Free Baghdad or Bust by William Robert Stanek Page B

I don’t want to kick someone out of their seat. I’m not part of your crew.”
        “I don’t think anyone would mind,” countered Stopwatch, joining in.
        “No, I’m an extra. It wouldn’t be right.”
        “Well, maybe tomorrow then.”
        “Tomorrow?”
        “The word is that you’re flying with us until further notice.”
        “What about MPC?”
        “I guess they’ll have to be short or find someone to replace you.”
        I didn’t complain, and when I was riding out to the flight line later I smiled. This is what it was all about.
        This night, we had an unusually large crew, sixteen in all, and we clambered up into the belly of the Lady as quickly as possible. I strolled along the narrow aisle past position six, touching a hand to the headrest, to the rear bunk in the stark darkness. I fitted my chute, performed my checks, and was up on headset before the interior lights were raised to a cheerless white.
        I watched the others go about their checks and heard them check in one by one. They certainly didn’t seem a happy bunch, and Stopwatch already seemed to be riding them unnecessarily hard.
        “Three, you’re taking too damn long fitting that chute!” he complained. “Two and Four get the hell off Private if you’re going to chatter.”
        “MCS, MCC, checks complete yet?”
        “Crew, you know by now that after you complete checks I want you strapped in and facing forward. Gloves on, ready to go. Checks complete, MCC.
        “Three, get in your seat!”
        Rollin, who’d just pulled the chocks, rolled his eyes as he passed me.
        I stretched out on the bunk and listened to the engines wind up. Gentleman Bob checked forward and reverse thrust, and then the Lady began the crawl to the hold line where we’d wait for Tower’s final takeoff clearance.
        “Cleared for takeoff, EC-130,” called out Tower Control at last.
        “Roger that, Tower,” confirmed Gentleman Bob.
        As we began to roll along the runway building up speed, I thought about what was ahead. I started rationalizing and downplaying the situation. What was there to worry about? We’d surely have ample support out there. Gypsy would be providing the air picture and threat calls. Phantom would be there. The Combat Air Patrol team was, as always, top notch. We’d have a two-ship of dedicated HVAA CAP, and four other F-15s would form the MiG Sweep and Alpha CAP.
        As we leveled out, I readied the NVG and checked them out. Stopwatch was screaming at Three again, and I tried to tune him out as I stared out the window.
        “Is Stopwatch always like this?” I asked Able as he joined me.
        “Usually, but you should see some of the stuff that goes on. Three is asking for it. Watch her; you’ll see what I mean.” He spoke aloud over the roar of the engines as I had.
        “Where is she?”
        “Up in the cockpit. Probably batting her eyelashes at the AC. She’s a prick tease; just stay away from her.”
        I looked up into the cabin. The lights were combat red. Stopwatch was clearing everyone into the system.
        Able tapped me on the shoulder. “He’s really not that bad anymore. A lot mellower than when we first got here.”
        Able and I began our vigil out the windows.
        “Crew, attention to brief!” called out Gentleman Bob, “We’re going to review emergency procedures one more time, but I’ll make it quick.”
        I keyed into my headset as Bob ran through the spiel, and soon the snowcapped mountains were below us.
        A short while later, Beebop’s voice tweaked into my headset. “MCC, Nav, ten minutes till we enter the sensitive area.”
        “Roger, Nav, we’re green back here so far. You set in Gypsy’s squawk?”
        “You’re good to go.”
        “Roger.”
        “MCS, MCC, see if you can raise