Touch the Heavens (19 page)

“If you’re through with the social amenities, Captain, how about getting this show on the road?” Brodie asked, a growl in his voice.

Chris controlled her emotions, accepting her responsibility as aircraft commander on this test flight. She pulled the oxygen mask, which held a microphone, to her face. “I’ll tell you when we’re ready,” she returned coolly. She knew Brodie would challenge the very limits of her power because she had been given the AC position by no one less than Colonel Martin himself. In a way, Chris was thankful that Dan had not done it, since Brodie would have screamed prejudice. She went through the final preflight checks on all instruments, sticking her hand high above her head, making a circular motion with her index finger to the ground crew below. It meant, start the engines.

She was all business now. Deadly, serious business. She and Brodie would be flying supersonic climb tests and high-angle-of-attack tests with the Phantom today. Brodie would be monitoring the speed, acceleration, climb rate and other factors as they flew above the Mojave for the next hour and a half. The straps of the harness bit deeply into Chris’s shoulders as she pulled downward on them one final time. A slight smile pulled at her mouth as she flipped down the dark visor to cut the intense glare of the sun. The trembling power of a jet beneath her body felt good.

Chris gave a thumbs-up to the crew chief, slowly inching the throttles of the F-4 forward, the bird heeling to port at her command. Pointing the bulbous black nose of the Phantom toward the taxiway, they moved to the hammerhead area where Chris shoved down on the rudder and brakes system. Three airmen stood waiting, chocks dangling in their hands. Automatically Chris and Brodie put their hands in sight of the airmen, resting them on the cockpit frame. Instantly the team went into action. Their job was to check for any oil spills or hydraulic leaks beneath the surface of the bird. By the pilots having both hands visible, one of them could not mistakenly roll the bird forward and possibly injure one of the ground crew. The external check made, the airmen gave Chris the final signal. She ordered the canopies down and locked. The second F-4 containing Dan and Rondo was following them slowly off the ramp.

Brodie sullenly sat in the rear seat, his eyes narrowed in anger. He had spent most of his weekend at the O’Club, drinking and talking about Mallory to anyone who would listen. Few did, and it only made him hate her more. Ever since he had looked at the schedule last Thursday and seen the team assignment, he had swum in a dark sea of bitterness. Just watching Mallory move confidently through every phase of preflight this morning did nothing but increase his ire.

A plan lurked in his mind. A slight, thin smile pulled at his mouth. He would deliberately, on the third high-angle-of-attack test, “accidentally” pull the stick back, taking control without Mallory knowing in advance. By doing that, he knew the bird would depart from its flight path and become a twenty-two-ton projectile screaming out of control at an over twenty-five-degree angle of attack. Then Brodie would watch her try to recover control of the bird, knowing full well she wouldn’t be able to handle the unexpected situation. He looked up, squinting at the sky above him. At the right time, he would take the stick and make the recovery, having successfully embarrassed Mallory, making her look like the incompetent fool that she was. Without telling Mallory, he switched their normal cabin intercom to “ground” so that everyone in the air and in the control tower could hear. It was a “hot mike” situation and rarely done while students were testing. Nevertheless, Brodie knew it would seal Mallory’s fate once and for all by shaming her in front of everyone on the base.

Dan watched as Chris’s F-4 took off. The jet hurtled down the runway, both afterburners lit and glowing in the early-morning air. He could feel the tremors from the thunderous display as he sat in his jet waiting his turn for takeoff. Something nagged at him, but he shrugged off the intuitive feeling. He was worrying because Brodie was with Chris. He didn’t like the captain’s sullen attitude that morning, aware of the angry black glare in Brodie’s eyes as he watched Chris.

Dan’s gut tightened and once again he dismissed the premonition as nothing more than his overprotective attitude toward Chris. “Okay, Rondo, let’s stand on it,” he ordered as he heard clearance given by the tower. Sitting in the rear seat, Dan gave control of the Phantom over to the other pilot. This would be Rondo’s last check flight before he would be ready to fly with other student pilots, navigators or engineers aboard an aircraft. Dan felt some solace knowing that he and Rondo would be flying chase for Chris. It was the chase team’s job to stay no farther than a mile away from the spin-test jet. If the jet did not recover from its maneuver by eighteen thousand feet, it would be Rondo’s responsibility to alert the pilot of the spin jet. At that point, if they hadn’t recovered by fifteen thousand, Dan would order them to pop the canopies and eject.

Dan strapped the small placard on his left thigh, noting the type of spins Chris would be doing with the aircraft. It would be Rondo’s job to make large circles around the spin jet, watching for other aircraft traffic in the area. After every spin, the chase plane would join the other jet at twenty-four thousand feet. Rondo would fly within two hundred feet, checking all external surfaces, looking for telltale leaks of pink hydraulic fluid. If too much fluid showed on the spin jet, the rest of the tests would be scrubbed and they would be ordered back to base. Without proper levels of the life-giving hydraulic fluid, the bird would be unflyable. At least Dan would be in constant radio contact with them and could eavesdrop on the conversations between them to dispel the dark hunch hovering over him.

Chris listened closely to Brodie’s voice while aiming the bird upward into the dazzlingly blue sky above them for the first series of supersonic climb tests. He called off knots, angle of attack and the temperature on the powerful, throbbing engines. The Phantom felt good, beautifully responsive to her slightest hand and foot pressure against the stick and rudder. Joy replaced her initial dread of working with Brodie as they spent almost an hour working as a close-knit team on the test problems. After each run Dan or Rondo would check the F-4 and then pronounce them “clean and dry” for the next one.

“All right,” Brodie said, “we’re to hit Mach two at thirty-nine thousand and hold, leveling the bird off at forty-five.”

“Roger,” she replied. At forty-five thousand the air was quite thin and the Phantom would be less responsive. The engines would voraciously eat up the oxygen needed in order to keep forward speed. She glanced at the altimeter indicating their present altitude: fifteen thousand. A smile crossed her face: she loved the incredible power that the Phantom could deliver. It would be only a matter of seconds before they would reach the top of their test altitude and she would have to level off. Still, it was a thrill to her each and every time.

“Ready when you are,” she responded.

“Roger. Ten seconds and counting...’’ Brodie returned.

Chris listened carefully, her heart accelerating with each count. Her fingers closed more firmly over the throttles, getting ready to notch them above normal flight into the afterburner range. They were going to tempt the gods once more, roaring into their mythical heaven. Would the god of thunder, lightning and the sky be angered? She frowned at the analogy, ready to challenge those invisible spirits that created the ever-changing weather patterns around them.

“Now!” Brodie commanded.

The Phantom roared, hurling itself at an almost vertical angle. Chris was pressed back into the seat, the G-forces building up within seconds as the engines accelerated. Brodie called out the knots. She hit Mach two exactly on time and at the proper altitude. The Phantom shivered and Chris watched the angle closely, feeling they were a hairbreadth away from losing control. The Phantom screamed on, the sky becoming a midnight blue as they left the heavy shackles of earth behind them. She leveled off at forty-five thousand, gently easing the throttles back. Her body was pulled forward into the harness, her eyes feeling as though someone was pushing them outward from her skull. The straps bit more deeply into her shoulders as she slowed the Phantom to subsonic flight.

Chris felt the angle of attack build as she maintained level flight. Her fingers sensitively monitored the pressure against the throttles as “alpha” or angle of attack approached nineteen degrees. The aircraft trembled as it passed Mach one, on the verge of losing its straight flight. Chris nudged the stick forward a bare quarter of an inch, bringing the nose down, feeling the Phantom become more stable.

Suddenly Chris felt the stick jerk backward. She opened her mouth to shout something but it was too late! The Phantom’s nose swung abruptly to the port, the entire front end of the plane pitching upward. Within a matter of split seconds, the bird careened, slicing hard to port, rolling upside down as it broke into a screaming spin.

“Come on,” Brodie cried, “get this bird under control!”

Anger roared through Chris as she fought to bring the Phantom back beneath her hand. The G-forces built up rapidly, pinning her heavily against the seat. It felt as if the flesh from her face was being pulled downward. She was frozen in position, her one hand gripping the stick, her other hand over the throttles. The G-suit inflated, tightly squeezing her whole lower body. The bird plunged into a yawing rolling dive. “You bastard! What are you doing?” Chris shouted. A thousand thoughts raced into her mind. A hundred possibilities, the ways to correct the spinning bird and Brodie’s despicable trick ran through her steel-trap brain. Test pilots were taught to think no matter what the circumstance. And at that instant, Chris was reacting out of hours of training and reflexive action. She shoved the throttles forward, igniting the afterburners, and rammed the stick forward. They were at twenty-five thousand, and the earth was rushing up to meet them. The jet fell on its back and corkscrewed like a falling leaf. The power of the engines slowly forced the screaming Phantom to grudgingly come out of the spin. She kept the angle of attack low so that the plane would respond.

“Cobra Two to Cobra One,” Dan called, his voice taut. “What happened? Is there a problem?”

The Phantom was responding to her hand. Chris was going to answer Dan’s call when Brodie jerked the stick back again. She sucked in a breath of air, unable to believe what he was doing. Did he want to kill them both? The bird departed a second time. It was worse at lower altitude and airspeed, and the plane became even more slothful. The altimeter unwound like a broken spring. Blood rushed to her head, the pressure on her eyes tremendous as an invisible hand of the G-forces pulled downward against her entire body. Blackness began to rim her vision for a moment as she fought to control the Phantom.

“Come on!” Brodie yelled, a sudden catch in his voice. In his anger to make Chris look incompetent, he had forgotten how low they were flying after the first recovery. It was too late to regret his action. His eyes bulged as he watched the Phantom screaming downward toward ten thousand feet. “Pull it out! Pull it out!” he cried.

“Cobra Two to Cobra One!” Dan called. “Coming up on nineteen thousand. What’s wrong?”

They were too low! Chris ground her teeth, gripping the throttles. She would have to light the afterburners again and pray that she would break the spin and pull out before it was too late.

“Eighteen thousand!” Brodie cried.

“Read me the altimeter settings!” she snapped hoarsely, hearing Dan’s voice once again in her helmet. The bird strained, bucking against her steady hand.
No
,
no
, Chris silently shouted to the plane,
come back
,
come back!
She wasn’t going to lose another plane! Not another!

“Fifteen! Goddamn, we’re not going to make it!” Brodie screamed through the intercom. “Punch out! It won’t come out of the dive soon enough. Punch!”

“No!” Chris ordered tightly, “we’re staying!”

The brown-and-green speckled earth loomed through the cockpit windows at Chris. Sweat drenched her body, her arm aching as she hit right stick and hard right rudder. The bird shivered with the torque of wind tearing at its exotic metal skin, the thundering engines threatening to tear them apart.

“Twelve! You’re crazy. You’re dead if you don’t punch out!”

Chris ground her teeth, forcing a gulp of air into her body to try to ease the pressure of G-forces that were smashing against her. “I’ve got it!” she croaked, feeling the bird grudgingly respond.

Brodie jerked the T-handle, making sure only his seat and not Mallory’s would be blown. “You’re crazy! Ten thousand! Ten thousand! Punch out!”

Before she could order him to stay, Brodie had popped both canopies. Chris felt a huge, invisible fist of air hit her bodily, momentarily blacking her out. A cry was ripped from her lips. She vaguely heard the explosion of the back ejection seat. Wind tore relentlessly at her, buffeting her wildly as she stubbornly remained at the controls, willing the bird to come back beneath her steadying hands. The Phantom came out of the spin, going into a dive. Her only thought was to save the plane. Shoving the throttle forward, afterburners on, the wind velocity increased across the open cockpit, threatening to rupture her internally from the concussion of wind blast created by the speed. Her hand tightened around the stick and she wrenched back, her muscles feeling as if someone was tearing her apart.

The brown of earth filled her fading line of vision. Chris valiantly fought off the telling blackness as the blood was pulled from her brain. She was losing it!
Come on
,
come on
, she silently begged, her voice screaming in her ears. It was a mad rush between her and the ground. Six thousand... five...four...three...she could see each mesquite bush, each Joshua tree...

Ground observers who had heard the frantic conversation at the tower watched as the gray Phantom tumbled from high altitude. Twice they heard the roar of afterburners being lit. And twice, they held their breath as the fighter careened earthward, the pilot pulling the nose up, trying to recover from the dive. The F-4 skimmed across the sunbaked earth, screaming like a banshee. Men scrambled for fire trucks as the call came in from Cobra Two that a bird was in trouble. Air-traffic controllers stood tensely in their tower, helplessly watching the drama unfold before their eyes as the Phantom slowly gained altitude.