There was no point in even making the attempt to get to Gimpo Airport. There would really be only one place an American would run to in panic when being chased by the police, and that was the city’s only public airport. I was in real trouble and whatever the effect it might have on my future travel or my barely started career, I had to get out of the country I was in without getting incarcerated and then questioned under quite possibly the harshest circumstance about who I really was and what I was in Korea for. That I could also end up dead, depending upon the likely combination of Korean mafia mix with the local police, was also very much on my mind.

I tapped Ho on the shoulder and motioned for him to pull the tuk-tuk to the side of the road, noting the small hole in the back of his seat as I did so.
With the tuk-tuk pulled over I explained to him that the airport was out. Ho didn’t evidence any change of expression at all as he sat and turned in his seat as the little three-wheeled machine that was his entire living, rattled away.

I had no paperwork, contacts, or anything that would have allowed me to avoid security, and, on top of that, I was a wanted man by the local police, which was also speculative…as the only cops I’d so far dealt with had also likely been mafia. Whether they were hitmen or not I didn’t want to think about although that vague suspicion had caused me to take the chancy risk of running.

“The embassy,” I said to Ho, not telling him that I had no intention of going into the embassy, only to possibly be detained there pending some sort of investigation.

I’d already blown my welcome because of Nguyen and then the confrontation with Hill at the hotel. The embassy staff might simply turn me over to the authorities and promise to help with the legal representation.

Veering away from the airport and making it to the embassy took only moments, as I thought about my situation. Nguyen had gone out military air, and I’d come to realize that was my only way out, at least the only one I could think of. The port of Inchon was close to Seoul but finding a freighter heading to the U.S. and getting aboard that for a lengthy uncomfortable ride didn’t seem either logical or even likely.

Once outside the embassy, I climbed off the back bench and turned to face Ho, pulling out a twenty to pay him, but putting the money back in my pocket when he gently waved his left hand and slightly shook his head. I realized we weren’t running on money anymore but on trust. Reaching into my back pocket I took out my wallet and removed one of my old Mass Mutual Insurance cards. Using a government pen I’d pocketed during my last embassy visit I scribbled my name and new phone number in Albuquerque.

“Call me when you get back from vacation and are safe,” I said, “or even if you don’t come back. You’ve been very good to me, and I needed that.”

Ho nodded, accepting the card without saying a word and then taking off on his tuk-tuk.

I walked to the front gate of the embassy. There was no line there of anyone waiting. The embassy was closed to outsiders, although an American embassy abroad is never truly closed, or so I thought.

I waited until I saw one of the Marine guards.

“Lance Corporal,” I whispered as loudly as I felt safe to do.

The young Marine turned and then walked quickly to the other side of the barred gate, or what seemed to be an entrance for vehicles.

“Sir?” he asked, his tone one of surprise.

“I need Bulldog and I need him right now, Corporal,” I said, holding my voice as low as possible.

“Do you want entry?” the Marine asked.

“No, I’ll wait here,” I replied, hoping against hope that Bulldog was somewhere inside the facility.

I walked over to the side of the building to wait for the corporal’s return. He didn’t come back but Bulldog came out through a side door not far from where I stood.

“Trouble,” Bulldog said. “I know that expression.”

I filled him in on what had transpired so far and my flight from the cops, or whatever they were.

“You need military air, which is unfortunate,” he said. The airstrip is closed and won’t reopen for three more days, plus there’s not a single aircraft on tarmac inventory right now so you can’t even steal one.”

I wasn’t ready for his brand of humor but had to go along.

“Herbert, my control officer,” I said, “I have to reach him on a secure line but can’t come into the embassy proper.”

That, I’ll agree on, as you certainly haven’t made much of a Dale Carnegie-winning friends routine.”

“Except for you,” I offered, “and so what can I do?”

I waited out the time inside the office, which was neither cozy nor offered any services outside of a water dispenser near the only door. For an aviation office, of any kind, much less one found on a military establishment, it was all decidedly bare bones, as if the base or at least the strip was soon to be closed.

Stepping outside relieved some of the boredom, as I waited out the two hours Herbert said the plane would need to get from Hong Kong to where I was waiting. I knew Hong Kong was just over twelve hundred miles away so whatever was coming for me was likely faster than a normal supply or other military transport plane. I couldn’t stay outside without risking having someone see me and then want to know what I was doing there, particularly when I had no explanation for being inside an office that was closed, and I had no key for it.

My Marine Corps I.D. card would get me so far but not that far.

Bulldog had spent no time with me once he got me inside the office, but Herbert let me know that landing an airplane where the strip was closed, even one located inside an American military base, could lead to problems, although not likely immediate.

I heard the plane before I stepped outside to see it, and I was immediately amazed. I knew the plane, as it canted its nose up and its wings spread out to point straight out from its body. It was an F-14. Mike Garrigan had driven me from San Clemente to Miramar to see the fighters when they’d first been issued to the Marine Corps. As soon as I’d viewed the F-14 for the first time I immediately understood why it was called the Tomcat. The feeling of standing in front of it, even with no one in the cockpit and the engines off, was intimidating. It gave the impression that it was a 66-thousand-pound predator of the highest order.

The plane dropped down on the tarmac, turned easily, and rolled toward the building I was in front of, which surprised me. The distance out to the takeoff and landing parts of the composite airport were significant but whoever was piloting the plane ignored what would have been normal flight rules and orders. I walked toward the plane as it stopped before me, the engines still running.

The double canopy went up and the pilot stepped out after somehow extending down a tiny ladder that came out from just under the center of the upraised canopy. I couldn’t believe such a modern fighter aircraft had its own ladder.

The man stopped in front of me, easing his helmet off.

“You’re him, I presume, and you’ve never had the class nor done this before,” he said, not extending his gloved hand. The leather tag on the left breast of his flight suit indicated that his name was Captain D’Estaing, which seemed odd.

“Climb up into the back seat,” he said not waiting for me to confirm that I was the totally inexperienced person he was there to pick up. “There’s a helmet on the seat. Put it on and strap in, just two snaps for that. The back seat has no controls so if we have a problem, I’ll eject both of us, but that’s not likely, besides, that’s all automatic, even the life raft. No G or pressure suit but we’re running stripped of all muscle and tanks, so we’ll be able to supercruise plenty fast enough. Afterburner at liftoff up to fifty thousand and then on into Okinawa where we’ll refuel. Damn things eat up two thousand pounds a minute though, so we won’t be using them for the rest of the flight. If you pass out from the time to altitude don’t worry as you’ll come to once the ‘g’ forces are reduced. We’re fully pressurized so you won’t need to plug in the mask, but you can if you want to for better breathing.”

At that, he turned and walked back to the left side of the aircraft. The sound of the idling turbines was overpowering, even at such slow speeds.

I had a hundred questions, starting with what a ‘g’ suit might be, why we might have to eject, and what the need for a life raft might be.

Captain D’Estaing stood next to the ladder, his helmet back on his head, not looking like he was ready to take any questions at all. He pointed at the ridiculous small ladder that hung down in levered sections, but not all the way to the concrete.

I pulled myself up on the first step as he steadied me from behind.

“Keep your hands off of everything, including making sure they stay inside the cockpit when the canopy comes down. There’s a little plug for the radio which you’ll notice next to your right hand. Plug that in and we can talk to one another, although that’s not required. The stick that comes out of the deck isn’t a control stick so leave it alone. It’s strictly avionic-limited and there’s no time to go through all that. Climb up there and put your helmet on as we have to get out of Dodge like right now.”

I got into the seat as quickly as I could, realizing for the first time just how cramped the inside of a modern fighter was. There’d be no six-foot-five or taller pilots flying an F-14. I got the helmet on, which fit too tight but there was nothing to be done for it. I found the hose to hook into the mask attached to the right side of my helmet and the radio plug slipped in perfectly.

D’Estaing got into the front seat, somehow getting the ladder to retract into the side of the plane. The canopy closed with a whoosh and seemed to snap shut. My overly large seat harness contraption was snapped closed on each side of my chest. I tried to breathe deeply in and out of my mask, trying to do it in such a way that the glass over my face didn’t fog up.

The plane moved under me, rotating around. I wasn’t afraid but I was definitely a bit worried. “Blackout taking off,” ran through my mind. How can you black out taking off, I wondered, but had no time to think about it. There was no taxi, suddenly both huge turbines spooled up to full power, which took almost no time at all, not like those of a regular passenger liner. Then their sound disappeared as an overwhelming roaring scream came forward from the rear of the craft and I was punched back into my seat. It was like there was no takeoff at all. Suddenly the huge plane was in the air going straight forward and slightly above the tarmac. The nose went up at a fantastic angle and then the real punch of weight pushed into my chest, pressing my head into the hard cushion at the top of my seat. I realized that the F-14 was going straight up. I couldn’t turn my head at all however to see out the side of the canopy. My hands were pressed down on my thighs. I breathed so shallow I thought I’d pass out, but I didn’t. The pilot was right about the mask, it made breathing a lot easier, but I wondered if I could talk while wearing it. In movies, I’d seen many members of flight crews remove their masks to talk.

“You conscious yet, back there,” the pilot said, his voice coming through much clearer in the helmet than I would ever have thought.

“Yes, sir,” I said, feeling better. Maybe there’d be no ejection after all.

“We’re coming up on fifty thousand and we’ll be out of South Korean air space in a couple of minutes. I am shutting down the afterburners and it’ll feel like we’re coming to a stop, but we’ll still be supersonic, as this thing super cruises even though they say it can’t.”

“Yes, sir,” I repeated, having no idea what the word super cruise meant. “Where did you come from?” I asked him, then recalling he was out of Hong Kong but there were no U.S. bases in or around Hong Kong, that much I knew.

“USS Enterprise moored off the coast there,” D’Estaing answered. They don’t let up bring nuclear ships into port there, neither does New Zealand or a few others. You’ll be offloading on Okinawa and catching more conventional equipment for wherever you’re going. I’ve got to get fuel as this thing burns a lot, even running as clean as it is.”

“How fast are we going?’ I asked, finally managing to get hold of myself enough to look out the side of the canopy, surprised I could see out so well. For the first time in my life, I stared stupefied at the slight curvature of the earth, and even some of the blackness of space was visible at the distant horizon.

“764 knots,” D’Estaing said, confirming the fact that we were moving fast although it didn’t feel that way after the ride up to altitude. “With the tailwind, we’re moving at about a thousand miles an hour. Okinawa in forty minutes, or so for you civilian types.”

“I’m not a civilian,” I said, a bit irritated by his condescending and superior tone.

“Got me there,” D’Estaing replied, with a laugh. “I wanted this flight because nobody in the squadron, in fact, nobody in any squadron anyone ever heard of, has flown a passenger in the back seat of a U.S. Marine F-14 unless on some diddly show-off flight at Miramar. Whoever you are, you are somebody, and somebody else in the Navy loves you.”

I tried to see any ships that might be below our flight path but could see nothing. My relief at getting out of Seoul made me want to go to sleep it was so great. I wondered if all missions were going to be so intensely complex and worrisome.

I was entranced as I took in planet Earth through the clear canopy material, understanding why my helmet blocked so much of the sun’s rays, as the light was intense, seeming to come from everywhere.

“Here’s some music. I’ve got to talk to flight control at Naha Airport, but I’ve plugged my Walkman into this channel. Unless there’s trouble we’ll talk when we hit the deck. This piece is called Cannon in D, by Pachelbel.”

I had no chance to say anything as the beginning strains of a classical music piece began to play. The Tomcat dipped its left wing, and the entire island of Okinawa came into full view. It was a magnificent site. The beginning strains of the song began to play in my ears. I was surprised that I’d never heard it before in my life, as I’d been raised in a family where the television stereo played almost entirely classical when it was in use. The song played on, the same melody repeating in double and then triple tonal sets. The Tomcat continued its turn while the nose dropped, and the plane pointed itself down toward the island. This, I realized in disbelief, had become the airplane ride of my life, something that could never be purchased or ever likely be repeated again.

I also understood that the landing was going to be nothing like that of a commercial passenger plane. The F-14 didn’t drop so much as it aimed itself at some point I couldn’t make out from the back seat. There was no ability to see straight forward at all from that seat. The back seat co-pilot, or whatever he was called, would only see the screens that were in front of him, and now me. Those screens were all dark as I had no knowledge of how to light them up and also wasn’t about to make any attempt to disobey D’Estaing’s orders.

The plane, as it dived suddenly flared out and the wings that had been mostly invisible to me during the flight extended themselves until they were pointing straight out. I felt and heard a big click when they stopped moving. The flight had been much more silent than I’d thought it would be. When supersonic the roar of the engine’s exhaust had gone entirely away but the turbine whine was always there, although subdued. The roar was back as the Tomcat slowed and dropped. I saw the edge of the tarmac only a few seconds before the big fighter landed and rolled, that landing so smooth I was barely able to feel it. D’Estaing was a class act as a pilot, and I thought I understood why he might have been selected to fly the mission. A person of non-military positioning, like myself, would be considered a civilian, as D’Estaing had mistakenly described me. After an accident, if there was one, heads would roll in and out of the military. I was a moving violation in the air.

The plane rolled for a bit until everything went dark. I could barely see that the Tomcat had entered some building. The engines spooled down as they died, and the canopy went up. The Cannon ended, replaced with D’Estaing’s voice once more.

“Helmet off and unplugged, just like the mask hose. The landing crew will do the rest.”

I looked down at the harness release devices and only then realized that I had no idea how to operate them. What if there’d been an accident? A shiver went through me. The class the pilot had mentioned only in passing, the one I hadn’t had any opportunity to attend, would have taught stuff like that, I was sure. Ejecting didn’t mean the pilot had to survive the traumatic event. What then?

There would be no attempting to get myself up and somehow use the small internally operated ladder. There were men on both sides of me, one taking my helmet off and the other operating the latch mechanisms. I got up unsteadily and the helmet guy helped me to the platform that served as the top of a large complex-looking stand obviously built for the purpose it was now being used. In a conspiratorial whisper, the helmet guy spoke into my right ear.

“You’ve got company, so try to adjust to being back on the ground alive as quickly as you can.”

I stood, a bit hunched over, the flight taking a lot more out of me than I expected it to. When I focused my eyes down to take in the area around the bottom of the aluminum stairs I took in a long hard intake of air into my lungs. It was good to be on the ground again except for the greeting party. It wasn’t one man. There were four men, all large, all attired in khaki uniforms with MP designations on their helmets and black armbands. The expressions on their faces while they waited for me to come down were not good.

“This way,” the biggest man said, the badge on the right side of his chest letting me know he was a Marine, which I considered the only plus in my situation. I wasn’t wearing cuffs, and they hadn’t said I was under arrest although I would be riding to wherever we were going in the back of a six-by truck. I got into the truck with some difficulty because my legs were still unaccountably weak from the flight. The four men loaded into the back with me, all sitting on the bench facing my own, not on each side of me. It was a small thing, but it gave me hope.

The truck took off. I was sorry that I’d not had a chance to have a final conversation with the pilot or talk to anyone. I wasn’t sure of anything. I wasn’t even certain I was on Okinawa as the island’s shape was foreign to me as well as everything I’d so far seen.

“Half-hour trip to Camp Hansen,” the big Marine said, his eyes hard and watchful but his vocal tone not that way at all. If I could have put a description to it the word would have been respect, which surprised me.

The ride seemed to take more than half an hour. The plane trip had been a whole lot more fascinating than traveling in the back of a truck headed to a camp I’d never heard of. Nobody had bothered to ask if I needed to use a restroom, have a drink of water, or anything else. I held myself together and asked for nothing, mostly because I knew there was nothing I could be provided until we got to where we were going.

Finally, the truck stopped, and the back canvas was pulled back. The sun beat in, as well as fresh air. The temperature was high, but nothing like what I’d come to endure during the monsoon month in Vietnam.

The Marine MPs got up as one and began to climb down from the back of the vehicle. I tapped the shoulder of the buck sergeant who’d been the only person to speak to me since I’d landed.

“Where are we going?” I asked, not expecting an answer.

“The Brig, of course,” He said, although there was the faintest of smiles on his lips as he said the words.

My shoulders drooped a bit, as I prepared to turn around and climb down from the bed of the truck. I was finally going to jail. I didn’t know whether to be afraid or relieved.


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