In quick order, Martini, the Ops Group commander, and the commander of the Forty-Fourth toured the maintenance side of the squadron and then examined the training folder of every pilot and weapon system officer.
“Tell me about Chris Leland,” Martini said.
“Captain Christopher Leland,” the Ops Group commander grumbled, “should be flying multimotors and looking for a job with the airlines.”
“He also has an uncle who is a U.S. senator,” Martini replied.
“That’s what got him this far,” the squadron commander said. “General, he’s a nice kid but inconsistent as all hell. He does great one day and is a basket case the next. Overall, he’s well below average. But he does meet the minimum, and given enough time, he’ll be OK. Right now, he’s still flying with an IP”—an instructor pilot—“and we haven’t matched him up with a wizzo yet.” Without a weapon system officer in the backseat, the Strike Eagle could not perform its primary mission of dropping bombs.
Martini fixed the Ops Group commander with a hard look. The colonel should have canceled Leland’s fighter pilot ticket months ago and shipped him off to fly transports. Now Martini needed every pilot he had. “If he meets the minimum standard,” Martini grumbled, his displeasure obvious, “he flies. Team him up with a wizzo—one who’s got a clue.”
“I’ve got one of those,” the Forty-Fourth squadron commander said.
The civilian contractor sitting at the control console waved Ryan into the simulator for the Strike Eagle. “Go right on in, Cap’n. She’s practicing approach and landings.”
Ryan waved back and walked into the sim room and climbed the steps to the cockpit. Laurie was alone and sitting in the backseat, her crew position. He climbed into the front seat to watch the instruments and projection screens. As a flight surgeon, he had flown over a hundred hours in the backseat of F-15s and conducted stress studies in the simulator. Although he wasn’t a pilot, he recognized a good approach and landing when he saw one. The audio gave a reassuring clunk when she touched down. Then she firewalled the throttles and turned the landing into a touch and go. Her hands flew around the cockpit as she retracted the gear and flaps. She reefed the sim into a sixty-degree climb and did aileron rolls. Ryan watched the video displays and felt the onset of motion sickness. “Whoa!” he shouted.
“Wuss,” she replied. She leveled the sim and spoke into her microphone. “Time to spin, crash, and burn,” she told the civilian at the console. She raked the throttles aft and slowed to stall speed. Then she pulled back on the stick and gave it full right rudder. The sim did as she commanded and went into a spin. She held the spin until it was fully developed. The videos showed the sim going straight down as the altimeter unwound at a dizzying rate. Then she recovered, flying straight and level, the altimeter rooted on fifty feet. “Made it this time,” she said.
“You do this for fun?” Ryan asked.
“I enjoy it and it’s good practice.” They climbed out of the cockpit and headed for the door.
“Practice? Are you still applying for pilot training?”
Laurie shook her head. “They just teamed me with Chris Leland.”
“The rumors say he’s pretty bad,” Ryan said, masking the worry he felt.
“He’s not good. But like the man says, if the minimums weren’t good enough, they wouldn’t be the minimums.” The “man” in this case was her squadron commander. “Anyone else would be looking for a job with the airlines.”
“Does Martini know how weak he is?”
Laurie’s lips pulled into a wry twist. “Yeah. This was his idea. For some reason, we’re going balls-to-the-wall on training. I guess this is part of it.”
“You’re not alone,” Ryan said. “He was over at the Med Center and really unloaded on us. I got tapped to set up a Personnel Reliability Program. Talk about a waste of time.
“Tell me about Chris Leland,” Martini said.
“Captain Christopher Leland,” the Ops Group commander grumbled, “should be flying multimotors and looking for a job with the airlines.”
“He also has an uncle who is a U.S. senator,” Martini replied.
“That’s what got him this far,” the squadron commander said. “General, he’s a nice kid but inconsistent as all hell. He does great one day and is a basket case the next. Overall, he’s well below average. But he does meet the minimum, and given enough time, he’ll be OK. Right now, he’s still flying with an IP”—an instructor pilot—“and we haven’t matched him up with a wizzo yet.” Without a weapon system officer in the backseat, the Strike Eagle could not perform its primary mission of dropping bombs.
Martini fixed the Ops Group commander with a hard look. The colonel should have canceled Leland’s fighter pilot ticket months ago and shipped him off to fly transports. Now Martini needed every pilot he had. “If he meets the minimum standard,” Martini grumbled, his displeasure obvious, “he flies. Team him up with a wizzo—one who’s got a clue.”
“I’ve got one of those,” the Forty-Fourth squadron commander said.
The civilian contractor sitting at the control console waved Ryan into the simulator for the Strike Eagle. “Go right on in, Cap’n. She’s practicing approach and landings.”
Ryan waved back and walked into the sim room and climbed the steps to the cockpit. Laurie was alone and sitting in the backseat, her crew position. He climbed into the front seat to watch the instruments and projection screens. As a flight surgeon, he had flown over a hundred hours in the backseat of F-15s and conducted stress studies in the simulator. Although he wasn’t a pilot, he recognized a good approach and landing when he saw one. The audio gave a reassuring clunk when she touched down. Then she firewalled the throttles and turned the landing into a touch and go. Her hands flew around the cockpit as she retracted the gear and flaps. She reefed the sim into a sixty-degree climb and did aileron rolls. Ryan watched the video displays and felt the onset of motion sickness. “Whoa!” he shouted.
“Wuss,” she replied. She leveled the sim and spoke into her microphone. “Time to spin, crash, and burn,” she told the civilian at the console. She raked the throttles aft and slowed to stall speed. Then she pulled back on the stick and gave it full right rudder. The sim did as she commanded and went into a spin. She held the spin until it was fully developed. The videos showed the sim going straight down as the altimeter unwound at a dizzying rate. Then she recovered, flying straight and level, the altimeter rooted on fifty feet. “Made it this time,” she said.
“You do this for fun?” Ryan asked.
“I enjoy it and it’s good practice.” They climbed out of the cockpit and headed for the door.
“Practice? Are you still applying for pilot training?”
Laurie shook her head. “They just teamed me with Chris Leland.”
“The rumors say he’s pretty bad,” Ryan said, masking the worry he felt.
“He’s not good. But like the man says, if the minimums weren’t good enough, they wouldn’t be the minimums.” The “man” in this case was her squadron commander. “Anyone else would be looking for a job with the airlines.”
“Does Martini know how weak he is?”
Laurie’s lips pulled into a wry twist. “Yeah. This was his idea. For some reason, we’re going balls-to-the-wall on training. I guess this is part of it.”
“You’re not alone,” Ryan said. “He was over at the Med Center and really unloaded on us. I got tapped to set up a Personnel Reliability Program. Talk about a waste of time.
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