Chapter 14

Ken was enjoying his solitude. Apparently, the cute little Com Officer of the Dutchman II was otherwise occupied. He snorted to himself.

What's not to like? A hot new ride, moving at Mach 6. A crystal black sky, high in the atmosphere, filled with ten times as many stars as could be seen from the ground. And a kidsicle as my copilot, languishing in the Ammo Bay, covered with ice ... two feet thick.

The flight of F22 Raptors, which the Air Force had scrambled, had kicked in the afterburners to get to his location in the minimum amount of time, had never had a prayer of getting to more then half the altitude where he'd picked up his little lost birdie. Now, the fastest jet in the U.S. Military's inventory was being left trailing far behind by his X-101 Starfighter.

You've got afterburners, but I have the real deal! These Rocjets are awesome!

Another flight, this time F-15 Strike Eagles was circling the Capital at a leisurely subsonic clip. Ken approached the city at a preposterous altitude and speed. He brought up the GPS Navigation system, to vector in on Bethesda Naval Hospital. He found it was having a hard time keeping up with his position, even at a rate of updating of six times per second. He flipped his ship over, so that he was flying backwards. He started his deceleration burn at 4 Gs.

The radio crackled to life, and said, "Unknown Aircraft. This is Flight Sierra out of Andrews AFB. Do you copy? Over."

Mike keyed his mike, and answered, "Flight Sierra. This is Flight X-Ray. I copy, over."

"Flight X-Ray. This is Sierra Flight Leader. You do not have a flight plan. You are approaching the District of Columbia's 'Restricted Fly Zone' at ... ah ... Mach 5, and at 100,000 feet. Reduce your speed and altitude, and prepare to be escorted to Andrews AFB, over."

"Flight Sierra. This is Flight X-Ray. What are you going to do about it if I don't? Besides, what do you think I'm doing? But that's a negative on Andrews. I have an 'In Flight Emergency' I have clearance to land at Bethesda NH Helipad, over."

"Flight X-Ray. This is Sierra Flight Leader. I don't know what the hell is going on! What kind of bird is that, and what was that big sucker that went through supersonic a few minutes ago? You say you have clearance with Reagan ATC? Over."

"Roger that, Sierra flight. Over and Out."

Whoops, I haven't talked with them directly. Ken switched frequencies, and said, "Reagan Memorial Airport Air Traffic Control. This is Flight X-Ray. Come in. Over."

"Flight X-Ray? This is Reagan Airport Traffic Control. Do you copy? Over."

Grinning to himself, he answered, "Reagan ATC. This is Flight X-Ray. Requesting vertical descent approach clearance for Bethesda Naval Hospital Helipad, over."

"Ah ... Flight X-Ray. You have clearance to land in a vertical descent from your altitude at Bethesda Naval Hospital at subsonic ... I say again... subsonic speed, over."

Damn! So much for showing off! He had been thinking about using the hottest of landings. He was planning on breaking the sound barrier on the way down, before landing at the helipad under full thrust. It might not have been as scary on the ground as when the Dutchman had passed overhead moments ago, but it would have impressed the hell out of all the Military Fighter jocks in the air.

"Roger that Reagan ATC. This is Flight X-Ray. Over and out."

The Dutchman II set down on Freeny Field at the center of Quantico Marine Corps Base. It was surrounded by four Marine Corps Harrier II's. The Dutchman had picked up her supersonic escort, just as she finally shed the last of her velocity, near Annapolis, for the planned return trip to Washington DC.

Unfortunately, it seemed they were no longer welcome there. Instead, at the insistence of their Marine Corps escorts, they had landed at Quantico. It was a place well out of the way of prying eyes. Also, it was well away from the disaster they'd caused. By becoming the largest supersonic object ever made by man, they'd rattled or broken every window in the Nation's capital, and her suburbs. There were probably hundreds of injuries as well, since the sonic boom of a 5,000-ton aircraft, moving at over 1,000 mph and at an altitude of only 10,000 feet; had been, almost literally, earth shattering.

Mike grinned ruefully at Captain Thornton and said, "Well, I guess we'd better go face the music."

The Captain rubbed his forehead, as if trying to keep a headache at bay. Then he replied with a chuckle.

"Sometimes having a sense of duty just doesn't pay. I'd love to sit back and watch the show, but since it was my ordering an Air Emergency that caused all of this, I just can't do it to you."

"Who will we be talking to ... at first, I mean?"

"Well, the direct representatives of the Joint Chiefs will be anywhere from ten to twenty minutes out, depending on whether it was them that ordered us redirected here, or whether it was just the Scramble Squadron Commander getting a wild hair up his ass. In the meantime, we have the Squadron Commander of the Harriers, if he de-asses his plane, and the Base Commander or Officer of the Day to deal with."

Mike said, "Hmmm, maybe we should just wait them out? At least until the Joint Chiefs send someone?"

"Not a good idea. The Corps has a way of finding the right can opener. Let's go see what welcome we've earned," Captain Thornton said.

Tom spoke up, as they rose, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No! You stay here. If they arrest us, you take the Dutchman II straight up to orbit, and stay there, until you hear otherwise from Troy or me," Mike answered.

Tom blanched, saying fearfully, "Surely you don't think it will come to that? And what about those Harriers? Wouldn't they open fire?"

Captain Thornton answered, "They might try. But they'll never catch you, especially in a vertical climb, or at any altitude above 25,000 feet, which you could reach in less then thirty seconds. Besides, nothing they have can cause much damage to the armor of the Dutchman II. Now, the civilian version, Dutchman I, they could tear her up with their auto cannons and missiles, but even then, she's just so big, unless they hit the bridge or engines, she'd probably get away, too."

Mike waved his hand sharply, and ended the discussion, by commanding "No more arguments! If we are arrested, I don't want the only military version of the Dutchman falling into their hands, too! Let's go Admiral, I think your old naval rank is just a bit more impressive, so we should use that."

"What if they try to board us?" Tom cried desperately at Mike's retreating back.

Mike stopped and answered, "Don't worry about that. We'll use the airlock, so all they'd get access to without overriding the computer lockdown, would be the airlock itself. Still, it would be a good idea to have a security team on hand, don't you think Admiral?"

"Yes, but they need to stay inside. Otherwise, we could have a shooting incident with the Marines outside," came the Admiral's carefully worded reply.

The Com Officer excitedly broke in, before they left, "Admiral, you need to know, Commander Hutchinson just landed atop Bethesda Naval Hospital's Helipad, with the Lost Bird."

"Good, keep us updated with his status," replied the Admiral.

Mike and the Admiral, walked aft, down the corridor to the Main Airlock. The Admiral murmured instructions to the leader of the five-man security team, and they entered the airlock. Only after the door behind them had been dogged shut, did the exterior door open, and the ramp fold out.

As they descended the ramp, a Marine Corps First Sergeant, led two M16 armed Marines, a Corporal and a Private First Class over to greet them. He said, "Gentlemen, my name is First Sergeant Miller. I'm Staff Non-Commissioned Officer of the Day. My orders are to hold you for my superiors."

The Admiral said calmly, "Good Morning First Sergeant Miller. Pleased to meet you, too. I'm Retired USN Rear Admiral Thornton. Are we under arrest?"

Hearing his identity, all three Marines snapped stiffly to something near attention. First Sergeant Miller replied, ringingly, "Sir! No Sir! My orders are simply to detain you until the Officer of the Day gets here. Sir!"

Mildly, the Admiral said, "Well that's good at least. I won't have to kick Tim's butt then."

The Corporal gulped. Hearing the Admiral talking off-handedly about kicking Tim's butt, when Tim was USMC Quantico Base Command Major General Tim Campbell, was unnerving to say the least.

First Sergeant Miller was now looking in frank admiration at the scorched hull of the Dutchman. Finally, his question burst out, "Sir. What is that ship? I've never seen anything like her!"

Smiling, the Admiral replied, "That, son, is the first of what I hope will become the backbone of the US Navy. She's the finest ship I've ever commanded."

"Did you really buzz DC at supersonic?"

Chuckling, the Admiral answered, "Yes. Yes I did. Didn't plan to, but we found that kid from Missouri floating at over 100,000 feet, and I couldn't leave him there. Unfortunately, she's too big to turn on a dime, and we'd already planned to show off her Suborbital capabilities to the Joint Chiefs."

In awe, all three men mouthed soundlessly, "Suborbital."

A Humvee, equipped with several long whip antennas, making it either a Command or Communications Mod of the basic chassis, sped toward the field. It didn't slow at the curb, but bounced up and over, careening onto two wheels briefly, sending manicured turf flying in every direction. It skidded to a stop, plowing a pair of long, wide furrows through the wet grass.

A major jumped out of the passenger door, and eyes fixed on the Admiral, stalked, stiff-legged up to him. The First Sergeant and his detail came to attention and snapped off salutes. The major ignored them completely, and stopped, six inches from the Admiral's nose, and started shouting, "I don't know who you people think you are! You've broken every flight restriction in the book! You're never going to fly again! Your pilot's license will be revoked! You should spend a few years at club Fed!"

The Admiral smiled and said, "But my pilot's license isn't current anyways."

The Major's eyes widened, and he screamed, with flecks of spit flying, "No license! Just one more charge! You are going to go away for a long time! Of all the dangerous, irresponsible, incompetent acts of idiocy I have seen, this is takes the cake!"

Another Command Humvee turned onto the street leading to the field. It was traveling at a more sedate pace, and stopped at the curb. From there, the two small blue flags and insignia emblazoned in white on the door with two stars were visible.

An older man, short stubble peppered with gray, clambered out of the back seat of the Humvee, and walked over. He saluted the First Sergeant and his detail. Seeing that the major was still ranting, and hadn't noticed his presence, he cleared his throat loudly. The Major, glanced over, annoyed, then, seeing who it was, immediately stiffened attention and saluted.

"That will be enough, Major Breckenridge," the General snapped.

Then, he held out his hand to the Admiral, continuing in a warm tone, "Good morning, Phillip. I see you are still up to your old tricks, and maybe even inventing some new ones."

Shaking his hand, the Admiral smiled and replied, "Mornin', Tim. I'd like you to meet Mike Blackdeer, brother of Troy Blackdeer, and now VP of GI2 and liaison to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Mike, this old war dog is USMC Major General Tim Campbell, he got his spurs as a company commander in Operation Desert Storm."

Shaking the General's hand, Mike said, "Pleased to meet you, General. I was in on Desert Storm, too. My Seal Team was part of the feigned amphibious landing. To make it look good, we went in and destroyed the Iraqi minefield, tank traps and other beach defenses."

"Well, maybe Phillip forgot to mention it, but he and his Squadron saved me and my first company command's collective asses, when we got caught during a probe, early on," General Campbell said warmly.

Then, turning back to his friend, he said in concern, "Phillip, you've stirred up a shit storm by buzzing D.C. I know the Joint Chiefs were expecting you, but they didn't expect you to do a low level supersonic pass! Now Homeland Security, the FAA and the FBI are all coming to the party."

Barking a laugh, the Admiral clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder, and drawing him toward the entry ramp, replied, "I didn't expect to either. We made a rather surprising discovery, and I felt we had to do something about it. Come on in, let's get some coffee and talk while we wait for the 'alphabet soup' crew to arrive."

The General grinned like a little boy in a toy store, and turned to the Major. "Major, I want the representatives from the Joint Chiefs and the other agencies directed here with all due haste. You will greet them, and send them on in. Is that clear?"

Snapping his best salute, Major Breckenridge cried, "Sir! Yes, Sir!"

Climbing up the ramp, General Campbell asked, "So, this is what you left the Navy for is it? Was it worth it?"

The Admiral snorted in derision, and waving at the Dutchman, exclaimed, "Hell, yes! They wouldn't give me my carrier! And if they had, I'd have missed out on this baby. So, I'm glad they didn't! The Navy doesn't have anything like her ... yet."

Shutting down the X-101's engines, and Gravity Nullifiers, Ken opened the Ammo Bay door, popped the canopy and climbed out of the snug cockpit. The cooling metal of the X-101's armor popped and pinged as he jumped down to meet the swarm of doctors and nurses who rushed toward him, from where they'd been waiting at a safe distance from the helipad.

A balding doctor in green hospital scrubs led the way. He shook Ken's hand and asked, "Morning. I'm Lieutenant Commander Tomson, what kind of plane is this, and where's my patient?"

Ken answered, "I'm Ken Hutchinson. It's an experimental, the X-101. Your patient is up here Commander."

Grinning to himself, Ken brought the Commander and his team to the front of his still pinging fighter. He pointed to the huge block of ice, and waited for it.

The commander didn't disappoint him. He gaped at the spheroid of ice for several seconds, and whirled furiously on Ken.

"What the hell is this thing?" he demanded. "Where's my patient!"

Ken stepped forward, rapped his knuckles on the sphere of ice, and shrugged, in answer.

"He's in there. Didn't they tell you his condition? He got caught in a storm while flying with his Grav Belt. He was swept into the upper atmosphere, where he's been adrift ... and obviously collecting ice ... for almost two weeks."

Shaking his head numbly, Commander Tomson looked at the ball of ice in askance.

Then, crying in outrage and gesturing with his hands angrily at the ice ball, "Two weeks! What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

"Uh ... look, Doc. I don't know. I just brought him here. They said it might be his only chance. I don't know his condition, other than the obvious layer of ice."

"You need a coroner not a doctor!" The Commander yelled as he stalked off.

A pretty nurse wearing a Lieutenant Commander's bronze oak leaf cluster, called after him.

"Doctor! You know how upset the Admiral gets when bodies show up in his Morgue without a proper death certificate! Sir!"

The Doctor stopped, hung his head, and spun on his heels. He trudged back, his defeat resounding with every step.

Looking at his team he asked, acerbically, "Ok, Margaret. Anyone got any ideas?

A young intern said, "Commander Billings, Sir. We could cut off the excess ice with a bone saw. But if he is frozen solid, there's no hope of revival. We should drill down to his skin, and take a biopsy. If the cell walls have been penetrated by ice crystals, we can declare him dead, with full morale, legal and ethical authority."

Billings cried, "How could he not be frozen through? Look at all that ice!"

Nurse Margaret said, "We have no idea where he's been, or what conditions he's been subjected to, Sir," she said. Then, with a calculating expression, added, "There is no case history of anything like this. It's a first, Sir. If we could revive him, you'll become 'that famous miracle-working Navy Doctor' that revived the kid found frozen high in the sky."