Warriors by Barrett Tillman (21 page)

      
Nicely done, Mr. President,
conceded the interviewer to herself.
But I'm not the fluff peddler you expected, am I?
Actually, both individuals were getting what they wanted: Arnold proved his accessibility and Willard could stick another feather in her bonnet.

       "I'd like to ask about the Middle East, Mr. President. What can you say about the continuing crisis in Jordan?"

      
That's more like it, my girl.
"There's cause for both encouragement and alarm there, Trudy. Encouragement because at last, after two years or so, the various parties are talking to each other. But I see cause for concern because the Israeli forces in Jordan are coming under increasing harassment from the unoccupied areas. It's still a tense situation, and we're working hard to keep everybody talking to each other . . ."

Bahrain

      
"Who's the honcho in the robes?"

       Ed Lawrence pointed toward a throng of Saudis showing considerable deference to a man in flowing
mishlah
and
ghotra
with the traditional
jambia
curved dagger at his waist. Bennett glanced to his right, squinting in the bright sunlight. "That, my boy, is our employer of these past two years. King Rahman of Arabia."

       "Oh, yeah. I remember he promised to award wings to the first class. But it's still hard for me to ID people in their native duds."

       Bennett groaned, glancing around to be sure nobody overheard his exec. Occasionally Bennett had seen the king in immaculately tailored business suits, contrary to the monarch's predecessors. Acknowledging Rahman's temperament and need to balance himself between two poles-tradition on one hand and racing events on the other-Bennett admired the man's sartorial versatility.

       More than 200 people occupied the seats and covered bleachers arranged on the flight line. Most were there to see their sons, brothers, cousins, and nephews graduate from pilot training. But no Saudi women were present-some things just didn't change.

       Others represented the embassy community-predominantly Arab and Western diplomats and attaches. Though low-key throughout the previous two years, the F-20 program had drawn much professional interest. Now that the first class was graduating, there was speculation as to how the assets would be employed. People had picked up Bennett's phrase, Tiger Force. He had designed a patch and had his personal aircraft repainted. Now 001 sported a wicked shark's mouth on the nose and glaring eyes around the gunports.

       The two Americans walked to the pavilion reserved for IPs and maintenance staff near the announcer's platform. The instructors wore their nomex flight suits with brand-new name tags standardized for a more orderly appearance. Velcro-backed Tiger Force patches flashed their orange and black colors from the left shoulder; orange ballcaps and polished black boots completed the outfit. It wasn't entirely regulation, but it looked more uniform than the hodgepodge of U.S. Air Force, Navy, and British gear the IPs had worn previously.

       As the announcer asked the guests to take their seats-speaking alternately in Arabic and English-the forty-one graduating cadets stood to attention by their chairs. Bennett reflected on the composition of the class. His estimate of two-thirds completion had proven surprisingly accurate. Over the previous two years, including preflight, twenty-four of the original candidates had fallen short.

       Also gone were three of the original instructors. Two had found the prolonged regimen in an Islamic culture too confining and had backed out. The other withdrew owing to family problems back in the States. Replacements were quickly found from Safad Fatah's pool of alternate applicants.

       The accident rate had been within limits, considering they were taking fresh students and putting them in a frontline fighter from the first day. The airplane was uncommonly forgiving and the engine superb. Five F-20s had been lost in two years. One of the single-seaters had suffered a disconnected throttle linkage and the engine had gone to idle power. The pilot had no choice but to make a controlled ejection; he'd been rescued unharmed. Another had gone down with its student pilot during a solo aerobatics flight. Judging from witnesses' report, the young man had initiated a split-S from too low-he evidently misjudged the density altitude. Two losses were attributed to GLoC-the unavoidable G-induced loss of consciousness present in all modem fighters.

       Two months previously, during a tactics flight for dissimilar air combat training, a two-seater had collided with an F-15 Eagle. Both aircraft were destroyed; the Saudi Eagle pilot was killed. The IP in the Tigershark's backseat ejected with minor injuries but the student was badly burned by jet fuel which ignited on bailout. Several other students washed out of the advanced phase, having proven they could fly the airplane but were poorly adapted to a high-G environment. Two of these were retained when offered the chance to recycle as maintenance officers.

       The remaining tigers had done well-most of them uncommonly well. And God, did they push the airplane! There had been several minor scrapes, but the students learned from their mistakes. Each was wiser for his errors.

       Having established a baseline of evaluation criteria with the first class, the IPs expected to do better with the second. The next batch, graduating in two months, probably would produce forty-three to forty-five pilots-enough for three full squadrons. Two squadrons would be formed from Class One, with the overflow being diverted at first to instructor and maintenance-engineering slots. From these men would come the future leaders of all eight to ten Tigershark squadrons. In the meantime, senior Saudi pilots from F-5 units were transitioning to F-20s, though the IPs would remain closely affiliated. The king and Fatah were concerned with retaining the independence and "purity" (the word was Fatah's) of Tiger Force.

       The band struck up the Royal Saudi Anthem and everyone stood during the short instrumental. Then the announcer-a gifted twenty-year-old linguist from the second class--called the spectators' attention to the left front. Six F -20s started engines in succession and taxied in formation to the end of the runway. Lawrence glanced at Bennett, and they exchanged wry grins. Masher Malloy, looking uncharacteristically regulation, arched his eyebrows and rolled his eyes suggestively. Tim Ottman raised one hand, his fingers crossed.

       Bennett whispered to Lawrence. "How much practice did you say the guys put in?"

       Lawrence raised the fingers of one hand.

       "Five hours?"

       "Five flights."

       "Sorry I asked."

       At almost the last moment, Safad Fatah had passed along the king's "suggestion" that an air show be part of the ceremony. The IPs had already planned a formation fly-by, but the Saudis wanted something more. Against their better judgment, Bennett and Lawrence had assembled an impromptu aerobatic team of six instructors.

       Fortunately, there were four experienced air show pilots on the staff: Bear Barnes had been the lone Marine on one Blue Angels team; an Air Force pilot named Brad Williamson had flown with the Thunderbirds; and two British pilots were veterans of the RAF's spectacular Red Arrows. A U.S. Navy and Air Force man were selected as solo pilots. It had not been possible to work up a really quality routine in the limited time, with instructor duties thrown in.

       Geoffrey Hampton, the precise Briton who had been a contract Jaguar pilot for Oman and the senior Red Arrow, was designated team leader. He had worked out a twelve-minute routine which minimized formation aerobatics and stressed the F-20's performance. There had been time for just one full rehearsal, including the announcer, before graduation day. Now, huddled at the end of the runway, the team heard Hampton key his mike.

       "Brakes off-now." Four Tigersharks accelerated together, lifting off and shifting smoothly into diamond formation. The two solos made a section takeoff fifteen seconds later, occupying the crowd's attention while the four positioned for the first pass.

       The show was routine as military flight demonstrations go--but impressive nonetheless. The Tigershark's performance was dramatically illustrated as the first soloist flew across the field in landing configuration at 140 knots. His partner overtook him from behind at 450 knots, lit the afterburner, and rocketed into a series of vertical rolls almost out of sight.

       The first solo pilot had positioned himself for a low pass at Mach .92. Many of the spectators never had experienced the phenomenon of near-supersonic flight, and the effortless grace of the Northrop's passing-split seconds ahead of its own sound-prompted murmurs in the stands.

       There followed a demonstration of the F-20's low-level maneuverability. The second solo pilot screeched over the field at 510 knots, lit his afterburner, and rolled into a vertical bank. Pulling a constant six Gs around the turn, he made two circuits-720 degrees-then climbed straight up. He was joined overhead by his partner, awaiting the diamond four.

       As the six jets touched down and taxied to the ramp, knowing glances were exchanged among the IPs.
Whew--we got away with it!

      
Bennett picked up a valise and walked to the announcer's stand.

       He arrived just in time, as the young Saudi announcer was sticking to the schedule his notes required. Mounting the platform, Bennett looked at the crowd. Standing behind him were the students, arrayed in perfectly ordered rows.

       The announcer briefly introduced Bennett, then handed him the microphone. Addressing the king, Bennett spoke slowly and clearly for the benefit of all present. "Your Majesty, it is my privilege to present to you the graduates whom we honor today. These young men have worked as hard to earn their wings as any pilots I have known in any nation. We, their instructors, are immensely proud of them. "

       The king, striding forward, seemed to glide in his elegant robes.

       He warmly shook Bennett's hand and, in precise English, said, "Colonel Bennett, your organization also is honored this day. You have completed the training of the first class on schedule, and we acknowledge the second and third classes which will graduate later this year. You gentlemen from the United States and Great Britain have accomplished all that you set out to do. I have no doubt that your professionalism will be admired by all those present today."

       Bennett recognized the latter statement as a mild rebuke to the doubters who insisted the accelerated schedule could not be accomplished. The king now regarded Tiger Force as his own, and no one could deny that the program had succeeded. The first class had achieved the equivalent of more than two and one-half years work in barely two, including indoctrination and preflight.

       The instructor for each section of students stood by the rostrum as the announcer called each name in turn. Flanked by his IP, the student watched as the sovereign picked a set of wings from the large felt pillow and pinned them on the khaki uniform. A hearty handshake, a few heartfelt words in Arabic, and the young man stepped off the platform as a commissioned officer.

       Bennett took a moment to speak to most of the students. He made a special point of talking to Rajid Hamir and Ahnas Menaf. Each had been identified as potential leadership material. Menaf, more self-confident than most, was among the best stick-and-rudder men in the class. He would go directly to work in the instructor's class, ready to pick up the third class late in its syllabus.

       Bennett naturally warmed to Hamir. Clasping the twenty-one-year-old's hand, he could not conceal his pride. "Mr. Hamir-Rajid-you can be proud of yourself. You've done very well in training and I think you'll have a fine career."

       The young man smiled shyly, blinking back the emotion he felt.

       He introduced his father and brothers. Bennett was surprised when Rajid mentioned his fiancee. There had been no previous indication the young man intended to marry. Eventually Bennett added it up:

       The marriage had been arranged when the couple still were children. He did not realize such things still were done.
Well, live and learn,
Bennett thought. "Congratulations, Rajid."

       "Thank you, sir. She will be a good mother for my sons and I hope she will be happy as a fighter pilot's wife." Rajid looked left and right, then leaned close. "Even if it may not be what she hoped for."

       Bennett thought better of pursuing that line of conversation.

       "You know that after your first squadron tour you'll return as an instructor if the force needs to expand."

       "Yes, sir. I am pleased with both opportunities."

       "Lieutenant Colonel Lawrence and the other IPs selected eight of you for that duty. We have warned everyone against overconfidence; there's still eight months of operational training in the squadron, and flight leader upgrade. But pilots like you and Mr. Menaf-excuse me,
Lieutenant
Menaf-will be the basis of Tiger Force's future. It's a big responsibility, Rajid. But you can handle it. "

       IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON BEFORE BENNETT AND MOST of the IPs could disengage from the reception and displays. Two F-20s, including 001, were available for inspection while student pilots from Class Two took turns answering the litany of questions. Bennett had just untangled himself from the French air attache to Saudi Arabia when Lawrence tapped him on the shoulder.

       "Somebody's looking for you."

       "Is that good or bad?"

       The blue eyes sparkled. "Oh, I'd say good-very good." He pointed to a comer of the hangar. "Close enough for a visual?"

       "Affirmative. "

       Claudia only recognized Bennett as he drew near. She had never seen him in flight suit and ballcap--somehow he seemed to belong in those clothes, in this place. She extended her hand.

       Bennett resisted the urge to hug her. It was not permitted in public. "Claudia., I'm really glad you could make it. I got your note. "