Outlaw

Without hesitation, Senior Chief Dave White leaped through the cargo door. The wake of the massive Boeing 777 slammed into him, but he tucked into a streamlined shape and dove for the earth, seeking clean air below the jet.

As the air smoothed, he looked over each shoulder and grinned inside his mask. The entire team descended in a beautiful formation and tracked away from the jet directly behind them.

“Now,” he said over the radio.

As one, the four men steered ninety degrees to the left and flew west toward Hainan Island.

* * *

The phone at the first officer’s right knee rang and startled him. Although he and the captain were two of only six pilots in the Air Force qualified to fly these missions, it was only his second such operation. But it was the first real-world mission either could remember.

“Hello?”

“Jumpers away,” the jumpmaster said. “Cargo door sealed.”

“Fantastic!”

The line went dead, and the first officer unplugged the phone and secured it in his flight bag as the captain removed the offset and adjusted course back to the east and their assigned airway. He glanced at his watch and noted the time. The door light had been illuminated for two minutes.

27

USS Ronald Reagan (CVN-76)

South China Sea

The Air Boss’s voice boomed over the carrier’s 5MC flight deck public address system. “On the flight deck, aircrews are manning up for the twenty-two hundred launch. The temperature is eighty-four degrees, the altimeter is three zero one nine. It’s now time for all unnecessary personnel to clear the catwalks and the flight deck. All flight deck personnel are in a complete and proper flight deck uniform: helmets on and buckled, sleeves rolled down, goggles down. Check chocks, tie-downs, and all loose gear about the deck. Check your pockets for FOD. Check all rotor clearances for the go aircraft for the twenty-two hundred launch. Start ’em up.”

At the conclusion of the announcement over the loudspeaker, the calm on the flight deck became a flurry of activity. Charlie Mauzé and his copilot, Roger Rholdon, strapped into their seats aboard the Russian helicopter sitting on spot six, just forward of the two waist catapults on the port side of the ship. Two Super Hornets sat on the bow catapults in an Alert 5 posture, with two additional fighters chained to the flight deck aft of the jet blast deflectors.

Charlie selected the secure satellite channel for the Tactical Operations Center at Clark Air Base and keyed the microphone. “Scar Nine Nine, Dusty One, radio check, over.”

After a slight delay, he heard a calm voice reply, “Five by five.”

“Say status of QRF.”

Charlie knew Dave’s four-man fire team had already exited the jumbo jet and were on their way to the target, and he was committed to launching. Regardless of the Quick Reaction Force status, he would launch to reach the release point on timeline.

“Green, green.”

As the Mi-17’s twin turbine engines began turning, he shared a glance and exchanged fist bumps with Roger. On the deck of the America, two Marine Corps MV-22 Ospreys were prepared to deliver a TRAP team or second squad of SEALs if they ran into trouble. Between them and the four Super Hornets, he felt confident they would reach the objective and make it back to the ship.

The two air branch pilots returned their focus to their systems and resumed functional checks to verify the former Soviet helicopter was ready to fly across open water to their release point off the coast of Fenjiezhou Island. Once there, they would loiter and wait for the signal to exfil.

They were at a critical moment in the timeline, and failure was not an option.

With the engines stabilized, Charlie signaled to the yellow shirt that they were ready to engage. The LSE relayed the signal to the tower as the ship started a turn to starboard.

“Dusty One, mother’s steadying up heading three five zero. Winds are straight down the deck at fifteen knots. Happy hunting.”

Roger gave Charlie a thumbs-up that he was ready to go, and Charlie keyed the microphone to reply. “Dusty One.”