On the second morning after the arrival of the Wild Weasels, Major Yaru-Lau announced the wing’s combat status had reached a one and Waters congratulated Leason on his accomplishment — the wing had made it past the first big hurdle.
After the morning briefing Waters called Fairly aside. “Mike, I’m putting the Weasels under Steve Farrell in the 377th. But it’s Bull’s job to teach people how to fly with them. He’s going to need help. Pick a pilot to be your squadron weapons-and-tactics officer to work with him and the Weasels. Have your man at a meeting in Intelligence today at 1300. By the way, your troops did good at Woensdrecht.”
Fairly picked up the hint. “Jack Locke will be there at 1300.”
“Good choice,” Waters said.
Jack was pleased at the news he’d be the squadron’s new weapons-and-tactics officer but disappointed when Fairly told him he couldn’t have Thunder to work with him.
“I’ve got other plans for the wizzo. You’ll have to do this one on your own,” Fairly told him and walked away. Time Jack got weaned from his wizzo.
In the back vault of Intel, Group Commander Childs had shown up with Waters, who proceeded to introduce the men to C.J. and his bear. “We’re going to start training for an attack on Ahlhorn,” he then said, pointing to a German air base on a wall map of northern Germany. “For us it will be the equivalent of an attack deep into enemy territory. Alongside of it, Woensdrecht was a piece of cake. Ahlhorn will be defended by the Tactical Leadership Program at Jever.” He pointed to another German base near the North Sea. “They’ll challenge us with an active air-defense, which is where the Weasels come in. We’re going to have to fight our way in, suppress the base’s air defenses and fight our way out.” The colonel looked at Jack. “This one will not be a piece of cake.”
“Colonel,” Jack said, “the only rough thing about Woensdrecht was the low level and timing over the North Sea. Flying at a thousand feet and 420 knots to an IP like we did in Holland isn’t flying low or fast. And that’s our best tactic for penetration into any target. The Rapiers at Stamford proved that… ”
Sara was right, Waters thought. There was a lot of Locke that reminded him of himself when he was a new young fighter pilot. There was a potential in Jack beyond anything in Morgan or Conlan when they were upcoming jocks at Red Flag. But he still had a long road to go and plenty to learn from C.J. and Bull.
“Good point, Locke. Group Captain Childs will explain the low-level flying structure in Germany. After he’s finished, get into bed with C.J. and Stan and figure out how you’re going to integrate the Weasels with your tactics. Okay, that’s it,” and he left.
Childs threw a blue three-ring notebook on the table in front of them. “That gives the story of flying low level in Germany. You can legally operate between four and seven hundred feet most everywhere until you’re in a low-flying area; then you can descend to two hundred feet. Ahlhorn is in a low-fly area. However, the RAF likes to operate at two hundred feet wherever we please, but we do avoid most villages and built-up areas. Mustn’t upset the natives too much—”
“Don’t the Germans file violations like crazy?” Jack broke in.
Childs smiled. “Let us just say that the low-level structure in Germany is one way we remind the Germans that we were not invited there.”
For the rest of the afternoon and the next morning, C.J. and Stan worked with the small group. Stan outlined the way a G-model worked and how they could detect and electronically counter radar-guided threats. C.J. took over and covered the three different missiles the Weasels carried that homed onto the radar-transmitting guidance signals to SAMs and Triple A. With a Weasel in the area, a radar operator led a short, exciting life. “There are several ways we can integrate our operations to get you onto and off a target, but in most cases what the old heads used to say is still right—’tell me what the threat is and I’ll tell you what my tactics are.’ Okay, time we chase our bodies over to the base theater to hear Bull shake up the troops with the Ahlhorn mission.”
Jack met Morgan outside the theater as the crews crowded in for their next briefing. While they waited Jack said, “Tell me about C.J.”
“Strange case,” Morgan said. “Supposedly he’s not even that good a pilot, but he’s been asked to join the Thunder-birds twice. He’s written articles on strategy for the Air University Review and been called simple minded. You figure it out. The guy’s kicked out of a Pentagon assignment after an arrest for drunk driving. He also wrote a satire on official policies. It is not worth your career to be caught with one of the bootleg copies at the Puzzle Palace, but rumor has it that Sundown keeps a framed copy in his bathroom. Maybe that’s C.J.’s secret weapon… ”
Bull finished up his briefing with: “Some of you are wondering why an old bird like the F-4 should still be so alive and well when the F-15s and 16s are eating up the sky. It’s because the Phantom can do many things well and has two engines and two crewmembers. It can take a lot of battle damage and still survive in a high-threat environment. It also offers a damn creditable air-to-air counter against the latest MiGs, especially since being retrofitted with the AIM-9L Sidewinder. Sure, the new birds can do any one of the things it does better, but none can do all of them as well. I’ve been talking about the Phantom’s potential. It’s your job to make it live up to that potential. The man in the cockpit still makes the difference.”
Jack and Thunder had been visiting Eastern Radar. When they turned at the roundabout in front of Gillian’s shop, Jack got Thunder to pull over, jogged around the corner to the shop and found her behind the desk scheduling appointments.
“How would you like to see the base this afternoon? The 378th is launching a mass gaggle on Woensdrecht. You might enjoy it. Pick you up at one?”
Before she could answer he had run back to the waiting car.
“He does seem sure of himself,” one of the stylists who worked for Gillian observed.
Gillian said nothing but was thinking how glad she was he’d come back.
Jack was glad he had planned on finishing Gillian’s tour of the squadron by watching the 378th crank engines and taxi out to the runway. The activity and the precision of the engine start and canopy drill fascinated her.
“Can we watch them take off?” she shouted over the noise.
Jack’s answer was to commandeer a pickup truck and drive out to the takeoff end of the runway, beating the taxiing Phantoms, then hand Gillian a set of Mickey Mouse ear protectors as the Phantoms arrived and the first four lined up on the runway.
When the pilots lit the afterburners the shock wave rocked Gillian back as the Phantoms thundered down the runway. Ten seconds after the lead started his takeoff the second pair started to roll and the vibration of the noise pulsed through her body, seemingly reaching every nerve and bone. As the second flight of four taxied into position she took a hesitant step toward the runway, but Jack held her back. She shook off his hand and stood there, meeting the force of the noise alone until all twenty-four aircraft had launched.
The silence after the launch was as deafening as the noise had been. Gillian turned to Jack. “Oh, my God… ” She reached out and put her hand on his cheek, surprising him by the warmth of her touch. They stood there for a moment, not saying a word.
“I don’t know what happened to me,” she said. “I think it must have been the incredible noise, the power of it… it excited me, I admit. That is the secret isn’t it? I mean, the power in those beasts. Controlled and caged and you fly them — like riding a whirlwind.” She seemed to blush. “Is that too silly, Jack? I don’t care… No wonder it draws you in so… ”