“Suits?” Ruben asked.
“Nope, but a helmet’s in each. Maybe the snipers won’t get ya if ya get a running start from the hangar.”
The three pilots looked at each other. Without hesitation Beau responded, “Let’s do it.”
Three snipers and a spotter lay hidden behind a fence a little less than half a mile from where Bohannon, Beau, and Ruben were preparing to take off in the F-15s. The spotter, Pepe, tapped one sniper on the shoulder and pointed to the hangar where the three men and five Marines had disappeared.
In English Pepe said, “Hey, Johnny,” at the same time he pointed to the hangar. He always called his best friend, Juan Bravo, Johnny. “Eight men went in the hangar.”
Bravo motioned to the other two snipers. He pointed to one saying, “I will take the lead. You take the second.” He pointed to the other and said, “You take the third. If there are more I will take them. There will be three, maybe four at the most. Be ready.”
Ruben and Bohannon nodded. “Go!” yelled Beau, running to the far jet. Ruben did likewise and soon both men were strapped in.
“Moon Shadow, radio check,” Beau managed to say in a calm controlled voice. He was in his world: a world he knew and knew well.
An equally controlled voice answered, “Roger, Mongoose. Let’s see if we can return the favor.”
“Roger.”
Using his call sign, Beau asked Bohannon, “Cannon?”
“Roger. Let’s take it to them,” he answered.
“Follow me, I’ll take the lead,” said Beau. The three men gave the thumbs up sign to the sergeant as the jet engines started to whine. He smiled and returned the sign. The sergeant yelled to the Marines; they rolled the hangar doors open.
The roar became deafening. Swiftly, the three jets seemed to leap from the hangar and roll along the tarmac, rapidly accelerating and ready to jump into the sky. With his fingers still stuck in his ears, and over the roar of the jets, the sergeant yelled, “Kick some ass, boys!” Then he and the four Marines ran for cover.
The first jet rolled from the hangar with two more following swiftly behind. Bravo sighted on the lead jet. “Here they come.” Never had he missed a shot. Pepe kept watch. The other snipers prepared for the kill.
Bravo aimed for the cockpit of the lead F-15 and fired his rifle where he knew the head of the pilot would be located. Then in rapid succession the other two snipers fired. They watched as the middle jet veered from its path and plunged into a hangar, creating an explosion and a ball of flame.
When Beau rolled from the hangar he made a turn for the nearest runway. As he did, a spare helmet rolled out and bounced across his feet.
“Damn,” he muttered. He tried to lock it behind his feet but failed. He loosened his shoulder strap and bent forward to try and shove the helmet back. The bullet from Bravo’s rifle ripped through the cockpit and grazed his back. He groaned when he felt the pain; still he managed to lock the helmet back with his feet, tighten his shoulder harness and then charge ahead.
Bohannon was not so lucky, as another bullet pierced the cockpit and found his heart. His jet veered from its path and crashed through a hangar, bursting into flames.
When Ruben turned his head all the way to his left to see what happened to Bohannon, a bullet intended for him crashed through the canopy and only grazed his helmet in what would have been a perfect head shot.
Beau screamed, “Moon Shadow, start weaving, snipers are trying to pick us off.”
The middle jet crashed through the hangar but the other two continued.
Pepe was stunned. “You missed!”
“No,” said Bravo. “Something else happened. But he is a dead man now.”
Bravo prepared to fire on the lead jet again when bullets zinged all around their area. Pepe alerted all three snipers and pointed to a half dozen Marines charging their position and firing their rifles as they came.
Calmly, Bravo glanced quickly to the other two snipers. “Get the jets; I will take care of this.”
The snipers prepared to fire on the two weaving jets while Bravo turned around to take care of the charging Marines. Pepe watched.
Slowly Bravo took aim on the farthest Marine, and in rapid succession fired from back to front until his sixth shot took out the last man who led the charge. When he turned back to the jets the other two snipers were still firing, and the jets were lifting from the runway almost vertically. For the first time ever Bravo had failed. But even in failure he had been a success. More than two dozen pilots had been killed across the base as they had made futile efforts to become airborne. Still it was two jets more in the air than he had anticipated.
Once airborne, Beau started barking instructions.
“Watch your ass, Moon Shadow.”
“Mongoose, be careful,” Ruben answered. “We have no suits or parachutes. What we’re doing is stupid. I mean, like this is dumb as shit.” He moaned, abruptly realizing the death situation they were both thrown into.
“Roger, Moon Shadow, watch your six o’clock, here they come,” Beau warned. He checked the fuel. Only half remained.
Both incoming jets were F-4 Phantoms. Ruben immediately peeled left, while Beau did a loop. Just that quickly they were on the tails of the enemy’s American aircraft and just as fast the phantoms were earthbound in flames. Beau took out an A-4D Skyhawk, while Ruben easily handled an unsuspecting F-14. They climbed higher. Far below, they could see the base fall completely to the invaders; however, they made one strafing run to free the sergeant and his four Marines, then watched the five escape, which brought a smile to each pilot. The sky was full of aircraft and it was apparent Beau and Ruben were the only ones on their side.
“Mongoose, running out of fuel and firepower. We gotta get outa here.”
Ruben was right, and Beau knew the sheer numbers of the invaders would mean their eventual death.
“Moon Shadow, set a course for San Antonio. Let’s see if we can find the others. Maybe we can land there, refuel, and rearm,” said Beau. He was afraid it was a false hope but it was their only alternative.
“Roger.”
“Let’s hope Robby is listening or San Antonio picks us up; otherwise, we’re outa luck.”
“Roger.”
The time had come to explain the situation to everyone. For the safety of the group, Admiral Garrett needed to tell them all, in detail, what he knew about the current events and of the possible takeover of the Corpus Christi Naval Air Station. Shock could clearly be seen in all of their faces. Krysti listened earnestly, trying to find a shred of hope in the devastating words.
Admiral Garrett told them he had no knowledge of the attack’s extent or severity. Robby had learned of other attacks on San Antonio and Del Rio, but Garrett was keeping this quiet, not lying and not telling the whole truth until he learned more. Instead, he explained that Robby was trying to make contact with San Antonio and Del Rio. He gave specific orders for Robby to continue with his attempt to contact Ruben and Beau on the radios. Of one thing Garrett was sure: those two men would have first line information.
“I want everyone to relax,” Garrett ordered. “There’s no sense in worrying about something we know nothing about. This could be some kind of protest. Maybe a few nuts creating a little chaos, or even people playing with the airwaves. Maybe it’s a small terrorist action again. Right now I just don’t know what is really happening.”
Garrett doubted his own words but felt it necessary to give encouragement to the others until they knew for sure. Beau’s warning of an invasion continued to haunt him.