Commander Grissom dropped his hands, clasping them in front of himself as he addressed the room. His eyes were stern, intent, and deadly serious. Everyone in the room was looking at a very angry man. Not with the officers staring back at him, but with the idea that our country had supplied the weapons and resources that were now being used against our own forces.
“We don’t yet know what kind of resistance we will face once we get there, but if they have full control of the military facilities, we expect severe resistance from surface to air missiles and anti-aircraft guns, most of which are mobile.
We’re working with the CIA to get as much intel as we can to determine the players in the game and where they’re hiding out, but we know some of the rockets being launched at us are coming from these two locations, which is where the bombers will concentrate their efforts until we get more intel.”
The lights came back up and everyone took a moment for their eyes to adjust as we all soaked in the information regarding the operation. Commander Grissom turned his attention away from the screen and started listing off names of those of us in the Ready-Room. I perked at the mention of my own name. “—McGuire, Sparks, and Johnston, I need you leading the way. We’ll keep you apprised as new information comes in. For the moment, make sure your gear is squared away, get up on the flight deck, check your armament and let’s get up in the air and do our job!”
A chorus of “yes sirs” rang through the room.
“Dismissed!”
Everyone sprang to their feet and shuffled from the room in single file through the doorway.
Up on the flight deck, everyone was in full speed motion, whizzing back and forth to get the planes ready for takeoff as quickly as humanly possible. Orders were barked between the flight deck crew, pilots were checking their weaponries, double checking every last detail, and the air was humming with the anticipation of a huge battle. Our thoughts were on the ground troops, taking fire, pressed against the Sinjar Mountain range, outmanned, outgunned and surrounded.
I checked in with my plane Captain and his crew as they did the final run through the pre-flight checklist. Everything moved so fast, but with care and consideration to every tiny detail, because even the slightest error could mean the difference between life and death. Not only for the pilot in the plane, but for the other pilots, the crew aboard the bombers, and certainly for the troops on the ground who needed our help.
As I strapped into my cockpit, I quieted my mind, zeroing in on the task at hand, and found my center of calm amid the chaos swirling around me. As a pilot, I needed absolute concentration. Nothing else could be in my mind except getting this operation completed and keeping the ground troops alive.
In reality, all of the scrambles took over half an hour. Still, it went by in the blink of an eye, and I was catapulted off the edge of the carrier, taking my jet to the sky. I climbed quickly and got into position. The A6 bombers were coming behind, and it was up to three other pilots and me to keep the way clear and make sure nothing hit the bombers.
Even if that meant taking fire ourselves.
In all my years as a pilot, I’d never been one to fear death, but the idea of it was always close to the surface when cruising over enemy lines. It was always a possibility, and if it meant keeping my brothers and sisters alive, then it was a price I’d be willing to pay, but there was a slight difference in my thinking as I spotted the coastline up ahead. The mental image of Holly, sitting at home one afternoon and getting an unexpected visitor. She’d open the front door to reveal Player, standing with a solemn look on his usually happy face, and he’d have to be the one to tell her that I wasn’t coming home.
Before I’d left, I’d made Player promise that if something happened to me, he’d go to her and tell her in person and that he’d stay with her until he was sure she’d be all right.
The idea turned my stomach, knotting it into a tight ball, but I had to keep my head in the game.
“Boomer watch your flank,” the voice of Sparks, a fellow pilot, came over the radio inside my helmet and pulled me from the somber image in my mind that had momentarily distracted me.
Fuck, Boomer, get your head in the game, I scolded myself.
“Copy.” We had crossed the border and the threat intensified as we were in hostile territory. The Middle East had been a hotbed of terrorist activity in recent years. While we had a handle on the majority of the big dogs, there was always a chance that there would be a cell hiding in the rocky, desolate terrain and would jump at the chance to take down a US aircraft.