136 DALE BROWN
This day had been years in the making-two years of rede-
signing and computer testing by the engineers after the plane
had returned to Dreamland; three years of rebuilding by a bat-
talion of workers, and three years of experimentation and testing
by the engineers and test flight crews. Now, the first newly re-
designed B-52 bomber called the Megafortress Plus was ready
to break its cherry.
A weather map came up on the screen and Lieutenant Colonel
Jacobsen, HAWCs staff meterologist, stepped to the podium.
"Good morning, General Elliott, General Ormack, ladies and
gentlemen. You picked a wonderful day for this flight." A re-
gional surface weather map came on the screen. "Strong high
pressure dominates the region. This high pressure dome has re-
duced visibilities in the restricted areas in the past few days, but
some overnight breezes have pushed most of the gook out of the
way. You can expect clear skies, perhaps some scattered thin
stratus at twelve thousand feet.
"For the air-to-air portion of your flight: no significant weather
in R-4808 Pahute Mesa launch area. Possibly a few puffy clouds
on the east side of mountain ranges but otherwise no restrictions
to visibility. Winds forecast at twenty knots from the north at
fifteen thousand feet. For the air-to-ground portion of your flight,
excellent weather conditions will persist. Visibility may be as
low as twenty miles on the surface, with winds light and varia-
ble. Bombing range area will be 'severe clear,' possibly some
hazy conditions, temperature seventy-eight degrees. Good luck
and good hunting."
Ormack took over as the screen changed again. "Status of the
chase aircraft are as shown. Everyone's in the green as of this
hour. Please report maintenance delays to job control on present
channel eight. Colonel Towland is the operations controller in
the command post and he will reassign backup aircraft as nec-
essary."
The screen changed to a detailed high-resolution map of the
restricted areas around Dreamland. The map was put into mo-
tion by computer, drawing the flight path of the Megafortress as
Ormack spoke: "Route of flight is as follows: we will launch
via coded message and follow the Groom Victor One departure
to Angel intersection. Once at Angel, we will orbit as necessary
at thirty thousand feet until one-five hundred Zulu time, then
proceed downrange toward the intercept area.
"Once in the intercept area two AQM-175 tactical dome air-
craft launched from China Lake Naval Weapons Center will be
directed by airborne controllers to engage the B-52. The Mega-
fortress will carry two AIM-120 Scorpion missiles in wing pylon
canisters and will engage the drone aircraft at will. The engage-
ment will continue for one hour or until the drones are de-
stroyed. Flight crew personnel and airborne controllers will
follow standard rules of engagement for safe separation of air-
craft. All flight crew personnel will take directions from the
airborne controllers. If not destroyed, the drones will be recov-
ered by parachute, and the Megafortress will proceed to the
missile drop zone."
The screen changed again. "The Tacit Rainbow anti-radiation
loiter missile drop test will be at twelve thousand feet, in roughly
the same area as the intercept zone. A simulated Soviet SA- 14
surface-to-air missile site will engage the B-52 . . . Dr. Tork? "
Wendy Tork came to the podium. She was wearing a bright
orange flight suit and black leather zip-up flight boots-even the
baggy flight suit looked dynamite on her.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," Wendy began, her
energy contagious even at the early hour. "We will be testing
the new array of strategic and tactical pulse-Doppler electronic
countermeasure jammers aboard the Megafortress Plus, as well
as the Tacit Rainbow mod three anti-radar loiter missile. The
purpose of this flight is to evaluate the Megafortress' capability
to penetrate sophisticated Soviet coastal defenses using its own
assets, and at the same time create penetration corridors for
other aircraft using the Tacit Rainbow anti-radiation missile.
B-52 aircraft as well as develop new capabilities for follow-on
aircraft such as the B- I Excalibur and B-2 Panther Stealth
bomber. "
A high-resolution photo of the anti-radar missile flashed on
the screen. "First developed ten years ago, Tacit Rainbow is a
small winged aircraft with a one-thousand-pound-thrust turbo et
engine, a ring laser gyro inertial navigation unit and coupled
autopilot, a broad-band programmable seeker head with multi-
pulse and digital radiation capability, and a one-hundred-pound
high-explosive warhead. The missile is released within fifty miles
of a known or suspected enemy surface-to-air missile site. The
missile orbits the area using its inertial autopilot until it detects
138 DALE BROWN
emissions from the nearby enemy radar. The missile then leaves
its orbit and homes in on the radar and destroys it. The missile
can orbit for as long as four hours and has a small enough radar
cross-section to avoid detection by hostile anti-air units. A B-52
bomber can carry as many as twenty-four of these missiles, al-
though we see these Tacit Rainbow missiles carried with a mixed
load of offensive missiles and gravity weapons aboard Navy and
Air Force strike aircraft . . ."
Patrick realized how much he envied these men and women.
And listening to these briefings and organization of the Mega-
fortress Plus project tended to underscore his own apparent fail-
ure with the DrearnStar project, now on hold mostly because he
failed to keep tighter control on his test pilots and to recognize
the need for more complete and useful test standards and secu-
rity.
He was in charge of nothing right now except cleanup. Sure,
he had been given the Cheetah program, but that was already a
thriving project nearing operational deployment. He was just
another caretaker, marking time.
His eyes automatically sought out Wendy's, and he found her
looking in his direction. They exchanged faint smiles. She had
been watching him off and on the whole time. Better snap out
of it, you stupid mick, he told himself. She'll have enough on
her mind without worrying about you.
The briefing ended and the flight crew moved toward the exits
and the bus ready to take them to the flight line. McLanahan
went to each crewmember and wished him or her a good flight.
"You should be going with us, Patrick," Angelina Pereira
said, giving him a very unmilitary hug. "This is your plane.
You belong on her. You and General Elliott too."
She was wearing the same orange flight suit as Wendy, and
she too looked dynamite in it despite being fifteen years older
than Wendy. Her hair was more gray then he remembered
, but
her eyes still sparkled. Angie would always be a handful for any
man-she had married and divorced twice since the Old Dog's
first mission. He could still see her in the denim jacket she had
worn when she climbed aboard the Old Dog eight years earlier,
and he could remember her gratitude when the Russian caretaker
at Anadyr Airbase in Siberia gave her a full-length sealskin coat
in exchange for her denim jacket, even though at the time the
jacket was covered with General Elliott's blood. That coat today
had to be worth at least five thousand. She would not have parted
with it for five million.
He could also remember her dropping into marksman's crouch
as she fired on that same Russian airbase caretaker after he dis-
covered who they were and ran off to warn the militia. One
minute she was eternally grateful to the guy; the next she was
trying to blow him away. She was one tough lady, all right.
"Not this time, Angelina," Patrick said with a halfhearted
smile. "But I'll have the fire trucks and the champagne ready
to hose you guys off when you land."
"It's your project as well as ours."
"Not any more. Besides, you guys did all the work
"No, you did. Back over Russia." Like him, she had been
thinking back to the Old Dog's first mission. "Even though you
won't fly with us your name's still on the Old Dog, on the crew
nameplate. It'll be there as it's flying." '
"But I'm not the radar nav any more-"
"No, you're not, you're the seventh man, Patrick. Sorry to
sound corny, but you're the soul of the Old Dog - "
She squeezed his hand, picked up her helmet bag, and walked
off. He saw Wendy then, watching him once again from the back
of the conference room. He went over to her.
"How do you feel, Mrs. McLanahan?"
"Wonderful. Happy.. Nervous. Excited. I've got butterflies the
size of B-52s in my stomach . . . Are you going to be okay?"
"Sure. I I
"Wish you were going with us. You deserve it more than
anyone else." She could tell he was unconvinced. She smiled at
him. "When should we break the news?"
"At the post-flight reception tonight."
"Can't wait." She gave him a kiss and hurried off to join her
crew.
He called out behind her. "Good luck. See you on the
ground. "
Wendy flashed him an exaggerated thumbs-up. "Piece of
cake," she called out as she rushed off to catch the crew bus
As the crew of the new Megafortress Plus headed off to begin
their mission, Staff Sergeant Rey Jacinto was nearing the end of
his tour of duty on the graveyard shift, on patrol guarding Han-
140 DALE BROWN
gar Number Five at the flight line at Dreamland. It was the
absolute pits.
He had done everything wrong. After four years as an Air
Force security guard he knew how to prepare himself for a
change in shifts-plenty of exercise, the right amount of rest,
not too much food, no caffeine or alcohol twelve hours before
the shift. But this time everything had gone to hell. His wife had
car trouble Monday afternoon and so he was up all morning
towing it to his brother-in-law's place. It had been hot, dusty
work and he couldn't resist a couple of beers at two o'clock in
the afternoon-that only violated the eight-hour rule by two
hours. No big deal.
His body began asking him for sleep at three o'clock, but the
car needed a new water pump and his brother-in-law insisted
they could do it before he had to leave. Then, to top it all off,
he sat down at six o1clock for homemade pizza. Knowing that
he hadn't had any sleep in twelve hours and he wasn't going to
get any in the next twelve, he downed nearly a whole pot of
coffee after polishing off four huge, thick slices of pizza.
Rey felt pretty good as he reported for duty at seven-thirty for
the shift-briefing, inspection, weapons checkout and post,
changeover, but when he parked his an-nored assault vehicle in
front of Hangar Number Five, things began catching up with
him. The combination of caffeine and lack of rest made his mus-
cles jittery. The night air was cold, so he turned up the heat in
his V-100 Commando armored car, which only increased his
drowsiness. He had brought his study materials for his bachelor-
degree class, but the thought of even trying to listen to an hour's
worth of audio textbooks on micro-economics was too much.
By four A., four hours from changeover, Sergeant Jacinto
was struggling to stay awake. Everything was quiet on the ra-
dios-no exercises, alerts, weapon movements, nothing. With
the B-52 down the way in Hangar Three being readied for a
flight, a security exercise would be too disruptive and would not
be called. The engineers who had been working on the XF-34A
DreamStar in Hangar Five had long since departed, and the
munitions-maintenance troops weren't scheduled to arrive until
after his shift-change. Even nature was conspiring to screw him
up. Thin clouds blocked most of the bright moonlight, so the
ramp and most of the area were completely dark, and there were
no birds or animals making their usual noises on the dry lakebed
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 141
aircraft ramp. It was'a dark, quiet morning. If he didn't go
completely crazy he was going to die from the strain of trying
to stay awake.
Rey had just completed his hourly walkaround inspection of
Hangar Five, checking all the doors and exits. He was so bored
that he even began to pick up scraps of paper and pieces of junk
on the ramp. He returned to his truck and keyed the radio.
"Red Man, this is Five Foxtrot." Red Man was HAWCs
Security Control Center.
"Go ahead, Five."
"Requesting ten mike for relief."
There was a pause, then: "Five, that's your fourth potty break
tonight. "
"It's Rey's time of the month," someone else on the security
net chimed in.
"Cut the chatter, " the security controller ordered. "Five Fox-
trot, unable at this time. Stand by. Break. Rover Nine, this is
Red Man. Over."
"Rover Nine, go." Rover Nine was one of only two M113
armored combat vehicle-equipped crews that cruised around the
huge compound, doing errands and relieving the post guards as
necessary; they had numbers higher than two to hide the fact
that there were only two of these heavily armed roving patrols
on the flight line.
"Five Foxtrot requests relief for ten mike ASAP.-
"Stand by," came the reply in an exasperated voice. A few
moments later: "Red Man, we're at the shack getting coffee-
Five Foxtrot's been drinking the stuff like it's going out of style."
Rey Jacinto cringed as his code name was broadcast on the net-
boy, was he going to get it when this shift was over. Good thing
none of the other guards could leave their posts to get on his
case. "We'll be another ten here, then we need to check in with
the main gate. Ask Five Foxtrot if this is a number two o
r if he
can use the piddle pack. Over."
Rey was fed up with all this-they weren't letting him off easy
tonight. He was just bored and sleepy. He keyed his micro-
phone: "Break. Red Man, this is Five Foxtrot. Cancel request
for relief. Request the comedians in Rover Nine bring some wa-
ter when they're done stuffing their faces at the flight line kitchen.
Over. "
"Roger, Five Foxtrot. Rover Nine, you copy?"
142 DALE BROWN
"Affirmative. Advise Five Foxtrot to stop massaging his little
one-eyed helmeted reptile and stand by. Rover Nine out."
There were a few more comments on the net-no one liked
to give the hot-dogs on Rover Nine the last word-but soon si-
lence once again descended over the area.
By now Rey was struggling to keep his eyelids open. The
worst part of any guard's tour, no matter how well one prepared,
was the hour or two just before sunrise. It was a barrier, a psy-
chological one-the body demanded sleep at this hour no matter
how much rest it had earlier. Rey Jacinto's head was bobbing up
and down off his chest. He had already stripped off his fatigue
jacket, flak jacket and webbing so as much cold air could hit his
skin as possible. It wasn't helping.
He was thankful to see the lights of a big blue Stepvan supply
truck check in at the outer perimeter. The blue "bread truck"
van, towing a missile trailer, headed right for him. He was feel-
ing a little ornery by now, and this was his chance to get his
blood pumping again. Quickly he pulled on his combat gear and
webbing as the truck pulled up.
When the truck stopped in front of Jacinto's armored car, he
got out, carrying his M-16 rifle at port arms, and ran in front
and off to the driver's side of the van. He held up the rifle, filled
his lungs with cold desert air and yelled, "Driver! Stop your
engine, leave your headlights on and everyone out of the van.
Now! "
The driver and one other man, both in Air Force green fa-
tigues, jumped out of the van and stood before Jacinto in the
glare of the van's headlights. The younger man, a two-striper,