“Tell me, Bill, just when in the hell do you think we will be able to resume training?” von Cairns asked.
“We’ve been through all that, Clifton. Training will be resumed as soon as we can get reorganized. We have brought three hundred thousand troops back from overseas, the largest part of that number being Army personnel. That has put quite a strain on our military infrastructure as I’m sure you can understand. And right now, our first priority is reorganization.”
“Alright, I can see that, but why restrict our flying time? As you know, I am not only CG of Fort Rucker and the Army Aviation School; I am also chief of the Army Aviation Branch. These flight-time restrictions are Army-wide, and they are having a serious impact in allowing our aviators to maintain their minimums. And that, Bill, could have dire, and I mean dire, consequences.”
“I wish I could help you with that, Clifton, I really do. But that is out of my hands. The restriction of flight time isn’t just for the Army. It is for all branches of the service, and it comes direct from the secretary of defense.”
“Yes, someone who has never served one day in the military, who has never held a private-sector job, and who has never been in charge of anything larger than an office staff. Can’t you talk to him, Bill? Can the chief of staff talk to him? Hell, how about the chairman of the Joint Chiefs? He’s an Air Force man, a pilot; he ought to understand better than anyone what this is doing to training, to operational readiness, to say nothing of morale.”
“Believe me, he does understand. And he has talked with the secretary of defense as well as the president. But the flight limitations remain in effect.”
General von Cairns was quiet for a long moment.
“You still there, Clifton?”
“Yeah,” von Cairns said. “I’m here.”
“Look, I know what you are going through,” General Roxbury said. “And I’m doing—we are doing—all we can to get this situation resolved as quickly as we can. All I can say now is for you to just hang loose and keep your personnel ready to resume training at a moment’s notice. This can’t last forever.”
“No, it sure as hell can’t,” von Cairns said. “Good-bye, Bill, and give Connie my best.”
“Will do,” General Roxbury said. “I’m going to stay on this, Clifton, I promise.”
General von Cairns hung up the phone. Nearly one hundred soldiers were moving across the parade ground performing police call. But there was nothing left for them to pick up, because another group of one hundred had performed a police call earlier this morning. This useless waste of manpower was the result of junior officers and NCOs “making work,” for the men and women soldiers on the base. The lack of mission was having a serious impact on troop morale.
Von Cairns looked over at a shadow box on the wall. Inside the box was a Distinguished Service Cross, a medal of valor second only to the Medal of Honor.
The framed citation was right beside it.
Citation: Distinguished Service Cross
CLIFTON VON CAIRNS
The President of the United States takes great pride in presenting the Distinguished Service Cross to Clifton von Cairns, Major, U.S. Army, Avn, for his extraordinary heroism in military operations against an opposing armed force while serving as an Apache pilot with the Third Combat Aviation Brigade during Operation DESERT STORM on January 21, 1991. On that date, Major von Cairns was flying a search-and-destroy mission at a forward-operating location when he received tasking to look for another Apache crew that had been shot down the night before. For three hours of intensive searching deep inside enemy territory, he risked his life as he had to fly at absolute minimum altitude to pinpoint the survivors’ location. When an enemy truck appeared to be heading toward the downed crew, Major von Cairns engaged and destroyed it, thus enabling a Blackhawk helicopter to secure the rescue. Once the crew recovery was effected, Major von Cairns flew cover for the rescue helicopter, taking out two more enemy gun positions on the return flight. It was his superior airmanship and his masterful techniques at orchestration that made this rescue happen. Through his extraordinary heroism, superb airmanship, and aggressiveness in the face of the enemy, Major von Cairns reflects the highest credit upon himself and the United States Army.
The door to his office being open, Lieutenant Phil Patterson stepped through it, then called out, “General von Cairns?”
Von Cairns swiveled back around. “Yes, Lieutenant ?”
“You wanted the 1352 forms? The Matériel Readiness Reports?”
“Yes, what do we have?”
“Forty-two percent of our aircraft could be made flyable by reconnecting the fuel control lines.”
“What? Only forty-two percent? What’s the problem ? You would think with as little flying as we are doing that we could at least keep our aircraft operational.”
“Yes, sir, well, it isn’t the fault of maintenance, General. Fifty-one percent of the red-X aircraft are grounded for parts.”
“Fifty-one percent? What’s the holdup? Are the parts on order?”
“Yes, sir, and they are on AOG, which as you know is the highest priority,” Lieutenant Patterson said. “Evidently there is a hold on all resupply.”
“How much authority can AOG have now, anyway ?” General von Cairns asked. “Hell, all aircraft are on ground.”
“That’s true, General. But I suppose that is the best they can do.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” von Cairns agreed. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Patterson returned to his desk. He had welcomed the assignment to run down the 1352s. That had given him something to do other than sit at his desk and read paperback novels.
Opening the middle drawer on his desk, he picked up Death Town by Robert Varney. The other officers sometimes teased him about his “high literary tastes,” but he didn’t care. He enjoyed the thrillers, and the way things were going right now, he needed all the escape he could get.
JFK Airport, New York—Friday, March 16
Pan World America Flight 103, out of Frankfurt, Germany, was just entering New York airspace for landing at JFK. Rena Woodward, the chief flight attendant, took the mic from its holder.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has just turned on the seat-belt sign. Please make certain that all trays are stowed, your seats are in the upright position, and your seat belts are fastened. We thank you for flying PWA.”
Suddenly, from the aisle seat in row twenty-three, Abdullah Ibrahim Yamaninan stood up and, using a cigarette lighter, lit the hem of his shirt.
“Death to all infidels! Allah hu Akbar!”
The shirt flamed as suddenly and as brightly as a magnesium flare.
“He’s got a bomb!” someone shouted.
Mike Stewart, a former linebacker for Penn State, was a passenger one row behind. He grabbed the blanket off the woman who was seated next to him, then leaped up and wrapped it around Yamaninan, knocking him down as he did so.
“Get a fire extinguisher!” Stewart shouted as he tried to smother the flames with the blanket.
Yamaninan was screaming in pain from the severe burns all over his body. Reena arrived then with a foam fire extinguisher and she emptied it on Yamaninan and Stewart, whose clothes were, by now, also burning.
One of the other flight attendants called the flight deck to inform the pilot of what had just happened, and the pilot called JFK to declare an emergency.
“Pan World, what is the nature of your emergency ?”
“It appears we have a bomber on board.”
“Say again, Pan World. You have a bomb on board?”