“It’ll be okay.”
“I love you too,” she said.
He tapped off the comm, exited the office, and strode toward Jamal. Jamal handed him a helmet, and the two men continued on.
Outside, Greystone slid on his sunglasses, turned his attention to the bright blue sky. The day was perfect for flying. He met the other two pilots. One man, one woman. He shook their hands, then regarded Jamal. “Have they been prepped?”
“We’re all set,” Jamal said. “I checked with air traffic control. They lost communication with Air Force One twenty-eight minutes ago.”
Greystone nodded. “Have commercial flights in the region been grounded?”
“Seventeen minutes ago,” Jamal explained. “The skies are ours.”
Greystone eyed each pilot. “Let’s do it.”
Greystone strode to the F-18, shook the hand of the technician. “How’s she look?”
“Great. She’s ready to go,” said the crewman. “Good luck, sir.”
He climbed into the cockpit, strapped on his helmet, connected the oxygen, and checked his gauges. He fired up the jet, waited for ground crew to direct them toward the runway. After a salute, he rolled the jet forward.
Here we go.
One by one, they taxied toward the first runway and took their positions.
“Striker One ready,” Greystone said.
“Striker Two in place,” said Jamal.
“Striker Three in position,” said the male pilot.
“Striker Four all set,” said the female pilot.
“Tower, this is Striker One,” Greystone said. “Requesting permission for take-off.”
“Striker One, you’re clear for take-off,” the controller responded.
Greystone pushed on the throttle, the jet lurched forward, and he set his sights straight ahead. Then, he punched it, and the F-18 roared as it accelerated down the runway. Seconds later, he was airborne, heading for the hijacked jet, now flying over the open waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
A minute later, all four aircraft were flying in a perfect diamond formation, with Greystone as lead. As the planes sliced through the late morning skies, Greystone looked in his mirrors at the jets behind him.
“How’s everyone doin’?” he asked.
All responded in the affirmative.
The next twenty-minutes felt like forever. Once they’d located the bandits, they’d have to be swift, they’d have to be precise, and they’d have to ensure the people inside Air Force One didn’t become collateral damage.
His radar blipped as it picked up the five aircraft headed toward them, still out of view.
“Air Force One and four bandits dead ahead. Assume attack formation,” he commanded.
The other jets fell into line behind his, making it harder for the enemy to know how many they were up against. Within thirty seconds, he made visual contact. The small dots flanking Air Force One grew larger and more menacing as they approached.
Suddenly, multiple steams of smoke emanated from the bandit jets.
“Incoming!” Greystone yelled. “Take evasive action!”
His team pulled up and split off in various directions, according to plan, deploying flares from their tails. The missiles exploded when they hit the flare, doing no damage to their planes.
