Warriors by Barrett Tillman (22 page)

       "It was uncertain until almost the last minute. But Mr. Houston had to represent the ambassador so I hitched a ride." She shifted her glance. "Do you know Colonel Mallon? Glen, this is John Bennett."

       The Air Force officer shook hands with Bennett. "Sure, we've talked a couple of times at the attache's office. You've done a fine job here, Commander." An earnest smile. "Wish I could trade my desk for one of those F-20s. "

       Bennett appreciated another airman's discomfiture with a ground job. "Don't you get to fly?"

       "Not nearly enough. I was an Eagle driver at Langley, long ago and far away. Sometimes I beg a ride with the local sports, but it's not the same." Bennett liked Glen Mallon.

       The attache glanced at Claudia and set his lemonade on a tray.

       "I'd best mingle with the politicos. See you both later." Bennett decided Mallon would have to take an F-20 ride soon.

       "Can you stay for a while, Claudia?"

       Her voice was low, almost conspiratorial. "I arranged to stay for two days. The others are leaving tomorrow morning. I'll have to write a report on the trade mission here, but I can do that from memory. Besides, the embassy feels guilty about asking me to postpone my vacation. I planned to spend my fortieth birthday with my parents but we're short-handed."

       Bennett had almost forgotten-9 October was two days away.

       "That settles it, then. You'll have your birthday cake here. The IPs and some maintenance guys are celebrating graduation tonight. Can you come?"

       "Are women allowed? I mean, how much mingling can you do?"

       Bennett laughed.
"Mafi'misula.
No problem. We have our own compound here. It's a lot more relaxed than in Arabia. As long as we keep the animals in the zoo, there's no sweat. We're even allowed booze-with British bartenders. In
fact, there's quite a few British girls as well-plus Irish, New Zealanders, and some Europeans. Nurses, mostly. Health care is a big item here."

       Claudia seemed relieved. "So I wouldn't be the only woman?"

       Bennett leaned close. "You are the only woman for me."

       "You know that's not what I mean." Her face reddened.

       “All right. There are a few wives, too, mainly Brits."

       "Okay, I accept. You'll have to pick me up. I can't go unescorted, you know."

       "It's a deal. l'

       THE HORSESHOE-SHAPED BAR WAS CROWDED WITH SIXTY flight and maintenance instructors and a few guests. The noise level was tolerable, not quite drowning out the attempt at harmonization of four pilots who occupied the jukebox corner.

      
He's flown the Foxtrot Two-Zero

       From LA. to Riyadh and back.

       There ain't a fighter that flies in the sky

       He's afraid of or that he cain't hack.

      
They taught him to fly down in Texas,

       Sent him to Nellis Air Patch.

       Got an airframe to mark, it's called Tigershark

       And the plane ain't been built she can't match.

       Bennett edged his way to the bar, ordered iced teas for Claudia and himself, and guided her by one arm. They stopped briefly to talk with Peter Saint-Martin and his wife Lynn, a tall brunette from Buckinghamshire. Then Claudia noticed the squadron badges adorning the wall. Intrigued, she walked over to inspect them. Each represented the donor's previous units, most being enamel mounted on shield-shaped wood backgrounds.

       It was an impressive display. Claudia noted the 64th and 65th Aggressors from Nellis. There was the red-starred insignia of the Navy adversaries', the Bandits and the Cylons, and the mailed fist of the Challengers. There were the Silver Eagles from Luke and their partners, the Triple Nickel of the 555th Tactical Training Squadron. And from Topgun and the Air Force Fighter Weapons School. One and all, artists in the realm of aerial combat, teaching it to the new sports or duplicating the opposition.

       Bennett let Claudia take in the collection, silently pleased that she found it interesting. She turned to him. "It's fascinating, so colorful. It's almost like medieval heraldry."

       "Some of it is taken directly from legitimate heraldry, like VC-13." He pointed to the gold fleur-de-lis emblem of Navy Composite Squadron 13.

      
He'll taxi up into your saddle,

       Turn on his M-39s .

       He'll blow you to hell with a twenty mike-mike shell,

       Safe up his guns and fly home.

       Claudia walked down the hall, drawing appreciative glances from the mostly male celebrants. She looked at another panel, then leaned closer. "My God," she exclaimed, "this can't be for real." Bennett moved to look over her shoulder. He laughed aloud.

       Claudia was puzzled. "What's funny about that? I think it's disgusting. 'The World-Famous Puking Dogs.' What does that mean?"

       "That's VF-143. And it's a long story."

       "Well, I don't understand. I mean, what kind of group would actually choose an insignia like that?"

       Bennett placed a reassuring hand on Claudia's shoulder. "I'll whistle up somebody who knows the story:" He looked around the room, then motioned to a group of pilots seated around a table. "Hey, Masher. Come here a minute."

       A short, slightly built man in Nomex flight jacket stood up and casually strode over, beer in hand. Claudia noted the jacket was well used, emblazoned with several patches. The name tag with the stamped Navy wings said MASHER MALLOY, FIGHTER PILOT.

       Bennett made the introductions. "Claudia Meyers, this is Dennis Malloy, known to one and all as Masher. Dennis, this is Claudia. Behave yourself."

       Claudia and Malloy shook hands and regarded one another.

       Masher had been seeing a leggy Irish governess named Beverly, but she was not present that evening. The little aviator looked Claudia up and down for a long three seconds. A direct question was forming in his mind when he sensed his commander's purposeful gaze.

       Flustered, Claudia noted that the man's startling blue eyes darted from her face to her bosom and back again. Apparently he was not going to continue the conversation on his own.

       Bennett said, "Masher, I was telling Claudia about One Forty-Three's nickname. You were in the squadron; how'd it begin?"

       The query startled Malloy from his preoccupation with Claudia's chest. "Oh, the Pukin' Dogs. Well, it all started a long time before I reported aboard, but the original idea was to have a griffin as the squadron emblem." He sipped at his Coors, as if concentrating on the details with difficulty. "One of the junior officers was supposed to make a papier-mache centerpiece for the commissioning. But he wasn't too good with papier-mache. He got the griffin's wings all right, but the head sort of drooped and the mouth was open too far. They ran out of time and couldn't do it over, so they had to go with what was ready.

       "Well, one of the wives walked in, took one look, and said, 'Jesus, it looks just like a pukin' dog.' And that's what One Forty-Three's been called ever since."

       "Thanks, Masher." Bennett's tone was one of dismissal. With a last soulful gaze at Claudia, the little flier walked back to the table to rejoin his drinking buddies.

       Claudia's expression showed bemusement. "Are they all like him?"

       Bennett chuckled softly. "A few, a few. But one of the first things I learned in this business is that a man's personality on the ground may have nothing to do with his flying. Masher's an example. He's a good pilot, but an even better instructor. Upstairs he's all business. Down here, he's real loose."

      
Next morning a quarter to seven,

       They sent him to fight once again

       Against a Foxtrot 15
,
turns tight, fast, and mean

       And they said there's no way he can win.

      
Well, he set up in the front quarter

       At a fairly respectable range.

       Hit the disappear switch, rolled out at Deep Six,

       And the Fox 15
went down in flames.

       The couple found a table with two vacant chairs and sat down.

       Bennett introduced Tim Ottman, who gallantly rose and seated Claudia. She smiled at him, taking in the handsome six-footer.
Well, maybe there
are
some gentlemen among fighter pilots,
she thought. Soon they were deep in conversation.

       "Claudia, I guess you haven't met many guys like these." He gestured around the room. ''Tell me, what do you make of us?"

       Claudia giggled, shaking her head. "Well, I admit I've never been exposed to so many . . . different-"

       "You mean screwy," Ottman said.

       " ... so many different and entertaining people at one time. You guys seem to have so much fun together."

       Bennett hadn't interrupted, preferring to let Claudia get to know some of the IPs on her own. Now he said, "Well, we do enjoy one anothers' company. After all, we have a lot in common."

       Claudia finished her tea. "Yes-you're all crazy."

       "That's part of our charm," Ottman insisted. "For instance, most people would think it's crazy for anyone to want to die at age forty-eight. But I think there's something to it. Probably the best thing that could happen to any of us would be getting killed In action at forty-eight."

       Claudia's face registered disbelief.

       "No, I mean it," Ottman said. And she almost believed him.

       "Look at it this way. You're still at your peak mentally, and most of us are in reasonable physical condition at that age. But in another couple years . . ." He snapped his fingers. "You're on the way out, kid. It's a long slide from there."

       Claudia glanced at Bennett, seeking reinforcement. He winked at her. "Listen to the next verse."

      
He wanted to die as
a
legend,

      
So
he climbed it up seven miles high.

       He aimed it straight down, drove it into the ground,

       Screaming "That's how
a
fighter should die."

      
He died with his G-suit and boots on,

       With
a
throttle and stick in his hand.

       He'd never been beat by any fighter he'd meet

       And the legend, it outlived the man.

       Bennett and Claudia spent the rest of the evening mingling with other instructors and guests. Claudia was pleasantly surprised to learn she had mutual friends in London with the Saint-Martins and Geoff Hampton. She also had a discussion with Ed Lawrence.

       "You've known John a long time, haven't you, Ed?"

       "Yup. Twenty years or more."

       "Has he changed any?"

       Lawrence thought for a moment. "Not much. Pirate always was a lot of fun to be with-real dependable. You get to know a lot of people in a career, but there's only a few you really trust. I'd trust John with my life. In fact, I have done just that."

       "Do you think he's happy here?"

       "Yes. I know I'm happy here, doing what I do." He hesitated a moment.

       "What is it?"

       "Claudia, you and I are different kinds of people. Ordinarily we wouldn't have much in common. But John is what we have in common. I'd say he's been happier than I've seen him in years. Since he met you."

       Claudia squeezed his hand. ''Thanks, Ed. I'm pretty happy, too. It's the best birthday I could hope for."

Chapter 8

       CLAUDIA SPENT THE NEXT TWO DAYS WITH BENNETT, mostly in the Tiger Force compound. The other guests had departed and the IPs for the graduating class were given leave. The couple were left mainly to themselves, which pleased them both.

       Bennett devoted most of one day showing Claudia the academic area: classrooms and individual study cells. "Here, sit down at the console. I'll show you how easy it is to fly an F-20. "

       He tapped out the entry code on the keypad and the full-color screen showed the Tigershark's instrument panel. "You see," he began, "the directions are printed in white for this phase, and yellow for the next. Everything is color-coded from first to last in ascending order. The higher you get into the syllabus the darker the colors. "

       "That way you always know where you are in the program," Claudia said.

       "Correct." He leaned over her shoulder, allowing one hand to rest on her back while he punched in the next lesson. "This sequence shows you how to start the F-20. It's a tactile screen, touch-sensitive, so you activate the switches in the proper order. You won't hear the engine start unless you do it properly."

       Bennett had Claudia touch the appropriate switches, including the plastic safety covers. At each movement the screen showed, in animation, the covers lifted or the toggles activated. Immediately the whine of a jet engine was discernible. "There you go, you just lit off an F404 engine."

       Claudia looked up. "Why, that's the most logical teaching system I've ever seen. Did you devise it?"

       "Not hardly. This is a General Electric project, first used in their F-5E training center near Phoenix. The Saudis contracted for this facility from GE's simulation and training division."

       Running her fingers over the console, Claudia said, "This must do a lot to speed up training. Is it one of the reasons you put the first class through so fast?"

       "This and some other innovations in the flight syllabus. The advantage to this individual study cell is mainly psychological. In a classroom you have the teacher up front and he asks Student A a question. Well, Student A may not know the answer. Neither may anyone else, but the others look at A and think, 'Boy, what a dumbell.' This system here allows each student to progress at his own pace, so he retains much more of what he learns."