“It’s that balcony right there,” Hail pointed.
Knox pulled back the joystick, and the drone began to slow. He pushed the throttles forward to increase power so he could bring the drone into a controlled hover.
“Where do you want me to put it down, Marshall?” Knox asked.
“Just set it down on the balcony’s table. I’ll text Trevor when he gets home from work and have him collect both drones to bring them inside.”
“Both drones?” Nolan asked.
Hail took a few steps to his left and centered himself behind the other pilot, who was also flying a drone.
“Yeah, Oliver is flying another drone named Bad Company. In its physical form, the drone looks just like a falcon.”
“You mean like the bird — a falcon?” Nolan verified.
“Yep. The drone can fly all day long above a target, and no one on the ground can tell it’s actually a drone.”
Nolan looked impressed, but a little skeptical. He asked, “Why do you need both of the drones?”
“You watched my meeting with the president. And what I told her was accurate. The falcon, Bad Company, sent laser signals to Cheap Trick, because all radio signals are being jammed near the White House.”
Nolan laughed.
“I thought you were just messing with the president,” he said.
“Nope. It’s the real deal and we will be running into increasing security of that type. I can foresee a day in the future where no one will be able to text or use their cellphones, because signals everywhere will be jammed — all in the name of National Security. I’ll probably be dead by that time, or at least wish I was.”
“I’m with you on that,” Nolan said.
“This landing is going to be tricky,” Oliver said. “I can’t hover this bird, so all I can really do is come in fast, flare to a stall at the last second, and let it fall where it falls. You want me to put it on the balcony as well, Captain?”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Hail said. “Just make sure it’s on his balcony. I’d hate to lose that bird. It’s expensive as hell, and we only have one of them now that Eagles is gone.”
“Eagles?” Nolan questioned.
“It was our first birdlike drone, and we lost it during the last mission. A North Korean general shot it from the sky with a hunting rifle, can you believe that?”
Foster Nolan shook his head and said, “So, the only two things that got shot down during that mission was your eagle and me. Hopefully, I fared better than your eagle.”
“Unfortunately, it was a total loss. As will be this bird if Oli can’t nail the landing.”
Almost on cue, Oliver stated, “Here we go. We are coming in hot.”
By now, Alex Knox had left his controls and had rotated his chair so he could watch Oliver land the falcon. On the screen, from the perspective of the falcon’s camera eyes, it looked as though the bird was traveling insanely fast as it glided down the street. At the last second, Oliver yanked back hard on the joystick and pushed his feet all the way into the pedals. The bird’s eyes shot skyward, and for an instant, all anyone could see was the underside of the balcony ceiling. And then, the screen was filled with horizontal lines which pixelated as the bird dropped onto the balcony. A few seconds ticked by while the camera on Bad Company refocused. The white plastic leg of the table that Cheap Trick had landed on came into view, inches from the falcon’s beak.
“It wasn’t pretty, but it’s on the balcony,” Oliver said, shaking out his cramping hands.
“Damn, I don’t know much about flying drones, but that looked like one hell of a landing to me,” Nolan said.
“More like a controlled crash,” Knox quipped, “but it’s really the best Oliver could do with a glider and a balcony. Not much of a landing strip there. And there is no power to compensate for a smooth landing. It’s all or nothing. The best you can really do is flare at the last second, spread the bird’s wings. It decelerated from about 80 miles per hour to 0 miles per hour in about a half-second. Good thing there was the ceiling on the balcony.”
“It was either the ceiling, or I could have just run it into the wall; that was the only other option,” Oliver commented.
“Before you put it to sleep, run diagnostics on it and see if it’s damaged,” Hail requested.
“Will do,” Oliver said. He flipped through some screens on his monitor and pressed an icon that read DIAG CHECK.
Nolan scrutinized the boy, Oliver, sitting at his flight station.
“Aren’t you the pilot who picked me up in the ocean?” Nolan asked.
“Yes, sir,” Oliver said, watching his screen as the diagnostic check continued spitting out data related to the falcon’s health.
“How old are you, son?” Nolan asked him.
“Sixteen,” the young man replied.
He faced Alex Knox.
“And how old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty next month,” Alex told him in a matter-of-fact tone.
“How old are you?” Alex asked Nolan.
The lieutenant commander laughed and said, “Only my hairdresser knows for sure.”
“What?” Alex asked.
“Just a line from a very old commercial,” Nolan replied. “I’m sure you have never seen it. You would have to be old like me to know what I’m talking about.”
Nolan thought about it for a moment. He tried to remember what he was doing when he was twenty. College parties and girls came to mind. But the boy, Knox, was flying drones on a cargo ship. Man, times had really changed.
“Bad Company’s diagnostics came back clean,” Oliver reported.
Oliver swung away his monitors and flight control set, swiveled his chair 90- degrees to the right and he stood with the others.
Hail checked the large monitor mounted on the far wall that listed times in different parts of the world. The time in the United States showed 9:30 a.m. However, their time, in the Eastern China Sea off the coast of China, was 1:00 a.m.…. a day later.
“Why don’t we all turn in for the night, and then maybe show the lieutenant commander some of our facilities tomorrow. It would be interesting to see who is the best F-35 pilot in the simulator.”
Both of Hail’s young pilots smiled.
Foster Nolan smiled even wider.
Two Years Ago
Gulf of Guinea — Aboard the Nigerian Princess
The navigation system on the Nigerian Princess showed Afua Diambu and Isaac Obano they were on the outskirts of the Gulf of Guinea, entering the South Atlantic Ocean.
Afua did not understand the navigational system, although Isaac had done his best to explain it to him. In a very short amount of time, Afua had a lot to learn. The jihadi’s cover was that of the first mate of the ship. It was imperative to learn what that position entailed. He was the direct relief for the captain when he was not at the helm. Even though it would take the yacht weeks to reach Caracas, Venezuela, he had to learn how to become a legitimate deckhand before they were stopped and boarded by some well-meaning contingent of uniformed men. That interdiction may take the form of a legitimate localized Coast Guard troop, or it may take the form of a gang of pirates. Luxury vessels, like the Nigerian Princess, were mouthwatering, easy pickings for indigenous pirates. Typically, luxury vessels were not well armed. And, if they were, the crew on most luxury yachts were not hardened warriors. They were usually former fishermen who had been offered the coveted job of captain. Instead of running a smelly fishing vessel, they were upgraded to pilot clean and sleek yachts owned by rich folks. In certain areas in the world, it was not uncommon for a pirate boat to simply pull along a ship and board them without one shot fired. But that would not be the case with the Nigerian Princess. The Boko Haram leader, Mohammed Mboso, told both Isaac and Afua, in no uncertain terms, that the Nigerian Princess, would not fall into the hands of pirates.