The Eagles Talon: Mike Edwards Adventures, #2

PROLOGUE

THE TWO APACHE HELICOPTERS were nearly scraping the ground as they streaked along at close to one hundred fifty knots. The pitch black of the Afghanistan night was transformed to a glowing green picture of rock formations, trees and an occasional dwelling through the pilot’s night vision goggles.

"Eagle’s Nest, Talon One, fifteen minutes to Point X-Ray," said the REO, the Rear Seat Electronics Officer, of the lead Apache.

"Talon One, Eagle’s Nest, Big Eye says you are a go," replied a disassociated voice over the helicopters radio. Big Eye is an AWAC an acronym for Airborne Warning and Control System Aircraft. Flying at thirty thousand feet, it watched for any air or ground threats that could jeopardize the safety of the two Apache helicopters.

"Roger Eagle’s Nest, we are a go, replied the REO. Tally Ho guys we’re on," he relayed to the other Apache.

Army Brigadier General Samuel Rowland entered the dimly lit Pentagon Mission Room; he looked around at the dozen or so computer stations manned by the operations technicians. In front of the room was a large projection screen. The blue gray image of two small helicopters streaking along the ground gave the impression of a movie theater. Small icons alongside the images identified the helicopters as Talon One and Talon Two. The General caught a glimpse of a stocky, well-built man at the middle of the computer stations. As the General moved towards him the man looked up and snapped to attention.

At ease Colonel, what’s the status?

Air force Colonel John ‘Butch’ Hendrick, a Vietnam era graduate of the Air Force Academy, was in charge of this operation. A veteran fighter pilot in Vietnam; Bosnia and a dozen other unknown campaigns, he had moved up the ranks quickly, eventually catching the eye of Air Force Intelligence.

"The image up is the real time satellite down link; the choppers are ten minutes from Point X-Ray," responded the Colonel.

The General looked up at the screen for a moment, Who’s on the ground?

Captain Dave Roggow and a Marine Recon team are as far in the canyon as they can get. They should be able to monitor the progress from there. They’ll also provide a repeater for communications; the canyon walls won’t let a strong enough radio signal out.

I don’t have to tell you how important this is Colonel; we’re damn near out of options.

I know General, believe me, I know.

A group of six men huddled in the rocks of the canyon; four were from the Fourth Marine Recon Division, the sixth member was an Afghan freedom fighter acting as guide and interpreter. They were the eyes and ears of the mission.

Captain Dave Roggow was the liaison officer between the ground troops and the air strike. He was a veteran combat pilot of both Gulf War Campaigns, and the Fight Against Terror Campaign in Afghanistan. As he listened to the radio transmissions, he lifted his hand and made a rapid circular motion then held up all five fingers. The other men knew what it meant, Helicopters at the entrance to the canyon in five minutes. The group made ready their weapons and peered into the night through their powerful night vision scopes, looking for signs of their quarry.

"Eagle’s Nest, Talon One, we are X-ray turning inbound," reported the REO.

"Talon One, Eagle’s Nest, good hunting," replied the radio operator as the two helicopters banked hard to the right. Through the night vision goggles the two flight crews could see a vertical black line in the middle of the mountain range, as if someone had taken an eraser and removed that section of the rock. For just a second both pilots flinched at the thought that the opening was to small for their rotor blades. They did fit; the interior of the canyon was larger than it looked, but not by much.

The two pilots were flying at the edge of their skill level, the canyon walls twisting, first closing in on them and then opening up just as it seemed they would hit the wall. It was like flying down the throat of a giant snake as it slithered across the ground.

They’re in the canyon General, reported the Colonel. The satellite won’t be able to give us any real time images due to the formation of the canyon walls, but the computer will give us their position based on a relayed signal from the recon team and the computers best guess based on their flight plan and last known speed and heading.

The two men watched in silence as the two animated helicopters turned up the canyon and started to follow its twisted route to a large red X, some five miles in front of the Apaches.

Two minutes to target, someone called out.

THE ROAR OF THE TWO helicopters made the entire Recon team duck a little as they screamed over the top of them. The Apaches were so low; Roggow could make out the rivets in the aluminum fuselage. Good Luck thought Roggow. He knew both pilots; they were among the best the Army had to offer. The communications technician keyed the microphone twice, signaling that the Apaches had passed their position.

Seconds later the silence of the night was destroyed with the sound of antiaircraft gunfire. The canyon was lit up with the illumination of tracer fire and muzzle flashes; suddenly there was a massive explosion.

The pilot of Talon One saw the first group of tracers scream past his cockpit windshield. He pushed the nose of the warbird down trying to get under the gun fire — he almost made it. The impact of the twenty three millimeter antiaircraft rounds tore the rotor off the tail boom. Without the tail rotor to stabilize the aircraft it swung violently to the right. The main rotors hit the canyon wall first, followed a split second by the body of the helicopter.

The pilot of Talon Two was momentarily blinded by the explosion of Talon One. Instinct and training took over; he pulled the nose of Talon Two up trying to climb above the flaming wreckage that was falling in front of him. As tracers flew past his windshield, he held the nose of the Apache almost straight up trying to make it to the top of the canyon wall and safety. He was nearly there when the rounds from two gun batteries caught the aircraft in the back and the belly at the same time. The cannon rounds ripped the helicopter in half. It exploded in mid air and tumbled back to the canyon floor.

The Recon team watched in horror as the four men and their warbirds died in front of them.  Captain Roggow had to consciously stop himself from screaming out loud as he watched his friends die. He slowly took the handset from the communication technician and keyed the microphone.

"Eagle’s Nest, Red Shield, — two birds are down, —I say again; two birds down, no survivors, mission aborted."

The sounds of the night crickets was the loudest noise that could be heard for the next few minutes as the Recon Team watched the walls of the canyon glow from the fire of the wreckage. 

It took less than two minutes for the message from the Recon Team to reach the Pentagon Mission Room. A quiet moan could be heard as the loss of four soldiers and the mission steeled into the group. Large red letters flashed across the big screen MISSION ABORTED. The General looked down at his feet.

Damn, he said to himself, he looked up at the Colonel, I’ll let the President know; you clean mess this up. As far as the press is concerned, we had a mid air collision during low visibility, understand?

The Colonel nodded his head in acknowledgment. The General walked out of the room and down the hall to his office, he closed the door and sat behind his desk. It took several minutes of staring at the phone before he had the courage to pick it up and dial a secure number.

Mr. President, this is General Rowland.

Sam, how are you? replied the President

Not very good sir, — we lost the two birds in the canyon.

"What do you mean ‘We lost them’?"

I don’t have all the details yet sir, but they both went down, no survivors.

Damn! So that damn Bio Plant is still operational?

I’m afraid so Mr. President.

Sam you know that our Intel says they’ll have a warhead ready to deploy in less than one hundred and eighty days don’t you?

Yes, Mr. President, I do.

And you know we have no antidote against this strain of Anthrax, right?

Yes Sir.

What do you plan to do Sam? Tell me you have another plan that’s already moving forward!

Mr. President, we’ve tried direct assaults with troops; they can’t get near the place. The canyon is too narrow to get fighters in it. Helicopters are too slow; the radar guided gun batteries pick them off like ducks. The top of the canyon has a large overhang and makes bombing out of the question.

What about Cruise Missiles?

They won’t work. The canyon winds so much, the missiles can’t navigate the turns, sir.

There was a long pause. General Rowland was about to ask if he was still there when, Sam, I don’t know how your going to do it, but that Bio plant has to be taken out. I will not stand by and watch a group of homicidal lunatics unleash a biological agent on us or our Allies, especially when they will find out that we knew about it nine months in advance. Not only would thousands of innocent lives be lost but your career and mine would be finished — and I guarantee you, if I go down, I will not be alone, do you understand me?

Yes Mr. President, completely!

Good.

With that the phone went dead, General Rowland hung up and sat back in his chair. He rubbed his face with both hands. He was fresh out of ideas and had no clue where to find the miracle he needed.

It was well past midnight when Colonel Hendrick finished ‘cleaning up the mess’. He had issued the press a statement of how two Apache helicopters had collided in dust storm during a routine patrol in Afghanistan.  He knew they’d buy it: it was a story they had used before. He had just started down the well-lit Pentagon hallway towards his office when he realized how exhausted he was.

He saw the light was on in General Rowland’s office and he decided to stop. As he knocked and pushed the door open, Rowland looked up from his desk.

Come on in Butch, have a seat.

As the Colonel sat down the General reached down and pulled out two glasses and a bottle of eighteen year old Glenlivet. The Colonel watched as the General poured a healthy two fingers of the Scotch in each glass, then handed him one.

Here’s to four brave men. I hope they didn’t die in vain, said the General in a somber tone.

The two men raised their glasses in salute and took a slow sip. Both men stared at nothing for several minutes before the Colonel spoke.

Where do we go from here General?

I don’t know Butch — I don’t know. With all this advanced technology at our fingertips, the most powerful nation on the planet has been stopped cold by a geological anomaly. Hell; if the situation wasn’t so damn bad, it would almost be funny.

Every situation has a solution General— we just haven’t found this one yet.

The General leaned forward a little, emphasizing the point he was about to make, In one hundred and eighty days, we won’t need a solution; we’ll need a couple of thousand body bags and you and I will need new careers!

The two men stared at each other for a moment before the General added, You’d better get on home Butch. There’s nothing else we can do for now, you may as well enjoy what’s left of the weekend. Hell, Nancy’s going to think you have a girlfriend, if you keep working all these late hours.

The Colonel smiled and tossed down the rest of his drink, Good night General, he said as he stood up and set his glass on the desk, I’ll see you on Monday, he added as he turned and walked back out to the brightly lit hallway.

CHAPTER ONE

A WHITE FORD MINIVAN pulled up to the front of the T hanger. A large emblem on the passenger door announced that the vehicle was from the Federal Aviation Administration. Philip Mallow and his friend Ben Reed were sitting outside the hanger sipping their morning coffee as the occupant stepped from the minivan and approached them.

Hi, I’m looking for— the man flipped through some papers on a clipboard until he found the name he was looking for, Mike Edwards - is he around?

Philip looked up at the short, stocky man. He ran up to the office to use the john. Should be right back - you the inspector?

Yeah, that’s right. The FAA inspector looked closely at Phil and Ben. You look familiar, have we met before?

Phil smiled, Yeah, you inspected my plane about a year ago.

That’s right, commented the inspector, It was the same type aircraft as Edwards’, wasn’t it?

That’s the one, I’ve built one, Ben here, Phil nodded towards Ben Reed, He built one and so has our other partner, Ed McLaughlin, and all four of them are based at this air field, Phil looked past the inspector to see a man walking towards them. Here’s Mike now, Phil said motioning towards the approaching man.

The inspector turned around and smiled at Mike, Mr. Edwards?

That’s me, are you the inspector? Mike asked.

Yeah, I’m John Harding, he replied and held out his hand.

Great!  Pleased to meet you, Mike shook his hand and turned to Phil and Ben, Give me a hand opening the hanger.

The three men moved to the side of the building and began pushing on the hanger door. As the huge door gave way the image of an enormous four bladed propeller began to materialize inside the hanger. The aircraft was painted silver gray; resting on its tail wheel the point of the prop’s spinner towered nearly seven feet.  As the door was fully opened, the complete structure of a North American P51 Mustang came into full view.

The P51 was a World War II fighter. It was, without much argument, the most famous fighter aircraft in American history. Capable of speeds over four hundred knots and carrying six fifty-caliber machine guns with over two thousand rounds of ammunition, it was a deadly warbird. Less than two hundred of the magnificent machines still existed in the world today. This one was a reproduction. Built from scratch, it was smaller than the original by twenty five percent, but, other than that, it was exact in all details.

The inspector stared at the aircraft for a long moment, You know it doesn’t matter that it’s not the original, it still looks like a nasty son-of-a-bitch. The only reason I agreed to do this on a Saturday morning was I wanted to see this bird myself. God, it must have been terrifying to see one of these coming at you.

I know I wouldn’t want one of them chasing me in a dog fight, added Phil.

Could you pull it outside the hanger? The sunlight is much better in lighting up the inspection areas, asked the inspector.

No problem, said Mike. The three men hooked up the towing bar to the landing gear and started to pull the warbird forward. As she emerged from the hanger the inspector saw the spinner and nose was painted in a yellow and red checkerboard. It was the colors of the 357th Army Air Corps fighter group from World War II. On the left side were painted the words "Ain’t Misbehavin". She was a replica of the original P-51 Mustang that was piloted by Captain Jesse Fry in World War II. The wings and the underside of the fuselage were painted in wide black and white stripes, stripes used to identify allied aircraft during the D Day invasion. The inspector saw that this was a TF two seat model. A limited number of the TF models were made and used as trainers, with the instructor riding in the back seat.

Most of the inspection plates had already been removed, so once the plane was out of the hanger and the wheels chocked, the inspector started checking the construction of the aircraft and the mechanical components. For the next three hours he went through every inch of the replica warbird.

Any one can build an experimental class airplane but, before it can be flown a complete inspection of the aircraft and the construction logbooks by a certified FAA inspector is required. It can’t legally leave the ground with out an airworthiness certificate from him. The rules and regulations fall under the Experimental Aircraft section of the Federal Aviation Administration.

Once the aircraft was inspected, Phil and Ben started to replace the inspection plates while Mike showed the inspector the construction logbooks. Ben walked over to the work table and turned on a CD player. The sounds of the Benny Goodman Orchestra danced through the hanger. Everyone look over to the worktable.

What? said Ben, I just thought a little mood music would help.

It seemed fitting music for a World War II era fighter. The inspector just smiled and went back to the log books. By the time Phil and Ben had finished with the inspection plates, Mike and the inspector were wrapping up the last of the paper work.

Mike, you did a great job on her, great craftsmanship. said the inspector.

Thanks, it was a hell of a lot of work, replied Mike.

Ok, I’m going to issue you a restricted airworthiness certificate. You must complete forty hours of flight testing and stay within twenty five miles of the airport during that forty hours. Once you’ve completed the flight testing call me, and I’ll issue an unrestricted certificate.

What’s the twenty five miles restriction for? asked Mike.

The inspector smiled It’s so if you crash we don’t have a big area to look for you in.

Oh great, thanks for the vote of confidence, added Mike.

Its standard when you build using an engine not originally intended for use in an aircraft, said the inspector as he smiled at Mike’s comment.

The inspector handed Mike the temporary certification and picked up his briefcase to leave, Good luck and call me as soon as you finish the flight testing.

The two men shook hands, and the inspector walked back to his minivan. As Phil, Mike and Ben watched the inspector drive off, Phil asked the obvious question.

So, when are you going to fly this bird?

Mike looked at Phil, Why don’t we go get some breakfast, and you can run down the stuff I need to do for the flight testing, since the two of you have already done this. Maybe this afternoon I’ll make the first test flight.

Ben jumped in, Sounds good to me, because you’re buying breakfast, pal!

Somehow I knew you were going to say that, you cheap bastard, joked Mike with a smile.

Phil added, Then lets put her back in the hanger and go eat. I’m hungry!

As the group finished breakfast, Mike pulled out a pad of paper. Ok, so what do I need to do?

Well, Phil started, first, I would take off and stay in the pattern with the gear down and make a couple of full stop landings.

Nothing fancy just try to get a feel for the way she fly’s, added Ben

Ok, then what? asked Mike.

Once your comfortable with her, pull her legs in and extend them a few times to make sure everything works the way you planned. continued Ben.

I think that would just about do it for today anyway - what’d you think Phil? asked Ben.

Yeah, that’ll be plenty for the first day. Make damn sure you watch the engine instruments closely, especially the water temperature, he answered.

Ok, great! I just hope I can get this testing done in time for Oshkosh, said Mike.

If you fly every day and we don’t find any gremlins hiding in the hanger you’ll make it, no problem, Phil said reassuringly.  Oh, one more thing, you do have a parachute and a flight helmet, don’t you?

Yeah, I do. Mike answered.

"Good, make sure you wear them and fly with the canopy open for the first few hours. In the event