the engineers and test flight crews. Now, the first newly re- designed B-52 bomber called the Megafortress Plus was ready to break its cherry.

A weather map came up on the screen and Lieutenant Colonel Jacobsen, HAWCs staff meterologist, stepped to the podium.

"Good morning, General Elliott, General Ormack, ladies and gentlemen. You picked a wonderful day for this flight." A re- gional surface weather map came on the screen. "Strong high pressure dominates the region. This high pressure dome has re- duced visibilities in the restricted areas in the past few days, but some overnight breezes have pushed most of the gook out of the way. You can expect clear skies, perhaps some scattered thin stratus at twelve thousand feet.

"For the air-to-air portion of your flight: no significant weather in R-4808 Pahute Mesa launch area. Possibly a few puffy clouds on the east side of mountain ranges but otherwise no restrictions to visibility. Winds forecast at twenty knots from the north at fifteen thousand feet. For the air-to-ground portion of your flight, excellent weather conditions will persist. Visibility may be as low as twenty miles on the surface, with winds light and varia- ble. Bombing range area will be 'severe clear,' possibly some hazy conditions, temperature seventy-eight degrees. Good luck and good hunting."

Ormack took over as the screen changed again. "Status of the chase aircraft are as shown. Everyone's in the green as of this hour. Please report maintenance delays to job control on present channel eight. Colonel Towland is the operations controller in the command post and he will reassign backup aircraft as nec- essary."

The screen changed to a detailed high-resolution map of the restricted areas around Dreamland. The map was put into mo- tion by computer, drawing the flight path of the Megafortress as Ormack spoke: "Route of flight is as follows: we will launch via coded message and follow the Groom Victor One departure to Angel intersection. Once at Angel, we will orbit as necessary at thirty thousand feet until one-five hundred Zulu time, then proceed downrange toward the intercept area.

"Once in the intercept area two AQM-175 tactical dome air- craft launched from China Lake Naval Weapons Center will be directed by airborne controllers to engage the B-52. The Mega- fortress will carry two AIM-120 Scorpion missiles in wing pylon canisters and will engage the drone aircraft at will. The engage- ment will continue for one hour or until the drones are de- stroyed. Flight crew personnel and airborne controllers will follow standard rules of engagement for safe separation of air- craft. All flight crew personnel will take directions from the airborne controllers. If not destroyed, the drones will be recov- ered by parachute, and the Megafortress will proceed to the missile drop zone."

The screen changed again. "The Tacit Rainbow anti-radiation loiter missile drop test will be at twelve thousand feet, in roughly the same area as the intercept zone. A simulated Soviet SA- 14 surface-to-air missile site will engage the B-52 . . . Dr. Tork? "

Wendy Tork came to the podium. She was wearing a bright orange flight suit and black leather zip-up flight boots-even the baggy flight suit looked dynamite on her.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," Wendy began, her energy contagious even at the early hour. "We will be testing the new array of strategic and tactical pulse-Doppler electronic countermeasure jammers aboard the Megafortress Plus, as well as the Tacit Rainbow mod three anti-radar loiter missile. The purpose of this flight is to evaluate the Megafortress' capability to penetrate sophisticated Soviet coastal defenses using its own assets, and at the same time create penetration corridors for other aircraft using the Tacit Rainbow anti-radiation missile.

These will lay the groundwork for fleet modernization of existing B-52 aircraft as well as develop new capabilities for follow-on aircraft such as the B- I Excalibur and B-2 Panther Stealth bomber. "

A high-resolution photo of the anti-radar missile flashed on the screen. "First developed ten years ago, Tacit Rainbow is a small winged aircraft with a one-thousand-pound-thrust turbo et engine, a ring laser gyro inertial navigation unit and coupled autopilot, a broad-band programmable seeker head with multi- pulse and digital radiation capability, and a one-hundred-pound high-explosive warhead. The missile is released within fifty miles of a known or suspected enemy surface-to-air missile site. The missile orbits the area using its inertial autopilot until it detects 138 .

emissions from the nearby enemy radar. The missile then leaves its orbit and homes in on the radar and destroys it. The missile can orbit for as long as four hours and has a small enough radar cross-section to avoid detection by hostile anti-air units. A B-52 bomber can carry as many as twenty-four of these missiles, al- though we see these Tacit Rainbow missiles carried with a mixed load of offensive missiles and gravity weapons aboard Navy and Air Force strike aircraft . . ."

Patrick realized how much he envied these men and women.

And listening to these briefings and organization of the Mega- fortress Plus project tended to underscore his own apparent fail- ure with the DrearnStar project, now on hold mostly because he failed to keep tighter control on his test pilots and to recognize the need for more complete and useful test standards and secu- rity.

He was in charge of nothing right now except cleanup. Sure, he had been given the Cheetah program, but that was already a thriving project nearing operational deployment. He was just another caretaker, marking time.

His eyes automatically sought out Wendy's, and he found her looking in his direction. They exchanged faint smiles. She had been watching him off and on the whole time. Better snap out of it, you stupid mick, he told himself. She'll have enough on her mind without worrying about you.

The briefing ended and the flight crew moved toward the exits and the bus ready to take them to the flight line. McLanahan went to each crewmember and wished him or her a good flight.

"You should be going with us, Patrick," Angelina Pereira said, giving him a very unmilitary hug. "This is your plane.

You belong on her. You and General Elliott too."

She was wearing the same orange flight suit as Wendy, and she too looked dynamite in it despite being fifteen years older than Wendy. Her hair was more gray then he remembered, but her eyes still sparkled. Angie would always be a handful for any man-she had married and divorced twice since the Old Dog's first mission. He could still see her in the denim jacket she had worn when she climbed aboard the Old Dog eight years earlier, and he could remember her gratitude when the Russian caretaker at Anadyr Airbase in Siberia gave her a full-length sealskin coat in exchange for her denim jacket, even though at the time the jacket was covered with General Elliott's blood. That coat today had to be worth at least five thousand. She would not have parted with it for five million.

He could also remember her dropping into marksman's crouch as she fired on that same Russian airbase caretaker after he dis- covered who they were and ran off to warn the militia. One minute she was eternally grateful to the guy; the next she was trying to blow him away. She was one tough lady, all right.

"Not this time, Angelina," Patrick said with a halfhearted smile. "But I'll have the fire trucks and the champagne ready to hose you guys off when you land."

"It's your project as well as ours."

"Not any more. Besides, you guys did all the work "No, you did. Back over Russia." Like him, she had been thinking back to the Old Dog's first mission. "Even though you won't fly with us your name's still on the Old Dog, on the crew nameplate. It'll be there as it's flying." '

"But I'm not the radar nav any more-"

"No, you're not, you're the seventh man, Patrick. Sorry to sound corny, but you're the soul of the Old Dog - "

She squeezed his hand, picked up her helmet bag, and walked off. He saw Wendy then, watching him once again from the back of the conference room. He went over to her.

"How do you feel, Mrs. McLanahan?"

"Wonderful. Happy.. Nervous. Excited. I've got butterflies the size of B-52s in my stomach . . . Are you going to be okay?"

"Sure. I I "Wish you were going with us. You deserve it more than anyone else." She could tell he was unconvinced. She smiled at him. "When should we break the news?"

"At the post-flight reception tonight."

"Can't wait." She gave him a kiss and hurried off to join her crew.

He called out behind her. "Good luck. See you on the ground. "

Wendy flashed him an exaggerated thumbs-up. "Piece of cake," she called out as she rushed off to catch the crew bus As the crew of the new Megafortress Plus headed off to begin their mission, Staff Sergeant Rey Jacinto was nearing the end of his tour of duty on the graveyard shift, on patrol guarding Han- 140 .

gar Number Five at the flight line at Dreamland. It was the absolute pits.

He had done everything wrong. After four years as an Air Force security guard he knew how to prepare himself for a change in shifts-plenty of exercise, the right amount of rest, not too much food, no caffeine or alcohol twelve hours before the shift. But this time everything had gone to hell. His wife had car trouble Monday afternoon and so he was up all morning towing it to his brother-in-law's place. It had been hot, dusty work and he couldn't resist a couple of beers at two o'clock in the afternoon-that only violated the eight-hour rule by two hours. No big deal.

His body began asking him for sleep at three o'clock, but the car needed a new water pump and his brother-in-law insisted they could do it before he had to leave. Then, to top it all off, he sat down at six o1clock for homemade pizza. Knowing that he hadn't had any sleep in twelve hours and he wasn't going to get any in the next twelve, he downed nearly a whole pot of coffee after polishing off four huge, thick slices of pizza.

Rey felt pretty good as he reported for duty at seven-thirty for the shift-briefing, inspection, weapons checkout and post, changeover, but when he parked his an-nored assault vehicle in front of Hangar Number Five, things began catching up with him. The combination of caffeine and lack of rest made his mus- cles jittery. The night air was cold, so he turned up the heat in his V-100 Commando armored car, which only increased his drowsiness. He had brought his study materials for his bachelor- degree class, but the thought of even trying to listen to an hour's worth of audio textbooks on micro-economics was too much.

By four A., four hours from changeover, Sergeant Jacinto was struggling to stay awake. Everything was quiet on the ra- dios-no exercises, alerts, weapon movements, nothing. With the B-52 down the way in Hangar Three being readied for a flight, a security exercise would be too disruptive and would not be called. The engineers who had been working on the XF-34A DreamStar in Hangar Five had long since departed, and the munitions-maintenance troops weren't scheduled to arrive until after his shift-change. Even nature was conspiring to screw him up. Thin clouds blocked most of the bright moonlight, so the ramp and most of the area were completely dark, and there were no birds or animals making their usual noises on the dry lakebed 141.

aircraft ramp. It was'a dark, quiet morning. If he didn't go completely crazy he was going to die from the strain of trying to stay awake.

Rey had just completed his hourly walkaround inspection of Hangar Five, checking all the doors and exits. He was so bored that he even began to pick up scraps of paper and pieces of junk on the ramp. He returned to his truck and keyed the radio.

"Red Man, this is Five Foxtrot." Red Man was HAWCs Security Control Center.

"Go ahead, Five."

"Requesting ten mike for relief."

There was a pause, then: "Five, that's your fourth potty break tonight. "

"It's Rey's time of the month," someone else on the security net chimed in.

"Cut the chatter, " the security controller ordered. "Five Fox- trot, unable at this time. Stand by. Break. Rover Nine, this is Red Man. Over."

"Rover Nine, go." Rover Nine was one of only two M113 armored combat vehicle-equipped crews that cruised around the huge compound, doing errands and relieving the post guards as necessary; they had numbers higher than two to hide the fact that there were only two of these heavily armed roving patrols on the flight line.

"Five Foxtrot requests relief for ten mike ASAP.- "Stand by," came the reply in an exasperated voice. A few moments later: "Red Man, we're at the shack getting coffee- Five Foxtrot's been drinking the stuff like it's going out of style."

Rey Jacinto cringed as his code name was broadcast on the net- boy, was he going to get it when this shift was over. Good thing none of the other guards could leave their posts to get on his case. "We'll be another ten here, then we need to check in with the main gate. Ask Five Foxtrot if this is a number two or if he can use the piddle pack. Over."

Rey was fed up with all this-they weren't letting him off easy tonight. He was just bored and sleepy. He keyed his micro- phone: "Break. Red Man, this is Five Foxtrot. Cancel request for relief. Request the comedians in Rover Nine bring some wa- ter when they're done stuffing their faces at the flight line kitchen.

Over. "

"Roger, Five Foxtrot. Rover Nine, you copy?"

142 .

"Affirmative. Advise Five Foxtrot to stop massaging his little one-eyed helmeted reptile and stand by. Rover Nine out."

There were a few more comments on the net-no one liked to give the hot-dogs on Rover Nine the last word-but soon si- lence once again descended over the area.

By now Rey was struggling to keep his eyelids open. The worst part of any guard's tour, no matter how well one prepared, was the hour or two just before sunrise. It was a barrier, a psy- chological one-the body demanded sleep at this hour no matter how much rest it had earlier. Rey Jacinto's head was bobbing up and down off his chest. He had already stripped off his fatigue jacket, flak jacket and webbing so as much cold air could hit his skin as possible. It wasn't helping.

He was thankful to see the lights of a big blue Stepvan supply truck check in at the outer perimeter. The blue "bread truck"

van, towing a missile trailer, headed right for him. He was feel- ing a little ornery by now, and this was his chance to get his blood pumping again. Quickly he pulled on his combat gear and webbing as the truck pulled up.

When the truck stopped in front of Jacinto's armored car, he got out, carrying his M-16 rifle at port arms, and ran in front and off to the driver's side of the van. He held up the rifle, filled his lungs with cold desert air and yelled, "Driver! Stop your engine, leave your headlights on and everyone out of the van.

Now! "

The driver and one other man, both in Air Force green fa- tigues, jumped out of the van and stood before Jacinto in the glare of the van's headlights. The younger man, a two-striper, was shaking. The driver, a burly technical sergeant, was sur- prised but kept his composure as he raised his hands. "What's going on?"

:'Step away from the truck," Jacinto ordered. Both men did.

'What's going-?"

" Quiet! Don't move! " Jacinto still held his rifle at port anns- his voice was enough to convince the two men. Jacinto rested the automatic rifle on his hip with one hand and pulled his walkie-talkie from his web belt.

" Red Man, this is Five Foxtrot. Two males intercepted at Five, driving a blue Stepvan with missile trailer. Executing full nighttime challenge. Over."

"Copy, Five Foxtrot," the security controller replied. There 143.

was a hint of humor in the controller's voice-he knew Jacinto was going to have a little fun with his visitors. "Do you require assistance? "

"Ne ative. Out."

The driver of the truck said, "Sergeant, would you mind-?"

"Silence. Tlim around. Both of you."

"I've got authorization-"

"I said turn." They did. "Where's your I. cards?"

"Back pocket."

"One hand, two fingers. Remove your I.- They removed wallets from back pockets. "Over your head. Remove your L D.

cards. " They did. "Drop them slowly, carefully, at your feet, then take three steps forward." When they moved away Jacinto said, "Now kneel. Hands on top of your heads."

"Give us a break, Sarge-- "Kneel.

As they did, Jacinto walked over to the I. cards, picked them up, and examined them. They were bent, dirty, grease- encrusted and barely readable-typical maintenance troop's I.

cards. Jacinto stepped around the two kneeling men and shined a flashlight in their faces. The faces matched the photos.

"I need job slips now. Where are they?"

"Upper left pocket."

"Get them out." The two technicians pulled crumpled slips of paper from their pockets and put them on the ramp. Jacinto picked them up and checked them under the flashlight's beam.

He couldn't check the job numbers-he'd left his clipboard with the job numbers from the squadron in his truck-but he checked the MMS squadron supervisor's stamped signoff block on the reverse side. The stamp and signature were the most frequently omitted part of the job ticket, and both were required before any work could begin on any of the birds on the line. But these guys were on the ball-both had the required stamp with the familiar signature of the MMS NCOIC.

"Okay, Sergeant Howard, Airman Crowe," Jacinto said, looping the M-16 back onto his right shoulder. "Everything checks okay."

"You're damned right it does," Howard said, hauling himself to his feet. Jacinto held out the job tickets and I. cards to them. Howard took his I. D. card and job ticket back with a snap of his wrist; Crowe took his with relief.

144 .

"Why can't you bozos do your little games during the day?"

Howard said. He motioned to Crowe, who seemed to be ce- mented in place. "Move it, Airman. We're behind schedule as it is."

"Wasn't expecting you till nine," Jacinto said.