“Yes, sir. This mission is real. Highly classified, of course. The pilot is on his way here tomorrow, and the other pilot will meet him in India,” replied Lt. Col. Steve “Smitty” Montoya.
“Thoughts, Smitty? I mean, who da heck is dis guy?” Zeke asked. Then, controlling his sarcasm, he said, “OK, OK. I’m thinking a no-brainer here, we’ll support dis for sure. Has a liddle DC written all over it. Put you and me on da flight schedule. Have Chief Hernandez ready some birds up… let me see here,” said Zeke, looking over the maintenance schedule of available aircraft. He lit up a cigarette, and positioned it perfectly on the end of his lip while he talked.
Smitty laughed at Zeke, then looked at his copy of their tail numbers. “WASHINGTON is down for corrosion. Perhaps put SOUTH CAROLINA on the schedule, with CALIFORNIA as a back-up, sir?” Smitty told him.
“Yep, good idea. Do it,” ordered Zeke. “Who’s da the pilot coming here to ride shotgun?”
Smitty open his clipboard. “A captain. Name is… Ford Stevens. Air Force Reserve. Flies B-1s over at Ellsworth.”
“Say the name is Stephens? I went to Southern Illinois with a kid named Stephens. Wait, a reservist?”
“Yes. Ford Stevens. S-T-E-V-E-N-S.”
“Nah, not him. Never heard of da guy.”
Chen talked over some plans for the Black Scorpion to fly over the South China Sea region at his meeting with the intention of giving a workout to the radar controllers.
Receiving an aerial helicopter tour on a Z-8S Super Frelon of the newly built-up islands in the middle of nowhere, he was impressed with the massive runway, buildings, fuel farm, and aircraft parking. Even the space for his brothers in the navy had ample parking for their ships. This project was massive and moving along well ahead of schedule.
“All three islets, Fiery Cross, Mischief, and Subi, have hangar space?” Chen asked General Bao Bing. Gray hair, looking like a wise grandfather, he looked and sounded the part of the elder statesman.
“Yes, He, space for twenty-four fighters, plus four larger planes. All built on the reef. Operational very soon,” replied General Bing. The general referred to He Chen by his first name, a rare occurrence. It also reflected the closeness of their relationship.
“I’m bringing Black Scorpion here soon, General. Time for the bomber community to shine in our nation’s military. A true show of force to our men. Yes?” Chen said, leaning forward, telling and asking his superior at the same time. It was not lost on the senior general.
“He, I appreciate your aggressiveness,” General Bing said, then paused dramatically. “Just be sure,” he paused again, then pointed at Chen, “you have your house in order before you start extending your reach. Understand what I am saying, He?”
General Bao Bing was referring to Chen losing Devil Dragon without really saying it, insinuating that he may be moving too fast on such an expensive and secret program.
“He,” Bing began, then paused. “You had better have your business aligned with the senior military and the party before you start taking her from the mainland to down here. All eyes are upon us, especially their allies. If you’re ready, yes, come down. But know if you are not, and something happens, you will retire.” Bing looked outside at the clear water down below, then directly at Chen. “Immediately. Understand?”
Chen looked down at the floorboards of the Z-8S, then into the eyes of General Bing. “General Bing, sir, I will be successful.”
“Ford! Come on, Bro! What the hell?” Mark said.
Wearing only his blue checkerboard boxer shorts and no shirt, Ford was passed out on the bathroom floor next to the toilet. He had vomited and had peed his shorts and was lying in the wet mess.
Emily turned around to ensure the room door was shut, then came back in. She carefully stepped through the chaos, over Ford, and turned on the shower.
“Bro, get up. Come on, man,” Mark told him, his patience thinning, checking his pulse on his neck.
Emily leaned in to check his pulse on his wrist. “He’s bloody pissed. Plastered,” Emily said sternly.
Emily looked at Ford, then walked with a purpose over to the bed area. “I’m ringing Old Man Burns.”
She waited with her one hand on her hip, and one toe pointed out at a forty-five-degree angle. “Mr. Burns, we found Ford in his room, and he isn’t feeling well this morning. The chap is out and won’t be down to meet the secretary, unfortunately,” she told him, which was true. No reason to say what caused it, as she looked over at the empty green bottle of Irish Whiskey on the room table near the purse.
“Ford, snap out of it. Come on,” Mark told him again in a hushed voice. Mark was crouched down and sure not to step in the nasty vomit.
Emily came back into the bathroom. “Just called Mr. Burns and said Ford wasn’t feeling well,” she announced calmly, but rapidly raised her voice. “He’s rat arsed! A tad sick, are ya?”
“Fuck yes, I’d say yes he’s sick. Emily, what the hell is this? One-night party or does this have legs? He’s a mess. A much bigger problem I don’t know about?” Mark was livid.
Emily didn’t answer and got some of the fancy hotel towels off the rack and laid them on the floor. Geez, Ford, Emily thought quietly. Really? I’m bloody hell pissed off. “Ford, you were arse over tit,” she told him, huffing. Emily then became concerned about his welfare. “Blimey. Are you OK?” she finally asked out loud.
According to emotional intelligence experts, women had more empathy than men. Despite this fact, Emily felt far from providing empathy and was really torn. Her emotions were right on the edge of bursting, and seeing the purse in the room added to the rise.
Ford was starting to come out of his funk, but was very slow to come to full consciousness. He had a small cut on his ear, most likely from where he tried to prevent himself from falling on the toilet as he came in to throw up.
Mark shook his head and was downright irritated still. He had a stern look on his face and felt deceived, as if Emily was keeping this from him. Thoughts flew through his mind, especially since both Calvin and the secretary of defense were downstairs waiting. “Goddamn it. Emily, is this much bigger than a night? I need to know because we have a whole mission coming and riding on Ford. You know this. You need to tell me if we have a problem. Do we?” Mark asked her, unsympathetically.
Calvin checked in and was getting settled into his room, and he picked up his phone for a quick check. He had a text from his college roommate, Reggie Bryant of Gulfstream, a few from his daughters, and one from his wife.
Scanning emails, he saw Michelle was checking in as well. Nothing hot, so he lay down for some much-needed rest. He was never told of Ford’s true condition.
“Mark. Yes, Ford has been drinking more since Devil Dragon, but I’ve never seen him this bad,” Emily answered.
Mark stood up and looked around at the mess. He wasn’t sure if he should be concerned or laugh, because the painted picture here was that he went out boozing in Vegas and was now paying the price — a typical night in this town for many.
“You would tell me if this was an issue, right?” Mark asked her.
“Yes, Mark, this is not an issue. I don’t think. But he has been drinking way more than usual. Let’s get him cleaned up.”