A flight of three checked in with the tower, but this time there was no straggler and any sense of relief Waters felt was quickly swept away. “Twelve more to go, twenty-three accounted for,” Waters intoned. Two more flights of four called the tower as the men heard a calm voice on the UHF declare a Mayday — it was Sooner from the 379th. Jack held out the binoculars for Waters and this time he took them, scanning the sky. He found the Phantom’s characteristic smoke trails, marking the path of two returning aircraft. Waters reached into the truck and grabbed the radio’s mike. “Tower, this is Zero-One.” The control tower acknowledged, recognizing the standard call sign of a wing commander. “Are those two the last inbounds?”
“Roger, Zero-One. No more inbounds at this time,” the tower confirmed.
Waters threw the mike back into the pickup. “Three missing… ”
Sooner’s voice came over the radio. “Good afternoon, Rats Tower. Declaring an emergency at this time, I’ll be taking the barrier.”
Jack caught the cool detached tone. Sooner playing the macho fighter pilot in charge of the situation.
“State your emergency,” the tower replied.
“Rog tower. Smoke and fumes in the cockpit, rear canopy jettisoned. Utility hydraulic pressure out, left-hand generator out, bus tie open, numerous holes in the aircraft, loud complaints from the wizzo.”
Jack noted that Waters was not reassured by Sooner’s black humor. He picked up his mike, mashed the transit button. “Sooner, this is Zero-One, recommend ejection.”
“All the same to you, Boss, I’ll give this one back to Maintenance.” It was the reply Jack would have made. “Blowing gear down, now.”
“Sooner, your right main gear did not come down,” the wingman radioed.
“Rog, no big deal, I was taking the barrier away.”
Waters ran his mental checklist of what systems Sooner had lost; no anti-skid, no nose-gear steering, no afterburner ignition. It was too much. “Sooner, this is Waters, deep six that puppy, we don’t need it.”
“No sweat, Boss,” Sooner said, starting his approach.
They watched as the Phantom touched down, a perfect five hundred feet short of the arresting cable, holding the right wing up. Sooner lowered the nose gear onto the runway short of the cable, just as the emergency procedures for the F-4 called for. And they watched in horror as the nose gear collapsed, knowing what would happen next. The Phantom bounced onto its nose and ground-looped into the right wing, skidding over the cable toward the edge of the runway. The crash trucks were already moving with Doc Landis in the ambulance close behind. The aircraft’s nose buried itself in the dirt and the fighter pitched onto its back, kicking up a shower of dirt as it skidded to a halt.
Waters swung his binoculars onto the cockpit of the upside-down plane. He saw no smoke or flames. A silver-suited crash-and-rescue fireman ran up to the rear cockpit, which was missing its canopy, and threw himself on the ground, reaching in, unstrapping the wizzo. Flames started to engulf the aircraft as he pulled the backseater out and dragged him to Doc Landis. Another fireman was trying to break through the front canopy.
The crash truck pushed against a wing tip in an attempt to raise the bird off its back so the fireman could pop the front canopy and release Sooner, directing its water cannon onto the fuselage, trying to extinguish the building flames. Another crash truck arrived and directed its water cannon onto the fireman but had to play back to the other truck to cool it. They could see Sooner trying to break through the canopy with a canopy knife as the flames mushroomed over the two trucks, and engulfed the fighter. Waters watched the trucks back away, cannons spraying, as the lone fireman ran out of the flames.
Waters smashed his fist into the pickup’s door. “Overconfidence, damn overconfidence… ”
And a sickening feeling of responsibility ate at Jack as Sooner burned… Was he the one who had taught Sooner overconfidence…?
The C-141’s engines were still spinning down when the forward hatch opened and Brigadier General John Shaw jumped down onto the ramp at Ras Assanya, somehow managing to shake Waters’ hand, shove his flight cap on and return the salute. “Welcome to Rats Ass, John,” Waters said, glad to see his old friend. “How’s Beth?” The two spent a few moments trading more small talk, postponing the reason for the general’s visit.
“Beth’s fine, enjoying the auld sod. Got a letter for you from Sara. That what you’re calling this place, Rats Ass?”
“One of our wizzos in his cups came up with it at the O’ Club and it sort of stuck,” Waters said, tucking the letter in a pocket for reading later when he could savor it in private.
“You’ve got an Officers’ Club here with booze?” the general asked. “I thought the Saudis wouldn’t permit any alcoholic beverages in the country.”
“They ignore it. We’re just across the border from Kuwait and pretty much isolated. The Kuwaitis and Saudis contracted with an English firm to build the base for the Rapid Deployment Force, but neither of them wanted it in their own country. The Kuwaitis didn’t because they’re worried about having more foreigners in Kuwait. They’ve been outnumbered by foreign workers for years and are sensitive about it. The Saudis wanted it in Kuwait to keep foreign influence and ideas out of their country. Of course, foreign arms are another thing. They compromised by ignoring the border. The Saudi border post is located on the coast road south of the base, and the Kuwaiti post ten miles north of us. We’re sort of like a no man’s land.”
“Sounds like an Arab-type solution, all right,” Shaw said, and turned to the reason for his visit. “This has to be fast. MAC’s holding the C-141 for me and I’ve got to get to JUSMAG in Dhahran for a conference about the wing’s stand-down from flying combat missions. But I wanted to talk to you first and see the place for myself.”
Waters bundled the general into his pickup and gave him a quick tour of the base as they drove to the COIC. Shaw waited until they were inside the COIC before going into the stand-down. “Cunningham called yesterday about the President ordering a stand-down from combat. Congress is putting him under a lot of pressure to withdraw from the Gulf area and wants to implement the Emergency War Powers Act if we hang around. They also like to believe the Iran-Iraq war is really over. Sure, like Israel and the PLO are ready to kiss and make up. There has also been a strong reaction in the press because of your losses. Some are claiming we’re getting our butts kicked… ”
“We’ve taken some hard hits on these targets.” Waters was leaning over a map, pointing out the targets they had hit. “But look at the results. Intel says the pressure is off the UAC and that the PSI is forced to regroup. And supposedly the Soviets aren’t coming through with the resupply the PSI is crying for.” Waters spread in front of the general the reccy photos that chronicled the destruction of the convoy. “We only got half our birds on target before we had to cut and run when MiGs jumped us. We still managed to pulverize the first half of the convoy and broke up any attempt to reinforce the Strait of Hormuz… And check this out.” Waters handed him the photos confirming the BDA of the mission Jack had planned. “Those six targets were totally destroyed. That mission took the pressure off Basra. John, we’re doing what we came to do.”
“But the cost, Muddy. We can’t sustain that. Ten aircraft in two weeks. That’s an overall attrition rate of over five percent. And the rate is increasing. And you’ve lost thirteen men. That generates too much heat for the politicians to take—”