Beau continued scanning the images of the photographs. Only a half dozen airliners rested near the many large hangars. All the doors were closed. Heavy equipment surrounded each hangar. The runways were filled with tire marks from a well-traveled airport. He shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m not sure. I don’t think I see anything. Maybe if I could see a series of timed photos?”
“I see no reason for that. Surely if there were to be an invasion the size you describe, there would be many more formidable aircraft other than airliners,” Copeland blurted.
Lipton waved her hands. “Enough. I believe we can conclude this meeting. Commander, we know a lot more now than we did at Pearl Harbor. Something on such a grand scale could not possibly escape our intelligence.”
“What the hell do you expect? You think they intend to advertise in the newspaper?”
“That’s all, Commander! We will check into your story when time permits. As to the matter of your resignation, we will not accept it until you conclude your present tour. You are dismissed.”
Beau watched as the five stood and gathered their papers before they filed from the room. He sighed and shook his head. The five standing before him controlled the destiny of the United States. Beau looked at the two on each side of Lipton and for a moment saw the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: War, Death, Pestilence, and Famine. For the first time, as he peered at Sarah Lipton, he understood that the Four Horsemen always had a leader. Throughout time the “Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” had been led. And usually a politician of some kind led them. The fifth Horseman was Greed! Greed left a trail for the other four to follow and devour in her wake!
As the Five Horsemen walked away, Beau knew men in history had stood in his position, warning their countries of impending doom, only to be ignored. Even the mighty Roman Empire had fallen to its own glut and expansion. Just as the Romans had spread their conquest to the known limits of their world, the United States did the same, deeming themselves the policemen of the world. In reality, they were spread so thin across every continent and ocean, they had exposed their backside. He knew it was only a matter of time before someone would deliver a punch to cripple the United States.
General Waddle slipped the photos in his briefcase and walked over to Beau. “You really believe it will happen, don’t you?”
The two were eye-to-eye. “Not if, but when, Sir.”
General Waddle nodded understanding. “Commander, I’ll do what I can.” They shook hands and the general addressed Garrett. “Take care of the boy. His story has merit and is at least worth checking. That is unofficial. Understand?” Both men confirmed with a nod. General Waddle added, “I’m leaving after your test flight tomorrow. I’ll see what I can do.” He and the other general turned and walked from the room.
Garrett slapped Beau hard on the shoulder. “You’ve done all you can do for now. We’ll try later. Right now I want to introduce you to the rest of the group.”
“Our leaders are relying too much on the Aurora Project,” Beau mumbled. Outside the building, they continued discussing the meeting and planned their strategy to get the information to men in higher authority. As they crossed an open grassy area, three F-14 Tomcats and an old F-4 Phantom thundered in from the bay. Beau turned his eyes skyward, shading them with his hand while he watched.
The two men came to a decorative brick building. They found their way to the demonstration and entered the dark auditorium. Ruben stood on the stage talking. He pointed to a screen and addressed a gathering of pilots, explaining the activities of the advanced fighter lessons and what was expected of them in the flying classes of Red Flag and Fighter Town U.S.A. The demonstration film was coming to an end.
“Air warfare has progressed tremendously since the First World War nearly one-hundred years ago where the Spade was introduced. The Second World War brought such aircraft as the P-40 Warhawk and the P-38 Lightning. The most advanced were the British Spitfire and the American P-51 Mustang. Even today, the Mustang holds the air speed record for a prop. The P-51 Mustang brought Germany to its knees. The F-86 Sabre jet’s design was based on the Mustang.” He tapped the screen. “Today, we have the most sophisticated and advanced methods to accomplish aerial combat: the F-14, F-16, and the F-18. The days of the P-51 Mustang are gone.”
What Ruben failed to say was that for more than thirty years no advances had occurred in the design of any aircraft. The tape flickered and the film ended. Instantly, the lights came on. Ruben spread his legs and put his hands behind his back.
“Many of you may soon have the chance to fly such aircraft. Gentlemen, are there any questions?” He waited but there were none. “Dismissed.”
Ruben grinned broadly when he saw Ted and Beau at the entrance. He motioned them to the side of the small stage where Garrett introduced Beau to the other men in the group. In uniform it was hard to notice any of the differences Ruben mentioned. Only three were at the training session, while the others were busy with duties or on leave in town.
Admiral Garrett introduced Beau to Lieutenant Commander Mark “Fitz” Fitzhenry. Slightly under six feet, Fitzhenry at first appeared to Beau to be just a scrawny young kid, but the firmness of his handshake made those thoughts disappear. His face was so youthful; one could tell he almost never needed to shave. Fitz had a hungry, eager desire in his brown eyes. At twenty-four he was the youngest of the group. Flying a jet was his childhood dream. The kid from Tennessee had everything it took.
“Commander,” said Fitzhenry as he released Beau’s hand. “Heard a lot about you. I sure look forward to flying with you.”
Beau nodded. “Lieutenant. I’m sure the opportunity to fly will soon present itself.” Then he took the Aussie’s hand.
“G’day Commander Gex. Major Jonathan Kippurn Mullholland,” said Major Mullholland and then with a twinkle in his eyes added, “My mates just call me Kipp.” The wrinkles around his eyes revealed his age but they also showed his strength and experience. For Beau, Kipp was a pleasant break from the norm.
“All right, Kipp,” he said smiling slightly. Grey, frizzy hair protruding from beneath his cap indicated his relative age. Friendly and outgoing, Mullholland just didn’t fit in as a pilot, but his credentials as an Australian flyer were outstanding. Otherwise, he would not be attached to such an elite group. Over forty, Mullholland was older than most active fighter pilots. His youth was found in his enthusiasm.
“Are ya as wild as they say?” Mullholland asked. “Hope so, mate. Could make it a crazy party.”
“Don’t believe all the stories you’ve heard.”
Marix clicked to attention and extended his hand; he seemed to squeeze intentionally hard which Beau reciprocated in like fashion. Marix was a few inches taller, with striking features and thick red-brown hair, a stately nose and stabbing brown eyes.
“Colonel Michael Marix,” he snapped with authority, still continuing the overly firm grip. “Commander Gex.” The last words added were with what seemed a tone of sarcasm, yet he pronounced the name perfectly. Both men eyed each other as Marix studied Gex intently.
“Colonel,” said Beau just as firmly. This was no time for conflict, nor a time to back down. Maybe Marix didn’t like his reputation; maybe it was his way of asserting power. Soon he would be in West Texas with his brothers and their home, Big Rock, and none of this would matter. “Hey, we’ve got to cut out,” said Ruben, stepping between the two men, intentionally breaking them apart. “Sully and BJ are waiting.” He took Beau and Admiral Garrett outside, leaving the others behind. They found Commander Thomas “Sully” Sullivan and Lieutenant Commander Jack “BJ” Warren waiting.