He pointed at the Old Dog’s wingtip, which had a long, pointed oblong device trailing aft from the wingtip. “No more twin tip-tanks on this baby. With fibersteel construction we were able to build large single jettisonable fuel tanks with greater capacity that are lighter, stronger and more aerodynamic than the twin tanks. We’ve also taken off the wingtip wheels — even fully fueled there’s no danger of these wingtips ever striking ground. Another weight saving.”
Hal Briggs turned to Ormack. “General, someone might think you’re a lieutenant on his cherry ride.” As he spoke Briggs glanced over Ormack’s shoulder down the flight line and, by force of habit, checked the guard posts.
“I have to admit, I get clutched every time I see this beast,” Ormack said. “I’ve seen her blown up, crashed, broken, shot up, cut up, disassembled, and now I’ve seen her better than before. A regular phoenix, this bird.”
They walked around to the bomb bay and peered inside at the mix of glide-missiles and laser-guided smart bombs. “If this flight is a success,” General Elliott said, “this could be the beginning of a new day for the B-52 bomber. Even with all one hundred B-1 Excalibur bombers operational and the first B-2 Panther Stealth bomber squadron finally operational, the anti-air, standoff and border penetration capabilities of the Megafortress Plus may mean the refitting and reactivation of all the G-model B-52s that were retired last year. A few squadrons of B-52 Megafortress Plus bombers could fly along with the strike bombers, clear a path for them and then return to be used in reserve or for other long-range strike missions. It’s a new concept — armed flying battleship escorts for strategic bombers.”
Hal Briggs listened but his attention was continually drawn to the guard posts down the flight line. Everything appeared normal, but something somewhere was out of place …
At first Briggs dismissed the feelings. All six high-security hangars had the proper guards stationed around them — six V-100 Commando assault cars positioned properly. Straining, he could make out all six guards at their posts, a few standing to watch the crowd around the B-52, a few sitting in their V-100s. A roving patrol in an M113 Armadillo assault vehicle was moving up and down the center of the ramp, cruising slowly, a couple of SPs hanging out of the gun turret on the roof to watch the Megafortress roll out. They had taken the twenty-millimeter machine gun off its mount so two guys could squeeze up through the roof to get a better look — he’d have to get on their case for that. But overall, it appeared normal. So what was it …?”
“Hal?” McLanahan had stepped beside the security police commander and was scanning the flight line with him. “Problem?”
Hal noticed that Ormack, Elliott, Khan and Wendelstat had moved off toward the tail; he and McLanahan were alone beside the Old Dog’s bomb bay. “No … nothing. I’m gonna chew some butt — those guys rubber-neckin’ in the Armadillo over there.” He looked at the colonel. “Where you going?”
“Take a ride out to the range, I think. Get a good seat near the ground target before the fireworks start. I was going to ask if
But Briggs wasn’t listening; he was staring down the flight line toward Hangar Five, Sergeant Rey Jacinto’s post. He was still sitting in his V-100, doors closed. He wasn’t asleep — Jacinto was too good for that, and besides, Briggs could see him moving around inside …
“Hal? What about it? Can I get a ride out to the range?”
… but Jacinto was a high-tech aircraft freak. He knew all there was to know, all he was allowed to know, about the B-52 Megafortress Plus and the XF-34A DreamStar. He would, though, gladly give his right nut to get a look at either bird up close. Jacinto had guarded Hangar Three before, but he had never been inside …
“He’s never seen the Old Dog before,” Briggs mumbled. “What?”
“One of my troops. Jacinto …”
“Rey? Yeah, nice guy. You keep on bouncing back his requests to take a peek at DreamStar. You ought to let him before they mothball her. Is he on duty this morning?”
“Hangar Five.”
McLanahan squinted through the semi-darkness toward DreamStar’s hangar. “I don’t see him.”
“He’s in the Commando.”
McLanahan grunted his surprise. “Looking out those tiny gunport windows? Get those guys in the Rover to relieve him on his post and have him come take a look at the Megafortress. I know he’s been itching to get a look at her too.”
“Yeah, right.” Briggs walked off toward his sedan. Patrick was about to repeat his request for a ride out to the bombing range but changed his mind — Briggs, he decided, must have a million things on his mind.
As he walked to his car Hal Briggs decided McLanahan was right. Jacinto had wanted to get a look at the Megafortress Plus and DreamStar for years. Now, with the huge bomber not three hundred yards away, Jacinto was sitting locked up in his V-100, watching through tiny gunports when he could be outside watching it. Why? Besides, Jacinto was a well-known roamer. He couldn’t stand being cooped up in a Commando for more than a few minutes.
It was then that Briggs noticed the blue Stepvan half-hidden from view beside Hangar Five. He also noticed that the doors to Hangar Five were open and that a missile-carrying trailer was parked inside. And he saw the orange safety cones arranged outside the hangar — MMS, or Munitions Maintenance Squadron, was already downloading weapons from DreamStar. They were four hours early …
Briggs pulled his walkie-talkie from his belt and set the channel for security control. “Red Man, this is Hotel.”
“Go ahead, Hotel.”
Ormack had finished his walkaround, and he, Carter and Elliott were shaking hands. Visitors began filing into buses to take them off the flight line. The crew of the Megafortress was climbing up the belly hatch into the massive bomber.
Briggs keyed the mike button: “Status check of Foxtrot posts.”
“Last status check one-five minutes ago reports all secure. Last Rover check zero-one minutes ago reports all secure.”
“Copy. Break. Rover Nine, this is Hotel. Report to Five Foxtrot for relief. He wants to get a look at the monster up close. Five Foxtrot, you copy?”
Lovyyev, alias Airman Crowe, nearly pulled the trigger of his M-16 in panic when he heard his call sign over the security net. He was about to pick up the microphone and say something when he heard, “Break. Hotel, this is Rover Nine. Job Control has requested us to assist in clearing the flight line. We are moving into position. Please advise. Over.”
Lovyyev’s throat was stone dry. He didn’t dare try to speak. Nothing would come out. Should he walk out of the car? Wave? Should he do anything …?
Briggs stared at the armored car in front of Hangar Five. Jacinto sure was acting strange. Normally he would have jumped at the opportunity to check out any aircraft, from an old Piper Cub to the hypersonic spaceplane. He was being oddly reticent this morning. Well, tough. He was too late.
“Rover Nine, continue to clear the flight line. Five Foxtrot, sorry, maybe some other time.”
Lovyyev still kept away from the mike button. He turned and saw KGB veteran Gekky Orlov, alias Sergeant Howard, standing inside the hangar, his M-16 out of sight, watching him. He knew Orlov had a tiny earpiece radio set to that security-net frequency. He was looking hard at him, trying to get him to calm down. Orlov could tell without seeing him that Lovyyev was ready to collapse. Don’t key that microphone; be silent …