"Super — I feel better already."
"The SEALs are from the Naval Special Warfare Development Group."
"You're kidding."
"Nope. DEVGRU is the SEALs' top-of-the-line counterterrorist unit. They used to be known as SEAL Team Six."
"How did we rate the avant-garde?"
"You know Hartwell."
"Yeah, everything is going to be first cabin with built-in redundancy."
Jackie opened her door. "Well, things are finally looking up."
"That's the way I see it."
"What are we going to do with the nose gear?"
"Well, unless you want to bronze that little beauty," Scott said with a sly grin, "I don't have any use for it."
"It might make a nice yard ornament for your retirement home in Pensacola," Jackie suggested. "You know, mount it between a couple of pink flamingos."
"Yeah, what a wonderful reminder."
A bright yellow moon was beginning to rise when the China Xinjiang Airlines ATR-72 twin turboprop climbed away from Beijing Capital International Airport. It turned on course to Shanghai, a major seaport situated on the coast of the East China Sea.
All sixty-six seats aboard the airplane were occupied, with seven extra passengers sitting in the aisle. Although it violated the airline's safety regulations, powers on high had authorized the carrying of the seven men at the last moment before boarding.
Captain Zhou Chan smoothly adjusted the power and settled in for the flight to one of China's burgeoning airports.
Once the regional airliner was at cruising altitude, Captain Zhou and his first officer, Ts'ao Yat-sen, enjoyed snacks they had brought on board with them. They discussed the recent changes in company management and the anticipated addition of five new airliners in the next four months. That would mean promotions and better pay for some pilots.
Approaching the city of Lianyungang, located on the coast of the Yellow Sea, copilot Ts'ao made a radio call to the air traffic controllers.
Zhou studied the darkness of the sea. He could pick out a few lights on the water, but most of the sea was inky black.
Ts'ao excused himself to use the lavatory while Zhou studied the flight plan for the next leg of their trip. He was about to return it to his chart case when suddenly the cockpit was flooded with a bright, bluish-white light.
At the same instant, shrieks of anguish and terror could be heard coming from the passenger cabin. He looked toward the left wing and froze. A huge object with brilliant bluish-white lights was flying in close formation with the turboprop.
Ts'ao scrambled back into the cockpit and slammed the door. Zhou banked sharply to the right; at the same time he frantically called the air traffic controllers. The screams coming from the passenger cabin continued as Zhou completed a course reversal and rolled wings level. Ts'ao was strapping into his seat when the bright object joined them on their right wing.
Terrified, Zhou overreacted and banked so steeply to the left that the turboprop rolled over on its back and the nose fell through in a shallow, high-speed dive.
"I have it!" Ts'ao said, grabbing the controls. Using the primary flight instruments, the former aerobatic instructor continued the roll to the left until the airplane was once again wings-level and upright. With Zhou's encouragement, Ts'ao applied smooth G-forces to slowly bring the nose up level with the horizon.
Ts'ao was surrendering the flight controls to Zhou when the object slashed past the cockpit, then pulled straight up and disappeared in a sea of brilliant stars. Frightened and astounded by the encounter, Ts'ao was talking with the air traffic controllers when the object reappeared and made a steep, head-on dive at the airliner.
"No radar," Ts'ao yelled above the screams coming from the cabin. "Nothing on radar! They show nothing!"
"Turn off the lights!" Zhou ordered. "Exterior and interior!" Ts'ao snapped the switches off. "Dive and make a steep left turn!"
Five seconds later, the pilots and passengers were blinded by a bright bluish-white flash a moment before the ATR-72 exploded, then rolled to the left and exploded again. For more than six minutes, debris continued to impact the Yellow Sea four miles northeast of Lianyungang, China.
Lieutenant Colonel Reggie "Reggae" Warrington, commanding officer of Marine Attack Training Squadron 203, the only Harrier training squadron in the United States, walked into his office and handed Scott a mug of steaming coffee.
Reggie and his wife had entertained Jackie and Scott the previous evening. The dinner party had been filled with the revelry of countless war stories from the early days in the Harrier community.
For Scott, the biggest surprise of the evening was Reggie's announcement that he, not a squadron instructor, would be requalifying Dalton in the two-seat TAV-8B.
During the next few days, Scott would attend a concentrated and accelerated version of ground school from early morning until noon, break for lunch, then brief, fly, and debrief two instructional flights with Reggie in the afternoon. The third day would culminate with a trip to the boat to carrier-qualify, followed by a night-flying exercise, including refueling from a KC-130 Hercules.
While Scott was going through the abbreviated requalifying syllabus, Jackie would complete a specialized Harrier ground school, then receive a thorough checkout in the backseat of the attack plane. After a comprehensive review of all emergency procedures, she would be scheduled for three FAM (familiarization) flights and a ride to the boat.
The third and final day of Scott's requalification in the Harrier, two TAV-8Bs, flown by VMAT-203 instructors, would depart at 0600 for Marine Corps Air Station Miramar, California. They would pre-position the jets for Scott and Jackie, then catch the next available military flight back to Cherry Point.
The base was beginning to stir as Warrington sat down behind his desk and blew steam from the top of his coffee mug. "I'm sure you remember what I told you about the Harrier."
"Well, most of it," Scott said.
Reggie took an exploratory sip of coffee. "If you don't want to bust your ass in a Harrier, you must obey the laws of aerodynamics of V/STOL flight. Like conventional airplanes, if you disregard what the flying machine is trying to tell you, things generally go south rather quickly."
A slow grin creased the corners of Scott's mouth. "Yeah, I've been there a time or two — maybe six times."
"In a Harrier it's all over, guarownteed, if you don't obey the basic physics of flight. You can have Sky King 'seat-of-the-pants' flying skills, along with the reflexes of a gunfighter, but the Harrier will nail your ass if you let it draw first."
Scott nodded, reflecting on the close calls he'd experienced in the unique attack aircraft. It could be a handful if you let your guard down.
"We'll start with vertical takeoffs, then work on slow-landing touch-and-go's, followed by rolling-vertical landings to a full stop. After that we'll depart the pattern for some air work."
"Sounds good."
Having flown the AV-8B, Dalton didn't anticipate any problems with his refresher training. However, he knew Warrington was dead right. One moment of inattention, one misstep, and the outcome could ruin your day.
Warrington looked at his wristwatch. `You'd better head for the school yard. I'll see you after lunch."
"Lookin' forward to it, sir."
At precisely 1300, Scott reported to Warrington's office. Dalton had changed into his flight gear and was carrying his helmet. Scott and Reggie briefed airfield operating procedures, FAM-one expectations and maneuvers, and all emergency procedures. Finally, after a lengthy question-and-answer session, they were ready to walk. They checked the aircraft's maintenance records, gave the airplane a thorough preflight, and then strapped in for Scott's first sortie.