"I'll tell you something about our friend, Allison," Brad muttered, "that we should have figured out up front."
"I think I know what you're gonna say."
Brad caught Blackwell's eye. "She reports to Hollis Spencer, and we've been had."
"I wouldn't bet against you," Blackwell declared as he watched the howling MiG hurtle down the runway. "Think about it, Brad," Lex snorted, mad at himself. "She really bored in, innocently asking a lot of personal questions after I was completely shit-faced."
Grady Stanfield thundered across the landing strip, rendezvousing with Palmer as the MiG climbed straight ahead.
"You're right," Brad agreed at last. He felt a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Her entire act was a test to see if we would disclose what we're doing."
"And I sure as hell did," Lex flared in disgust. "Like a drunken sailor in a Tijuana whorehouse."
"Well, that's water under the stern."
Blackwell gave Brad a quick glance. "Yeah, that's another classic to add to my reputation."
Brad listened to the pilots' voices blare from the loudspeaker and watched the two jets while he spoke to Blackwell. "You might want to consider talking to Spencer, and let him know she was the only one you said a word to."
"Yeah," Lex replied disgustedly. "After he cools down."
They remained quiet, watching the fighters claw for altitude. Spencer had moved the schedule forward, insisting that the air combat maneuvering evaluation be completed by Friday. They would fly back-to-back flights until they knew the MiG like their own fighters.
Stanfield and Palmer were preparing for the first round of fighter engagements. The object of the simulated aerial battles was to explore the MiG's weaknesses and strengths.
After the series of dogfights, Grady and Nick would land, have the planes fueled, debrief in minute detail, switch planes, then repeat the process.
Moving closer to the speaker, Austin and Blackwell paid close attention to the two straining pilots. They were about to reengage for the second battle. Nick Palmer, as talented as Stanfield in equal fighter aircraft, was getting the worse end of the aerial duel.
"Fight's on!" Grady called as the two jets passed nose to nose seventy feet apart.
Brad shielded his eyes and watched both aircraft pull into the vertical. Palmer was trying to use the MiG's slow-speed, tight-turning capability to outmaneuver the F-8 Crusader.
The struggle lasted almost a minute before Stanfield again gained the advantage. Palmer had been forced to lower the MiG's nose when the airspeed decayed. With an altitude and speed advantage, Grady rolled in on Nick's tail.
"Check six," Stanfield radioed in triumph. "Let's go for separation and try again."
"Roger," Palmer replied, breathing heavily. "Have you had enough humiliation yet?"
"Bring it on." Grady laughed.
"Why don't you jump me," Nick suggested stiffly, "and we'll go from there."
"You've got it," Stanfield agreed while he reefed the agile Crusader around. "Heads up. I'm high, coming in from your eight o'clock."
Brad and Lex watched the two aircraft converge. Nick pulled up into an Immelmann as Grady committed the Crusader's nose up. Coming over the top of a displacement roll, Stanfield appeared to have the advantage.
"I think," Brad laughed softly, "that Grady is about to receive a major surprise."
Blackwell gave him a curious glance, but remained quiet while he watched Palmer snap into a tight turn.
Stanfield was pulling inside of the MiG when Nick chopped his power and violently cross-controlled the nimble fighter. Grady tried to react to the ploy by snapping his throttle back and deploying his speed brake.
A second later, Stanfield recognized his mistake. In desperation, Grady simultaneously slammed the throttle into afterburner and retracted the speed brake. He hauled the sleek F-8 around in a last-ditch effort to extract himself from the stressful fight.
Brad watched Nick slide inside the diving Crusader, then heard his voice over the speaker.
"Gotcha!"
"You got lucky."
"The more creative one is," Palmer laughed enthusiastically, "the better one's luck gets."
"I won't fall for that again."
"That's what they all say."
The fighter engagements continued until Nick called low fuel. The score was Grady four wins and Nick two. When Palmer entered the break and turned downwind, Stanfield blasted across the center of the runway and yanked the screeching Crusader up into a victory roll. Suddenly, as the F-8 reached the inverted position, a puff of black smoke erupted from the tail pipe.
Horrified, Brad watched the Crusader's nose drop as the roll rate decreased. He also saw a flock of birds scattering behind the jet. "Bird strike!"
"Eject! Eject!" Spencer shouted over the radio.
Two seconds later, as the Crusader's wings were perpendicular to the runway, Stanfield ejected.
"Oh, Jesus," Brad exclaimed as Grady rocketed sideways through the air. Stanfield's parachute opened a split second before he slammed into the ground and bounced to a stop.
The flash and explosion from the crashing jet shocked Brad into action. "Call a medevac!" he ordered the man standing next to the direct line to Miramar. "Get 'em out here on the double!"
Trailed by Blackwell and Spencer, Austin raced for the nearby jeep.
He clambered into the driver's seat while Hollis and Lex leaped into their seats. He started the engine and floorboarded the throttle. "Hang on!"
Careening down the taxiway, Brad skidded onto the runway behind the crash truck. Overhead, Nick Palmer climbed to reenter the landing pattern. Austin turned off the runway and lurched across the ground.
Brad's heart raced as the fire truck slowed to let a crewman jump off. The man tumbled, then leaped to his feet and ran toward Stanfield, arriving at the same time as the jeep.
Sliding to an abrupt halt, Brad leaped out and rushed to the inert form. "Son of a bitch," he said to himself as he knelt next to Grady. The pilot was battered and barely conscious.
The crash crewman, along with Spencer and Blackwell, joined Brad. Their faces reflected the anguish they felt. They could see the remnants of at least one bird on the side of Stanfield's scratched crash helmet.
"Don't move him," Austin said emphatically, "or touch him until the medevac gets here."
The burly man from the crash crew looked puzzled. He had been trained to pull pilots out of crashes.
"His neck may be broken," Brad explained as he glanced at Stan-field's contorted legs, "so we don't want to risk doing more damage. We'll leave his helmet on."
Lying on his side, Grady had one arm and one leg twisted under him. His helmet visor was shattered and his mouth was slightly open.
Hollis Spencer all too vividly recalled his own crash in Korea as he leaped up and ran to the jeep. Grabbing the radio microphone, he called the hangar to check on the status of the medevac helicopter.
Lex rose in stunned silence. He walked to the jeep, placed his hands on the hood, and let his head sag. "He took a bird through the canopy… and probably some down the intake."
Brad looked up at Blackwell. "You're right. Did you see that black puff of smoke fly out of the tail pipe?"
"Yes."
"That's what shelled the engine." Brad glanced at Stanfield. "Who knows how many birds went through the compressor."
Detecting a faint sound, Brad leaned next to Stanfield's face. "Grady, can you hear me?" The ear-splitting whine of the MiG taxiing to the hangar made hearing difficult. "Can you hear me?"
Stanfield's eyelids fluttered twice and his lips moved, allowing a trickle of blood to escape. "Brad, I… can't breathe.…"