The mighty USAF C-5M Galaxy soared over the United States at cruising speed and an altitude of thirty-six thousand feet. Preston leaned back in his seat and relaxed. He was sitting at the front of the cargo hold with Chapman, who was dozing next to him. Curtis was lost in a book and Takeda was engrossed in a Spanish learning app on his tablet. The young pilot had taken up Spanish the moment Preston had told him they were going to be temporarily reassigned to Spain. Chapman already spoke some of the language thanks to his time at the Rota and Morón de la Frontera bases with Preston. Curtis had promised to learn the basics, but was yet to show any sign of taking the bull by the horns.
Preston’s thoughts drifted back to his brief conversation with General Giles the week before. Initially, he had been puzzled. As far as he knew, the Phoenix launch system was being exclusively developed by the US Army Research Laboratory. Matters hadn’t been explained to him until two days later, in a meeting with Lieutenant Drayton, who disclosed the details about his transfer to Spain.
“I expect you’re intrigued by General Giles’s reassignment order,” Lieutenant Drayton looked at him, amused.
“Of course. We’ve been working on the Phoenix for a long time. I can’t see what possible benefit there is in going to Spain right now.” Jack was still upset about this change of plans.
“Listen, the information I’m about to disclose is classified. We don’t want it being made public. It can’t leave this room. As you know, when we started developing the X-56 it was obvious that we’d come up against some problems. Especially technical ones, after all, this is a next generation orbital supremacy fighter jet we’re trying to build. We’ve always known that one of the main obstacles would be inventing a suitable launch system, so we decided to take two different paths to maximise our chances of success.”
“Two different paths? What do you mean?”
“First, the Army Research Laboratory was tasked with developing a way of adapting railgun technology to the Phoenix project. As you’re aware, we need to create a version that can be used to launch a vehicle safely. The way things stand at the moment, the extreme acceleration would kill any crew on board. However, we also decided to search for the same result via external channels. As it turned out, our European partners proved to be the perfect solution. You’ve been informed about NASA’s joint projects with the European Union. What you perhaps don’t know is that we’re actively involved in the Hermes Project, a plan to develop the next generation of space shuttles. It’s run out of the European Aerospace Centre in Seville, Spain.”
Preston cut in. “I see. But why are you telling me this? We still have the same problem. We’ve got to develop a satisfactory solution for launching the Phoenix in time.”
“Yes, as I was saying before you interrupted me, is that it seems our European partners have made headway where we’ve hit a brick wall. They’ve come up with a controlled way of applying electromagnetic catapult technology so that a spacecraft and crew can be launched into orbit.”
“That’s impressive. So how did they do it? I thought we led the field in this type of technology.”
“We do. Let’s just say they had some unofficial help.”
“From us? Without approval from Congress?” Preston’s eyes widened.
“That’s right. As you know, there are people in Congress who want to see the Phoenix Project killed. Our friend Congressman Casper is at the head of them. If it came out that we’ve been filtering technological data to get results from an external team, they’d get exactly what they want. But listen, the same thing would happen if we don’t play this card and the delays keep piling up. That’s why you have to handle this with the utmost discretion.”
“Understood. So, what’s our excuse for being over there? How do we avoid making people suspicious?”
“You’ll travel to Spain as a NASA and USAF supervisor for the Hermes Project. At the end of the day, it’s no secret that the United States is actively involved in the project, especially NASA. What’s more, your team are going to take part in a Columbus Day air show that’s going to be held in Seville. The United States is the guest country this year. That should work as a cover so you don’t attract too much attention. With your service record the Spanish government won’t think it particularly strange. We’ll tell them we’d be honoured to take part in their celebration and are sending one of our best pilots.” Lieutenant Drayton smiled.
“Fine by me. But don’t we already have people over there who could just send us the data directly?” Preston asked.
“Yes, but the data aren’t that easy to extract and our people in the EAC aren’t familiar with the Phoenix. It has to be someone who knows it inside and out. We need to find out exactly what our European colleagues have developed and whether or not it’s viable before we embark on any kind of costly undercover operation. But officially, your mission will be to review and audit any advances in the Hermes Project for a NASA report.”
“OK. But I don’t think my team will be too happy about it.”
“Well, Lieutenant Colonel, just tell them it’ll be like a paid holiday to Spain. I’m sure they’ll enjoy their trip to Seville. Besides, I’ve heard you and Captain Chapman are big fans of the city.”
“Yes, it’ll be a pleasure to go back. It’s just—They won’t understand the reason. But we’ll complete our mission successfully.”
“Lieutenant Preston, I know I don’t need to repeat this. It’s stated in the orders I’m about to hand over. But remember, only you can know the real aim of this mission. You can’t share it with anyone, not even Captain Chapman. Do you understand?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Now that’s been cleared up, here are your orders and your documents for this operation.” Lieutenant Drayton handed him a folder stuffed with papers and a USB stick.
Preston stood up to use the bathroom. Lost in thought, time had slipped away and they had been flying for almost six hours now. The Galaxy would shortly leave Canadian airspace and cross the Atlantic Ocean. When he finished in the small toilet, he climbed up to the cockpit to ask if they were on schedule. The pilot reported that the flight was running on time and the weather was predicted to remain fine. When he returned to his seat, he saw that Chapman had woken up and was deep in a lively conversation with Curtis. Takeda was still concentrating on his virtual Spanish teacher and was repeating sentences out loud. It had to be said, it was pretty funny hearing him pronounce the words with his accent, American with a hint of Japanese. But to be fair, the kid had really put his nose to the grindstone and progressed rapidly in no time at all.
“What did they say? Are we on schedule?” Chapman turned to him.
“Yes. They’re not expecting any turbulence this time. It should be a smooth ride.”
“Smooth, I like the sound of that. Pity that the smooth flights are often the ones that end up being the roughest…” Derek was thoughtful.
“Yeah. Like in Tora Bora, you mean?” Jack looked at him fondly.
“Exactly. You read my mind…” Chapman sighed.
“I guess that mission will stay with us forever.”
“Tora Bora? Do you mean when you were shot down?” Takeda interrupted, his eyes shining with curiosity. “I heard parts of what happened in the Academy but only the basics.”
“Lieutenant Takeda, we’re not here to tell old war stories,” Preston said.
“Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’d just really like to hear the full story,” Takeda defended himself under Preston's disapproving look.
“Come on, Jack, don’t be like that,” Chapman agreed. “The kid’s curious. At the end of the day, what happened back there made us stronger. Maybe it could serve as an example to him one day.”
“Fine.” Preston gave Chapman a reproachful look. “But seeing as you’re the one bent on doing it, you’ll have to play storyteller.”
“But you’re better at it than me—OK, fine, fine… I’ll do the honours. Kira, James, listen up. I shall say this only once,” Chapman announced theatrically.
Chapman was a natural comedian. But after his experience in Afghanistan, he had nearly lost his sense of humour for good. Fortunately, time had healed his wounds and he was back to his normal buoyant self again. Now that he had Takeda and Curtis as a captive audience, he launched into the story of what had happened to Preston and him in the icy mountains of Tora Bora…
It was 5 December 2001. Just four months earlier, Preston and Chapman had been assigned to Bagram Airfield in Afghanistan following its capture by the Marine Corps. They formed part of the VFA-32 ‘Swordsmen’ squadron and flew together as pilot and copilot in an F/A-18F Super Hornet. Their mission was to provide aerial support to the north-east of Afghanistan, especially during what came to be known as the ‘Battle of Tora Bora’, a military engagement that had lasted for weeks with no end in sight. Operation Enduring Freedom had initially commenced in response to the tragic 11 September attacks and aimed to crush Al Qaeda and its leader, Osama Bin Laden. It was believed that Bin Laden was hiding in Tora Bora, an elaborate system of underground caves and tunnels in the bleak White Mountains. The United States government originally decided that it would only deploy thirty Special Forces commandos in the operation. However, they would not be completely alone. Backed by air support, the ground campaign would be conducted with around three thousand Northern Alliance militia, Afghan resistance fighters determined to topple the Taliban regime. Preston and Chapman, or ‘Night Eagle’ and ‘Sandstorm’ as they were known by the rest of their squadron, had to assist the ground troops whenever support from the air was required. They were in particularly high demand during the Kandahar and Tora Bora offensives. During the first days of fighting at Tora Bora, the Special Forces operators commanding the Afghan militia called on them to make numerous runs. They were almost always charged with bombing vehicles or fixed positions and each mission had to be executed with surgical precision. They would arrive, destroy their target and escape before the whole mountain began to buzz with anti-aircraft fire. Despite the advantage of air supremacy, on the ground the Northern Alliance militia was poorly trained. The Taliban fighters were far more experienced and US military intelligence estimated that there were over two thousand enemies hidden in the Tora Bora caves. Most important of all, they were also protected by a formidable fortress. The mountains were an icy death trap with peaks soaring up thirteen thousand feet high. In addition, the Taliban had supplies, hydroelectric generators and copious ammunition. Making precision strikes was extremely risky.
The last few days had been particularly hard. The allied Afghan forces had launched assaults from every approach to the mountain but had been repelled by the Taliban militants, suffering numerous casualties. Back at base, the coalition commanders sent a request to Washington for support from the Marines Corp. Over in Kandahar, a city recently taken by the allied forces, more than five thousand American soldiers were stationed and awaiting orders. The government turned the request down. This meant that the only real help the coalition ground force received was from pilots like Preston and Chapman, who were forced to put their lives in increasing danger to strike the Taliban targets.
That afternoon Preston and Chapman had joined an attack to the north of Kandahar with two other members of their squadron. Two pilots were flying in each fighter jet: Swordsmen 1-1 and 1-2. They were returning to Bagram when they received an urgent request for support from Bravo 3, one of the special ops’ groups fighting at Tora Bora with an Afghan force. The commandos had fallen into an ambush. They were under intense enemy fire from hostiles on foot and a light tank; both the Americans and Afghans had suffered several casualties. Not much daylight remained. A heavy snowstorm was expected on Tora Bora and Swordsmen 1-2 had just enough fuel to return to base. But Preston’s mind was made up. He couldn’t abandon the soldiers to their fate. He ordered Swordsmen 1-2 to head back to base and requested permission for his aircraft, Swordsman 1-1, to carry on alone. Bagram Command gave him the green light. Preston changed course to fly straight at the fearsome mountains. When they received Preston’s transmission confirming that his Super Hornet was on its way, the commandos’ relief was palpable. They quickly sent him their exact coordinates; they were in one of the valleys that ran through the centre of Tora Bora.
“Derek, what ammo have we got left?” Jack looked back for a moment.
“We’ve got a Paveway and two Mark 84s for a ground strike. The Vulcan’s still got one thousand five hundred 20mm rounds.”
“I’d like to use the Paveway but in this weather I’m worried about friendly fire… The hostiles are too close to our men.”
“I figure we should risk it and use the Mark 84s. We’ll drop them bang on top of the enemy. I’m checking the orography of the coordinates they sent us. The valley is pretty closed so we’re going to be really vulnerable.”
“I hear you. They won’t have time to react. We’ll get in, release our prize and get out. It’ll buy our boys a bit of time,” Preston reasoned.
“OK. Weapons armed. Informing Bravo 3 that we’ll be at the target in three minutes.”
“Copy that. Let’s go.”
The F/A-18 Super Hornet approached Tora Bora from the west, hurtling downwards at full throttle before rapidly climbing up the mountain’s slopes to its peak. Preston reduced the aircraft’s speed and headed towards Bravo 3. He had to battle heavy turbulence; the snowstorm was starting to swirl around them. They had to hurry.
“Thirty seconds to target,” Chapman called out.
“Bravo 3, take cover. About to rain down hellfire on your enemies,” Preston announced over the radio.
“Bravo 3 here, copy Swordsmen 1-1. Hit them hard,” came the reply.
Preston could now see flashes of gunfire and explosions. He increased their speed and Chapman pressed the trigger to release the bombs. On the ground, the combatants saw the fighter jet roar overhead moments before the earth shook from the force of two powerful blasts. The valley crackled with flames and death.
“Bravo 3, confirm target has been destroyed,” Chapman requested.
“Bravo 3 here. Sweet Jesus, you almost fried us! Target destroyed. I think you got the bastards… Hang on—” The voice was interrupted by gunfire.
“Negative! The Shilka is still operative! It’s taken a hit but it’s giving it to us hard!”
“Shit, Jack! What do we do?” Chapman called out.
“If we don’t finish off the Shilka, they’ll be slaughtered. I’m going to turn around. We’ll do a run with the Vulcan.” Jack maneuvered with the stick.
Chapman was hesitant. “You sure about that? We’ve lost the surprise factor.”
“We’ve got no choice. It’s either that or leave our boys to die,” and that was not something he was going to allow on his watch.
“OK, I’m in. Weapon armed.” Derek smiled to himself.
“Bravo 3, hang in there. We’re making another run. We’ll take out the Shilka.”
“Roger that, Swordsmen 1-1. Thanks. Drinks are on us when we get back to base.”
Preston turned the fighter jet around and once again tore along the winding valley, this time heading west. The blizzard was blowing harder; visibility was practically down to zero. The aircraft shuddered as it was jolted by the whirling air currents; Preston grasped the joystick firmly, trying to keep the aeroplane on course.
They heard the crackle of the radio again. “Swordsmen 1-1, we’re going to launch a flare at the Shilka. Should make things easier for you.”
“Copy that. We’ll be there in ten seconds,” Chapman said. “All set. As soon as you see that bastard, take him out, Jack.”
Preston was focused on the flight interface. He was studying the digital screen that determined the direction of his gunfire. Suddenly, he spied the flare. The Shilka that was menacing the soldiers was brightly illuminated against the snow. Steadying his hand, Preston squeezed the trigger and the M-61 Vulcan cannon began to spew out lead at a devastating rate. The ground was torn to shreds wherever the bullets struck the earth, tracing a line of destruction towards the Shilka. The light tank was blown to pieces in a violent explosion seconds before they flew overhead.
“Good work, Jack, we did it!”
“Yes! It was a close thing, but—”
Preston was cut short by the sound of bullets finding their target. A heavy machine gun was firing at them from a mountain peak. They had been hit.
“They got us! The left wing’s gone! The engine’s on fire… We’re losing power and handling!” Preston bellowed, trying to maintain control.
Chapman urgently reported to base. “Bagram Control, Swordsmen 1-1 here. We’ve been hit, I repeat, we’ve been hit. We’re losing power. We’re going to crash!”
“Derek, I’m losing control. We’re not going to make it over the mountains. We’ve got to jump!” Preston yelled over an automatic voice that was repeating the warning: ‘pull up, pull up…’ Preston knew what they had to do. “Bailout! Bailout! Bailout!” he yelled.
Preston and Chapman pulled the ejection levers; the aircraft canopy was blown off and the two pilots rocketed upwards into the sky. As they hurtled skywards they caught a brief glimpse of their aeroplane crashing into the mountainside and exploding in a ball of flames. Night was falling over the mountains and a deadly snow blizzard howled around them. The pilots were roughly tossed from side to side as they parachuted down to earth. Preston lost Chapman from sight moments before he crashed into the frozen ground of the unforgiving mountains of Tora Bora and lost consciousness…»
“Well, after a tough two days in the mountains, we were finally rescued. Then we were sent home to recover from our injuries and the freezing cold of goddamn Tora Bora,” Chapman said, trying to wrap up his story.
“What? That’s the end of the story? Sir, we’ve already heard most of that. Everyone knows that part. The big mystery is what you’ve skipped out. What happened during those two days on Tora Bora. They say you were captured.” Curtis stood up, in disbelief.
“Same here, sir. At the Academy, they said Lieutenant Colonel Preston was injured and held captive. They say you rescued him, taking out a whole enemy position while you did it,” Takeda did the same, intrigued.
“Looks like there’s no way of missing out that part, Derek,” Preston said gravely.
“So, I see. I reckon they were the toughest two days of our military careers. But seeing as we’re a team now… Well, I guess you deserve to know the truth. But you’re getting the short version. I don’t want to go into any details. OK?” Chapman looked at them, making it clear that it was that or nothing.
“Yes, sir,” Takeda and Curtis replied together. “Fine. Well, here we go…”
Chapman continued with his tale.
«After I was ejected from the plane and saw it crash and explode, I was lucky enough to drop down onto a gentle slope. The wind was blowing hard. Visibility was zero. I was still attached to the co-pilot’s seat at that point, so the first thing I did was unclasp myself and run through all my supplies: a radio, some small binoculars, an M9 pistol with two cartridges, a military knife, a small first-aid kit, a litre of water and two survival rations. It had all survived, thank God. I checked that the locator beacon was switched on and tried to radio Jack. There was no reply. That worried me. The last time I’d seen his parachute, it was blowing over to the other side of the valley, at least a mile away. I tried to radio base. After several attempts I finally got through, but there was a lot of interference because of the weather. I requested a rescue team to help me find Jack and evacuate us. My request was denied. The weather on Tora Bora meant sending a manned flight was impossible. Instead, they said they’d try to send an armed drone to locate Jack if the weather improved. That was it. The only thing they did promise was to notify the Special Forces team we’d saved earlier. Maybe they could join me and help with the search. “Bravo 3 contacted me shortly afterwards. They were two miles away.
I told them I planned to go after Jack and where I thought he might have landed. They told me that trying to reach us would be suicidal in those weather conditions. Especially as it was getting dark. They’d set off as soon as the sun came up. They promised me that they wouldn’t leave us in the lurch. But that left me with a dilemma. Should I find shelter for the night as best I could, so I didn’t freeze to death, and abandon Jack to his fate? Or set off on a suicide mission to find him, knowing he might be unconscious and on the brink of death? It was an easy choice: I was going to find him. I ripped up the parachute fabric and wrapped it around me to try to keep warm. Visibility was getting worse and worse. One false step on Tora Bora meant certain death. I slowly started to pick my way down into the valley to try to reach the other side.
I’ll spare you the details of that long climb down. Suffice to say, it was extremely hairy. I must’ve slipped and nearly fallen off a cliff at least five times. But fate had decided I wasn’t going to die that day. When dawn began to break, I had made it right to the bottom. Now I was wondering how on earth I was going to climb up to where I thought Jack might be. The weather was still terrible, but at least the blizzard was a little lighter than the night before. Bravo 3 called to tell me they were on their way. They warned me to be careful. They had detected Taliban movement during the night and thought I might run into one of their patrols. I radioed Bagram Command. They told me the weather was still too bad to send a UAV Predator. They were waiting to see if things got better over the next two to three hours. Resigned, I started to scale the slope on the other side of the valley. I was more and more exhausted with every step.
I had been climbing for two hours when I saw them. Ten men, Taliban fighters, no doubt about it. They were standing around a snow-covered mound on the ground. Two of them were brushing off the snow and I could finally make out the outline of a body and cockpit seat. It was Jack! My heart missed a beat when I saw him. I was too late. I had failed. My crew-mate and friend was dead… Then I saw one of the Taliban fighters slap him and pour liquid over his face from a bottle. Jack slowly came round. When he realised where he was, he immediately tried to escape. It was useless. The militants pinned him down and punched him in the head, knocking him out. Man, was I desperate to get in there and help… But I would’ve been killed. It wouldn’t have done Jack any good. At best, I might have taken out three or four enemies before being surrounded and murdered. Or worse, they might have captured me too. So, I decided to bide my time.
The Taliban soldiers tied Jack up and dragged him with them, still sat in the pilot’s seat. But first, they destroyed the locator beacon. Those guys knew what they were doing. I contacted Bagram and Bravo 3 to tell them what had happened. They ordered me to stay where I was and not to intervene but I refused. I told them I was going after Jack. I needed Bravo 3 to meet me and requested urgent aerial support. Bravo 3 was still over a mile away and the sky showed no signs of clearing sufficiently for Bagram to send help by air. So, for the time being I was alone. I wasn’t giving up. Seeing Jack alive and realising that he needed me… Well, it gave me a second wind. So, being extra cautious, I started to follow his captors. I was waiting for the chance to step in and set him free.
The next two hours lasted forever. I constantly had to stop and hide to make sure I wasn’t spotted. The Taliban fighters knew the terrain well and easily found trails that I could never have imagined. I contacted Bravo 3 every half hour to update my position. The commandos were making progress too. They believed the Taliban were heading towards one of the closest mountain peaks where, according to Intelligence, one of the main entrances to the Tora Bora underground cave complex was located. If they succeeded in taking Jack inside, he was as good as dead. We had to act before they got there. On the positive side, according to their calculations, and bearing in mind the poor weather, they believed the Taliban wouldn’t reach the caves until the following day.
Bagram Command called me an hour later with some bad news. It was impossible to send aerial support until the next day. New forecasts predicted that the bad weather would last well into the night. I was knocked for six. It was tempting to give up there and then, but a furious determination to rescue Jack took hold of me, giving me the strength to go on. It forced my numb limbs and stiff muscles into action. You don’t leave a man behind, even if it means losing your own life. So, I followed the trail left by Jack’s captors until they finally decided to make camp for the night. They took shelter in a small rocky cave in the mountainside and lit three camp fires to keep warm. I was barely a hundred feet away. I crouched down and watched through binoculars as they chatted and set up camp. They were relaxed, unsuspecting. They didn’t anticipate an attack. Who could blame them? Surely no one could have been crazy enough to track them through the mountains… Who was going to attack them there of all places?
I saw them give Jack some water and something to eat. He looked weak and had clearly been injured; his clothes were stained with blood. It was getting more and more obvious: I couldn’t let this chance go to waste. I had to attack during the night. It might be my only opportunity to save Jack. I contacted Bravo 3 and explained my plans. They told me to wait. They were less than a mile away but had been forced to stop. It wasn’t safe to cross the terrain that separated us at night. I reiterated that I couldn’t wait. A chance like this wasn’t going to repeat itself and besides, I doubted that I had the strength to track them for another day. It had to be tonight. Bravo 3 had maps of the zone. I asked them to suggest somewhere between their camp and the Taliban soldiers’ camp where they could set an ambush. My plan was to rescue Jack during the night and head towards Bravo 3. I knew Jack and I wouldn’t be able to travel far, sooner or later the Taliban militants would catch up with us. But if we were able to reach a halfway point and ambush the hostiles, with Jack and me acting as bait, we had a small chance of pulling it off. Bravo 3 finally agreed. Their Afghan militia refused to move at night but four commandos and an Afghan guide headed to the ambush point to wait for us. The rest of the group, around twelve men, would join us at dawn. If they received no news from us, they would advance to the Taliban camp.
Once the plan was prepared, I decided I needed to rest. I curled up between a rock and a thicket, hollowing out a bed in the snow. Once inside, I decided to briefly close my eyes. I knew it was risky; I might never open them again. But without a few moments of rest, I wouldn’t have the strength to pull off what lay ahead. As the last rays of sunlight disappeared, I drifted off. They were not pleasant dreams… I had horrible nightmares. Preston was executed, or I fell off a cliff and broke my neck or froze to death. I woke from one of these dreams with a start. How long had I been out⁈ I looked at my watch. It was four in the morning; still the middle of the night. With a quick sigh of relief, I crawled over to spy on the Taliban camp. All the Taliban fighters were sleeping by the warmth of the three campfires, except for one, who was in an open area acting as look-out. I could see Jack on one side of the makeshift shelter; his eyes were closed. I contacted Bagram Command. I told them I was about to begin my incursion and this could be my last message. Then I switched off the radio. I didn’t want any untimely calls coming through at the wrong moment.
My whole body was numb from the cold. I started to edge towards the camp. I was armed with my knife and the pistol. As I inched forwards, I tried to assess the situation. First, I had to neutralise the guard. And that was going to be impossible unless he moved. Even if I used the knife, he would make way too much noise; he was too close to the other Taliban militants. I picked my way along the cliff edge, sometimes crawling, sometimes crouching down, until I was about thirty feet away from the look-out. I was hidden between two snow-covered thickets and watched as the Taliban soldier smoked a joint. The smell was unmistakable. I waited patiently for nearly twenty minutes until he finished smoking. Then, he stood up and walked over towards my hiding place. I was convinced he must have seen me, but it turned out he was going over to the edge of the gorge. He was lowering his flies. I smiled to myself as I watched him relieve himself. Silent as a cat, I stealthily crept out of my hiding place and stood directly behind him. I grabbed him by the neck and slit his throat, immediately pushing the body into the gorge. I spun around, expecting to find his fellow militants awake and pointing their weapons at me. Silence. They were all still fast asleep. I would’ve given anything for a silencer. It would’ve been so simple to finish them all off while they slept… But I didn’t. So, I had to watch every step I took.
I crept towards the camp as quietly as my stiff legs allowed me. I sneaked past two of the sleeping Taliban soldiers and headed towards Preston. Poor guy, he was still tied to the pilot’s seat. He looked as though he had been given a real going over while I was sleeping; his face was bruised and he had a split lip. I carefully hunched down next to him and whispered to him, telling him to wake up. No response. There was no time to lose so I took a big risk. I splashed some water on his face and wet his lips. He started to come round. I crouched in front of him and gently shook him, saying his name in a low voice. He opened his eyes and was about to shout out but I quickly covered his mouth with my hand and repeated his name over and over, telling him it was me. He finally calmed down and I saw relief spread over his face. I told him I was going to cut through the rope tying him up and that he had to be quiet. We were getting out of there. Preston was dazed but in better shape than I had expected. He could stand and gestured to say he could walk unaided, albeit with a limp. I took his pistol and two cartridges from a rucksack next to him and we silently stalked out of the camp. We managed to escape without making a sound. I didn’t expect it would take the Taliban long to realise Preston was missing. They’d find out he was gone whenever the next look-out woke up for his shift. We retraced my footsteps and I decided we should skirt around the Taliban shelter from above before setting off for the meeting point with Bravo 3. Switching on the radio, I briefly explained that the incursion had been a success and we were continuing with the agreed plan.
Jack’s face was black and blue. They’d given him a real beating. He was shivering with cold. He wouldn’t last long in these conditions. I gave him all I had left of food and drink and urged him on. We damn well weren’t going to die there. Jack gave me this look he has… It’s like cold determination. It’s one he has whenever things get ugly. He hobbled onwards. We had to be extra careful because we could barely see in the dark. Fortunately, there were a few breaks in the clouds every now and again and we could pick out our way by moonlight. Less than half an hour had gone by before the murmuring wind brought us the sound of shouting and cursing. The Taliban militants had discovered our escape. Our head start was over. We tried to go faster but it wasn’t only Jack who was exhausted. I was also at the end of my strength. We managed to reach a snowy area of high ground that was roughly a hundred and fifty feet long. I knew that, unless we were lost, Bravo 3 should be waiting for us just six hundred feet away on the other side.
Halfway along the ridge, Preston lost his footing and I turned to catch him. That was when I saw them. The Taliban fighters had caught up with us. They were nearly on top of us, torches flashing in the dark and AK-47s in their hands. When they saw us, they broke out into shouting. I signalled to Preston to get up and pushed him, forcing him to carry on. I raised my pistol and let off three shots at our enemies before following him. This drove them nuts and they opened fire. As luck would have it, they couldn’t see that far in the dark, even with the torches. Plus, they were poor shots. But they were moving faster than us. We weren’t going to reach the other side in time. We were in desperate trouble. I threw Jack down next to a rock and told him that was it. We couldn’t go on. We’d have to fight back from there. He knew as well as I did that our luck had run out, but was ready to go down fighting. With Jack on one side of the rock and me on the other, we started to fire our weapons. We managed to kill two enemies before they could react. But the Taliban fighters quickly launched a full-on firefight and the rock rattled with gunfire. Bullets and shards of stone flew everywhere. We shot back at them until we were out of ammo.
The Taliban fighters must have guessed our situation because they stopped shooting too. Now we could hear them getting nearer. They’d decided to capture us and this time there would be no mistakes. I showed Preston my knife; there was no way they were going to catch us both. I told him I’d try to buy him some time so he could escape. He seized my arm and looked me right in the eyes. No, he said, he wasn’t going to leave me behind. The six Taliban fighters were almost on top of us, less than thirty feet away. I could clearly make out their faces now. They started to fan out and were about to surround us when, out of nowhere, two missiles exploded on top of them and they were blown to kingdom come. The blasts knocked Preston and me off our feet. I could hardly believe it. Lying on my back, I watched as a Predator drone passed overhead and heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire from a M4 assault rifle, one of the favourite weapons of our Special Forces commandos. We were saved! I was overcome by exhaustion and the explosion had knocked the wind out of me. I fought to keep my eyes open but before I knew it, I had blacked out.
The next thing I remember was waking up in a Blackhawk with Jack beside me and several friendly faces looking down at us. Soothing voices were saying that everything was going to be fine. We were heading home. The nightmare was over. They took us to Bagram where we were put in a Galaxy and flown to Ramstein Air Base in Germany. We stayed there long enough to recover from our injuries before returning home to enjoy some well-deserved leave with our families.»
“That satisfy your curiosity?” Derek felt exhausted.
“Yes, sir. Wow, that’s some story. Now I get why you and Lieutenant Colonel Preston have been such a close team ever since,” Curtis stood to attention to salute respectfully.
Kira did the same, nodding seriously, showing much admiration.
“That’s right. And now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to rest these eyes of mine for what’s left of this journey.”
With that said, Chapman settled back in his seat and closed his eyes. Curtis went back to his book and Takeda resumed his attempt to master the Spanish language in record time. Preston studied Chapman’s face for a while longer. The story had brought back all their experiences on Tora Bora. He would never be able to repay Chapman for what he had done. Preston had never told him but, had he not been rescued that night, he would have been killed the following day. His captors had been torturing him all evening and planned to execute him at dawn, having realised that he wasn’t going to play along. Of course, it had taken Chapman’s wife, Estella, several years to forgive him for putting her husband’s life in danger by deciding to return for the Shilka. Well, that was all in the past. It had been harrowing, but the experience had formed an unbreakable bond between them that would last forever. After Tora Bora, when they returned to active service, they decided it was time to move on and no longer flew together as a crew. Instead, they each piloted a separate aeroplane but always flew in tandem. They had already proven themselves to be the best when sharing an aircraft; once they started flying together in two fighter jets, they became the most famous flight partners in the USAF.
Preston’s mind wandered as the Galaxy flew over the Atlantic Ocean, carrying them closer and closer to their destination: Spain. He kept turning over the conversation with Lieutenant Drayton in his mind. He would have liked to share his thoughts with Chapman, but his orders were clear and he had no choice but to face this mission alone. Admittedly, he was intrigued to discover how the Europeans had perfected the railgun system and made it viable for launching a manned spacecraft. It was thrilling to think that, if this technique could be adapted to the Phoenix programme, they would overcome the main hurdle that currently stood in their way.
The hours passed and the passengers soon realised that they were flying over Seville on their way to Morón Air Base. Preston gazed down at the Spanish city with mixed feelings. He had enjoyed plenty of good times there when they had been stationed in Spain a few years ago. But these memories were tinged with sadness. It reminded him of his wife, Jennifer, and their daughter Samantha, or Sammy as he liked to call her. The time they had spent together in Seville was one of the happiest periods in their marriage. It was on their return to the United States when his relationship with Jenny started to break down irretrievably. The separation was still very raw; they had been divorced for less than a year. He still loved her, but she had tired of trying to compete with the air force and his passion for flying. He couldn’t blame her. The hardest part had been separating from his little girl, but she seemed to be handling it better than her mother and father. Unfortunately, in this day and age, small children were used to their parents splitting up. And at thirteen, Sammy was already very mature. Perhaps too mature for his liking.
The C-5M Galaxy smoothly touched down on the main runway at Morón. It followed the service vehicle and taxied to its slot. When it came to a stop, Preston and the others stretched their limbs and gathered up their belongings. The captain came down to the hold to check that it had been a comfortable journey and to inform them that a Spanish official was waiting for them outside. Preston and his team strolled down the main ramp of the cargo plane. They were greeted by a warm, sunny day. It was the middle of September, but in Seville it still felt as though it were the height of summer.
A military jeep pulled up in front of them and a Spanish official climbed out. He was roughly forty years old and dark-skinned with short hair.
“Lieutenant Colonel Preston, good to see you again. When they told me you were coming I didn’t believe it. It’s a pleasure to have you back at Morón,” said the official, giving Preston a military salute.
“I see the ‘Lynx’ is looking as well as ever. The pleasure is all mine, Juan,” Preston stood firmly at attention.
“Come here, Jack. Old friends ought to say hello properly.” The Spaniard gave Preston a warm hug, to the surprise of Kira and James.
“Great to see you again, Commander Aguilera,” said Chapman.
“And you, Captain Chapman,” Aguilera gave him another hug. “With you two here again I’m sure we’re going to have a couple of interesting weeks.”
Preston made the introductions. “Juan, let me introduce you to Lieutenant Kira Takeda and Lieutenant James Curtis. Their call signs are ‘Dragon’ and ‘Viper’. They’re part of our team and I think it’s fair to say they’re the future stars of the USAF. This is Commander Juan Aguilera, also known as the Lynx. He’s in command of Squadron 111, the ‘Diablos de Hispania’, in the 11th Wing.”
“It’s an honour, sir,” said Takeda and Curtis, giving Aguilera a respectful salute.
“Welcome to Morón, Lieutenant Takeda, Lieutenant Curtis. You must both be fine pilots if you’re pupils of Jack and Derek,” Aguilera acknowledged. “Well, that’s enough greetings for now. I expect you’re tired after your flight so follow me and I’ll take you to your quarters.”
Aguilera gestured for them to get into the jeep and they sped off towards the American barracks. Although the Morón base was Spanish, it had a permanent detachment of United States soldiers, including the 496 Air Base Squadron and the USAF 18th Space Surveillance Squadron. Part of the base was American and this area had its own buildings and facilities. Preston and the others would be lodged here for the length of their assignment to Spain. When they reached the barracks, several airmen approached the Americans, first saluting the visitors and then helping the new arrivals with their bags. “Here you are. Rest for a few hours. I’ll come and get you later. The boys in the squadron have organised a welcome lunch,” Aguilera called over his shoulder as he returned to his jeep.
“A welcome party, sir? I didn’t realise you were so famous here,” Takeda said to Chapman in surprise.
“We spent a good few years at this base and did lots of joint exercises with these guys. They’re brave pilots. We got to be really fond of them. And they felt the same about us,” Chapman watched Aguilera leave.
“What do they fly? F-18s?” Curtis asked.
“No, the two squadrons in the 11th Wing all fly Eurofighter Typhoons,” Preston replied.
“Typhoons? They’re not bad planes, but nothing like our F-22s,” Curtis said with pride.
“I wouldn’t speak so soon. The Typhoon is a versatile multirole fighter. It’s good in operations where you have to engage the enemy in the air and on land. Anyway, if all goes well, I expect you’ll get the chance to fly one. Then you can make up your own minds.” Preston looked at them with a hint of a smile.
“That’s great to hear. I thought we’d only get to fly F-22s in the exhibition,” Takeda said enthusiastically. He dreamed of piloting every type of aeroplane in the world.
“Well, we have an excellent relationship with the guys here. I can’t imagine it’ll be any problem,” Chapman had very fond memories of his time at that base.
“OK, now go and unpack. Try to get some rest. If I learned one thing from my stay here it’s that Spanish meals tend to last a while. You need plenty of stamina,” Preston still remembered the epic hangovers.
Several hours later they found themselves in one of the base messes surrounded by Spanish pilots. Everyone was eating and drinking with gusto. Preston, Chapman and Aguilera were swapping stories about their times together. They were sat with Enrique ‘Black Wolf’ Esteve and David ‘Bull’ Aguilar, two ‘Diablos de Hispania’ who also knew Chapman and Preston. Takeda and Curtis were surprised to discover how different to them their Spanish counterparts were. When they were on duty, the Spanish pilots were highly disciplined and closely followed orders. But during their free time, it was a different story. They were open and engaging, constantly cracking jokes and laughing. Most of the lieutenants in the squadron were present; the ‘Diablos de Hispania’ was considered to be the finest squadron in the Spanish Air Force. Only the very best pilots in each academic year at the Air Academy could compete for a place in the 11th Wing; very few were successful. And the best pilots flew the best fighter jet used in Spain: the Eurofighter Typhoon. Besides being the most famous squadron in the country, the ‘Diablos’, as they were usually called, also had the most combat missions under their belt. They had served in the Balkans, Iraq, Afghanistan and Libya, and had also taken part in several joint international exercises with NATO. They might have less war experience than combatants from other countries, such as the United States, but one thing was certain. If they were called up to fight, their response would be ruthless. Their training was un-equalled.
Curtis and Takeda found it hard to keep up with the countless new names and faces. People like Lieutenant ‘Hammer’, ‘Coyote’, ‘Blade’ and ‘Tower’, or head mechanic Ángel Serra, who everyone called ‘Chief’, were introduced to them one after another. But it didn’t matter. The truth was, after all those long, stressful weeks preparing for the Phoenix test, it was great to be able to let their hair down and enjoy themselves. Particularly considering the warm welcome they had been given. The Americans quickly managed to fit into the group. Curtis found it slightly harder because of his lack of Spanish but the host pilots sympathised with his situation and spoke to him in English, which they all spoke fluently.
Preston left Chapman, Takeda and Curtis to enjoy the table talk and went outside with Aguilera who wanted a few words in private.
“So, Jack, are you going to tell me why you’re really here? It can’t just be for the exhibition. We’re honoured, naturally, but any of the American pilots stationed here or at Rota could have taken part,” Aguilera scrutinized him as only he knew how.
“I see you’re just as suspicious as ever, old friend,” Preston had to surrender to the evidence.
“Well, you know they don’t call me the Lynx for nothing, So, what’s going on?”
“You know how these things go. I can’t give you any details, but it’s something to do with the project I’ve been working on at Groom Lake for a while now.”
“So, the rumours about a new USAF prototype are true. Don’t worry, I won’t press you, although I am curious. Make yourself at home during your stay. Whatever you need, just ask.”
“I appreciate it. To be honest, being sent here was a surprise to me too. But now I’ve seen you all again, it’s good to be back. It hasn’t been as hard as I thought it’d be.”
“Memories, eh? We were all very sorry to hear about Jennifer. My wife speaks to her from time to time. I guess these things are inevitable. You can’t fight against your own nature, can you?”
“No, I’m afraid you can’t. All you can do is set your sights on the horizon and do the best job you can.”
“By the way, the old man wants to see you. He asked me to bring you over once the party had finished.”
“Brigade General Echevarría is still in command of the base?” Jack was surprised.
“Yes. You know what he’s like. The old tree that never falls. And we hope he’ll carry on for a long time yet. He couldn’t have run this place better all these years. Shall we head over there now?”
“Sure. I’d like to see him again.”
They climbed into a military jeep and drove over to Morón Command at the centre of the base. Brigade General Echevarría had run the facilities from within these walls for twenty years now, during which time he had earned the respect and affection of all his subordinates. He was firm and disciplinary but always put the well-being of his men before his own. This was noted and hugely appreciated by everyone around him.
Preston and Aguilera left the jeep in the car park and entered the building. They approached the door to the Brigade General’s office. Lieutenant Francisco Delgado, his secretary, was sitting outside at a desk. They asked him to inform the Brigade General that they had arrived.
“Brigade General Echevarría is in a meeting with Colonel Hidalgo at the moment but he’ll see you in just a moment,” Lieutenant Delgado pointed out two armchairs to them.
“Thanks,” Aguilera said, taking a seat outside the office with Preston. They didn’t have to wait long before Lieutenant Delgado’s telephone rang. He picked it up and nodded. “You can go in now.”
They stood up and the secretary opened the door for them, announcing their names. They walked into a spacious room dominated by a large office desk with two screens. A distinguished-looking man sat behind it. He was around sixty years old with greying hair and a kindly face. A second man sat opposite him. He was closer to fifty and had a more serious countenance.
“Lieutenant Colonel Preston, we’re honoured to have you back at our facilities,” Brigade General Echevarría greeted him.
“Thank you for the warm welcome, Brigade General. It’s impossible not to miss this place,” Jack saluted him respectfully.
“I’d like to introduce you to Colonel Daniel Hidalgo. He’s in charge of the 11th Wing. He took over from Colonel Odén after you left,” Brigade General Echevarría showed him with his hand.
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Preston said, shaking his hand.
“The honour is all mine. You’re very highly spoken of, Lieutenant Colonel Preston,” Colonel Hidalgo accepted his hand with admiration.
“Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Lieutenant Delgado can get you whatever you’d like,” Brigadier General Echevarría made a gesture to pick up the phone.
“No, thanks. I couldn’t fit another thing in after that wonderful meal,” Preston said.
“Very well. Colonel Hidalgo and I were just discussing the preparations for this air show we’re organising for Día de la Hispanidad. The reason you’re supposedly here,” Brigade General Echevarría said with a wink.
“Yes, sir. My government wants to send a strong message of support to Spain by offering you our best pilots for the air display.”
“We don’t doubt it and we’re honoured. Having you and Captain Chapman back is always a pleasure,” Brigade General Echevarría continued.
“The idea is that your team will fly four F-22s in the show, is that correct, Lieutenant Colonel Preston?” asked Colonel Hidalgo.
“That’s right.”
“Well, we wanted to put an idea to you, if you don’t mind. The parachute display is going to be the culmination of the show. Unfortunately, it seems that one of the skydivers has had to drop out at the last minute. We’re aware of your service record. You have years of parachuting experience and made countless jumps during your time in the special operations forces. We’d like you to replace the injured jumper,” Colonel Hidalgo smiled, waiting for his reaction.
“What would it involve exactly?” Preston asked.
“Well, it’s a mass jump that will recreate the Spanish flag in the sky. It finishes with two parachutists, which would be you and one other person, landing in front of the attending officials. One of you will be carrying a Spanish flag and the other a United States flag. On landing, you’ll raise them as a gesture of brotherhood between our nations.”
“That sounds impressive. It would be a great honour to take part. I couldn’t possibly refuse.”
“Good. We wanted to run through it with you first so you can refer the idea to your superiors in case there’s a problem. I don’t think it will matter if there are only three F-22s in the air show instead of four,” Brigade General Echevarría looked him in the face.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine, but I’ll request permission from the USAF Chief of Staff first.”
“Excellent. After our man had to pull out, we thought this would be an even better way of emphasising the close relationship between our countries,” Brigade General Echevarría said with satisfaction.
“Yes, I agree. I think the top brass will see it that way too.”
Aguilera interrupted. “Well, sirs, if you don’t mind, I’m going to have to borrow Lieutenant Colonel Preston again. He’s missing the rest of his welcome party.”
Preston and Aguilera made their goodbyes and left the office. They set off in the jeep but instead of returning to the mess, Aguilera told Preston they were heading into town. A restaurant had been booked for dinner where the party would carry on. They arrived just in time to enjoy the first plates of tapas that were being brought out by the waiters. By now, Chapman, Curtis and Takeda were all in high spirits. Even Takeda was tipsy, having sunk a few beers and been encouraged to try several glasses of sweet wine. Preston sat with his fellow pilots and joined in with the celebrations. It was important to make the most of these brief moments of calm. You never knew when things were going to get complicated.
The following day he had to visit the European Aerospace Centre and start investigating the new railgun launch system. Days of intense work lay ahead and now, on top of it all, he had to train for the air show. And not just as a pilot, but as a skydiver.
Being in Seville stirred up mixed emotions in Preston. Happiness tinged with nostalgia. Despite everything, he was determined to enjoy his time here as much as he could and give himself a break. It was time to put his inner demons and the divorce behind him. To be fair, if he was surrounded by a good crowd like this one, it shouldn’t be too hard. These were brave and loyal men and women. Aviators who, just like him, were ready to sacrifice everything for their country and who had the same passion for flying running through their veins. Pilots who only felt free at the controls of a fighter jet. He may be far from home, from his ex-wife and daughter, but in his heart of hearts he knew he was with his real family. He would never feel alone in their company and as long as he could fly, he would always be free.