“Blue Leader to Grey Leader. You there, Pappy?”
“Roger, Blue Leader. Can’t you see me?” It was getting dark. Grey Leader was happy to be difficult to spot. Being seen could be fatal. Blue Leader and his flight were cruising in close formation, but not too close.
“Hmm, just. Tanks getting dry. What’s your orders, oh ancient one?”
The Skipper ignored the reference to his lengthy and venerated experience. He’d been flying before that little worm had his first takeoff. It was all in fun, but… “Let’s show some respect to your better Flight Leader. I haven’t decided on assignments just yet.”
Harman / Grey Leader / pg 2
Blue Leader and Grey Leader both headed flights, but just flights of two – a leader and a wingman each. Grey Leader, however, oversaw this search mission which, so far, had used fuel but had located no targets.
Referencing the maps in his head, Grey Leader replied, “Vector back toward base…search Quadrant Four and… (hesitating a moment)…however much of Quadrant Three you can. Report everything you see at debriefing, and, Flight Leader, don’t pass up any targets of opportunity!”
“Roger that, Skipper! Blue Leader out.”
Grey Leader saw Blue Flight wingover and head back to base. He thought he’d detected a bit more regard in the tone of that last message. Blue Leader always liked permission to go hunting, and he was good at it. He’d racked up an impressive score.
They were all hunters. Raiders, actually. Their targets were plump fuel tankers. They approached with stealth and mercilessly siphoned as much juice as their own tanks could hold. Raiders lacked the raw materials to make their own fuel. They had to find it and take it! Fuel was life.
“Wingman to Grey Leader, Blue Leader is getting a little sassy, don’t you think?” The Skipper’s wingman, Buzzy, was a tad upset at Blue Leader’s indulgences and made no secret of it.
“Grey Leader to wingman, that’s a ridge if I ever heard it! We need him though, and he knows it. He’s good for morale. I’ll deal with him if it gets out of hand.” It was always a balance between discipline and morale. Right now, discipline’s a little down but morale is looking up.”
Harman / Grey Leader / pg 3
“Skipper, my morale is gonna get pretty low if we don’t find some fuel soon.”
“Roger that, Buzzy. We’ll go on a little farther. I can almost smell those tankers. In the meantime, cut the chatter and put your head on a swivel. I don’t want to tangle with interceptors this far out.” In truth, there hadn’t been any recent intelligence of bandit activity in the area, but no one had been out quite this far before.
Interceptors were big and bad. They came out of nowhere. One pass and that was about all she wrote. They must be part of the tankers defense system though they didn’t seem to have bases in the tanker pens. They had their own bases somewhere, but where?
The landscape slipped past beneath them. Green, green everywhere. Suddenly, in the distance…a tanker pen! Yes, it had to be!
“Skipper, you see what I see?”
“Roger, Buz. I’ll check it out. Fly top cover for me.”
“OK, Skipper. Just don’t get any fancy ideas.”
Buzzy knew that Grey Leader harbored plans for infiltrating a pen. The pens were huge, fully-enclosed, hardened shelters. Each one could undoubtedly hold dozens of fuel transports. Defenses were hard to penetrate, but if you could…then again, could you get out? Still, a target-rich environment if there ever was one.
Grey Leader heightened his senses as he drew nearer to the pen. No activity on this side, but now was not the time for lax vigilance. “Buzzy, let’s go take a look see ‘round the other side. Stay alert.”
“Roger, Skipper. Lead on.”
Harman / Grey Leader / pg 4
They rounded the corner of the pen and were rewarded in spades! Two big tankers outside and in the open! One was slowly on the move, but the other was horizontal, on a platform. Maintenance? Well, that was just too bad. Defense systems might be down for maintenance, too. “Buzzy, I’m going down for a visual. Stay high and stay frosty.”
Buzz did not need to answer. Some tankers had very efficient defense sensors. It did not pay to get noisy so close to the target. Grey leader went low. He stayed clear of the sensors and flew down to the opposite end of the big transport. Or was it a transport? In this arrangement, it could be a depot, but no matter. He had to find an unarmored place to land, start draining a fuel bladder, and get out before defenses were alerted.
There were many dangers. Tankers didn’t like Raiders and employed an arsenal of deadly obstacles, mostly chemical weapons dispersed as anti-air around the big tankers. You couldn’t fly through such a death cloud and live, but it dispersed quickly. Then there were the surface toxicants applied right on the deck. Less lethal but making a landing impossible. The decks were also studded with pressure sensors. Trip one of those, and the whole tanker might come to life and try to crush a Raider. They could do it, too.
Then he saw it. An unarmored spot far from the sensor array. He went into hover mode and tested for toxins. None. Too good to be true, but was it a trap? His empty fuel cells made the risk worthwhile. He slowly lowered himself and landed like a dry snowflake. This was a critical time. If he’d hit a pressure sensor — but nothing. Marshaling fear, he took a deep breath, it was now or never. Extending the siphon tube, he hesitated before piercing the fuel bladder. This was often a Raider’s last moment among the living, when the probe struck home.
Harman / Grey Leader / pg 5
The bladder dimpled as the prob slowly penetrated. He stopped. Still no reaction. Good. Grey Leader turned on the pumps and his tanks began a satisfying fill. Piece of cake!
“Buzz, come in.”
“Read you, skipper. All clear?”
“Clear as a summer day. Come on down, but gently. Though I felt a slight tremor.” Indeed he had, but that was not uncommon. He hoped his fear was not transmitted in his voice. With his tanks almost full, Grey Leader began routing the way back to base. “Buzz, you down?”
“Down and pumping, Skipper. You finished?”
“Almost. Prepare for takeoff at a moment’s notice”. The Flight Leader slowly withdrew the siphon tube. This was another critical juncture, but his luck held. Lift off was always a bit more difficult with full tanks, but he reveled too much in the triumph to worry about taking to the air. Now all they had to do was get back to base.
Takeoff was smooth and he gained altitude easily. All too easy — which is why he was not overly surprised when the tanker began to convulse alarmingly. Some defense mechanisms had been triggered. “Get outta there Buzzy! Take off now!”
“I hear and obey, Skip!” Sure enough, Buzzy emerged from the agitated tanker and clawed air to join up, but something was wrong. “Skipper, I’m hurt. I’m shaking. Please, a visual.”
“Roger that Buz, hang on.” Grey Leader peeled back and found his wingman struggling to gain altitude. A quick inspection spelled it out. “Buzzy! Looks like you got a bum right wing. It’s working but vibrating badly. How are you otherwise?”
Harman / Grey Leader / pg 6
“Feel bad, Skip. Hurting. Visibility is not so good. Internal injuries, maybe. You go…”
“Cut the crap, Raider! I go nowhere without my wingman! Who’s gonna brag on me when we get back to base”?
“If we get back”.
“Not if, mister, when! Your ears are damaged, too?” No answer. “I can’t hear you, worm! Do you read me?”
“Wingman to Grey Leader. Affirmative, read you loud and clear!”
Buzzy was getting mad. That was good. An angry Raider was a determined Raider. “Good. You got just two jobs on the way back. Job one is to stay on my tail. Understand?” The Skipper didn’t wait for a reply. “Job two is to follow my orders, no questions asked. You get me?”
“Yes sir. What are your orders, sir?”
“Simple. Make it back to base and that is an official order! Reply!”
“Wingman, here. Eager to comply…and thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. Just tighten up this formation. We’ll go low and slow. Got plenty of fuel. What can stop us?”
“Nothin’, Skipper. Nothin’ at all. Lead on.”
“#”
Back at the scene of the raid, in the backyard, there was chaos. A woman shouted, “George, you big lug, what are you caterwauling about?”
George eased his pale body off the yard lounger, where he’d been sunbathing, and whined a reply: “I’m hurt, that’s what! Something bit me on the leg!”
Harman / Grey Leader / pg 7
George’s wife was unsympathetic. “Told you to wear repellant out here. It’s mosquito season, you know.” She doubted he did. “Let me see.”
George raised his leg and, sure enough, there were two small red whelps just under the knee. On inspection he said, “I think I swatted both of ‘em!” Again, she doubted. No smeared blood or dead mosquitos.
“Come on inside, George. I’ve got dinner for my brave mosquito killer!” That pleased George. He needed the fuel.
Bio:
Have been a creative in graphic design and illustration for the past 50 years. I also taught graphic arts for 20 years at the college level, including TCU. Now I seek to draw with words.