Before starting my story there is a point that should be made clear.
Fuck. Top. Gun.
Yes the 80’s movie that starred teen heartthrob Tom Cruise as he was a fighter pilot that lived by his own rules. Everyone saw this movie and remembers all of his antics from flying inverted or buzzing the tower. People like myself saw that movie and dreamed about sitting in a cockpit waiting to be launched off a carrier. And the nights were spent either in some bar or on a beach soaking up the fading orange glow of a sunset.
So you went to the recruitment office when you were of age and signed the papers and went through countless hours of training and simulators. The first time you went up in a T-38 Talon was magical as your trainer showed you the ropes. After years of school, training and flight time you are given your first assignment. This is the part you have been waiting for your whole life as you wonder where they will send you. Will you be stationed on a base nestled within some tropical paradise where drinks are served on the beach? Or will you be on board a massive aircraft carrier stopping at various ports of call and seeing the world?
To this day you still feel as if your life is the brunt of some sick, cosmic joke as they announced your station.
Elmendorf, Alaska.
Now don’t get me wrong this place is gorgeous two months out of the year.
The other ten is a harsh, frozen wasteland.
The 90th squadron is nicknamed “Dicemen” and we are the tip of the spear as we deal with incursions from Russian aircraft many times per month. They are always testing our defenses with various types of aircraft and are gone before we even get there. This cat and mouse game has been going on for quite some time and for some of the old timers it is routine like clockwork.
Our base commander goes by the name Daniel “Gato” Ramirez and the reason he has that call-sign is because he’s had more than nine lives. He had flown in various conflicts and patrols however, after flying for years he said he was done and wanted to retire but the brass wasn’t having it. So they offered him a cushy job in the middle of nowhere and he accepted as long as he got to fly.
One of the best things about flying for the Dicemen are the planes and we have the cutting edge F-22 Raptors. These are the most cutting edge piece of technology to date and with the fly-by-wire technology these jets can pull off maneuvers that seem impossible. The claws of the raptor range from the 20mm Vulcan for close range along with LAU-141/A for short range missiles but the bays can accommodate anything for short to long range.
A few weeks ago we had gotten a report of a Tupolev Tu-95 Bear on the edge of US Airspace so we scrambled out to meet them. Six of us went up to meet this and any other accompanying threats however, as per usual they turned tail as soon as we got there. We all started heading towards base and five of us started to turn back.
However, Daniel kept on course for a few moments before banking hard right and turning around.
Once landing back at the base Daniel was out of his plane and walking back to the barracks and he was shaking. At first I thought it was due to this latest test of our defenses, however, when I caught up with him he turned to face me.
His eyes were wide with terror.
“Sir? You alright?” asking with concern. He noticed my expression and relaxed trying to mask his feelings “Y-yeah. Sorry son, listen lets meet up in the officer’s club later for a drink. I have something I want to tell you.”
After a few hours of writing reports and attending an after action briefing I decided to drop in on the officer’s club. The air was thick with smoke as people were drinking, playing pool or just watching sports on one of the two large televisions.
Daniel was at the bar sipping on his third whiskey and as I approached he looked up at me.
That mask that he wore previously was starting to break.
“Siddown kiddo” he said in a speech slurred from the alcohol “I have a need to tell you what happened out there.”
I took a seat next to him as the bartender gruffly asked what I was drinking. Not wanting to offend him and my superior officer I opted for a beer as he started to tell his tale.
“First, what I am about to tell you is completely off the record. This shit did not happen and if you breathe a word of it to anyone I’ll not only deny it but I will make sure you get put on the most remote station we have. I will make it my life’s work to make your life fuckin’ miserable. You read me?”
All I could do was nod.
“You give me your word?” He said as his body was all tense like a snake that was coiled to strike.
“I give you my word, sir.
”With that he visibly relaxed as he looked at me “Thank you, kiddo. This started in ‘73 and I know you weren’t even a stain in yer daddy’s drawers but I was a FNG right out of boot. There was this conflict going on in the Middle East called the Yom Kippur war. Have you ever heard of it?”
I shook my head.
“Of fucking course not.” he said sourly “I swear to Christ unless it’s a major war no one covers it in history. Although it didn’t even last more than a month it was poised to push the world into a new world war. See, the Russians were involved by giving their side weapons but what they didn’t say is that they also lent pilots and aircraft. Not to be outdone by the russkies we did the same shit as we dropped US equipment and made sure to fly missions where we weren’t supposed to.”
He took a sip of his drink and continued.
“Some of my first missions were riding shotgun on the SR-71. You’ve heard of this right?”
I nodded as the SR-71 Blackbird was one of the best manned reconnaissance aircraft to date. This aircraft could reach Mach 3 and reach an altitude of 85,000 feet and can travel 2,900 miles before refueling.
“I can’t even begin to tell you the thrill of riding in this. It is the closest thing to being an astronaut you’ll ever get to in your life. After helping the crew of this aircraft I got pulled into a meeting with eleven other pilots. We were going to be part of an elite squadron as there were reports of Russian aircraft violating the no-fly zone. We would all be flying modified F-106’s aka the Delta Dart and trust me this was a great machine. It’s nothing compared to the F-22’s we have now but man these were sweet. They were also upgraded with the M39 cannons off the F5 tiger so we had missiles and guns to take on the communist bastards.”
Draining the rest of his glass he looked at me as his face became a mix of anger and sorrow.
“We were over a patch of desert doing a routine patrol when these MIG-21’s came out of the middle of nowhere. It was something out of a fuckin’ movie as they dove at us with the sun at their backs. We broke off and tried to get clarification from command if we had permission to engage or not. They circled around us like sharks that smelled blood in the water as my radio was filled with chatter. My wing-man Carter was screaming for help as a MIG got a lock on him. It was pure chaos. People were asking if we had permission to shoot and without thinking I lined up a shot and fired a burst at the enemy.”
I was hanging on every word as it felt as if I was in the cockpit with him.
“CEASE FIRE! Came over the radio but it was already too late as the burst hit square against the canopy. It was nothing but a bloody mess as the plane fell away and dove towards the desert sands. The rest of the MIGs bugged out and so did we. That night I had horrible dreams of the pilot of the Russian plane as he kept saying the same thing over and over.”
“What did he say?”
“помоги мне. Which means help me.”
Daniel looked pale at this point in the story as if the alcohol drained from his body as he swallowed hard. “But that wasn’t the end of it. I got off light as they shuttled me off to a crappy station in the middle of nowhere. However, when Desert Storm came around they needed qualified pilots and I was at the top of the list. The thing is when I was on another patrol with a different unit there was a radar contact…”
Part of me tensed as I knew what he was going to say.
“It was that same MIG-21. The canopy was all blown to hell but there was a pilot sitting in the seat with a mirrored visor. He got a lock on one of my friends as his plane just… stopped working. We told him to bail out but he couldn’t and he crashed with him inside. They called it catastrophic electronics failure as that’s why nothing worked. Hell we couldn’t even hear him screaming for help as that was all on the black box. And outside of today I saw that MIG only one other time.”
“When was that?”
“Operation Enduring Freedom. Same shit. And on both accounts they couldn’t find a damned thing wrong with the aircraft. Now this asshole is coming for me.”
I blinked. “How… how do you know?”
He turned to look me dead in the eyes “Because that was the aircraft I was trying to catch up to when we intercepted the Bear. The bastard has been toying with me for years and I had been working up the courage for months to face him.”
“Sir, I could..”
He jumped up from his bar-stool, sending it clattering to the ground as he put his hands on my shoulders.
“Kid. Don’t. Don’t you DARE even hint that shit to me. If anyone needs to face this asshole it is me and me alone. Now if’n you’ll excuse me I am going to hit the sack. You should get some shuteye as well. See you in the morning.”
And with that Daniel stormed out of the bar as only one or two patrons looked up to see the scene unfold. I shrugged, finished my beer and hit the sack.
Five hours later the blaring air raid klaxons served as our collective wake up call. Everyone scrambled out of bed, dressed as best they could and scrambled into the Joint Mobility Complex.
“What’s going on?!” one of the pilots barked.
“We have an unauthorized take off. It’s Ramirez and he’s not responding to the radio” The chief ATC replies. “I am going to try again.”
“Are there any other contacts on radar?” I ask the ATC.He shakes his head “Not a one it’s clear for miles and he’s heading over the Pacific ocean in a straight line. Fuck, look at him move!”
“Maybe he’s defecting?” another pilot remarks
I shake my head “No, he despises the Russians.”
“Hey!” The ATC barks “He’s changing course. What the hell is he doing?”The pilots all stare and know what he’s doing. He’s dog-fighting. But there’s no other blip on the screen.“I-Is that a new generation aircraft? Something that doesn’t appear on radar?” a rookie pilot asked.
The ATC glared at him “No, and look at this” as he pointed at one of the main screens as he keyed in a few commands. The main screen showed a satellite view showing a stretch of ocean and the F-22 that was twisting and turning as if under attack.
There was no other plane.Ramirez’s plane banked left and then right and then shot upwards as if to shake a missile lock.
It broke into an immelmann turn and halfway both of the engines flamed out. We saw the aircraft struggle for control but it dove straight down and it slammed into the ocean.It shattered into pieces as if it crashed into the ground.
A rising chorus of expletives were shouted as the ATC barked over the klaxons “SAR scramble! SAR scramble!”
Hours later there was a coordinated effort between the Navy and Air Force to gather up the wreckage including the mutilated body of Daniel Ramirez. The plane would be checked and rechecked as every part was scrubbed over with a fine tooth comb. They determined it to be a catastrophic electrical and mechanical failure.
But that’s not what scares me.
What scares me is every time that I go on patrol or an intercept over our airspace I will catch a glimpse of an old Russian aircraft. And I will hear a brief tone of a missile lock before it goes away and part of me wonders. Is this bastard coming after me next?