Robert Thomas - The Bear - Red Star Rising

“Then what are you going to do?”

“A couple weeks after getting my first assignment as a lieutenant, my CO and I had a long discussion. He sort of, took me under his wing.”

“That’s kind of hard to do with you being as tall as a goalpost,” she said with a grin.”

“Anyway,” Ivan replied, “he told me if I ever got into a jamb, give him a call.” He turned and picked up the receiver on the phone and tried to read the instructions. “So, that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” A few minutes later the line was picked up on the other end.

“Colonel Masters’ office.”

“Colonel Masters please.”

“May I ask who is calling?”

“Lieutenant Kyle Anthony. Please tell Colonel Masters it’s urgent.”

“I’ll patch you through, Lieutenant.”

“Masters.” The voice on the other end was the best thing he’d heard in weeks.

“Colonel? Kyle Anthony.”

“Anthony. Good to hear from you. When can I expect you back? I’m in the dark about what’s happening with you.”

“For good reason, sir. But I need your help, big time. Things haven’t gone completely as planned.” Ivan turned into the phone to shield his voice from the passing crowd. As he hung up the phone, he felt relieved. It was like talking to his father. ‘A few calls, that’s all that has to happen’, he thought.

Colonel Brett Masters leaned back in his chair as the phone dropped from his hand. He was summarily stunned. It was completely out of his character to be caught off guard by, well, nearly anything. What he’d just heard was almost unimaginable, a deep mission inside Russia itself. And it was with one of his men. In all his thirty years, he’d never heard of anything like this, and he’d heard a lot. The intercom buzzed and his aide picked it up quickly.

“Yes Colonel?”

“I need the number to the White House, and I need it quickly.”

“The White House, yes sir.”

Masters slid the cordless phone across his desk as he leaned back. He had to think. What was he going to say? Who was he going to say it to? His thoughts were interrupted within a few minutes when his aide walked into his office.

“Colonel,” his aide said as he handed over the paper, “here is the number you requested.” Masters took the paper and scanned it.

“Thank you.” His reply was short which told the aide he needed to leave quietly. He heard the phone dialing as he made the doorway. The next words he heard raised his eyebrows.

“This is Colonel Brett Masters. I need to speak to Mr. Martin Powell. It’s rather urgent.” Masters stood and began to pace behind his desk. It would take some time to get through, he was sure of it.

“Martin Powell.”

“Mr. Powell,” Masters said in a surprised voice, “Colonel Brett Masters. I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”

“I’m sorry, Colonel, do I know you?”

“No sir. We have never met. But we have a friend in common that needs your help.”

“We do? And who would that be?”

“Yes sir. Lieutenant Kyle Anthony.”

“You have my attention, Colonel.”

“I wish I knew where we actually were.”

“Doesn’t this thing have GPS?”

“Not his old tub Ruth,” Will replied, “but I think I know where we are.”

“Any how would you know that?”

“A few landmarks. A pilot always studies landmarks. It’s an occupational habit,” Will said with a weak reply.

“So, where are we?”

“Less than an hour from the coast, I think. When you see the coast, just follow it to Denmark and we’re home.”

“But we’re running out of fuel.”

“Better to run out near land than over water. We’ll have a landing platform somewhere.” Will sounded exhausted. He leaned his head back in the seat and patted Frank’s leg. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.” He was asleep again moments later.

Will suddenly perked up as he felt a dull rumble through his bones. It was a feeling only a fighter pilot would know. He looked down the side of the Cessna, then above and below. The next sound was unmistakable.

“Shit!”

“Shit is right, Frank,” Ruth yelled. “Get us the hell out of here.”

“Will?”

“Down, Frank. Down!”

The Cessna dove, its engines whining as Will reached over and pushed the throttle levers full up.

“Turn away from him.”

Frank responded by turning the wheel left. His eyes widened as the ground rushed toward them. The roar that passed began to make its presence known again. The Russian fighter blew past and the Cessna wobbled in its wake.

“What the hell is that?”

“A MIG-29; one bad-ass fighter.” Will reached up and pulled the wheel in front of him back. Even in his state, he was a better match for the MIG than Frank. “I’ve got it from here.”

The Cessna leveled off, the altimeter reading eighteen hundred feet. The scenarios played through his clouded thoughts. He could slow and try to stall the fighter. He could keep trying to turn away, but he would be like a leaf in the wind. He was outclassed in every way. The MIG looped above and came down behind them, a tracer of rounds filling the air. Will banked hard right.

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s playing with us,” Will answered. “He could drop us any second he chooses.”

“Then what’s he waiting for?”

Their dance continued, the fighter rushing the Cessna on the left side time after time.

“He’s pushing us out to sea.” Frank pointed as the coast appeared ahead, the dark waters of the Baltic a stark contrast to the snow-covered ground below. “He doesn’t want to shoot us down. He wants to drive us into the water.”

“Can’t cause an international incident if you don’t shoot,” Will replied. “Either way, we’re running out of fuel, fast.” He was regaining his wits as the adrenaline pulsed through his body. He was a fighter pilot again. He reacted to another salvo of canon fire driving the Cessna out over the Baltic. There was nothing he could do. The Russian was winning.

He cringed as the starboard engine sputtered. The gauge read empty. He could feel the change in attitude. This Cessna wasn’t built to fly on a single engine. The nose lurched sideways as he tried to correct for the loss. The starboard wing dipped. He turned into the wing to try to control the spin. They began to spiral inward and Captain Will Jenner fought to keep from spiraling down face-first into the rolling ocean. With every trick he could think of he worked to keep the plane as level as possible; flaps, thrust, turns. Everything was in play. If he could control the yawl he had a fighting chance of skimming the water instead of diving head first; a sure death sentence. He could hear Ruth sobbing behind him. It was his show. He was in control. He could see the MIG circling as they spun inward. The fighter had disengaged and was watching their slow death from above.

The black waters spun below as another roar rushed atop the stricken plane. The MIG was coming in for a kill. Will tried to look sideways to catch a glimpse. It was like driving by an accident. You couldn’t not look. What he saw both shocked and amazed him as two dark shapes streaked overhead and blew past the MIG. They veered right and came back around making another pass at the Russian. The MIG kicked in his afterburners, the flames shooting from the twin Klimov engines as he headed back toward the coast. Will pulled back on the yoke as he struggled to level the plane, just as two F-16 Falcons broke off from pursuit. They circled overhead as Captain Will Jenner flattened the wings and skimmed the whitecaps of the Baltic. The starboard wingtip caught the top of the water and spun the plane sideways. Ruth was thrown against the side of the cabin, her face bloodied as she landed across the seats.