Executive Reaction: Spectre Series, #4

By C.W. Lemoine

Political deception, international espionage and entrenched military corruption.

In Book Four of the military thriller Spectre series by C.W. Lemoine, Cal "Spectre" Martin finds himself face to face with the Commander in Chief aboard Air Force One. Together with FBI agent Michelle Decker, he is ready to share evidence so incriminating it could topple the current administration in Washington D.C..

A series of terror attacks across U.S. interests in the South Pacific causes the Secret Service to evacuate the President, delaying Spectre's meeting indefinitely. But just when Spectre thought his day couldn't get any worse, it does.

Soaring into international airspace over the Pacific Ocean, terror strikes, forcing Air Force One to land on the remote American island of Midway. Soon Spectre and Decker realize their enemy is not at all what they expected. The stakes have never been higher as Spectre calls on every resource he has to free the President and the hostages, desperate to escape the net of conspiracy that threatens to close around them all… for good.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mover Media LLC
• Release date: Oct 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516326075

C.W. Lemoine

C.W. Lemoine is the author of SPECTRE RISING, AVOID. NEGOTIATE. KILL., ARCHANGEL FALLEN, and EXECUTIVE REACTION.  He graduated from the A.B. Freeman School of Business at Tulane University in 2005 and Air Force Officer Training School in 2006. He is a military pilot that has flown the F-16 and F/A-18. He is also a certified Survival Krav Maga Instructor and sheriff’s deputy. http://www.cwlemoine.com Facebook http://www.facebook.com/cwlemoine/ Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/CWLemoine/

Book preview

Chapter One

Yigo, Guam

14 February

0545 Local Time

Roke Quitugua sat quietly eating his breakfast in the modest two-bedroom house. His wife and two-year-old son were still sleeping in their master bedroom. As he finished the last spoonful of his cereal, he wondered if he would ever see them again.

Roke stood from the small table and dumped the remaining milk from his cereal bowl into the sink. When he finished washing the bowl, he set it aside to dry and started toward the bedroom.

His wife, Ana, lay cuddling with their son in their small master bedroom. The two were still peacefully asleep. Roke paused for a moment and stood in the doorway admiring them. He felt lucky to have such a beautiful family.

He turned away and sighed softly, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time he saw them. After years of diligently working, his day had finally come. If all went well, he would return home to see their beautiful faces. If he were discovered early or he somehow failed his mission, he would likely end up dead.

Roke pushed away the negative thoughts and headed out toward the tool shed in his small backyard. There he found the large black backpack he had been given a few days earlier. He simply had to ensure it was at the right place at the right time and with the timer successfully activated. After that, he was home free.

He checked its contents one more time and ensured the timer powered on and off before zipping the main zipper and strapping it to his back. The pack was heavy – at least thirty pounds, but despite Roke’s small frame, he managed it easily.

He walked through the hurricane fence gate and into the front yard where his scooter was parked. He steadied himself with the weight of the backpack as he sat on the scooter and put on the red helmet.

Roke made the four-mile drive through light traffic toward Andersen Air Force base. It was chilly, despite his nylon jacket and long pants. As he made the turn off the main two-lane road, he joined the long procession of cars waiting to show their identification to the Air Force Security Forces guards.

Established December 3, 1944, Andersen Air Force Base served as one of four Pacific Region forward operating locations for the United States Air Force. Although not home to any tenant units, Andersen routinely housed strategic bombers for deployed operations and fighters for military exercises. Roke had even seen B-2 stealth bombers parked outside many times before.

At age twenty-nine, Roke had worked as a civilian contractor on base for the majority of his adult life. He started at age nineteen, cleaning the numerous squadron buildings and bathrooms until moving into grounds keeping and facility maintenance. He much preferred working outside with his hands to cleaning toilets, but he did often miss interacting with the pilots and officers.

Roke had been recruited just a few months after his twentieth birthday to spy on the Americans. He never thought of it as spying, though. His job was simply to observe and report. For doing so, he was rewarded with a generous stipend every month. At first, it was just good spending money, but as he settled down with his wife, Ana, it became a supplement to support his budding family. He depended on that money.

As Roke waited behind the long line of cars, the adrenaline started coursing through his veins. Usually, the guards would just wave him through after showing his ID indicating that he was a Department of Defense employee, but sometimes they would perform random vehicle and bag inspections.

His handler had been clear in his instructions. If Roke suspected that he had been selected for additional screening, he was to pull the tab from the bottom of the backpack. They hadn’t told him what pulling the tab would do, but Roke guessed that it was a detonator of some sort. His family, he had been assured, would be well taken care of, and his son would grow up never wanting for money.

Roke was hesitant to accept the job, but the people he had dealt with were very dangerous. He had heard of bad things happening to the families of those who refused. The thought of dying was scary, but the thought of something happening to his beautiful wife and son was absolutely terrifying.

Roke pulled out his ID from his shirt pocket as the car in front of him was directed to pull off to the side for additional screening. Roke’s heart rate nearly doubled. They’re doing additional screening! He tried to calm himself as he rolled forward toward the guard who was still watching to ensure the car pulled over to the side.

Good morning, the guard said as he turned to Roke.

Roke nodded and smiled nervously as the guard took Roke’s ID and scanned it with the handheld ID scanner. He slowly reached back with his right hand toward the tab on his backpack in anticipation of the guard’s next move.

Have a good day, Mr. Quitugua, the guard said before motioning with his right arm across his body.

Relieved, Roke started to drive off through the staggered barricades before the guard that was screening the car in front of him stepped out to stop him. He appeared to be talking to the other guard on his radio.

Roke started to panic. In his rear-view mirror, he could see the gate guard running toward him as the other guard stood in front of him holding his hand out to tell him to stop. Roke’s hand went to the backpack, this time he found the tab and gripped it as his eyes darted between the two guards.

The approaching guard stopped short of Roke. Roke turned toward him with his hand still firmly holding the tab.

Sir! You forgot your ID! the guard shouted as he came within a few feet of Roke’s scooter.

Roke pulled the tab in a panic, never hearing the guard’s reason for stopping him. After a brief click and an audible beep, the suitcase electromagnetic pulse bomb detonated. The initial explosive charge killed Roke and destroyed everything within a fifty-foot radius before the high-power microwave bomb sent a short, high energy pulse that reached up to ten gigawatts, extending out for a five-mile radius, disabling all unshielded electronics and power grids within its path.

Chapter Two

East China Sea

February 14th

0715 Local Time

Cal, wake up, we’re landing in ten minutes, she said, gently shaking him.

Cal Spectre Martin groaned as he stirred from his deep sleep. He had been sleeping on one of the Gulfstream G550s luxurious leather couches that had been converted into a bed. He rubbed his eyes and rolled over, seeing the beautiful blonde woman standing over him.

Cal, c’mon, get up, she said. Deputy Director Miller wants to talk about a few things before we land. It was Michelle Decker, the FBI agent that had saved his life on multiple occasions and had helped prove his innocence.

Spectre rubbed his eyes as he sat up. Decker leaned in and kissed him softly as she smoothed down his light brown hair and handed him his black sport coat. We’ve made it this far, she said.

How long have I been asleep? Spectre asked as he took the coat and twisted side to side to stretch out his back. This thing is a rock. You’d think a G-5 would at least have a Sleep Number bed.

Decker laughed softly as she sat on the couch across from Spectre’s makeshift bed. At least five hours. I think I’ve made some headway with Deputy Director Miller, but he still wants to talk about the contents of the thumb drive before you talk to the President.

Spectre frowned. The thumb drive was toxic. It contained recorded conversations between the recently deceased director of the top-secret group Project Archangel and then Secretary of Defense Kerry Johnson. The recordings directly linked Johnson to a Chinese spy ring responsible for the theft of an F-16 and funneling of American secrets to the Chinese. It was pure kryptonite to the current administration.

But Spectre knew that it was the only thing keeping him and Michelle alive and out of jail, and that the only person that could do anything with the information it contained was the President herself. Spectre had refused to talk to anyone except the President before coming out of hiding. Spectre wasn’t really sure how Decker had arranged the meeting, but the FBI had sent Miller to escort them directly to Air Force One so they could meet with the President on her Southeast Asian tour just weeks after her inauguration.

Miller had been told only that Spectre had sensitive information that the President needed to see, but Decker had been careful not to give any details as to the contents of the drive and the implications it might contain. That had not stopped Miller’s curiosity, however. He had spent most of the trip from New Orleans to their fuel stop in Hawaii trying to gain as much information as he could about the circumstances surrounding Spectre’s sudden importance. Spectre’s only relief had been the nap he had taken as soon as they were wheels up from Hawaii.

Spectre made his way into the front cabin where Miller and two other agents were having what looked to be a very serious discussion. Spectre walked in and sat on one of the large leather chairs across from the Deputy Director as Decker took her spot in a chair next to the other agents.

Mr. Martin, I trust you had a good nap? Miller asked as Spectre took his seat. Miller was in his fifties with a balding head trimmed with gray hair.

As good as can be expected, Spectre replied. Sounds like we’ll be landing soon?

The flight crew just said we’ll be touching down in Taipei in about ten minutes, but I wanted to discuss a few things with you before things get too busy, Miller said.

Spectre looked at Miller and then at the two agents intently watching. I’ve already said all I can say about the flash drive, Director, Spectre said sharply. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to understand.

Oh, I already know that, Miller replied with a forced smile. Special Agent Decker has already told me what you’ve done for the agency and several investigations over the last two years. If Secretary of State Martha and Director Schultz trust you, then so do I.

Then what is this about? Spectre asked suspiciously.

Miller turned his laptop to face Spectre. There was a satellite photo of what appeared to be a blast pattern near a gate. It reminded Spectre of the standard, run-of-the-mill security checkpoint setup of every military base he had ever seen.

About an hour ago, an EMP suitcase bomb was set off at Andersen Air Force Base in Guam. Five people were killed, including the bomber, Miller explained.

Jesus, Spectre said as he stared at the photo. How many jets were affected? Spectre remembered from his days as an Air Force fighter pilot that Andersen was a heavily used base for training, and bomber and tanker deployments. His first thoughts of an EMP were that it had to be a major exercise, and that someone was targeting those aircraft.

As of right now, that total damage is unknown, Miller replied. So far the power grid is fried and the base has been effectively shut down except for essential personnel.

Terrorist attack? Spectre asked.

No groups have claimed responsibility as of yet, but of course that’s always a concern, which is why I’m telling you about it.

Oh? Spectre asked as he looked at Decker. Well, you know I didn’t do it. I was asleep in the back.

No one suspects you, Mr. Martin, Miller replied, holding up his hands as if he took Spectre’s quip seriously. But as a result of the attack, security has been heightened, especially with regard to the President’s visit. That’s going to pose some problems.

What kind of problems? Spectre asked.

Don’t worry, Mr. Martin, you’ll still get your time with her. But the Secret Service has decided to cut her ground time short in Taipei. As soon as the speech is over, she’s going straight to Air Force One and on to the next stop.

So, we’re just going to chase her around the Pacific in this jet until the Secret Service says it’s safe to stop somewhere? Spectre scoffed.

Not quite, Miller replied. It will actually be better for you. I’ve arranged for you to get your meeting with the President en route to the next stop on Air Force One.

Spectre laughed dismissively. Oh goody. I’ve always wanted to follow the President around Southeast Asia like a lost puppy. And what about Michelle?

She will meet you in Tokyo for the President’s next stop and you’ll both fly commercial air home, Miller replied, nodding at Decker.

And where will you be? Spectre asked.

With you, Mr. Martin, Miller replied. I’m your escort with the President.

No deal, Spectre snapped. She goes, or you can tell the Director the deal’s off.

Mr. Martin, there’s a very limited amount of space on Air Force One, as you might guess—

Make room, Spectre interrupted. Or you can sit this one out, but either way, it’s a package deal.

Cal, it’s no big deal, Decker interjected.

No, Spectre said, shaking his head. It is. I’m not going to risk it. We didn’t come this far to lose it at the end. All or none, that’s the deal, Director Miller. This is not negotiable.

Alright then, I’ll see what I can do, Miller replied sheepishly.

Chapter Three

Taiwan Taoyuan International Airport

February 14

0735 Local Time

As the Gulfstream pulled up to the Fixed Base Operator on the ramp of Taiwan Taoyuan International Airport, it was met by a convoy of three black SUVs. Once the jet was safely stopped, Spectre and Decker followed Miller and his entourage down the G550’s stairs. At the bottom, they were greeted by a man in a black suit with dark sunglasses.

Deputy Director Miller, he yelled over the sound of the Gulfstream’s auxiliary power unit. I’m Special Agent Kaiser, Secret Service. Right this way

Miller shook Kaiser’s hand as he escorted the group away from the Gulfstream and into the nearby FBO. They were met by a Taiwan Customs agent who did a cursory inspection of their bags and stamped their passports.

As they cleared the agent, the group was shuffled into another convoy of SUVs and started down the service road of the international airport. Kaiser drove as Miller took shotgun. Decker and Spectre took their places in the back seat of the four-door Chevy Tahoe.

VC-25 is on the other side of the facility, next to the airlift, Kaiser said. We’ll get you through the processing area and onto the jet.

VC-25? Decker asked.

That’s technically the type of aircraft, Spectre explained. It’s only ‘Air Force One’ when the President is on it. Otherwise, it’s just a really fancy 747.

You’re correct, Mr. Martin, very good, Kaiser said as they pulled through another gate.

What can I say? Spectre asked rhetorically. I’m an aviation enthusiast.

Decker laughed and subtly put her hand on his. He took her soft hand and held it. After an awkward and rocky start to their relationship, they had been dating since going into hiding nearly six months earlier. It was a relationship forged by near death experiences and the loss of several close friends.

As they made their way toward the hangar on the opposite ramp, the brand new 747-800 VC-25 came into view. Spectre had never seen it up close before, but with its white and blue paint scheme and United States of America in big lettering across the side, it seemed larger than life. It was an impressive aircraft.

The three Tahoes pulled in front of the hangar and parked. Kaiser escorted them past the first of a series of armed guards and into the main hangar. It was a large, empty hangar that was used as a staging area for the Secret Service, the press, and the Air Force personnel attached to the president’s trip. There were armed men in black uniforms with Belgian Malinois K-9s walking about securing the area, as well as Secret Service agents in suits and ties standing on the other side of the makeshift line having jovial conversations.

Leave your bags here, Kaiser directed, pointing at an area that had been sectioned off with baggage as the dogs and their handlers circled the stacked bags and other uniformed men loaded them into an x-rayed machine. We’ve never lost a bag yet.

Kaiser led them to a table where an agent was going through a passenger manifest on his laptop. He had a collection of badges of various colors he was handing out to members of the press to allow them to walk on the ramp toward the VC-25.

Hand your ID and passport to Agent Soros here, and when he’s ready, he’ll confirm your thumbprint on this scanner here, Kaiser said, pointing to the thumbprint scanner. Once you get your badge, you’ll go through this standard body scanner and then you’ll be all set. I have a few things to take care of, but I’ll meet you all on the other side and take you to the jet when you’re ready.

Thanks, Agent Kaiser, Miller said as Kaiser walked off. The three processed through the security measures more efficiently than any airport TSA checkpoint Spectre had ever seen. The thumbprint scan and ID verification was almost a non-event. Agent Soros handed them each a yellow and blue badge to hang around their neck as they proceeded to the body scanner.

Your duty weapons will be cataloged and shipped with the baggage, the uniformed agent said. Miller and Decker unclipped their holstered Glocks and put them in the lockbox the officer was holding.

And you, sir? the man asked.

Oh, I don’t have a gun, Spectre replied, holding up his hands. I don’t even like those things, he joked.

The uniformed agent rolled his eyes as he closed the lockbox and headed toward the baggage area. Spectre led the trio through the body scanner. An alarm went off as he stood in the clear tube with his hands up.

Your left breast pocket, sir, the operator said.

Spectre pulled the thumb drive from the left pocket of his sport coat. Thumb drive, sorry, Spectre said.

The agent took it and examined it briefly before giving it back to Spectre and clearing him through. After Decker and Miller passed through, they were directed to a sitting area where an agent was about to begin briefing two other members of the press corps that would be flying with them.

Ladies and Gentlemen, good morning, and welcome to Air Force One, the agent said. I just wanted to go over a few rules before you make your way to the aircraft. First, that badge you were issued is to be worn around your neck at all times when around the aircraft. You may be asked to present other identification as well, so please at least have your government-issued ID on you at all times.

Second, he continued, you will enter the aircraft at the aft aircraft stairs. As most of you know, the front stairs are for POTUS only. Which brings me to my next point. If you look at your badge, there is a letter.

Spectre and the group looked at their badge. Spectre, Decker, and Miller’s badges were all marked C, while Spectre noticed that some of the press corps badges were marked X and Y.

On the aircraft you will see placards with zone identification letters. That letter on your badge is as far forward as you will be allowed to go. You can go as far aft as you wish, but if you attempt to go forward without an appropriate escort, you will be denied. If you persist, you will be detained and your access will be revoked. Any questions on that?

The agent waited as he let the question hang in the air. Ok, good. Finally, and this is important. No photography whatsoever from this point forward, unless you have a green photo badge, which I can see none of you do. Failure to comply will also get your access revoked. Is that clear?

Agent Kaiser walked up as the other agent finished his briefing. He waved for the three to follow as he turned toward the ramp.

That wasn’t so bad, was it? Kaiser asked as they walked toward the massive 747.

Not at all, Miller replied. You boys are running a clean operation here.

Thank you, Director, Kaiser replied. We take our jobs very seriously.

Kaiser escorted them up the aft stairway and into the media compartment of the aircraft. Several reporters were spread out on the chairs in the cramped chamber. A plasma TV on the wall showed the President on one of the 24-hour cable news networks as she prepared to make her speech.

If you need anything at all, please ask an agent in your sector. I’ll be up front in section Foxtrot and they can get in touch with me, Kaiser said. Make yourselves comfortable.

One of the aircraft’s staff, dressed in pressed Air Force blues, asked each of them if they wanted something to drink as they found their places among the reporters scattered about. Spectre asked for a bottle of water, then turned his attention to the TV to listen to the President as she began her speech.

Thank you, President Kuan. It is my honor and privilege to be here today with the people of Taiwan, she said as she stood in front of the historic Presidential Building in Taipei.

President Kuan and I had a very productive meeting this morning. He feels, as I do, that Taiwan is the rightful name of this great and sovereign nation. And sovereign it is. As part of my promise to strengthen our allies in the Pacific against Chinese territorialism, the United States stands with President Kuan in calling for the dissolution of the Chinese ‘One-China’ policy, and we will push to recognize Taiwan as a sovereign nation with its own member status within the United Nations.

President Madeline Clifton paused as the crowd erupted in applause. Moments later, the broadcast cut back to an attractive female news anchor with a serious look on her face.

Despite this historic speech the President is giving, we’re interrupting this broadcast with breaking news, she said. We’re now receiving several reports of multiple attacks at United States bases across the Pacific. We now turn to our Asian correspondent Chad Michaels. Chad, what can you tell us?

Thanks, Danielle, Michaels said with a thick British accent as the screen cut to a map of Southeast Asia with highlighted dots indicating several locations in South Korea and Japan. Just minutes ago, reports started coming in from several major U.S. bases across the Pacific. Kunsan Air Base, Osan, Kadena, and Misawa are among the locations where attacks have been attempted or carried out against U.S. interests in these areas.

Can you tell us the nature of these attacks? the female anchor asked. How many have been injured?

The extent of the damage is not known at this time, Danielle, he replied. But I can tell you that officials have reported that as many as twenty were killed after what they’re calling a ‘homicide bomber’ detonated a device outside the gate of Kadena Air Force Base in Japan.

Do you think this is related to the attack in Guam this morning? Spectre asked Miller, who was also intently watching the breaking news.

It certainly could be, Miller replied.

Look! Out there! Decker said, pointing out the window to the convoy of armored limousines speeding toward the aircraft on the ramp.

And we’re now being told that the President’s speech has been cut short due to security concerns at the Presidential Building, the news anchor added.

The Air Force officer that had offered Spectre a bottle of water suddenly rushed into the press cabin. Folks, I need you all to take your seats and prepare for an immediate departure, he said as he stood at the edge of the cabin.

Where are we going? a reporter asked.

For security reasons, I can’t tell you until we’re airborne, the man replied before turning back toward the front of the aircraft and closing the door behind him.

Holy shit, Spectre said as he and Decker exchanged looks of disbelief.

Chapter Four

Kadena Air Force Base

February 14th

0821 Local Time

Shield Two-One, fly runway heading, quick climb to one-five thousand approved, cleared for takeoff, change to departure, the female controller said as he took the runway in his F-15C. Happy hunting.

Shield Two-One, runway heading to one-five thousand unrestricted, cleared for takeoff, Shields push four, he replied before he reached up with his right hand and changed his radio to preset frequency number four while pushing the throttles forward with his left hand to select full afterburner.

With his wingman taking the runway behind him at a fifteen-second interval, Major Jake Blade Runner sped down the runway in his F-15C Eagle. Within seconds, the jet was airborne and Blade raised the gear and flaps while holding the nose of the F-15 down to gain as much speed as possible. Once at the end of the runway, Blade pulled the nose straight up, rocketing away from the island of Okinawa as his wingman followed in trail.

Departure, Shield Two-One airborne, passing one-two thousand, Runner said as his altitude readout in the Head Up Display rolled through twelve thousand feet. In full afterburner, the F-15 was climbing out at over thirty thousand feet per minute.

Radar contact, the male departure controller responded. Cleared the block flight level two-one-zero through flight level two-three-zero, turn right to heading two-four-zero and contact JEDI control on three-five-six point niner, so long.

Blade read back the clearance and directed his wingman to change frequencies with him to the tactical controller they would be working with. JEDI was the callsign of the Airborne Warning and Control System E-3 aircraft that was orbiting overhead. The E-3 was a converted Boeing 707 airliner most recognizable by the spinning radar dome on top of the main cabin.

Captain Mike Taco Sanchez rejoined to Blade’s left wing as the two leveled off at twenty-one thousand feet and sped toward their assigned area. They had been scrambled from the alert facility at Kadena Air Force Base to intercept and escort Air Force One from Taiwan after a series of attacks at U.S. bases caused the President’s protection detail to cut her visit short.

Blade checked in with JEDI as he pumped his F-15’s nose to give Taco the visual signal to assume a combat spread formation, a mile and a half off Blade’s wing.

Shield Two-One, vector two-one-zero, Angel is BRAA two-two-zero, twenty, fifteen thousand, track east, the female controller said. She had given the flight a heading of 210 degrees that put them on an intercept course to Air Force One whose Bearing, Range, Altitude, Aspect (BRAA) was southwest of their position and twenty miles away.

Shields are buddy locked, Angel, Blade said, indicating he had located Air Force One using his F-15’s Active Electronically Scanned Array radar.

JEDI copies, cleared to intercept, the controller responded.

Blade looked out onto the horizon through his Joint Helmet Mounted Cueing System Visor. The display in his helmet gave him a green square around where the radar thought Air Force One should be. With the perfectly clear blue skies, he could barely make out the tiny black dot that was the 747-800 climbing out of the island of Taiwan.

On Aux, Shield Two-One is visual Angel, Blade said on his interflight radio. It was a discrete frequency that the two aircraft could use to communicate with each other.

Two’s visual, Taco said, confirming that he also saw the 747.

Blade and Taco sped toward the climbing 747 faster than the speed of sound. Their job was to protect the most powerful person in the world. It was a job neither Blade nor Taco took lightly.

Two, take the right wing, Blade directed as they slowed to subsonic airspeeds within a few miles of the massive 747 that was still climbing through twenty-five thousand feet as it headed east into the rising sun.

Two, Taco said crisply as he crossed over the top of Blade’s F-15 to rejoin on Air Force One’s right wing.

JEDI, Shield flight is holding hands with Angel, Blade said, notifying the controller that they were now in formation with Air Force One.

JEDI copies, the controller responded.

Angel is visual, a male voice responded. Good to see you boys, he added with a thick southern drawl.

*   *   *

Taipei Control, Air Force One checking in, Flight Level Three Seven Zero, good morning, Colonel Charlie Sullivan said as he checked in with the civilian air traffic controllers and verified that the autopilot was set to thirty-seven thousand feet and that their route to Hickam Air Force Base in Honolulu, HI was correctly loaded in the Flight Management System Computer.

Well, that was sporty, he said as he slid his captain’s chair back and loosened his shoulder harness. You ok, Waxburn?

Sure, Lt Col Waxburn responded, staring listlessly out the window at the F-15 on their right wing.

You sure, Jason? Colonel Sullivan pressed. Don’t tell me you’re getting fighter envy over there?

Waxburn looked back at Col Sullivan with a forced chuckle. He knew his boss was just trying to lighten the mood and engage in their usual fighter versus heavy ribbing that they used to pass the time on most flights. Sullivan had flown F-15s early in his career before a ruptured disk and subsequent surgery removed him from ejection seat equipped aircraft. He had transitioned to C-17s; the aircraft Waxburn had spent his entire career flying before joining Sullivan to fly the VC-25 at Andrews.

The aircraft they were flying still had the new car smell, having just rolled off the assembly line. Among other improvements, the modified 747-800 eliminated the need for a navigator and flight engineer. Its all-glass cockpit was designed specifically for a two-pilot crew.

Jealous of those guys? Waxburn asked after a long silence. Nah, I like women too much to be jealous of Eagle homos, he joked, referencing the long-standing lore of a Kadena Eagle pilot in the early nineties that had been caught performing sexual acts with his male crew chief. Despite having never been verified, the reputation stuck and from then on pilots of various rival airframes used it to poke fun at F-15 pilots.

Ha! Sullivan laughed. Welcome back. Thought you were scared shitless over there from all the excitement on takeoff.

Yeah, right, I’ve actually been shot at in combat, Waxburn shot back. And you??

I’ve been shot at a few times myself, Sullivan replied.

In the Eagle?

Touché, Sullivan said as they both laughed. Seriously though, Sullivan added, everything ok over there? You looked out of it for a little while.

Waxburn considered the question for a minute. The last two days had been the worst of his life. He had done everything possible to hide it, but as he realized that there was no way out of his current predicament, it was starting to take a visible toll on him. He had hoped they would’ve stayed on the ground in Taiwan. Maybe the President would have wanted to stay on