The Price of Freedom
By R.A. Jetter
Below the cockpit, the satchel whipped violently around inside the aircraft, striking the 500-pounders. The handles held fast to the bomb’s upper mounting hardpoint, but the maelstrom of wind and the ferocity had caused the second bomb to detach. The tail of the bomb flailed against the first and third.
An amber light on the panel lit and flashed, Grizzley knew instantly it meant the front hardpoint had somehow released and the rear hardpoint was about to. “Goddamn greed is going to be the death of me! To Hell with the money, can’t spend it if I’m dead!” he yelled at his own predicament. Those bombs have got to go before they punch holes in the fuselage, or worse. If that happens, this crate won’t be airworthy any more. It’s gonna be a twenty-two ton rock. I’ll take my chances on landing this ship with the doors open when I get back to Petersen. I can concoct some story as to why I had to jettison the bombs. The open bay doors will serve to corroborate my story. The only thing I’ll have to worry about is hell from the C.O.
He dropped the left wing and looked toward the valley to see if there were any towns below. His thumb slipped onto the bomb release button. The noise worsened, he leveled the aircraft. Hope there’s no one down there, these duds are going to dig mighty deep holes when they hit. Hopefully the snowpack will hide them for a long time. He noted the GPS coordinates, wrote it on his knee-pad and punched the release. Better know where I released these duds, I’ll want to find that satchel … if I get out of this! Two red lights illuminated on the panel, two bombs were away. Grizzley thumbed the release again; the third light wouldn’t come on. Why won’t that bomb release? What the hell is going on down there? Awww shit! Did the satchel go with the first two or is it still hanging in the bay?
Grizzley had no way of knowing the satchel was still attached to the last bomb in the bay and the handles were showing signs of fatigue. The oscillation had caused the front hardpoint on the remaining bomb to release and the fins had actuated as it disconnected. The bomb had dropped nose first; it hung out of the bay, just below the bottom of the doors. The tail of the 500-pounder dangled dangerously close to hydraulic control lines. Dropping into a pocket of dead air and back out just as fast, the sudden turbulence twisted the heavy blue bag, at the same instant the rear mounting tab bent and tore off. The wind thrust the entangled satchel and the bomb against the bulkhead. It rotated several times, tail fins severed stabilizer and rudder fluid lines and electrical cable, then both banged their way out of the bay. Every light on the instrument panel in front of Grizzley flickered and went out. Gauges immediately went to zero, the stick jerked forward to the panel.
Grizzley knew instantly control of the aircraft was gone and he knew he was in trouble. Serious trouble. He had to get out. No time to think about it…or his money. He leaned forward, tucked his chin, grabbed both handholds at the base of the ejection seat and squeezed the firing mechanism.