“Matt Pontowski,” Liz Gordon said. “I heard you were over here.”
He turned to face CNC-TV News’s star reporter. He and Liz went back to the peacekeeping mission in South Africa and, at best, an uneasy truce existed between them. He gave her his lopsided grin. “I’m with Foreign Military Sales in the embassy,” he told her.
“One of Bender’s boys,” she replied. “I hear you have a history with the new ambassador.”
Pontowski was noncommittal. “We’ve met. Any buzz on why Maddy selected him?”
“Conventional wisdom’s that she’s about to announce her bid for reelection and needs to mend fences with Senator Leland. Daniel Beason is one of Leland’s major campaign backers, a real rainmaker. Voilà, instant ambassadorship and obligation paid.” Liz paused for a moment, hoping there was an exchange of information in the works.
A quid pro quo was in order and Pontowski considered his answer. “The situation over here requires…”
Liz’s director rushed up, breaking into the conversation. “We’ve got a one-on-one with Richard Parrish. But it’s got to go now.” An exclusive interview with the president’s chief of staff pushed Pontowski off Liz’s radarscope and she turned to go.
“Can I tag along?” Pontowski asked. Liz shrugged in response. He took it for a yes and followed them into a temporary studio where Parrish was waiting. A White House staff member stopped him.
“I’m sorry, General Pontowski, but you’re not on my list.”
Pontowski arched an eyebrow as if to say, “Do you know who I really am?” But it didn’t work. He was up against the hard reality of politics. Power was measured by money, access, and information. At best, he only had the latter and long experience had taught him he was up against a stone wall. Unless Maddy asked to see him, he wasn’t going anywhere. He called his office to see if there were any messages. There weren’t. He gave up and wandered back to the VIP area to find Waldo and Ewa.
They were waiting by the refreshment stand. “Well,” Waldo asked, “any luck?”
“I’m not on her list.”
Ewa felt like singing.
“So what now?” Waldo asked.
“As long as we’re out here, it’s time you met some jet jocks. You’ll like Emil.”
“A chance to fly, I hope.”
Waldo’s chance to fly came ten days later when the weather finally decided to cooperate. Emil joined Pontowski in the briefing room and waited as the rest of the squadron filed in to listen to Waldo’s first mission brief. Emil kept looking at the pudgy Waldo, not really believing what he was seeing. “He’s a strange one,” Emil finally allowed.
Pontowski chuckled to himself. Too many others had made the mistake of misreading George Walderman. “He’s not what he seems,” Pontowski explained. “He’s prematurely gray and that pudgy body of his can take some Gs.”
When the room was packed and the video camera on, Waldo started his briefing. “There’re two types of aircraft in this world, fighters and targets. Today, I’m going to show you how to avoid being a target. Every mission starts here in the briefing room and ends in the briefing room. So today, I’ll go through the whole process with General Pontowski and Emil. Everything will be on videotape. Come back here after we’ve landed and watch how we all get better. Okay, today I’ll be leading a two-ship with Emil on my wing as the student. General Pontowski will be in Emil’s backseat as an instructor pilot.” Waldo turned to the chalkboard behind him and outlined the mission step by step.
Crown Central, the Ground Controlled Intercept radar site forty miles east of Poznan, cleared the two fighters into the training area. “We’ll warm up with some G-awareness exercises,” Waldo radioed, following the exact order of events he had briefed on the ground. “In-place ninety-degree turn to the right, NOW.”
Emil wracked his aircraft into a tight turn. “Hold a constant five Gs,” Pontowski said from the backseat. They rolled out and did it again. “This time,” Pontowski said, “try to hold it without looking at the G meter.” Emil strained against the Gs and managed a decent constant G turn. “Not bad,” Pontowski said.
“In-place one eighty to the left,” Waldo ordered. Again, the two aircraft turned in place.
“Hold a constant seven Gs in a 180 turn,” Pontowski told Emil. “Keep your airspeed near the top of your corner velocity, 440 knots top.”
The GCI controller at Crown Central came on the radio. “Waldo flight, can you accept tasking?”
Waldo didn’t hesitate. “That’s affirmative.”
“We have an inbound target from the east without a clearance.”
Pontowski keyed his radio. “Crown Central, this is Waldo Two, is it a Vnukova flight?” Vnukova was the call sign for Russian diplomatic flights.
“It is possible,” the GCI controller answered. “But we are painting multiple targets.”
“We’ll take a look,” Waldo replied. “We’re LOX sweet, twenty minutes play time, guns only.” He had just told the controller they had plenty of oxygen, twenty minutes’ worth of fuel to use, and were armed only with the M61 20mm cannon. In combat, the 20mm Gatling gun was a fearsome weapon. Now it was the controller’s job to make the best use of it. He gave them an easterly heading to fly and handed them off to Crown East who would run the actual intercept.
“Waldo’s fangs are out,” Pontowski told Emil. “Are you up to it? I can take it from back here.”
Emil gave the right answer. “No problem, I’ve got it.”
“Go tactical,” Waldo ordered.
“Fly line abreast, 5,000 feet apart,” Pontowski said. “You should be able to make out if he’s a fighter, maybe pick up his planform in a turn.” Emil did as directed.
An American voice came on the radio. “Waldo Flight, you’re paired against one, maybe three targets, visually identify and report only. Snap vector zero-eight-zero for ninety-five nautical miles.” As one, the two F-16s turned to 080 degrees. The target was ninety-five miles on their nose.
Waldo played with his APG-68 radar trying for an early detection. His radarscope strobed. “Waldo is being jammed,” he radioed, his voice amazingly cool. “Crown East, vectors and range only.” Waldo was taking over the intercept and only wanted the bearing and range to the target. “Bossman, radar standby, weapons cold.”
“Emil’s got it,” Pontowski replied.
“Weapons cold, radar standby,” Emil radioed. His voice was high pitched and nervous. Not a good start.
“Hook-ID,” Waldo said, calling for the tactic they would use. “Emil is the hook, Waldo the ID.” On cue, Waldo nosed over and dove for the deck, racing ahead of them. He disappeared through the cloud deck below them.
“I’ll talk you through it,” Pontowski said. “Hold your altitude and airspeed. Waldo’s going for the deck. If this were the real thing, you’d arm your missiles now.” At fifteen miles, Pontowski told Emil to turn right for displacement. “You need room to turn into the target. It’s a standard stern conversion where you hook around behind the target.” Again, Emil did as he was told. But now his breath came in short, deep, rapid bursts. “Control your breathing,” Pontowski said, “or you’ll hyperventilate.”
Emil answered with short, very deep breaths. “I’m trying.”
“Wait for the radio call from Waldo. It’s his job to identify them as friendly or hostile. If this were the real thing, you’d be in position to fire. Today, you’re only going to get the target’s tail number. Do not get within one mile of the target unless you have Waldo in sight.”