Wraith (14 page)

Dream Catcher Test One

06 January 2003

Nick stepped off the elevator into a dark hangar. The only illumination came from a single overhead fixture that gently bathed two sleek, dark T-38s in the cottony glow of a soft halogen light. He had arrived at the hangar early, as he always did, particularly with a specific bird he'd never flown before. It made the working day a little longer, but he liked to have a little time to get to know an aircraft before taking it up for the first time. Every jet had its idiosyncrasies, things that made it unique even among aircraft of the same type. This was especially true for T-38s, since they'd had forty years to develop their character. Besides, the last T-38 he had flown had turned on him.

Nick admired the classic lines of the aircraft before him. Like other T-38s, their Coke bottle fuselages and short swept wings gave them a powerful yet genteel appearance, but these were unlike any Talons he'd ever flown. They were painted dark gray, not with a glossy finish like their sister jets at Whiteman, but with a matte finish—the kind that disappears into the night. Inside, they had the latest in cockpit displays, with ten-inch multifunction screens instead of the traditional round dials that Nick was used to.

The hangar filled with light and Nick turned, raising a hand to shield his eyes.

“Hey! Who the . . .” came a gruff voice from the blur. “Oh, it's you. You're early, kid. What was your name again?”

Nick blinked as the intruder came into focus. “Nick Baron; and you're Eddie, right? You're the Triple Seven Chase Squadron's lead maintenance technician.”

“That's right,” said Edward Patch with a smile. He stood a full six inches shorter than Nick, with tousled white hair topping a wrinkled and rugged face. He wiped a grease-blackened hand on dark blue coveralls and offered it for Nick to shake. “I see yer trying to get a little alone time with Millie and Elaine.”

“You could say that.” Nick tried to place Eddie's accent, but he couldn't quite figure it. He spoke with a hint of drawl that must have come from either northern or western Texas.

“Ya know why we always name aircraft after women, don't ya?” Eddie asked with a sly grin, elbowing Nick in the ribs.

“I always thought it was because they were sexy and beautiful.”

“Nope. Any man who's ever owned a plane knows we name 'em after the fairer sex because a plane'll steal your heart and drive ya to the poorhouse at the same time.”

Nick laughed. “I guess you named these two after ex-wives.”

Eddie looked at him quizzically. “What? Nah, I've been married to the same gal going on forty-eight years now. Nope, I named these two beauties after my daughters.”

“Oh . . . right. So, are they all ready to go?”

“Not entirely.” Eddie walked over to one of the aircraft and patted its sloped nose fairing. “Elaine here is due for an engine overhaul; she's grounded until it's complete. Looks like you're takin' Millie to the dance.”

Nick looked at his date for the evening and decided that Millie must be either the eldest or the favorite daughter. Her namesake carried the tail number 777, making it the flagship of the little two-aircraft fleet. “I couldn't have asked for a better-looking date. I'm going to set up the cockpit. Pull the gear pins and the engine covers for me, will you?”

“You're the boss.”

Nick didn't believe that for an instant, but he took the statement in stride and climbed up the crew ladder. A few minutes later, with his equipment in place and a few vital systems checked, he climbed back down again to walk around Millie one last time.

As Nick walked along the left side of the jet, he let his fingers lightly track along her smooth surface, noting the remarkably even feel of the paint job. Most of the old T-38s that he'd flown had dimpled and pitted surfaces, even after coming back from a fresh repaint, but the skin of this jet was like silk. When he reached the twin afterburner cans in the rear of the aircraft, he noticed that they looked different from the aircraft he was used to flying. “What's up with the cans?” he asked.

Eddie was busy making a final notation in Millie's maintenance logbook. He didn't bother to look up from his work. “Didn't they tell ya? These jets are the new C models.”

“Yeah, that's why they've got the glass cockpit and the GPS upgrade.”

“It wasn't just an avionics upgrade. They've got modified nozzles that give you a bigger kick in afterburner and faster engine spool-up on the low side. Not many units have seen these babies yet. The Triple Seven's commander grabbed the first two off the line, even before NASA got theirs.”

“I'm starting to gather that Colonel Walker has a lot of pull.”

“Mm-hmm,” Eddie agreed. “Except Colonel Walker just runs Cerberus. He ain't the Triple Seven's commander.”

“Then who is?”

Eddie finally looked up from his work. He grinned. “Can't tell ya. But hang out for a while, kid. I 'spect he'll show himself 'fore this mission's done.”

“Mother Ship, Talon One is in position,” Nick reported over the secure radio.

“Mother copies. Break, break . . . all players check in,” said Drake, transmitting from the cockpit of the stealth bomber.

“Talon's up.”

“Hazard's up,” said Danny, seated at the monitoring station behind Drake.

“Lighthouse is up.” Colonel Walker finished the check-in from the ground station. “Make me proud, gentlemen.”

Nick had settled into a chase position just behind the B-2. He didn't want to move too far away from it; even with night-vision goggles, the black jet was difficult to see.

“Okay, Talon,” said Drake, “let's get started. Go to observation one. Hazard, you're cleared to begin the deployment sequence.”

“Roger,” Danny replied mechanically. Nick could hear the extreme nervous tension in his voice. He wasn't sure about the wisdom of putting ground personnel in flight positions. He hoped the intelligence officer would make it through the test without passing out.

“Talon is moving to observation one.” Nick fell back to a position aft of the B-2 at its high center and then dropped below, staying well clear of the wingtip vortices on either side that could easily send his T-38 out of control. He flipped on his HUD camera and pushed Millie in close, finding the sweet spot just behind and below the bomber's tail. “Talon is ready. Camera's rolling.”

Danny began the sequence. “Release in ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”

Nick steeled himself for the turbulence that the opening bomb bay doors would cause. He tensed his arms and prepared to fight the controls, but when the doors swung open, Millie handled the rough air admirably. Nick soon became used to the control adjustments and shifted his focus to observing the test.

An infrared spotlight attached to one of the B-2's doors illuminated the bomb bay for Nick's NVGs. Compared to all the other structures in the bay, Dream Catcher was an apparition. Where the rest of the compartment reflected the infrared light brilliantly, Dream Catcher's high-tech surface hardly reflected it at all.

“. . . three . . . two . . . one . . . release,” Danny finished.

Dream Catcher dropped quickly past Nick and he nosed the T-38 down to keep pace. He never saw the heat signature from the drone's low-emission engine, but he knew it must have started because the craft soon leveled out of its descent. “Baby is away clean,” he reported.

“Roger, systems communication is ninety-five percent,” replied Danny, noting that the direct data link between the B-2 and Dream Catcher was functioning.

Walker pushed the test along. “All right, people, it's time to get down to business. Talon, get in tight and monitor Baby's performance while Hazard calls out the maneuvers.”

“Copy that, Lighthouse.” Nick brought the T-38 into close formation, settling in with less than three feet separating his wingtip from the drone. “Talon's in position and ready.”

“The first test will be altitude changes and maintenance,” said Danny. “Talon, check your altitude at one seven thousand even.”

The nerves had settled out of the intelligence officer's voice. Maybe he would survive as aircrew after all. “Affirmative, Hazard, seventeen on the nose,” Nick replied.

“Roger. I'm sending Baby up to two zero thousand; check the climb rate.”

Nick glanced at his vertical speed indicator. “We're climbing at one thousand feet per minute.”

Dream Catcher performed flawlessly through several flight control tests, and soon the team moved on to testing the drone's sensor suite, monitoring cell phone transmissions and radio communications from Romeo Seven. When they came to the infrared test, Walker had a special task for Nick. “Talon, this is Lighthouse. We need to test Baby's forward sensors. I want you to fly a vertical box pattern . . . Let's make it fifty feet in front of her, with fifty-foot sides.”

“I'm sorry, Lighthouse, could you repeat your last?” Nick understood the command, but he didn't like it. Walker wanted him to descend below the drone's flight path, cross underneath, climb, and then cross over the top again. As a fighter pilot he did this all the time with his wingmen, checking for damage after bomb runs, but always
behind
the other jet. No one ever flew this maneuver
in front
of another aircraft, even in broad daylight. It was considered far too dangerous. And now Walker wanted him to do it using night vision goggles that restricted his field of vision, in front of an untested drone.

“You heard me. Make a box fifty feet in front of Baby. What's wrong, Talon, can't handle the job?”

“Uh . . . negative, Lighthouse, no problem. I just wanted to make sure I heard you right.” Nick sighed and pushed his throttles up, driving ahead of Dream Catcher and giving the little craft a wide berth. “Well, this should be interesting,” he muttered.

He would have to fly the entire maneuver looking over his shoulder, which was even more uncomfortable when wearing NVGs. To make matters worse, he would lose sight of the drone when he crossed above it, because his own wings and fuselage would block his view. He could only pray that Dream Catcher wouldn't pick that moment to go haywire and run into him. Then another solution dawned on him.

“This is Hazard,” said Danny. “I have Talon with Baby's forward eyes. He's below her flight path. I'm getting heat signatures off his wings and cockpit. The detail is incredible. I can see every button and switch on his instrument panel. The picture looks good.” Danny's voice was smooth and calm, but an instant later, the anxiety he had shown at the beginning of the evening returned in force. “Wait . . . wait a second. Something's wrong with the display processors. Talon is crossing over the top now, but I'm still getting cockpit returns; I shouldn't be seeing this stuff. I should be seeing the bottom of his jet.”

Nick strained as he looked down through the top of his canopy at the drone. He felt the blood rushing to his head and knew that he couldn't continue to fly upside down much longer.

“I can't tell what's happening,” said Danny. “We need to abort.”

“Easy, Hazard,” said Nick, righting his aircraft and taking up a position behind Dream Catcher again. “Baby's eyes are just fine and her flight path is stable. I had to fly the top portion of that pattern inverted so that I could keep her in sight throughout the maneuver.”

“Show-off,” Drake transmitted.

Walker broke in. “Okay, gentlemen. That's enough fun for today. Let's call it a night before Talon runs out of gas.”

“Copy, Lighthouse,” said Drake. “All players, listen up. The recovery belongs to Mother. We are stable at two two zero. Talon, set up back at observation one. Hazard, prepare to bring Baby in. Report when ready.”

“Talon's ready.”

“Hazard's ready.”

“Mother copies. Begin sequence.”

Nick focused on Dream Catcher, a few thousand feet below him and a few hundred feet in front of the bomber. Suddenly she accelerated and climbed until she was almost level with him, and then she slowly eased backward.

“Standby doors,” Danny warned. “Doors opening in three . . . two . . . one . . . now.”

The doors cracked open just as Dream Catcher passed beneath the stealth bomber's nose. Nick adjusted for the turbulence and watched as the little craft steadied itself just below the bay. On the rack above, the catches snapped open, preparing for capture. Then Dream Catcher inched upward, its laser range finders searching for the edges of the bay. At first its slow climb was as steady as a rock. Then something changed.

As it passed the bottom of the doors, Dream Catcher began to pitch and bank. The movements were not gross, but the drone was certainly not steady enough to make the recovery. Every hair on the back of Nick's neck stood up. “Something's wrong,” he said over the radio.

“Say again, Talon?” asked Lighthouse.

“Something's wrong with Baby. It's hard to explain, but she just doesn't look steady anymore.”

“Talon is right,” interrupted Danny. “It appears that Baby is having trouble keeping up with the changes in the airflow under the bay. She won't commit to the recovery.”

“Are you telling me that you can't dock the drone?”

“Exactly!”

While Danny and Walker argued, Nick watched as Dream Catcher began to pitch and roll with increasing violence. The flexible skin at her edges rippled at a furious pace as the embedded flight controls fought to keep up. Nick became impatient with the others' radio chatter. “Break, break! This is Talon. Baby is bouncing all over the place. She's getting worse. If we don't do something soon she's going to impact the side of the bay!”

“Hazard concurs. Baby's reactions are increasing exponentially. We have to abort now!”

“I don't care what you have to do,” said Walker. “You bring that drone back in one piece!”

Dream Catcher still bucked and rocked beneath the bay, but Nick saw that the upper portion of each oscillation was carrying her higher into the bay. She was beginning to clear the doors. “Do you trust me, Drake?” he asked, forgetting to use his friend's call sign.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Wait.
I
don't trust you,” said Danny. “I don't trust
either
of you.”

Nick backed the T-38 away from the bomber. “Mother, on my mark, you close the doors. Hazard, when I say ‘now,' I want you to cut Baby's engine. Does everyone understand?”

Just then, Dream Catcher clipped the side of the bomb bay. A piece of black structure flew toward Nick. He shoved his nose down and banked right to avoid the projectile, but the maneuver wasn't enough. He winced as he heard it glance off Millie's vertical stabilizer. Instinctively he pressed the
CAPTURE
button on his GPS keypad, digitally marking the coordinates, airspeed, altitude, and heading where the piece was lost. Someone would have to recover that little chunk of top secret later. He keyed his transmitter and shouted into the radio. “Anytime now, boys! It's getting ugly down here!”

“Hazard's ready when you are.”

“Mother's ready, too. Let's do this.”

Nick had been gauging the rhythm of Dream Catcher's oscillations. The impact with the bomber hadn't changed the pattern much. He counted through the wave of motion twice more, making sure he had the timing right. “Here we go, Mother,” he said finally. “Three . . . two . . . one . . . mark!”

Nick watched as the doors obscured the drone, waiting until the last bit of light from the bay evaporated. “Now, Hazard! Cut it now!”

The sound of the impact was so loud that Nick could hear it in his own cockpit. It was a rending, stomach-turning sound like nothing he had ever heard.