Chapter 2 - THE GHOST ABOVE THE PACIFIC
“EMBER, IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, GET TO HIM FAST! HIS AIRCRAFT IS DESCENDING, AND WE HAVE NO IDEA WHETHER HE'S STILL CONSCIOUS!”
The controller's voice filled Nora's headset as she accelerated toward the last known position of Lieutenant Dale Ketterman.
Below her, the Pacific Ocean stretched endlessly beneath scattered white clouds.
Twenty-six thousand feet.
Twenty-four thousand.
The aircraft ahead was losing altitude, but its movements didn't resemble a deliberate descent.
Nora knew the difference.
A trained fighter pilot descending normally made small, controlled adjustments.
An incapacitated pilot might leave the aircraft following its last commanded attitude until something disturbed it.
Wind.
Turbulence.
An unexpected change in speed.
Or the autopilot disconnecting.
“Falcon Control, Ember,” she transmitted. “Do we have confirmation his autopilot is engaged?”
“Negative, Ember. Flight telemetry suggests intermittent stabilization, but we can't determine his exact control configuration.”
Nora pressed her lips together.
Intermittent.
That word frightened her.
Three years earlier, she had experienced the same strange pattern.
She could remember thinking she was flying perfectly normally even as the aircraft began drifting away from its assigned altitude.
Hypoxia didn't always announce itself with panic.
Sometimes it arrived quietly.
It made the pilot feel comfortable.
Almost peaceful.
That was what made it so dangerous.
“Ember, distance twenty-four miles.”
“Copy.”
Nora scanned the horizon.
She was moving faster than she had intended when she first lifted off.
Her instincts wanted to push harder.
Her training reminded her that a rescue pilot who made a mistake could create a second emergency.
She forced herself to breathe slowly.
One problem at a time.
Find the aircraft.
Determine the pilot's condition.
Get him to a safe altitude.
Bring him home.
“Ember, this is Commander Holloway.”
Nora recognized his voice immediately.
“Go ahead, Commander.”
“Flight surgeon believes oxygen deprivation remains our primary concern. We also have emergency response crews preparing at Falcon.”
“Understood.”
Holloway hesitated.
“Nora?”
She froze slightly.
It was the first time he had used her first name over the radio.
“Yes, sir?”
“Don't let what happened three years ago make your decisions for you.”
For a moment, she couldn't answer.
Then she said quietly, “I'll remember that.”
A faint gray shape appeared beyond the clouds.
Nora leaned forward.
There.
An F/A-18 Super Hornet.
Its wings reflected the afternoon sunlight.
“Falcon Control, visual contact.”
The response was immediate.
“Ember, confirm.”
“I have Ketterman in sight.”
Nora adjusted her position, approaching cautiously from the side.
As the aircraft grew larger, she could make out its tail markings.
Harbor Two-Seven.
Dale's call sign.
His aircraft was drifting slightly to the right.
The nose rose and fell in small, irregular movements.
Then Nora saw the pilot.
Her stomach turned.
His helmet was visible through the canopy.
His head leaned forward at an unnatural angle.
“Falcon Control, Ketterman appears unresponsive.”
There was silence.
Then Holloway's voice returned.
“Can you confirm he's conscious?”
“Negative.”
Nora moved closer, maintaining a safe separation.
“Harbor Two-Seven, this is Ember. Dale, if you can hear me, respond.”
Nothing.
“Dale, I need you to look to your left.”
The pilot didn't move.
Nora felt a familiar terror rising in her chest.
She remembered her own cockpit three years earlier.
The strange warmth spreading through her body.
The way her thoughts had slowed.
The terrible realization that she no longer understood what her hands were doing.
She had tried to tell her wingman something was wrong.
But the words hadn't come.
“Harbor Two-Seven, listen to my voice.”
Nora kept her tone steady.
“Dale, you're not alone. I'm right beside you.”
She waited.
No response.
The other aircraft dipped slightly.
Nora watched the horizon carefully.
“Falcon, his altitude is continuing to decrease.”
“Copy, Ember.”
Then she noticed something.
A small movement.
Dale's head shifted.
Barely.
But enough.
“Dale?”
His helmet moved again.
Nora felt a sudden surge of hope.
“That's it. Look toward me.”
She gently rocked her wings.
A movement large enough to attract attention without creating unnecessary danger.
Inside the neighboring cockpit, Dale's head turned.
Slowly.
His eyes appeared unfocused.
But he was looking in her direction.
“Falcon, I've got visual acknowledgment!”
Holloway's voice sharpened.
“Can he follow instructions?”
“Trying to determine.”
Nora raised her gloved hand toward her own oxygen mask, deliberately making the gesture visible.
“Dale, I need you to think about your breathing equipment.”
His head moved slightly.
“Your oxygen, Dale. Something may be wrong with your oxygen.”
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then his right hand lifted.
It stopped halfway.
Dropped.
Nora's chest tightened.
He was trying.
The young man was still inside that cockpit, fighting through confusion that might already have taken away most of his ability to think.
“Come on,” she whispered. “Come on, Dale.”
His hand rose again.
This time it reached toward his flight equipment.
Nora could not clearly see what he was doing.
She continued speaking.
“That's it. Stay with me.”
Suddenly, a weak burst of sound filled her headset.
“Em...”
Nora straightened.
“Dale?”
Static.
Then a voice.
Thin.
Confused.
Almost unrecognizable.
“Can't...”
“I'm here, Dale.”
“Can't... think.”
Nora felt tears sting her eyes.
The words took her backward three years.
She had said almost the same thing.
She remembered begging her wingman to explain what was happening because her own mind had stopped making sense.
“Dale, listen carefully. You may not be getting enough oxygen. I need you to use your emergency oxygen and stay with my voice.”
A long silence followed.
Then a faint click.
Dale's head lifted.
His shoulders moved.
Nora waited, watching for signs that he was becoming more alert.
“Dale, can you hear me?”
A pause.
“Yeah.”
Nora almost laughed with relief.
“Good. Very good.”
She glanced at her own instruments.
The altitude was decreasing.
They needed to continue toward breathable air and a landing field.
“Falcon, he's responsive. Possible emergency oxygen activation.”
Holloway answered immediately.
“Excellent work, Ember. Bring him toward Falcon.”
Nora checked the location and fuel information transmitted from the ground.
Ketterman's fuel was dangerously low.
The aircraft could not remain airborne while they celebrated a temporary improvement.
“Harbor Two-Seven, Dale, I need you to follow me toward home.”
His response was delayed.
“Home?”
“Falcon Naval Air Station. Emily's waiting for you.”
There was another pause.
Then a single word.
“Emily.”
Nora's throat tightened.
“Yes. Emily.”
She positioned her aircraft ahead and slightly to the side, allowing Dale to see her clearly.
“Can you follow my aircraft?”
“Trying.”
For a moment, he maintained his position.
Then his Super Hornet drifted away.
“Dale, gentle correction.”
The aircraft moved back.
Nora exhaled.
He was still capable of responding, but his judgment remained impaired.
Every movement required patience.
Every instruction had to be simple.
The nearest suitable landing field was still several minutes away.
“Falcon, Ember. Request priority landing. We may need emergency arresting equipment.”
“Already preparing it.”
Nora looked toward Dale again.
He was following.
Not perfectly.
But following.
They crossed a thin layer of clouds.
For the first time, she could see the distant coastline.
Home was out there.
So was Emily.
So was a little boy who had not yet been born.
“Dale,” Nora said softly, “tell me something about your baby.”
The radio remained silent.
Then he answered.
“Blue... room.”
Nora smiled despite herself.
“I heard about that. Commander Holloway says you spent a fortune on the crib.”
A faint, breathless sound came over the radio.
It might have been a laugh.
“Emily... picked it.”
“Then you need to get home and tell her she has excellent taste.”
Dale said nothing.
His aircraft began banking slightly.
“Dale?”
No response.
Nora moved closer.
The bank increased.
“Harbor Two-Seven, correct your attitude.”
Still nothing.
Then a warning sounded through the ground-control radio.
“Ember, Harbor Two-Seven is descending rapidly!”
Nora saw the nose drop.
The fighter jet rolled farther to the right.
May you like
And before she could speak again, Dale's aircraft plunged toward the thick clouds below.
The last thing Nora heard over the radio was a faint, frightened voice whispering, “Ember... I can't feel my hands.”
