Free The Warbirds by Richard Herman Page A

routine that was the first step in the aircrews’ coming together as a team.
    Colonel Shaw and his lanky DO were sitting in the commander’s pickup truck, monitoring the radio and watching the two fighters as they taxied out, lined up on the runway, and started their takeoff roll. Shaw watched, with a critical eye, the two F-4s as they made a precision formation takeoff while the sound of the SAC tanker’s engines filled the truck. He was satisfied with the response of the SAC tanker unit. Maybe, he thought, SAC does understand what the Air Force is all about.
    “Your boys look good,” he said to Hawkins.
    “Good enough,” the DO said. He hoped.
    16 July: 1523 hours, Greenwich Mean Time 1523 hours, over the Mediterranean
    “Colonel!” Bill Carroll shouted over the interphone in the RC-135. “The Libyans scrambled the MiGs. They’re going after the Grain King—”
    Cruzak was continuing to refine the frequency pattern. The computer was almost locked onto the entire shift pattern the scrambler used. Cruzak calculated they would break the system wide open in another five minutes. It was a significant breakthrough.
    Anthony Waters reacted calmly to this latest intelligence. “Down-link that to Washington.” He was sure a battle was going to start in a few minutes and there was little else he could do. He also hadn’t felt so alive in years.
    The colonel unfolded from his seat and stretched his cramped legs. He could see the agitated lieutenant talking to Cruzak. Waters had been monitoring U.S. communications and walked down the narrow aisle, knowing the two needed reassurance. “Hey, you did good. Help is on the way from Alexandria South.”
    16 July: 1528 hours, Greenwich Mean Time 1728 hours. Western Egypt
    Cunningham’s order to establish contact with Grain King and order them out of Libyan airspace had been received over Outpost’s command communications equipment. “Grain King, Grain King, this is Outpost on Guard. Do you copy?” The transmission on Guard—the frequency reserved for emergencies—surprised the C-130 crew.
    “Read you five-by, Outpost. Go ahead,” Toni answered.
    “Roger, Grain King. Turn right to a heading of zero-niner-zero degrees now . Leave Libyan airspace ASAP. Repeat, leave Libyan airspace ASAP .”
    “Outpost,” Toni replied, “we are under the control of Tripoli Center on an approved flight plan, on a weather divert into Alexandria South with an injured man on board.”
    “Grain King, Outpost. You are in danger of being intercepted by hostile aircraft. Do you copy all?”
    “Copy all.” Toni reached for the yoke, disengaged the autopilot, and spun the big cargo plane to an easterly heading. By pushing the throttles up and nosing the plane into a gentle descent, the airspeed increased to almost three hundred eighty knots. “How far to the border, Dave?”
    “About a hundred miles, fifteen or sixteen minutes at this ground speed.” He looked over the flight engineer’s shoulder at the fuel gauges and rapidly calculated what the increased airspeed would do to their fuel. “You can keep this fuel flow up for about eighteen minutes.” If we don’t rip the wings off first, he thought. “Then you’ll have to shut one engine down for long-range cruise. It’s going to be tight.”
    16 July: 1531 hours, Greenwich Mean Time 1731 hours. Western Egypt
    “Outpost, this is Stinger One-One with a flight of two. How read this frequency?” Fairly queried the radar control post.
    “Read you five-by, Stinger,” a female voice answered.“Situation is as follows. Grain King Zero-Three, U.S. C-130 cargo aircraft, is transiting Libyan airspace with approved flight plan. Two bandits reported scrambled to intercept Grain King. Intentions of bandits unknown, suspect hostile. I have contact with Grain King. On your nose bearing two-six-five degrees, one-niner-zero nautical miles from your position. Will have a tanker on station in fifteen minutes.”
    Fairly stepped on his rudder