Talon One, Flight three

“Sir, captain Lambke reporting as ordered,” I stood at attention before my commanding officer, holding a salute. There were three other airmen in that office: Ted ‘Jango’ Husman, Aaron ‘Ice’ Burg, Jack ‘Sparrow’ Lines, and Sarah ‘Cobra’ Sawyer who was wearing a flight suit like me, telling me I wasn’t the only one called back from the air.

“At ease,” said the officer, standing up behind his desk. “Gentlemen, and lady,” he looked ‘Cobra’, “I’m going to cut right to the chase, you are the best pilots this base has to offer. The white house has informed me that the president is flying in on Air Force One.” He paused to let that sink in before continuing, “He insists that it’s safe, but due to the recent rise in MiG activity, I’m assigning an escort. That’s you guys.” He picked up four files off the desk and handed one to each of us. “Dismissed,” he sat down.

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“Guardian flight, check in,” I said.

“Guardian two, forming up.”

“Three, ready”

“Four.”

We were flying in a loose box formation toward the eastern coast, “Air Force One, Guardian flight is four F-22s, three-zero miles west, ten thousand feet.”

“Guardian flight, Air Force One, copy you and have radar contact, cleared to form up on arrival.”

“Roger, Guardian flight will form up. Guardian flight, go spread and turn identification trails on.” Before long a huge blue and white 747 appeared on the horizon, “Guardian flight, hold spread and form up, two on port, three and four on starboard.” I swung around and placed myself on the outer left wing. We flew in that formation for twenty miles until my radar beeped.

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The missile appeared and soared over me, coming so close it went between my tails. “Evasive action,” I called and guardian flight broke formation with the 747 to increase speed and intercept the bogey.

“Air Force One, flying for cover.”

“Guardian three, I’ve got them, flight of five, two-five miles, eight thousand feet.”

“Guardian flight, Control, cleared to engage, weapons free.”

“Let’s get them!” I pushed the afterburner to its limit, trying to make contact as far from Air Force One as possible. The lead MiG turned bottoms up and roared past the top of my plane, “Guardian flight, engage.”

I pulled a half loop to position myself behind and above the hostile who was attempting a quarter loop but couldn’t maneuver as quickly as me. I fired my gun, he spun to avoid it but the bullets hit home, taking out his elevator. “Guardian one, splash one.”

I glanced into my rearview just in time to see another MiG position itself behind me, I was about to dive when the plane exploded. “Got you covered,” said a female voice. I looked for another target; there was a MiG three thousand feet below. I rolled and dove down at him. He saw me coming and inverted himself, trying to dodge me. I fired my gun and put some holes in the bottom of his plane and along the wing. He turned and flew away at full afterburner, I let him go.

By the time I reached the rest of the flight, three MiGs were in craters on the ground, one completely disintegrated when it was introduced to a missile, and one ran away.

That’s when we herd a panicked call from Air Force One.

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“Guardian flight, Air Force One, there’s something on my tail. Repeat, bogy on my six!” we pressed our engines to the very edge of their limits and race toward Air Force One.

When we saw Air Force One, sure enough, a MiG was positioned behind the jet, trailing black smoke. My heart froze. That was the MiG I let get away.

“I’ve got him,” said ‘Sparrow’ form the number four plane.

“NO!” I objected, “He’s too close, you’ll hit the ’47.”

That’s when the MiG spotted us; the plane fell back off the jet and into attack position. “He’s going to fire,” someone yelled.

The next thing anyone knew, there was an explosion of fire and white light.

When the smoke cleared pieces of metal were raining down, the MiG was gone, and Air Force One was intact. “What just happened?” Nobody knew.

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“And right here,” said the officer, using a laser pointer to show the MiG that had seemingly self-destructed, “the pilot shot the missile at Air Force One,” he advanced a few frames. “The missile got stuck inside the weapons bay when the doors failed to open, the rocket fired, and the missile exploded, obliterating the plane.”

“What jammed the door?” someone asked.

The officer keyed something into the computer tablet, “this did,” a photo from my gun camera appeared on the screen, “Guardian One fired its gun into the bottom of the plane, probably breaking a hydraulic line, this action had saved Air Force One and the president.” The room erupted into applause.