Jim DeFelice - Going Deep

It wasn’t his fuel he was worried about, it was Dixon’s. If he took too long his wingman’s plane would turn into a glider.

Mongoose nudged everything out of his mind as he pushed his fighter toward the wing-tipped nozzle protruding from the tanker’s rear end. The line between his body and the plane blurred; he saw the boom and willed it into the port on his nose, nostrils flaring as the precious fuel began spitting into the thirsty Hog.

“I want high test,” he told the boom operator.

The crew member gave him a thumbs up through the rear window.

Mongoose took a few hundred pounds — the Hog held ten thousand — before abruptly pulling downward to break the connection. Fuel sprayed over his fuselage, as if he were flying beneath Niagara Falls.

“All yours, BJ,” he said, careful to keep his voice cool and calm, as if the two Hogs were out on a training mission.

Dixon had maybe three minutes of fuel left. Mongoose thought he was moving in tentatively, and had to fight the temptation to tell him to kick butt. At this point, there was nothing he could say that would help.

As it slid in under the tanker’s tail, the nose of the hungry Hog suddenly bucked downward. The plane fluttered in the air, wings trembling. Finally, the nose jumped back toward the refueling boom.

The straw rammed home. Dixon looked over at Mongoose and gave him a wave and a thumbs up.

Mongoose waved back, then snapped a salute as sharp and crisp as possible in the cramped office of a Hog.

The adrenaline from the helicopter tangle and refuel kept Dixon’s heart pounding until they had King Fahd’s long, gorgeous runway in sight. It was only as he took his place in the landing queue that Dixon’s brain began reprocessing what had happened — not only this morning, but yesterday.

He had vindicated his flying by shooting down the helicopter. He’d overcome his fear — it was best to admit what it was, use the F word. And he’d hung tough under fire. If a pilot had been shot down because of his screw-up, at least he had helped rescue him. He’d made it right.

But something else remained to be done. Something scarier, and more important.

He had to admit he lied about what had happened, and face the consequences.

And so when they finished debriefing the flight in Cineplex, Dixon walked over to Mongoose and asked to talk to him alone.

The major got a funny look on his face. “Listen kid, I know I was hard on you yesterday,” he said. “Maybe too hard. Don’t take it personally, okay? We’re all feeling our way a bit, even me. All right?”

“Yeah, but um, I really have to talk to you about something. Maybe the colonel, too.”

“Knowlington?”

Dixon nodded. Mongoose, confused, led him down the hall to the colonel’s office, where Knowlington was talking to Captain Wong loudly enough to be heard in the hallway.

It wasn’t an entirely pleasant conversation.

“You can pull whatever strings you think you have, you’re here for the duration,” Knowlington was saying. “Frankly, we can use a guy like you. You aren’t just yanking my chain here, are you Wong? I can never tell when you’re bullshitting me.”

“I assure you, Colonel, this is very serious.”

Knowlington started laughing. “You son of a bitch. You son of a bitch. You’re just busting my balls, aren’t you? You bastard you. You had me going. Goddamn.”

Mongoose glanced over at Dixon with a confused smile, then knocked on the door.

“Come,” said Knowlington, still laughing.

The colonel got up as soon as he saw Dixon. “Kick ass work, BJ. Kick ass. We heard about two seconds after the Iraqi crashed. Three generals have called to tell me the media is on its way. You’re a goddamn hero, kid.” He pounded Dixon’s shoulder. “Feels weird, huh?”

“I was just, uh, the helicopter was in my sights and I fired, sir.”

“Yeah, believe me, I know. You just did what came natural, right? Don’t worry about it. People want to make you a hero, don’t argue with them. Relax and enjoy it. I’ll tell you something, BJ, we need good stories like this. Believe me, you’re doing everybody a favor, even if it hurts. I want you to head over to the host squadron commander’s office. Couple of people from CNN and some lady from PBS waiting for you. Word travels fast.”

Dixon nodded and glanced at Wong, who was still sitting in the chair.

“One thing I want to set straight,” added the colonel. “That pilot you guys helped rescue says he had engine trouble up near Musail. Plane wasn’t hit, at least not that he could tell. So your raid on the GCI site the day before had no bearing on him. We didn’t cause him to get shot down.”

“Really?” For just an instant, Dixon considered not telling them at all.

“Colonel, do you mind if the lieutenant and I had a private conversation with you?” said Mongoose. There was a certain official twist to the inflection of the words that Knowlington noted with his eyes.

“Excuse us, will you Wong?”

“But… ”

“Seriously, I have a lot of work to do this morning. You finish your report on the missile?”

“Well, I… it does appear to have been an SA-14, though we know that’s impossible.”

Knowlington laughed as if Wong had made the joke of the year. “You crack me up. Go on, get out of here, tell me if you need me to sign anything. Impossible, Jesus.”

“What was that all about?” Mongoose asked as he closed the door behind the perplexed Wong. There were only two chairs in the small office; all three men remained standing.

“Oh, nothing. He’s just a world class ball buster,” explained Knowlington.

“Seemed serious to me.”

“Yeah, better watch out — he’s exactly the kind of guy who kills you with practical jokes when things get too tense. I knew a guy like that, somehow convinced half the squadron to show up naked for a visiting general.” Knowlington’s expression grew more serious. “So what’s up, guys?”

“I lied, sir,” Dixon said

The two men stared at him as the words gushed from his mouth.

“I dropped my CBUs blind yesterday, without a target.”

Mongoose’s face turned ashen. Knowlington’s looked grim, but he nodded. “The Mavericks, too?”

“No, sir, I–I fired the first two I think without a lock, like I said, and then on my second run I thought I was losing the target so I panicked and fired. With the flak, and with everything going crazy, I froze. I flew away from the site in a daze lost. Finally I pickled the cluster bombs and got the hell out of there. I just ran away.”

Dixon made it clear that he had dropped the bombs over what he knew now was empty desert — and that he had then lied about it. Mongoose slipped back into the nearby chair as the story finally ran out.

“Okay,” said Knowlington somberly. “Go on over and see those media people. Tell about the helicopter.”

Dixon nodded. His confession had been cathartic, but he wasn’t necessarily looking forward to what would happen next.

“Goddamn,” said Mongoose as soon as the lieutenant had left. “Goddamn. He fucking lied to me.”

Knowlington nodded. It was one thing for the kid to chicken out; he’d guessed something close to that had happened, after all. But not giving up the entire story when he had the chance — when Knowlington asked him point-blank — was unforgivable.

“What are we going to do?” Mongoose asked.

“Good question. CNN started talking about the helicopter shoot-down ten minutes after it happened.”

“What difference does that make?”

Knowlington smirked. Sometimes his DO could be very naive. “Brass is in serious search of heroes. Not that I blame them. They don’t want this to be Vietnam. The media will eat it up. And there are plenty of A-lOers floating around who’ll use this to defend the plane against the pointy nose mafia. Not that I blame them.”