Fly Into Black
by Michael G. Crawford
Chapter Eight
He thumbed back on the trim switch, letting the swiftness of the ATF increase his groundspeed, then began the flare, still eating up lots of runway. It was indeed a pleasure to land at Edwards, land the way God meant aircraft to land, gracefully and with full control.
Deruse put every once of control he had available into use, but the control was internal to himself, as his fine tuned reflexes changed only slightly the movements of hands and feet. The ATF settled every so slowly, being sucked down to terra firma with only a slight bump. Then trimming again, he slowly flew the nose wheel down. Applying the speed brakes to full, and ignoring nose wheel brakes he now ever so gently added some up elevator. Balancing the nose wheel so that he had air surface breaking without actually using the wheel brakes, he cautiously jockeyed the elevators to apply air resistance.
From outside the aircraft, Buddy Rogers watched the fine performance, noting with pride that the maneuver was one learned here at Edwards, when Deruse was just a fresh, young Lt. some twenty years ago. Now returning, his new cohort was ably demonstrating his skill with the ATF. A no brake landing required extra runway, but certainly proved the pilot knew his aircraft completely, and had both the trust in the equipment as well as faith in himself. It was a fine beginning, and a fine return.
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General McClusky stood as Buddy and Deruse entered his office, and when his two best pilots snapped crisp salutes, he returned his own, very much still the soldier, even after twenty years as commander of test groups. This tour at Edwards was the cap of fine career, and he was enjoying every second of his time here before retirement. Or perhaps the inevitable movement into the Pentagon to help develop and purchase the next generation of high tech equipment for the Air Force. He hadn't decided yet.
"Welcome Colonel Deboune."
"DD if you like, Sir."
"Fine, DD it is then. Buddy here has told me that you're the only guy who has a chance of taking him in the air, that sound right to you?"
Knowing that the explicit challenge was also an implicit check on his ability to play on the team, Deruse knew he was already under scrutiny.
"Well Sir, I think Colonel Rogers is being far to kind in his assessment..."
And while pausing he noted that Buddy was caught off guard. It was not Deruse's style to down play himself, and Deruse enjoyed watching the confusion ripple across his new commander's face.
"...of his own abilities. I kind of thought it might be the other way around."
Buddy chuckled at that, with the General adding his after realizing that Deruse had indeed caught them off guard. It was nice to know that Deruse had matured in the last few years. His sheet showed him to be a macho son-of-a-bitch, but the word from his contacts in the Recon business had let him know that he would be surprised by both the man's blunt mouth, as well as his very political rhetoric when needed. This would work out just fine.
"Ahhh. Point to Recon. Seriously, Buddy and I have discussed several ideas about the birds up for test, and one of them might just get you a little excited. I'll let your new boss tell you what's up. But for now, I imagine you'd like to stretch a little after your flight. Thanks for reporting directly. See you tomorrow."
And with that the General replied to the two men's salutes, and sat down already back to the paperwork.
Deruse and Buddy never noticed after waiting the one-half a second during the Genearal's salute, and in fact had their back to him before the man hit the chair. They were heading for the O-Club.
Edwards O-Club had improved a hundred fold from the days of that ramshackle bar off base. Pilots of the air's most exciting craft now met in a place where, after years of neglect, the Air Force had finally outfitted for the benefit of her well deserving customers. In fact, since the test pilot cadre were from all services, the Air Force had even broken some of her own rules to allow memorabilia from all branchs of military service.
As Deruse scanned the artifacts, he took in the photo of Scott Cross and the X-15, right next to Yeager and the X-1. He noted the original rat pack pictures from the days of the "shack" and marvelled at how many of them had been found elsewhere after the famous bar's fire in the sixties.
He saw some interesting group shots over in another corner, and was about to head over there, when a young Lt. walked up and saluted.
"Sorry to disturb you Colonel, but several of us have a bet going, and I wondered if you could help out."
Deruse's fraternity senses were wide alert now, knowing that a stranger in the O-Club stag bar was easy "pickin's". Glancing at the name tag on the young Air Force officer's blouse, he said,
"Nicholson, you'd better be on the level, or I am going to forcibly pick you up and toss you over the bar."
Leaning over at the young man, his eyes still firey with the red of high-Gs, he continued, "Then I'm going to yank your balls off and feed them to the groupers in our fishtank." This last bit, a joke from the good old days, was meant to impress the youngster with Deruse's knowledge of the Edwards playfulness.
But although the younger man gulped a little, there was little hesitation as he shook his head and gestured for Buddy and Deruse to follow. Deruse looked over to Buddy but the man looked no different then when the had walked in, no change of expression noticeable. Deruse shrugged and followed.
As the moved into another corner, he spied a group of young Captains laughing it up. One rather large fellow was sitting on the back of the booth, his feet in the seat, his back to the wall.
As they approached the group, the heads turned and the laughter died down.
"Colonel,..." began the young Lt., "This is Captain Mestophoson, Captian Harold, and Captain Lancaster."
Deruse shook hands wondering why the young wimp hadn't bothered to introduce Buddy or himself. Actually he accepted that Buddy was known to the men, but certainly not himself. He glanced nervously at the wall to the left of the fellow leaning against the wall. There was something familiar about a photo up there, and as he leaned in to get a better look, he suddenly found himself drenched with several buckets of water.
Gasping with both surprise and the sudden chill of ice filled water, he barely blustered out a "What the Fuck?" as the sudden crowd now gave way a little as he shook himself off.
Looking up he saw a bunch of cheerful faces, and it was understandable, at least they weren't the butt of the rude joke. He was gonna have someone's ass for this one.
But then Buddy stepped up, holding a big gold paper star with a blue ribbon on it.
"Welcome back to Edwards, DD. The men of the Air Force Flight Test Center wish you a warm welcome, and happy days with Air Force Systems Command. Welcome back you old fart."
With that, Buddy moved out of the way, and where the rather large Captain had been lounging, there was a pair of nice photographs from Deruse's younger days testing the F-4 Phantom. Next to this were several smaller pictures of Deruse and the SR-71, and one with him "aghast" at a air filled dummy they had put in his RSO's seat for his first trip over Vietnam. The joke of course was that no-one wanted to fly with a green 71 pilot his first real mission, and thus they had to find someone "stupid enough to volunteer".
It was quite an honor to have his picture up there on the wall with all the other venerated. Besides he never thought of himself as being a hero in any stretch of the imagination. He turned a questioning face to Buddy, who smiled and said by way of answer,
"Hasn't anyone told you? What a Rip! DD you have more hours in the 71 than anyone. And more missions over hostile territory, and have raked in more combat pay than any other single individual during peacetime. Hell it looks like your about to take my record for number of hours in the new bird too! You're a god damn air jockey. We now know why you never got married. You never met a women ready at 75,000 feet."
With a roar the noise lit back up again, and Deruse was being patted on the back, and everyone tried to stuff a beer mug in his hand. It was overwhelming, and it took great discipline to keep from getting totally blitzed.
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The next morning, he and Buddy visited the General for a few minutes while the rest of the formalities were taken care of. He handed the General his set of orders, and the General briefed him on the squadron's charter, describing in great detail the different aircraft under test, as well as the plans for the near future. He described Deruse's part in the further testing of the ATF, and the final IOC tests scheduled for next year.
"Now DD, there is one thing I want your thoughts on. When we reach IOC on the ATF, Buddy is going to out to Kadena to form the first off-shore squadron. But that means we won't have someone to take care of things back home. So, how would you like to take over the first operational squadron?"
Deruse beamed his answer, and Buddy grinned as well. But Deruse couldn't help but feel he was being setup for something. This was a nice surprise, but a part of him argued that he couldn't very well be too damn excited about it. After all, squadron commanders did not do that much flying, and damnit, he was a flyer, no doubt about it. He knew Buddy realized it, especially after the party last night, with everyone asking how it felt to fly...etc.
So what else were they setting him up for?
"I think he isn't protesting loud enough, General. Do you think maybe he's tired of flying?"
And as Deruse started to bluster at the ridiclous thought, the General answered for him.
"Oh bullshit, Buddy. I think he smells a rat. Why don't you tell him about your idea?"
"Yes Sir" and as Deruse looked on with growing amazement, Buddy Rogers explained how the two of them were going to put Senator Gan's plan into action.