Fledgling: Jason Steed

  A thin line of orange on the eastern horizon told him that daybreak was near. He could barely make out the runway in the darkness. He pulled the four engine throttles back slightly and fired engines one and two. To his relief, they both started and kicked into action. He repeated the process with three and four. With all four engines running, he pulled back on the throttle. The huge sleeping giant roared. The sound carried with the wind for miles across the flat landscape. Inside the plane, the racket was deafening. Jason released the brakes. Nothing happened.

  “Come on. Go,” he hissed.

  Still nothing. He increased the revs and slowly the plane lurched forward. As he used the rudders and tiller, he turned to face the runway. After he took a deep breath, he placed the brake back on and opened the throttles on all four engines.

  The truck-sized Boeing engines roared. The B-24 rattled and shook. Jason knew he had to get the engines running at a high speed before he released the brakes again. He had only ever flown a small propeller plane in a simulator. He had normally just used the jets to practice on.

  “Good luck, Steed!” Wilson shouted. “God speed!”

  Jason released the brake. The plane lurched forward and started to gather speed. He increased the throttle and increased the speed. Lights from a vehicle came on ahead. The sirens had gone off, and the guards poured out of the barracks. Jason slowly pulled back on the tiller. Nothing happened; the plane just continued down the runway.

  It bounced and rattled its way toward the buildings. He gave it more power. Still nothing happened when he tried to lift the wheels off the ground for takeoff. The buildings were now getting close. The plane felt lighter to control but would not clear the buildings. He cut power and applied the brakes.

  The plane slowed and bounced to a stop. They were now desperately close to the barracks and Weing’s armed guards. Again, he opened the throttles and slowly turned around. He applied the brakes and opened the throttles again. The back of the plane started taking shots from behind.

  “Jason! Go! Go!” Wilson shouted as he turned the rear machine guns on the oncoming guards. Both Ryan and Peter in their Plexiglas domes turned to the rear and also began shooting.

  The tail began receiving heavy fire. The armored jeeps were getting closer and closer. The second jeep had a mounted machine gun and started firing at the plane. Wilson targeted this vehicle and unloaded his rounds. The driver and gunman were killed instantly, and the jeep veered off to the left and turned over, bursting into flames.

  Wilson was screaming at the top of his voice for Jason to move, but the noise of the engines drowned any sound he made. Jason pulled the throttles farther back. The plane’s old body shook violently.

  “This baby is going to need everything to get it off the ground,” he said to himself.

  He applied more throttle and still held it. Eventually, he released the brakes.

  The plane launched forward. He pulled the throttle back farther and farther. With its 110-foot wingspan bouncing, the B-24 stormed down the runway. Now that it was going faster than it was before, it felt even lighter to control. Jason opened the throttles all the way. He wanted to get as much speed as possible. He pulled back the tiller. The end of the runway and the wire fence rushed toward him. He had to go now. He was going too fast to stop.

  The thirty-three ton plane slowly lifted off the ground and roared into the cloudless dawn sky. Wilson, John, Ryan, and Pete started cheering as they left the complex behind.

  Jason turned on the radio to call for help.

  “This is Jason Steed of the 22nd Platoon Sea Cadets, requesting flight information—over.”

  The signal was picked up by the HMS Ark Royal, the HMS Stoke, Scott Turner, the admiralty, and, unfortunately, the Chinese.

  ***

  Back in London, Scott screamed to his mother to come and listen. When she came running into his room, the message was repeated. Scott hugged her and jumped up and down, punching the air.

  ***

  Ray was on the bridge, and he could not believe his ears. The sweet unbroken voice of his son came loud and clear over the airways. The bridge crew members cheered and gave Ray a pat on the back. Ray had to fight back his emotions.

  “This is Jason Steed of the 22nd Platoon Sea Cadets, requesting flight information—over,” Jason repeated over the radio.

  “G’day. Jason Steed, this is Broom Air Force Base Northwestern Australia. Roger Bankman speaking. Please give your position—over.”

  “I have no idea, sir. Somewhere over Jakarta, flying SW, 22 degrees—over.”

  “We have you on radar. What are you flying, Jason?” Roger replied.

  “I don’t know, sir. A big American World War II bomber. It has four engines, three domes. It’s green, noisy, and bloody huge, sir.”

  The officers on the bridge of the Ark Royal, including Ray, fell about, laughing. Then, a new voice came over the airways.

  “This is Commander Elliot from special forces. Jason Steed, we got your message.”

  “What message, sir?”

  “Are you still in a position to trade for some carrot cake?”

  “Wow! You got that. Yes, sir, I want to trade.”

  “Then, Jason, keep heading toward Broom Airfield. Someone will meet you there.”

  ***

  Wilson made his way to the cockpit and sat next to Jason in the navigator’s seat. He put on a pair of headphones to hear what Jason could hear. A tired grin crossed his face.

  “Jason, head two degrees south,” Commander Elliot instructed. “You are approximately forty-five minutes from us. How is your fuel?”

  “It’s just below 60 percent, sir,” Jason replied. “We are leaving Jakarta. I can see the coastline below us.”

  “You have enough. Just keep it steady.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Easier said than done, Jason thought. It took every ounce of strength he had to fight the controls, although he didn’t want to show Wilson how much he was struggling. He eased the plane toward the Australian coast. The sun shone directly into the cockpit, blinding Jason’s vision to his right. Below, the sun sparkled off the Indian Ocean.

  “I can see the Ark Royal on the horizon on our right,” Wilson announced, squinting.

  “Jason, this is Commander Elliot again. Are you speaking to Major Wilson?”

  “He certainly was. Hello, commander,” Wilson said.

  “It’s great to hear your voice again, Wilson. How did you get out? What about the others?”

  “Jason got us out. Pete, Ryan, and young John Leigh. This was after he achieved the mission’s objective.”

  Nobody said a word.

  “Well done, Sea Cadet Steed,” Commander Elliot finally commented.

  Wilson switched off the headphones and looked at Jason.

  “What?” Jason asked.

  “Listen…I know you feel bad about the guards you killed, but let me tell you something, Jason. You did a good job—no, a bloody good job. I take it as a sea cadet that you will one day want to join the marines or join the navy. You already have what it takes to join special ops. You will be SAS material, but I know what killing can do to a man. What I mean to say is…you have friends in the service now—”

  A raspy Cantonese voice cut off Wilson in mid-sentence.

  “This is the People’s Republic of China. You are in our airspace. You must return immediately or you will be shot down.”

  “Broom Airfield, did you hear that?” Jason asked.

  “We got it and are going to get it translated—”

  “I understood it. It said we are in Chinese airspace, and we are to return or get shot down,” Jason said.

  Wilson gestured out the window. Jason could see two Chinese helicopters in the distance.

  “Broom Airfield, Commander Elliot please, what do I do?” Jason asked, concerned.

  “Keep going, Jason. We have dispatched an escort. The ETA is seven minutes,” Elliot replied.

  “This is Broom Airfield. Be advise
d that the Chinese are just one minute away,” Bankman instructed.

  Jason pulled back on the throttle to increase the speed. Major Wilson ran to the back of the plane and climbed into the rear Plexiglas dome to man the machine guns.

  “People’s Republic of China, this is the pilot,” Jason announced in Cantonese. “Please be advised we are an American plane and in Australian airspace. Stand down.”

  There was no response. The first helicopter fired a few warning shots. The huge bomber had not been built for speed or maneuverability. It had been built for dropping bombs.

  “We need some help now!” Jason shouted.

  A second wave of shots came at the plane, and Wilson opened fire with his machine guns. The helicopter withdrew but retaliated by firing its air-to-air missile. It missed but exploded near the bottom of the plane. The whole plane shook violently. The left inside engine caught fire.

  “We have taken a direct hit. One of the engines is on fire. We need some help—now,” Jason begged.

  “Steed, turn off that engine,” Commander Elliot barked. “That will cut the fuel, and the fire should go out. You can fly on three engines without a payload.”

  Jason’s eyes darted across the control panel. He flicked the switch to the fuel on engine three. A shaky sigh of relief escaped his lips as the flames flickered and vanished.

  “The fire is out, but it’s hard to keep level now.”

  “Jason, stay calm—”

  A wave of gunfire tore into the cockpit, shattering the glass to his right. Jason cried out in pain as something searing hot tore into his stomach. Wind screamed in his ear. The plane tilted to the left and started to descend.

  “Jason Steed, this is Broom Airfield. You are losing altitude. Please maintain 1,000 meters. Pull up. Pull up.”

  Jason stared down in horror at his belly. “I have been shot. I…Blood is everywhere,” he croaked. Even through his panic, however, he could see that he’d just been strafed. The bullet had grazed him, not entered his body.

  “Pull back on the tiller,” the voice from Broom Airfield shouted. “You are going to fall into a dive. You must pull up.”

  Out of the corner of his dimming eyes, Jason spotted two Royal Navy helicopters. Before he knew what was happening, both Chinese helicopters exploded in fireballs off to his right. He was too light-headed to focus. He tried to reach out to grasp the tiller, but he stopped short as his stomach clenched in agony.

  “Jason, you need to pull up; come on, son, pull her up,” Roger repeated. Jason’s microphone came back on. His voice was breaking; he paused and struggled between words.

  “I tried. I can’t do anymore…I can’t do it…I tried.” Jason coughed.

  Scott’s tears of joy turned to tears of pain, as he heard his friend crying in pain. Roger said no more; he knew he could not push the kid any further. The plane continued to fall.

  Lieutenant Commander Raymond Steed took a deep breath. His captain and colleagues watched him as the teary-eyed lieutenant picked up the radio microphone on the Ark Royal’s bridge. He knew he had to try something to get his son to respond, no matter how hard it was.

  “Jason, this is Lieutenant Commander Steed. Can you hear me, son?” After a small pause, Jason replied, “Dad…I…I tried. I can’t do it anymore. I did. I did try.”

  “Jason, was it your idea to fly the plane back?”

  “Yes,” he choked out.

  “You have put four men on that plane at risk. You also have something that we need. Don’t you dare let us down now. Wake up and pull yourself together. Listen to control and pull the plane back up. Do you hear me?”

  Captain Stephens was shocked at Ray’s harsh words to his son. Scott was still in his bedroom, listening with his mother. His mouth dropped in disbelief. Some of the crew in the bridge had tears in their eyes as they watched Ray struggle with his emotions. Ray took a breath and squeezed the microphone hard; his knuckles turned white as he forced himself to push his son. No reply came from Jason. The plane continued to fall.

  “Jason, did you hear what I said? Pull yourself together and get a bloody grip!” Steed said, not knowing if this was the last time he would speak to his son.

  Jason closed his eyes, took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and dug deeper than he ever had before. His father was right. Lives were at stake—lives that weren’t his to bargain with. He blinked rapidly. The massive old bomber was now probably less than 200 meters above ground. Again, he tried once more to reach the tiller; he ignored the incredible pain as his injured stomach muscles contracted and pulled it back. “I am going to turn engine three on again. I need the power to pull out of the dive,” Jason said.

  The two-ton, turbocharged engine roared back to life. The plane shook and bounced violently as Jason fought with the controls.

  “The engine’s on fire again. I’ll turn it off,” he reported. His breathing changed to panting. His body was cold and losing blood rapidly. He could see the airfield ahead of him, near the coastline. It swam dizzily before his bleary eyes.

  “What fuel do you have left, son?” Roger asked.

  “Ten percent, sir.”

  Wilson joined Jason back in the cockpit. He winced when he saw Jason covered in blood and glass. “Okay, Jason, I don’t think you have enough for two attempts. We have to get it right the first time. Lower your landing gear.”

  Jason painfully lifted himself forward and released the crank. There was a terrible rending noise, and black sludge squirted from an area on the floor. The suffocating odor of gasoline filled the cockpit.

  “It’s not working. Oil is shooting up from the floor,” Wilson cried, panic creeping into his voice. “The missile must have damaged the landing gear.”

  There was a pause from the control tower.

  “Wong Tong says always look further than what you can see,” Jason quoted, feeling suddenly and strangely calm.

  “What the bloody hell does that mean?” Wilson shrieked. “Who the hell is Wong Tong?”

  Jason almost smiled. “We don’t need wheels. We can make an emergency landing. I’ve trained on it.”

  Wilson gaped out the window.

  “Jason, are you all right?” Roger’s voice crackled through the headset. “I need to know that you’re clearheaded—”

  “Sorry, sir, I have to turn off the radio. I need to concentrate. The mission objective is stuffed down my underwear. Pete, Ryan, John, get to the cockpit and strap yourselves in!”

  Jason clicked off the radio. He heard frightened muttering behind him as the three others buckled themselves into the emergency jump seats. As he summoned every last ounce of strength he had, Jason willed himself awake, alert, and focused. The runway leveled off in front of him, just as it had countless times on the simulator, but landing without gear meant that he had to keep the plane as level as possible with the runway. Seconds slowed to an agonizing crawl as the plane descended and descended, and at the last possible moment, he nudged the nose forward.

  “Jason, no!” Wilson cried.

  The bottom Plexiglas dome was the first thing to hit the ground, crushed instantly like a wet paper cup. A propeller hit the ground, smashing it to pieces and causing the plane to veer off the runway at terrific speed. Another prop hit the ground, sending shards of metal as high as fifty feet in the air. Sparks, dust, and flames followed the plane. Jason squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the tiller as tightly as he could. A wing tore off, sending the remaining plane into a spin, tearing up the runway and grass. Sparks and debris flew in all directions from the plane’s twisted and ruptured body as it rumbled to a halt.

  Jason blinked. He was alive.

  “You did it!” Wilson shouted. “You bloody did it!”

  Too stunned to move, Jason simply stared out the window.

  Sirens sounded as emergency crews sped to the scene.

  “The plane is on fire. Get them out!” a voice shouted over the radio. “Get them out—”

  The last thing Jason remembered clearly was the smell o
f smoke. Disjointed images floated through his mind: a masked paramedic hauling him onto a stretcher, the bright blue sky above him, and Wilson’s voice shouting, “That’s no little kid. That’s Jason Steed, the biggest damn hero you will ever see!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Back in London, the queen received a phone call from Prime Minister Harold Wilson.

  “Ma’am, we have some good news. In fact, good news all around. We have recovered what was stolen in Australia. While we speak, they are disarming the missile,” he explained.

  “Does one have any news on the prisoners?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, they have been rescued and are all alive.”

  “How delightful. Well done, Prime Minister. I have to ask, as he is a friend of my daughter’s. Has the missing Sea Cadet Jason Steed’s body been recovered yet?”

  “Jason Steed was responsible for the recovery of the cassette and hatched the escape plan for our prisoners. He also flew the prisoners back.”

  “I don’t think we are talking about the same person, Prime Minister. Jason Steed is just a small boy.”

  “No, ma’am, it is the same person. He is a young sea cadet that got caught up in the mission after the attack. However, he is in critical condition. I will have my staff keep you posted on his condition, but…it does not look hopeful.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Wilson.” The queen hung up and debated how to break the news to her daughter.

  ***

  Jason’s torn and tattered body arrived at the hospital and was rushed to the trauma ward. He was given over five pints of blood. A team of doctors sewed up his stomach. During surgery, he suffered heart failure because of blood loss, and he fell into a coma. They worked on him for four hours as his father waited.

  Ray hated hospitals. They brought back memories of when Karen had died. And now to think he might lose his son—

  Finally, a doctor emerged from the ER. He was an Indian man in his fifties wearing thick black-rimmed glasses. “I am Dr. Gupta, Mr. Steed. Your son has suffered. His tiny body has been through a meat grinder. I don’t really know where to start, so let me start from the bottom up.”