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windscreen iced completely over as hundreds of gallons of jet fuel gushed out of the receptacle, streamed back across the windscreen, and froze. “I lost contact with you,” Patrick said, activating the windshield de-ice system. “But I think we took some gas. I’ll keep it as steady as I can—you just keep plugging me.”
    It was the weirdest, scariest, and most violent aerial refueling Patrick had ever done. Time after time the refueling nozzle slammed into the damaged slipway; every time the probe reached the receptacle, the boom operator forced the nozzle tight against it, then turned the pumps on low. More fuel streamed out—but some was going into the Vampire’s tanks.
    One hundred miles away from Diego Garcia, the small island in the Indian Ocean leased by the United States Navy from Great Britain as a forward operating air base, the DC-10 unplugged for the last time. “We transferred two hundred thousand pounds, guys—but I have no clue how much actually went into your tanks.”
    â€œAt least you stopped the needles from moving to ‘E’ for a while,” Patrick said ruefully. “Thanks. See you on the ground.”
    â€œGood luck, Puppeteer.”
    After putting the flight-control system back on its max endurance program, Patrick and Rebecca discussed the approach and landing. There was only one choice: a straight-in approach to the downwind runway. The winds near Diego Garcia would be pushing them toward the island, but the Vampire wouldn’t have the fuel to try to turn into the wind for landing. Patrick would have to do the flying—and he would get only one shot at it.
    Patrick tuned the number-one radio to the Navy’s approach frequency. “Rainbow, this is Puppeteer.”
    â€œPuppeteer, this is Charlie,” the U.S. Navy captain in charge of air operations at Diego Garcia Naval Air Station responded. “We’ve been monitoring your flight progress. State your intentions.”
    â€œStraight-in approach to runway one-four, full-stop landing.”
    â€œWill this landing be under full control?”
    â€œUnknown, Charlie.”
    â€œStand by.” Patrick didn’t have to stand by long: “Request denied, Puppeteer,” the captain said. “Sorry, Puppeteer, but we can’t risk you shutting down the airfield with a crash landing—too many other flights rely on us for a dry strip of concrete. We can vector you to a ditching or bail-out zone and have rescue and recovery units standing by. Advise your intentions.”
    â€œCharlie, we can make it,” Patrick replied. “If it looks like we won’t come in under control, we’ll divert away from the island. But I think we can make it. Requesting permission to land.”
    â€œRequest denied, Puppeteer,” the captain responded. “I’m sorry, but that answer comes from Hemingway.” “Hemingway” was the four-star commander of U.S. Central Command, who had overall operational authority over this mission.
    â€œSir, Puppeteer is declaring an emergency,” Patrick announced. “We have fifteen minutes of fuel and two souls on board. Our intentions are to attempt a full-stop landing on the downwind runway. Please have men and equipment standing by.”
    Charlie was already talking—no, shouting —on the frequency when Patrick let go of the mike button: “. . . repeat, you will not attempt a landing on Diego Garcia, Puppeteer, do you understand me? Your aircraft represents an extreme hazard to this base. Accept vectors to the ditching zone. Acknowledge!”
    â€œI copy, Rainbow,” Patrick said. He knew that the ops officer at Diego Garcia knew that Patrick was going to go over all their heads. He didn’t care. The Vampire was in trouble, big trouble, and they weren’t going to make it unless they got permission to land at Diego Garcia.
    But a few minutes later Patrick got his answer