James Huston - Fallout

“Can you get a MiG-21?”

“Sure. I know where you can get a couple of those right now.”

“Truly?” Vlad asked. He looked at Luke. “Maybe you should get some 21s and 17s for your school. It would give your students a different look. They wouldn’t ever know what was coming. And the MiG-17’s slow-flight performance is better even than the MiG-29.”

Luke thought about it. He’d never even considered it. It was a fabulous idea. “Maybe one day. Right now we’ve got a big enough sandwich to chew. One thing at a time.”

Luke thought about Vlad’s comment as he watched the pilots walk around the MiG-17. Stamp stood next to him and smiled as he watched the insatiable interest over his airplane. “So, Stamp…”

“Yeah?”

“What if we had you plan on flying your hot little MiG for a couple of guest appearances as the mystery fighter in our syllabus?”

Stamp glanced at him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You mean,” Stamp said to those around him, “my big issue when I get up every day will be whether to fly my own MiG-17 or your MiG-29 in aerial combat?”

Luke grinned. “That about sums it up.”

Stamp laughed. “ Hurt me.”

Hayes grabbed Luke as he walked down the passageway on the second deck of the Nevada Fighter Weapons School. “Luke. When do our foreign students arrive?”

“Canadians arrived yesterday. You met them. The F-18s are right out there,” he said with a mischievous smile.

Hayes did not return the smile. “You know who I mean.”

“They’ve checked in with approach and should be entering the break in a few minutes. We’re going to go down and greet them on the flight line when they taxi up. You should come.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“You worried about them?”

“I just wanted to meet them.”

“You still doing research on this guy?”

“Not as much as I’d like. I’ve been busy.”

“I’ll say. You’ve got us sold out through February.”

“That didn’t take any skill on my part. Once word got out to the fighter squadrons, it was all over. It’ll be a pipeline. If we do a good job with the first classes through, it’ll take care of itself.”

“That’s the idea.”

“How’s Katherine?”

“Morning sickness is gone, thankfully. She’s doing great. I think she likes the idea of working for herself. If I could only teach her how to drive the bulldozer, I’d get my airstrip finished faster.”

“Airstrip?”

“Sure. That’s why I bought fifty acres. I want my own airstrip where I can fly my own biplane from home and do aero over my house and run out of gas and dead-stick down for dinner.”

Hayes smiled. He could only imagine the joy of owning his own airstrip, his own airplane, and commuting to work to his own private TOPGUN. “I’ll see you down at the flight line. Thirty minutes?”

Luke glanced at his watch. “Maybe sooner than that. They’ll probably be coming into the break in about fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be there.”

Hayes was not the only one who wanted to see the last four Nevada Fighter Weapons School students of the first-ever class. All the other students were there. All the instructors were there. All the maintenance operators from MAPS and the enlisted sailors and Marines who had come with the fleet airplanes to work on those airplanes during the school month were there.

The men stood around in small groups waiting. Luke had had speakers rigged all along the front of the hangar so that those on the flight line and inside the hangar could hear the radio communications with the tower at Tonopah. They could monitor the comings and goings of all the airplanes. The loudspeaker crackled to life with a voice that was deep and heavily accented: “ Tonopah tower, this is Gulf Echo 334, a flight of four for the break .”

A calm, highly experienced voice replied, “ Roger, 334. You’re cleared for a left-hand break at the numbers .”

All eyes were over the airfield as the four F-16s came over the runway in tight formation. The beautiful silhouettes with the aggressive air intakes under the noses of the small airplanes were beautiful against the crisp blue sky. They were painted a light gray with large block-lettered cang on the tail, for the California Air National Guard. The lead F-16 rolled into a gentle left-hand turn, followed by his wingman, then number three and number four. They all rolled gently in an arc and followed their lead onto the downwind leg, beautifully spaced. The pilots on the ground watched with a critical eye for any signs of incompetence or impressive precision. So far they were impressed. Most of the students—and, if the truth were known, all the instructors—expected the Pakistanis to be hacks, pilots with few hours in the aircraft and virtually incompetent.

The lead Pakistani F-16 turned onto the base leg of his approach and rolled into the groove precisely. His rate of descent was steady, and there was virtually no correction in the approach. Just before hitting the runway, the F-16 flared and touched down quietly. The pilot reduced throttle, and the F-16 coasted. The radio came alive again: “ Gulf Echo 334, turn off at the next taxiway .”

“Roger, 334 off at the five board.”

The next Pakistani F-16 executed an equally beautiful approach and landing and turned off on the same taxiway. A small truck with flags and a large white sign on the back that said follow me pulled in front of the lead Pakistani F-16 and began driving down the taxiway, leading him to the NFWS hangar. The four F-16s taxied in line, trying to maintain an interval to look sharp all the way to their designated parking spots. NFWS linemen waited in front of their parking spaces to the left of the hangar. They were the last student spaces available. The planes reached the tarmac as everyone waited. They turned in sequence and put their nosewheels directly on the yellow spots designated for them. The pilots shut down their airplanes and hustled down the ladders that had been provided. Luke walked out of the group toward the Pakistanis.

The Pakistani Major recognized the Russian Colonel’s insignia on Luke’s shoulder and saluted him. Luke was somewhat embarrassed but returned the salute. “Good morning. You must be Major Khan.”

“Major Riaz Khan, Pakistani Air Force.” The two men shook hands, and the other Pakistanis joined them, each saluting Luke in turn. They were extremely formal.

Thud, Stamp, and Hayes joined them in a small circle, and salutes were exchanged all around.

“Welcome to Tonopah, and to the United States.”

“Thank you,” Khan said as he removed his Nomex gloves and his helmet.

Luke noticed that Khan was much shorter than he was, with an amazingly thick neck, dark coarse hair with a matching mustache, and dark, mean eyes. Luke formed an instant dislike for him, about which he immediately felt guilty.

Khan asked, “Where shall we go?”

“This way. In the hangar,” Luke said.

Khan spoke as they walked, “My maintenance men were delayed. I believe they will arrive tomorrow.”

“Yes. We received word. Tomorrow morning.”

“Excellent. My pilots are looking forward to this new TOPGUN school,” Khan said.

“We’ve been looking forward to having you as our first foreign students, you and two Canadian F/A-18s.”

“All the rest are Americans?” Khan asked.

“Yes. Marines, Navy, a couple of Air Force planes.”

They walked into the hangar. Stamp spoke up, asserting himself in his new job as operations officer. “We start first thing in the morning. Will you be rested enough?”

“We are rested now,” Khan snapped.

The instructors exchanged glances. “I’ll show you the paraloft and the locker room,” Thud volunteered, shifting a wad of gum to the back of his cheek as they walked to the far end of the hangar. Khan and the others followed him to both. They reconvened in the ready room.