William Johnstone - Phoenix Rising

CHAPTER TWO

Wednesday, January 18

Hello, America.

With just two days before we swear in our new president, I would like for us to take inventory of just where we are in this country.

Four decades of social engineering have begun to accrue in such a way as to presage disaster for the U.S.

Gregoire held his hands over his head and waved them as he rolled his eyes.

This is not just the ravings of—mad—George Gregoire. No, sir, and no, ma’am. Events over the last several years have borne me out.

Consider this. Stringent environmental laws have inhibited drilling in new fields for domestic oil. Those same laws have also limited refining capacity and dictated exotic cocktail blends of fuel for certain parts of the country. Even during times of critical fuel shortages, these blends cannot be transshipped from region to region.

Automobile companies are mandated CAFE standards and unnecessary safety features that add thousands of dollars to the base prices of cars.

Do you remember when we were young, how eagerly we looked for the new cars each year?

Gregoire changed the tone of his voice, mimicking the excitement.

Have you seen the new Ford? Yes, but wait until you see the new Chevy!

He was silent for a moment, masterfully playing his audience.

Tell me, America, when is the last time you greeted the new models with anything more than a yawn?

And have you noticed that fewer and fewer models are being introduced now? Proud names such as Plymouth, Oldsmobile, and Pontiac Trans Am—cars which we once lusted after, cars with style and performance—are no more.

He began to sing,

What a thrill to take the wheel, of my brand-new Oldsmobile.

America, we have had a century-old deep and abiding love affair with cars, but now we find them boring. We look back on the cars of the fifties and sixties with a reverent nostalgia, and like most nostalgia, this is an unrequited love—we will never return to those days. Do you remember those yesterdays when we were young? Do you remember the sweetness of life then, as rain upon my tongue?

He began singing Roy Clark’s “Yesterday When I Was Young.”

Oh, and how is this for intelligence? In California, federal courts, in order to preserve a two-inch inedible fish, have restricted the flow of water into some of the most productive agricultural areas in the country. And since California produces nearly fifty percent of the nation’s fruits, nuts, and vegetables, this water restriction is already having a drastic impact on the market price.

Government interference with bank lending has caused the housing market to go bust, resulting in the loss of billions of dollars in personal equities across the country.

Gregoire, who was standing now, stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor, silent for a long moment before he spoke again. The camera came in tight on his face so he could give the audience his most sincere look.

My friends, this is the country that elected Mehdi Ohmshidi, a naturalized American born forty-seven years ago in Islamabad, Pakistan. I can only pray that we survive this monumental mistake.

Thursday, January 19

“All right, Candidate Lewis,” Jake told his flight student. “We’ve just received word from previous flights that the LZ is bracketed by small-arms fire from your nine o’clock, and shoulder-launched ground-to-air missiles from your three o’clock. How are you going to avoid the ground fire?”

“Make the approach below their angle of fire, sir,” the warrant officer candidate replied.

“Make it so,” Jake said, mimicking Captain Picard of Star Trek.

As WOC Lewis started his descent, Jake saw a flock of geese approaching from the right.

“Watch the geese on your three o’clock,” Jake said.

“I see them,” Lewis answered. Lewis pulled the collective to try and go over them, but the geese were making the same maneuver.

“Damn!” Lewis shouted as several of the geese collided with the helicopter. Blood and feathers from those that hit the main rotor suddenly appeared on the windshield. There was also a sudden and severe vibration at the same time they could hear the high-pitched whine of the tail rotor drive shaft spinning without any resistance.

“I’ve got it!” Jake shouted, taking the controls.

There was a loud bang as the tail rotor and a part of the tail fin separated from the aircraft. The center of gravity pitched forward and, without the anti-torque action of the tail rotor, the helicopter began to spin to the right. Instinctively, Jake depressed the left anti-torque pedal to halt the spin, even as he knew that without the tail rotor, it would be ineffective.

The spin was much faster than anything Jake had ever experienced, and earth and sky blended into a whirling pattern that made it impossible to separate one from the other.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw Candidate Lewis start to grab the cyclic.

“Hands off !” Jake screamed.

They were about seventy-five feet above ground and had already spun around at least fifteen times. Jake knew he needed to kill the engines in order to lessen the torque, but the engine controls were on the cockpit roof and he had to fight the centrifugal force in order to get his arm up. Finally he managed to kill both engines. The whirling main rotor blades continued to generate torque but, mercifully, without the engines, the spinning slowed.

Then, just before impact, Jake jerked back on the cyclic and the nose of the helicopter came up. Now, with the spin rate down to half what it had been, and with the helicopter level, the Blackhawk made a hard but somewhat controlled landing.

Jake sat in his seat with dust streaming up around the helicopter and the rotor blades still spinning. He waited until the spinning was slow enough that he knew they would not generate lift, then pulled the collective up, putting enough pitch in the blades to slow them until they finally stopped.

“Are you okay?” Jake asked.

“What the hell happened?” Candidate Lewis asked.

“You got hit by an RPG,” Jake said.

“What?”

“A goose, or some geese, took out the tail rotor,” Jake said. “It was the same effect as being hit by an RPG.”

“Damn. I’m glad I wasn’t flying solo,” Lewis said.

“Funny you would say that,” Jake said. “I was just thinking I wish the hell you had been flying solo.”

Although neither pilot was hurt, they were required by SOP to report to the hospital for a physical evaluation. Jake was in the examining room, just zipping his flight suit closed when Karin came in with a worried look on her face.

“I heard you were in a crash!” she said, the tone of her voice reflecting her worry.

“I resent that. I made a controlled landing,” Jake replied. “A hard landing, yes, but it was controlled.”

Karin threw her arms around him. “Oh,” she said. “When I heard you had been brought in I was scared to death.”

“It’s nice to be worried about,” Jake said. “But really, it was no big thing.”

“Hah, no big thing, my foot. I heard some of the other aviators talking about it. You lost your tail rotor but were able to land. Everyone is calling you a hero.”

“A hero?” Jake said. He smiled. “Yeah, I’ll accept that.”

“Well, now, don’t let it go to your head,” Karin teased. “You are hard enough to be around as it is.”

“Really? How do you manage to be around me so much?”

“Because I’m a saint. Didn’t you know that?” Karin asked. She kissed him.