Strike Force

Years ago it was known as “Aurora,” the unclassified code name for America’s first hypersonic reconnaissance plane, able to fly over five times the speed of sound; at the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center that now owned all five of the prototypes, it was simply the XR-A9 (Experimental Reconnaissance Article Nine). About the size of the SR-71 Blackbird recon plane it was meant to replace, it greatly resembled the Blackbird with its thin wings and fuselage and jet-black skin. Its official unclassified nickname was the Black Stallion, but everyone around Dreamland simply called it the “Stud.”

As they walked toward the huge craft, more and more changes were evident. There were a number of odd-shaped nozzles around the nose and fuselage. This plane had no conventional aerodynamic flight controls like flaps, elevators, and ailerons — instead, the XR-A9 used mission-adaptive technology that used microhydraulic actuators to change almost the entire surface of the wings and fuselage, making every part of the airplane a lift or drag device. Unlike the SR-71, this aircraft had four engines mounted underneath the fuselage with a movable vane in the center of each elongated rectangular engine inlet and wide exhaust nozzles.

After their walkaround, McLanahan and Noble climbed up the boarding ladder along the side of the plane. “Last chance, sir,” Boomer said at the top of the boarding ladder, and held out a small round plastic container. The flight surgeon and other fliers had recommended that all flight crewmembers take anti-motion sickness medication — promethazine hydrochloride was the most common — before each flight, whether or not you had a history of motion sickness, but Patrick had steadfastly refused. “You’ll thank me.”

“No thanks, Boomer,” Patrick said. “I’ve been airsick before, and it’s not fun, but I don’t like taking any kind of medication.”

“Where we’re going, it’s different, sir,” Boomer said. “If you don’t need it you won’t feel any differently, but you don’t want to be hurting through your whole trip. It’ll ruin it for everyone, believe me.” Patrick finally relented and took the pills. “Thanks, sir.” He held out a gloved fist, and Patrick punched it. “Have a good flight, sir. Have fun. I’ll see you on the ground afterward.”

The XR-A9’s interior was arranged in a tandem arrangement in two separately pressurized compartments, with the aircraft commander, or AC, in front, and the mission commander, or MC, in back, like the SR-71 Blackbird spy plane or the F-15E Strike Eagle. The cockpit was cramped for such a large plane, and some contortions and quasi-gymnastics were necessary to get into the cockpit seats. Patrick silently cursed the extra five pounds he had put on recently and vowed once again to get rid of his now-noticeable “executive spread” ASAP.

There was a bit of hesitation and confused expressions when Patrick got ready to step into the forward aircraft commander’s seat. “Uh…sir…?”

“I’m flying this baby today, Boomer,” Patrick said as he began to “build his nest”—arrange his personal and life-support equipment in the cockpit just so.

“I realize you’re technically qualified, sir,” Noble gently argued, “and you obviously know what you’re doing, but I always…”

“Not today, Captain,” Patrick said, emphasizing the word “captain. I’ve played back-seater long enough. I’m going to fly the hot jet.”

“But sir, the flight plan says…”

“Boomer, I’m flying the damned plane,” Patrick insisted, almost an order. “You can fly along and back me up, or I’ll find someone else to fly in the back.” Patrick had to smile at the young officer’s worried expression. “That was exactly like my dad’s expression when he handed over the keys of his car.”

“Why? Did you bend the car too, sir?” Patrick gave him a half-amused, half-irritated expression, which terminated the conversation.

Once seated, both officers found the seats quite comfortable, hugging the body like a luxury sports car. There were no ejection seats on the XR-A9—instead, it used the capsule ejection system found in the original B-1A bomber, in which the entire cockpit section separated from the rest of the aircraft and floated to Earth on six huge parachutes. Like the B-1 Lancer supersonic bomber and many fighter aircraft, Patrick found that a crewmember wore the XR-A9, rather than sat in it…

…which was a piece of cake for a young guy like Hunter “Boomer” Noble, just twenty-three years old, but problematical for a guy pushing fifty like Patrick McLanahan. But he was experienced, determined, and still in pretty damned good shape, thank you very much, and it took him only a few moments longer to get situated and strapped in than it did Boomer.