Arctic Fire (4 page)

“The 94
^th
?” Packard asked.

“Eddie Rickenbacker flew with the 94th in WWI.
You do know who Eddie Rickenbacker was don’t you Lieutenant?”
Madison ribbed.

“Yes sir, Eddie Rickenbacker was the top
American ace of the War to end all Wars with 26 victories; we were
required to read
ancient
history at the academy.” Packard
jabbed back.

The 94
^th
, also known as the famous
“Hat in the Ring” squadron, was the first operational American
fighter squadron in WWI, stationed at Gengault Aerodrome near Toul,
France in April of 1918, and being the first, they were allowed to
come up with their own insignia. Taking the boxing phrase, throwing
your hat in the ring, which meant you were willing fight, they
choose the symbol of throwing Uncle Sam’s hat into a ring,
signifying that America was ready and willing to fight.

“Your bird may have been “hip” in its day Mr.
Pike, but it can’t hold a candle to what we fly now.” Packard said,
ending with a smug tone in his voice.

A smile began to stretch across Pike’s face and
a twinkle of anticipation flashed in his green eyes; he did love a
challenge. “Just because something is old, doesn’t make it useless,
Lieutenant.” Pike snapped on his oxygen mask, took a deep breath
then blew it out slowly. He lowered the flaps a notch, yanked the
stick to the right and did a barrel roll up and over the pair of
F-15s and in less than three seconds had settled in right behind
Packard’s aircraft in perfect firing position.

“Colonel?” Packard said.

Madison could hear the surprise and irritation
in his wingman’s voice. “I thought you said you were getting low on
fuel.” Madison replied.

“I have enough sir.”

Now he could hear his teeth gnashing, chomping
at the bit. “Well I believe the gauntlet has been thrown down, Mr.
Pike?”

“Fine by me Colonel.” Pike replied, then thought
for a moment and couldn’t resist. “If the Lieutenant thinks he can
handle it.”

“Colonel!” Anger now clearly replaced the
irritation in the young lieutenant’s voice. “Hang on Lieutenant,
let me get out of the way first. Standard rules of engagement
apply.” Madison pulled back on his stick as his Eagle leapt above
the two combatants. He had the best seat in the house and he wasn’t
about to miss this show.

Pike edged up beside Packard, the two aircraft
now flying in formation, looking like a fly-by for a local air
show.

“On my mark.” Madison called out.

“Roger.” Both men replied in unison.

“On three…two…” but before Madison had said
‘one’ Packard broke hard left and fired his afterburners, streaking
up and away like a shooting star. Pike turned in toward Packard to
follow, although he knew he could never match the speed of his
opponent. He knew his only chance was to stay close and use his
only real advantage of being able to out turn his bigger and faster
foe. He hoped that Packard wouldn’t pull straight out a couple of
miles and just turn and fire a missile, he had to keep him
close.

“Giving up already Lieutenant.” Pike taunted. “I
didn’t think you’d turn tail and run quite so quickly. Maybe you’re
good with missiles, but how long would you last in a knife fight?”
Pike jeered.

The radio remained silent, but the message had
its desired effect as the F-15 pulled straight up and over in a
tight loop and came straight back at him. Pike smiled, with that
sharp of a yank on the controls, he knew Packard was pushing it for
all it was worth, he was mad. Self-confidence, a supreme belief in
one’s own abilities, and an ego to match were all qualities of a
good fighter pilot, but there was one other quality that Packard
was missing right now, patience; and Pike was going to exploit it
as much as he possibly could.

The two aircraft were two miles apart but
closing at a combined speed of over 900 knots. Both pilots had just
seconds to react. Pike put his plane in a shallow dive, gaining
speed and keeping just enough angle that Packard couldn’t get a
good firing solution. Pike kept pushing the stick forward, forcing
Packard into a steeper angle, putting him into negative g-forces,
making it very difficult to maneuver and very, very uncomfortable,
even with modern g-suits.

A smart pilot, a
patient
pilot, would
continue on in the pass and extend out for another run, Pike was
betting everything he had that Packard wouldn’t do that, but a
little extra insurance never hurt. “Your Eagle can fly fast in a
straight line, but can she turn?” Pike said with a measured tone of
sarcasm in it. Pike thought he heard the Colonel snicker, which
meant that Packard could hear it too, a broad smile filled Pike’s
face, that was the icing on the cake he needed.

A split second before they merged, Pike pulled
back on the stick and shoved it to the right. Looking over his
shoulder he saw that Packard was doing the same thing, only he was
moving way to fast to make the turn. Pike began losing color in his
vision and felt a little light-headed as the pressure of g-forces
drained the blood from his head. He hated the odd sensation but he
didn’t have the luxury of a g-suit. With the pressure, he was
beginning to feel every second of his age and he knew his body
would give him hell to pay in the morning, but if he could just
pull this off….he gritted his teeth and continued to pull back on
the stick. Pike came up and over the top of his loop and caught
Packard half way through his. Had this been a real fight, Pike
would have raked the length of Packard’s fuselage with gunfire,
shooting straight into his canopy. As he was “shooting,” Pike
called out “guns, guns, guns, over the radio, simulating his
firing. Pike then rolled the
Yankee Clipper
over and locked
into a good firing position on the Lieutenant’s six and again
called out guns. He stayed within range for a solid three to four
seconds, which is an eternity in aerial combat before the F-15s
superior speed took over and he pulled out of gun range.

“I’m calling bingo fuel.” Colonel Madison
interrupted. “Fights over.”

“But Colonel.” Packard protested.

“Negative Lieutenant, it’s time to return to
base. If I’m getting low on fuel from just watching, you’ve got to
be pushing it. My butt will be in a sling if anybody back at base
finds out what we’re doing out here, let alone if we run out of
gas.”

“Roger sir, forming up.” Packard replied
reluctantly.

Pike let out a sigh of relief as he joined up
next to the Colonel’s plane. At forty-one, he was nowhere near
being what you would call old, but pulling six-g turns in aerial
combat was definitely a younger man’s sport. “Thank you gentlemen,
I thoroughly enjoyed myself, though I think I’ll be paying for it
in the morning.”

“Our pleasure Mr. Pike, it’s not often we get to
fly in the same skies with a legendary warbird like yours.” Madison
replied.

“Mr. Pike…?” Packard began.

Oh no, here it comes Pike thought, Packard’s
going to make all sorts of excuses for losing...“…I just wanted to
say thank you sir. You’ve taught me some valuable lessons today.”
Pike smiled and nodded his head slightly,
humility
he
thought, an even rarer commodity for a fighter pilot, this kid
might just go places.

“You’re welcome Lieutenant.”

“Keep’em flying! Mr. Pike.” Madison said. “Tower
this is Blackjack Flight, we’ve identified the bogie as a private
aircraft, we’re coming home.” Colonel Madison’s plane banked
smartly to the left followed by Packard’s a split second later.
Pike watched for a moment as the two F-15s pulled away, then he
banked to the right.

Chapter
Four

“Don’t forget your lunch.”

“Yes dear.” Albert Jenkins dutifully replied as
he picked up the brown paper bag off the counter.

“And don’t doddle tonight. Remember, the
grandkids are coming over for dinner,”

“Yes dear.”

“Oh, and would you please take the garbage out
with you? I forgot it last night.”

“Yes dear.”

Martha Jenkins, Albert’s wife of 41 years,
stopped wiping off the kitchen table and looked at her husband.
“Are you listening to what I’m saying?” putting her hands on her
hips, “And if you answer ‘yes dear’ one more time you’ll be so far
in the doghouse you’ll be in the basement.”

Jenkins walked over and gave his wife a hug and
a peck on the cheek, then reached down and squeezed her lower
cheek. Martha giggled and slapped him on the shoulder. “Dirty old
man.” Jenkins just smiled and cocked his head to one side and
nodded slightly then said, “Yes dear,” and grabbed the sack of
garbage as he went out the door.

“Morning Albert.”

“Morning Steve.” Jenkins greeted the branch
manager as he let him in the front door. “Looks like it’s going to
be another hot one today.”

“Not too hot I hope.” Steve Hertz replied, “My
son’s going up north for a football game today and you know those
school busses don’t have air conditioners. I wanted to go but
somebody has to hold down the fort.”

“No rest for the wicked, or for bank managers.”
Jenkins smiled. He turned to lock the door when he heard his name
called. He looked up to see Mary Thomas running up the walk.

“Hey Al.” Mary called out cheerfully. She was
about the only one at the bank that called him Al, but he didn’t
mind.

“Hi Mary, come on in.” Jenkins smiled and swung
the door open, bowing as he waved her in. Mary was his favorite
teller. He’d never seen her down, always wearing a smile and the
way she looked at life was so refreshing, especially from a young
lady whose hair was blond today but could change by the end of the
week and who occasionally forgot to take out her nose ring. But his
fondness for her was more than just her outlook on life. There was
a personal side to it: she reminded him of his daughter. His Amanda
would have been about three years older than Mary, if her life
hadn’t been taken from her.

“There’s a new sushi bar that just opened down
the street.” Mary said cheerfully. “A bunch of us are going there
for lunch, you wanna come?”

“No thanks.” he said, shaking his head and
chuckling a little. “I prefer my food cooked.”

“Okay,” she replied and got her cash drawer from
the vault and prepared to open her window.

Jenkins opened the doors to the bank, then went
to the back to bring out some coffee and cookies for the customers.
When he returned, two men in old, torn green army jackets and
tattered jeans were standing at the center island filling out
deposit slips. One had dark, greasy hair pulled back in a ponytail
and the other had a shaved head with four or five earrings each
running from his earlobe up through the cartilage. Neither looked
like they had bathed in days.

He slowed a step as he approached, not liking
what he was seeing. Nonchalantly, he put the coffee and cookies on
the counter next to the men and sized them up the best he could
without staring. He greeted them with a cheery “Good Morning.” One
ignored him completely while the other raised his head briefly and
just grunted a sour “’mornin.”

When he lifted his head, Jenkins noticed tiny
beads of sweat on the man’s forehead. It was warm outside, but not
that warm. Jenkins felt his stomach twisting into a tangled mess of
knots; he knew they were in serious trouble. Jenkins smiled and
slowly turned around. “Mary, I forgot the napkins, I’ll be back in
a few.” He called out. He hoped that by telling these two guys why
he was leaving it would keep them from panicking and give him time
to trip the silent alarm.

He had taken three steps when he heard the front
doors slam open. He turned to see two men come storming in the
bank. One pulled out a handgun and the other carried a sawed off
shotgun. They were shouting for everyone to get down. Jenkins
quickly turned around, he had to get to the teller windows to send
the alarm. He turned but stopped dead in his tracks, finding
himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Going somewhere old man?” The bald headed man
said snickering. He spun Jenkins around and shoved him toward the
teller windows.

“For all you geniuses out there, this is a
robbery.” The man with the shotgun yelled. He was wearing a long,
black trench coat and had his hair oiled back, playing a very poor
Neo wannabe from the movie
Matrix
. He took out pillowcases
and tossed them to the man with the ponytail.

Ponytail man went down the line and threw a
pillowcase at the first two tellers but stopped when he got to
Mary. He threw the last pillowcase to the end teller then turned to
Mary and held it open. “Trick or Treat.” He said with a slick
smile.

Neo stood in front of the tellers and shouted.
“Dump your cash drawers into the bags. Be smart and don’t do
anything stupid like give us any of your specially marked bills or
be a hero and trip any silent alarms. Be smart and nobody gets
hurts.”

Jenkins was at the end of the counter and
noticed that Ponytail was paying particular attention to Mary. He
kept reaching across the counter and touching her hands as she
emptied the drawer and each time she would swat them away like an
annoying fly. Good for you he thought; don’t let the creep
intimidate you.

“You sure are pretty. Maybe you and I could
party a little huh?” Ponytail said as he reached up and tried to
touch Mary’s hair. She hit it away hard. “Buzz off jerk.”

Suddenly he reached out and grabbed her by the
hair and nearly pulled her halfway across the counter top. She let
out an involuntary yelp, just as much from surprise as from the
pain. “Me and you is definitely going to do some partying.” He
shoved her back and turned, wearing a big, sadistic smile then he
yelled to the man with the shotgun. “Hey boss, I like this one, can
we keep her? I think she wants to play.”