“Compliments of the squadron boss. Captain Tomb, sir. He said he knew you at the academy.”
Pacino smiled, remembering. “Tell him I said thanks.”
“If you’ll climb in, sir. That’s good.”
Pacino stepped into the cockpit, feeling like he was stepping into an electronic canoe, the side consoles and front display bursting with toggle switches and function keys, the display glowing electronically green. Pacino was careful to avoid hitting any of the electronics of the consoles, and found himself sitting deep inside the airplane, the sills of the cockpit rising all the way to the top of his shoulders. He felt like a child in an amusement park ride, too short to see out. He was completely surrounded, enveloped, by the consoles and screens and displays of the rear cockpit. He pulled on the flight helmet at Shearson’s prompting, further sucked into the tight world of the aircraft. Now that he was here, he thought, the interior of a nuclear submarine would always seem roomy by comparison.
“Now, sir, let me strap you in. This is a five point harness. The release mechanism is here. Now, see this lever here?” A red ribbon attached to a pin was attached to a yellow and black striped lever set deep into the bulkhead opposite Shearson. “I’m pulling the pin out of it. It’s armed now, sir, so be careful not to touch it. That’s the manual canopy release, just in case we need to eject and the automatic sequence doesn’t blow off the canopy. There are two ways to eject, Admiral. The first way, the better way, is to pull that cord above your head. See it?” A yellow and black bungee cord was wrapped into the ejection seat headrest, two loops of it extending out on either side of Pacino’s helmet. “Can you grab that for me? Good sir. If we need to punch out, you pull that cord down to your crotch, all the way down, and the curtain in the headrest will come down over your head. The curtain protects your face and head while it keeps your elbows in tight.”
“What’s the other way?”
“See the D-shaped ring by your crotch? You can pull that up, but it’s not as good. Your oxygen mask and helmet would be ripped off in the slipstream, and there’s no guarantee for your face.”
“Why is it here then?”
“If we’re in a high-g spin, even Hercules might not be able to lift his arms up to the curtain cord, so the second one is down low.”
“Comforting thought.”
“Yes, sir. Now, if you pull the curtain down, count to fifty by thousands and you’ll be out of the plane. It only takes three seconds, which is how long it would take you to count to fifty when you’re pumped up with adrenaline.”
“Okay.”
“Now, if I want you to punch out, I’ll call ‘eject, eject, eject,’ and out we go. If you’re unconscious, you’re going anyway.”
“Great.”
“Water bottle is here, snack pack is over here, and this is the urine bag. You put this tube around your thing and let go, then seal it like this. It goes into this pouch when you’re done. Just make sure the velcro holds it in the outer pouch, sir. Spilled urine can mess up the avionics.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“Last piece of advice, sir. If you have gas, there’s no such thing as being polite aloft. I recommend you try to fart out anything you feel, as hard as you can. Otherwise the altitude will give you one hell of a bellyache.”
“I can handle it.”
“Vomit bags are in this pouch. Whatever happens, do not throw up in your oxygen mask. The rule is, you have to clean up your own, even flag officers, sir. Sorry.”
Pacino laughed. “Let’s go.”
“I’m arming your eject mechanisms, so be careful.”
Shearson pulled two more ribbons attached to pins and stowed them, then donned his helmet and climbed in. The canopy came down over their heads, and Shearson waved down to the technician standing on the concrete below. Pacino could hear the whining sound of the port turbine coming up to speed. It took some time for it to spool up, until it caught, the noise and vibration less than he’d expected. A minute later the starboard turbine came up. The jet started to move, inching along the taxiway. Shearson’s voice chattered brief bursts of numbers to the tower. Soon they were at the end of the runway, and the turbines came up to full power. The noise of it was deafening. Shearson released the brakes and the jet surged forward.
Soon the ground below, the line marking the runway’s edge, and the hangars and buildings of the air station were streaking by impossibly fast. The world outside was a blur, the vibrations from the plane indicating that they must be going at least 150 miles per, maybe faster. The jet stayed on the runway for a long time, far past the speed when it should be able to fly, Shearson keeping it tight to the pavement. Pacino felt a moment of alarm when he saw the lights at the runway’s far end approaching, but then Shearson pulled up, and the aircraft, with its extra velocity, rocketed upward, hurling Pacino far back into his seat, his head feeling four times as heavy as usual. He tried to turn his head, and it was an effort, and when he looked out the canopy, all he could see was blue sky, turning darker and darker.
“You okay. Admiral?”
“Fine.”
Pacino reached into his flight kit for his Writepad. He turned it on and removed his nomex gloves.
“Okay if I talk to my Writepad?” Pacino asked Shearson.
“There’s a switch on the port console under intercom. Select it to receive only.”
“What’s next?”
“Well, we’ll be over the wilds of Canada in a few hours. We’ll go supersonic then to make up some time. Up over the pole is the shortest route. We’ll intercept an A-6 tanker over Alaska and get some gas. By the time we’re over the Reagan task force it’ll be dark. We’ll be making our approach at night. And the weather is closing in. We’ve got a tropical storm brewing in the Pacific. Pearl weather says it’s going to develop into a typhoon but it should miss the Japan seas.”
“Okay, I’m killing the intercom.”
Pacino turned the Writepad on, intending to write his memo to Warner, when his E-mail indicator flashed. He double-clicked into the electronic mail and saw the message to him from Wadsworth, the admiral ordering that he take full initiative in the pursuit of the Japanese operation, that he would be of equal operational status to Adm. MacK Donner, the Reagan task force commander and overall commander of the Japanese theater blockade operation. How could he be subordinate to Admiral Donner yet on an equal operational status to him?
Pacino scanned the message again and noted that it was copied to President Warner and Admiral Donner. Very strange.
A second message was from Admiral Donchez, wishing him luck, commending him for getting to sea. Nowhere did Donchez mention the meeting in the Oval Office. Several other E-mails were addressed to him, one from his son Tony, one from his attorney in the case of his coming divorce. The one from Tony he read and savored, the one from the attorney he stashed for later.
Pacino brought up the voice processor and spoke to the Writepad. The oxygen mask muffled his voice, the computer display printing question marks. He unlatched a hook of the mask and began to mutter into his display, his words appearing on the screen, the context-sensitive software distinguishing between alternate spellings, Pacino occasionally correcting it. He reread what he had written, edited it and sent it as an E-mail to President Warner, copying it to Wadsworth, his own staff and Donchez, with a forwarding message to Donner including his arrival time. He also took Wadsworth’s message about his “equal operational status” and sent it to Donner, thinking that maybe MacK Donner could better interpret it.