Kevin Miller - Declared Hostile

Annie swung into action. “ Whisk , mark the posit. Keep him in sight. Say state.”

“ Whisk, low-state eight point five!”

Roger, Whisk. Lumber two-zero assuming on-scene command. Jelly , what is your playtime?”

The suppression element lead replied with a 9.3, which equated to roughly 40 minutes until they would have to depart for the tanker. Not enough time, but Annie was going to buy them more.

At forty miles north of the coast, Annie slowed to max-endurance airspeed and assessed the situation. The Whisks were standing off and trying to monitor the survivor as best they could. The Jelly EA-18Gs were also orbiting away from the threat. Condor was reporting the FAV back on their CAP points and not a threat to the Americans.

The CSAR helo on the LCS off Grenada was over an hour away, and all the fighters would be out of fuel by then. They needed gas in the air, and they needed it now! Annie took charge.

“ Condor , this is Broadsword lead in Firebird three-zero-two. Whisk one-two is down, Bullseye three-four zero at forty-five, good chute, Whisks monitoring. Get Mother to launch the alert CSAR, and we need gas down here now. Send the mission tankers you have our way and have them launch the alert Texaco .”

With Mother over 300 miles away, Annie had to lead the SAR effort and delegate/direct who stood the watch over the survivor and who got gas. There was not enough airborne gas for all the fighters at one time, and Annie formulated a plan.

“Blade, you and Killer RTB. Make a report to Strike and, once on deck, debrief CAG. Macho and I are going to get some gas and conduct a RESCORT of the CSAR helo.”

“Roger, Annie. Wilco.” Annie could detect the disappointment in Blade’s voice, but there was only so much gas available.

She directed one Jelly element — a Growler and two Rhinos; a section of Lumber three-four; and one of the Whisk wingmen to come with her in search of the fuel en route to them from over 100 miles away. They would have to join on the tankers, sort what was available and who would get it, and leave enough for those remaining on station near the downed pilot. She sensed she had too many airplanes and not enough gas. She directed the other section of SLAM-ER Super Hornets to stay on scene with the Whisks as long as they could and to go back to the ship when they reached a RTB fuel state.

As Macho flew formation on her wing at 20,000 feet, Annie set her power to max-range cruise and hit altitude hold. Head down in the cockpit, she flipped over her kneeboard card and jotted down what she had and what she needed. The downed pilot was a nugget they called Lemur ; Annie didn’t know much else about him. She had two Whisks nearby, and, while she took the rest with her to refuel, she also had a Growler and four Rhinos that would remain on station

Coming down from the north were two tankers, 105 and 401, with six and four thousand pounds of “give,” respectively. She had 10K to split between herself and Macho, the other Growler and escorting Super Hornets , one Whisk FA-18E, and two more Lumbers flying two-seat Rhinos . The ship was launching an alert tanker that could give another 10K when it arrived, in about 30 minutes, at best. She conducted a roll call and got everyone’s fuel state. At the moment, she was leading eight jets to find fuel and leaving six on station in the vicinity of Whisk one-two. Their task was to monitor and suppress any Venezuelan effort to capture Lemur who was now floating in his raft about 15 miles off the coast and talking on his survival radio. Those six jets would need fuel in approximately 30 minutes, and Annie needed her gaggle to expeditiously tank and get back down there to relieve them.

Never enough airborne fuel!

“ Condor, from Broadsword lead,” Annie transmitted. “We need gas down here. Get Mother to send another Texaco and two alert fighters to relieve on station.” Annie was aware of preps for a large night strike, but with a downed airman and active SAR effort, the strike could wait. Annie needed their jets.

Annie finished scribbling on her kneeboard and took action.

“ Lumber three-six and three-seven, sorry, not enough fuel. You guys RTB. Jelly four-four flight, I want you at max endurance and wait for the en route Texaco. Whisk one-four, you stay with us and take 2K with me on one-zero-five. Macho, you take 4K on four-zero-one.”

With this plan, Annie would get three jets, and the Jelly suppression element, back in the fight some 15–20 minutes later. They would then relieve the aircraft holding on scene near the survivor so they could find another tanker in order to do one of two things: tank to relieve them or RTB. With no guarantees, they all had to hope that the helo was airborne and en route. After Annie coordinated the tanker rendezvous 75 miles away, she moved everyone over to the briefed CSAR frequency.

“ Flintlock, Lumber two-zero. You up?”

“Affirm, Lumber. Just departed the lily pad, en route.”

“Roger. Whisk one-two is down. I’m the on-scene commander. We have good comms with him, approx fifteen miles off the beach.” Using base number code, Annie relayed a rough lat/long coordinate to the Sierra crew to enter into their navigation computer.

“ Lumber lead from Flintlock , expect base-time minus twenty.” By referencing the briefed base-time, Annie determined they were fifty minutes away from the datum. Annie rogered him, and asked Condor to give the ship a status report. She needed to concentrate on finding 105 and taking on 4,000 pounds of fuel, enough for almost an hour of “playtime” at max endurance.

As she searched for Raider 105 ahead of her, Annie could relax a bit. Two tankers and the CSAR helo were en route. Everyone knew their roles, and the ship was informed. She could join on a tanker and take fuel in her sleep. Once complete, in some 20 minutes, things were going to get intense again. At a safe altitude, she flicked off a mask bayonet fitting and took in several lungfuls of air in an effort to relax.

Annie found 105 on the horizon, locked it with her radar, and turned to intercept.

You can do this , she thought.

Monique screamed in terror as the bullet shattered the glass next to Wilson.

There was someone in the woods, he thought as he fell to the wooden floor and eyed his .45 pistol. Father Dan crouched low and looked at Wilson, now the de facto leader in Father Dan’s cabin. Outside, they heard a man shouting in Spanish — one man.

“Father, slide the pistol to me,” Wilson said. Father Dan remained frozen, but acquiesced when Wilson nodded that he meant it.

Wilson took the pistol and dropped the clip out. Four rounds left. He popped it back in and chambered a round.

The man outside continued to shout. “ Ven afuera! Ahora! ” Monique was beside herself in fear, curled up in a ball on the floor.

“Father, I need— we need— your help! That man is going to kill us.”

Father Dan was unsure about what to do. He had never dreamed he would be in such as situation: asked to kill , self-defense or not. He considered his options. Wilson was almost pleading with him to help. The morality of it all pulled at him. Monique whimpered on the floor with her hands around her ears. She needed protection, but how was he to offer it? Pray? Go out and confront the man as he had with the first? Pull the trigger on a handgun?