Free Stories of the Confederated Star Systems by Loren K. Jones Page B

fading. Something is wrong. What is your altitude?”
    Lieutenant Taylor’s reply of, “I am at forty-five hundred feet,” was clear of the previous interference.
    Lieutenant Cox’s next few transmissions were on different frequencies, but he settled down once he was in contact with Fort Lauderdale again. “Nan How Able One, this is FT-74. He is now on a new heading. Angels 4.5 and climbing.”
    Now a new voice joined the transmissions. “Nan How Able Three to FT-28: This is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country . . . can you read us?”
     
    Captain Reordan looked at Commander Frazier with a question plane to see in her eyes. The commander quickly reviewed his notes and nodded. “NHA-3 is the Air Rescue Unit #4, stationed at Port Everglades. The phrase seems to be from some play or speech, and is used as a standard radio check.”
    Captain Reordan’s raised eyebrows and shrug were an eloquent reply.
     
    Lieutenant Taylor’s reply was almost heartening. “Affirmative. We have just passed over small island. We have no other land in sight. Visibility is 10 to 12 miles.”
    “I am at angles 3.5. Have on Emergency IFF. Does anybody in the area have a radar screen that could pick us up?”
    Port Everglades either didn’t hear the request, or ignored it. “FT-28, this is Nan How Able Three. Suggest you have another plane in your flight with a good compass take over the lead and guide you back to the mainland.”
    Lieutenant Taylor replied with a simple “Roger.”
    Lieutenant Taylor followed up that reply a few minutes later with the message, “FT-28 to Nan How Able Three, one of the planes in the flight thinks if we went 270 we could hit land.”
    “We went out on a heading of 120. On the second leg of the hop I took over because I thought they were going wrong, but now I know it’s my compasses that were wrong.”
    Port Everglades called back immediately. “Nan How Able Three to FT-28. Do you have a YG disk for homing DF?”
     
    “DF? What’s DF?” Lieutenant DeBaron asked, his face twisted into a puzzled frown.
    “Direction Finding, Mr. Sensor Officer, sir,” the sensor tech answered in a less than respectful tone of voice. “They had to home in on ground-based radio transmitters and triangulate their position as well as they could. They didn’t even have a primitive GPS system until late in the century.”
    “Get stuffed,” DeBaron muttered softly, so that only the tech heard.
     
    Lieutenant Taylor’s voice came over the communications speaker at that moment, drowning out Lieutenant DeBaron. “FT-28 to Nan How Able Three. We are heading 030 for 45 minutes, then we will fly north to make sure we are not over the Gulf of Mexico.”
    Another pilot spoke, not identifying himself. “Should I drop the last of my bombs now? “
    Lieutenant Taylor answered, “By all means.”
    Fort Lauderdale called Taylor, but didn’t receive an answer. “ Nan How Able One to FT-28, please turn on your ZBX. Repeat, turn on ZBX. Over.”
    When Lieutenant Taylor failed to respond to Fort Lauderdale, Port Everglades repeated the call. “Nan How Able Three to FT-28, please turn on your ZBX. Repeat, please turn on ZBX”
    When that message also failed to receive a response, it was broadcasted to all planes. “Nan How Able Three to any Fox Tare in flight with Fox Tare Twenty-eight, turn on your ZBX. Over.”
    Lieutenant Taylor apparently didn’t hear the message, nor did any of his flight. Taylor’s voice came again, ordering his men together. “All planes in this flight join up in close formation.” Moments later, he continued. “How long have we gone now?”
    Lieutenant Powers answered, “About 20 minutes.”
    Lieutenant Taylor then changed his previous orders. “Let’s turn and fly east 2 degrees. We are going too damn far north instead of east. If there is anything we wouldn’t see it.”
    He amended his orders again moments later. “FT-28 to all planes in flight, change course to