(Previously)
“That’s right, 104. He’s trick or treat, the hard way. He doesn’t know it yet, but he has to land here – we’re out of options. We’ll give him one look at the wires, then rig the barricade if we have to. If that doesn’t work we’ll eject him alongside, fish him out with a SAR helo. You worry about you, and that fouled store.”
“104, roger.”
“Oh, and 104?” the Captain added, “He doesn”t need to know about this.”
“Copy that, sir.”
No, thought the JG. He certainly doesn”t.
On the darkened, breathless bridge, the Captain turned to the J-Dial phone, picked up the handset, punched in the four-digit number to CATCC: “This is the Captain ” CAG, please.” After a brief pause, “Hell of a bind, CAG. The tankable recovery is almost complete, we caught all the fighters and the Prowler while 311 was getting his gas. All I’ve got left is the Hummer and the sour tanker. The Hummer can wait, and we can divert the tanker to the beach if it comes to that. But there’s no way to shoot from the bow with the last recovery on deck ” hang on ” JOOD, tell the Air Boss to stop buzzing me, I’ll get back to him in a second. Anyway CAG, I’ll call away the alert 15 tanker, but the way I see it, this will all be over one way or another before we can spin him up and get him airborne. Uh, huh. Right. Concur. Well, it’s all up to paddles and your boy now. You bet. I agree, we’re all going to look pretty stupid if the young man can’t put her down in the spaghetti. One way or the other, we’re probably going to have to go in and debrief the admiral on this after it’s over. Maybe better we get our stories straight before we head in there, what do you say? OK. I’ll see you in CATCC after it’s over. Bye.”
The Captain rang off, feeling suddenly old, unspeakably weary. After twenty-six years of personal sacrifice, markedly superior performance, exceptionally hard work, arduous duty on the empire’s outer arc, and steady advancement through a vigorous professional winnowing process he had finally arrived at the pinnacle of carrier command. Now he found that he had arrived there only to have everything he had ever said, or done, or achieved “his entire professional career – trembling at the intersection of a decision made at the end of 19 hour day and a stroke of singular misfortune. All that stood between his fondest dreams and darkest professional nightmares was now one single approach by a struggling nugget aviator whose first name he did not even know. The UHF radio to the left of his sacred chair sputtered into life, breaking in upon this melancholy reverie: “Approach, Three-one-one, abeam, state 2.9.”
“Three-eleven, approach, roger. Maintain angels one-point-two, expect a four mile turn to final,” came the deceptively cheerful response.
In his darkened cockpit, the JG frowned within his mask. A four mile hook. Approach probably figured they were doing me a favor, but a four mile turn to final will only give me maybe 15 seconds or so to get stabilized on final approach course before starting my descent. I could use a little more time. Don’t want to sound like a non-hack though. Ah, screw it. “Approach, 311, I’d like a six mile hook, if you don’t mind.”
“311, Approach, roger, expect a six mile turn to final,” agreeably.
“311.”
In CATCC, on the bridge, in the cockpit of an FA-18 undergoing radio maintenance on the flight deck well forward, the air wing commander, the ship’s CO, and a second class avionics technician all breathed the slightest bit more freely: Good for him, they thought ” at least he’s still in the game, still thinking. Come aboard when you’re ready. You’re only going to get one look. Might as well make it a good one.
I wish I didn’t know, the JG thought. I wish I hadn’t listened in. A chorus of shouts in the back of his head suddenly thrust themselves right forward, into his consciousness: Not fair! Too hard! Not possible!
I can do this! the JG shouted back, shoving them aside and hearing “311, Approach, six miles, turn left to the final bearing 355, maintain angels 1.2, report bullseye.”
“311 roger, left to 355,” and now a small voice in the back of his head, a venomous whispering, I’m not so sure you can do it. You couldn’t do it last night.
“311 bullseye up and right,” pilots do this all the time. It’s what we do.
“311, Approach, concur, fly your bullseye,” followed immediately after by, “311 approach, lock-on at 3.5, say needles.”
“Approach, 311, needles on course, fly slightly up.” It’s what they do. You haven’t been doing it so well, have you?
“311, Approach concur, fly your needles, approaching tip-over at three miles.”
“311.” But it’s only a matter of believing in yourself.
“311 Approach, three miles, on glideslope going slightly left, right two.”
“311.” You can believe that pigs have wings, but that won’t make them pigeons.
Shut up.
Barricade if you go around again. Hit the net and trash the jet, all because you weren’t good enough.
This is not my fault! Shut up!
“311 on course, on glideslope at two miles.” See it’s not so hard.
“311,” more a grunt than a response. But this isn”t the hard part, is it? It’s those last five seconds, you have to get off the instruments and fly the ball, you have to keep her lined up even as she’s trying to crawdad away from you to the right. You’ve got to keep her on speed ” paddles won’t take you slow, saw that last night, didn’t we? “Eat at Joe’s” lights they call, them, but it means a wave-off and though they haven’t told us so, we know that means a barricade for sure, and maybe the Martin-Baker let down if we’re not careful, good, and lucky. And how have you liked your luck, recently?
“311, going slightly right of course, slightly above glideslope at a mile and a half, left two.”
“311,” Shut up! and I’m not going to say anything else until I call the ball, she’s sluggish in these turns back to the left. I wonder if it’s going to hurt, that ejection? People have broken their backs. I wonder if there are sea snakes? I’ve seen them from the gallery deck, all white and awful and they say that they’re deadly poisonous. I wonder how long it will take for them to find us? What if the chute drags us under? What if we drown?
SHUT UP! SHUT UP, SHUT UP!
“311, three quarters of a mile, call the ball.”
“311, Hornet ball, two-point-five useable.”
“Roger ball, Hornet, you’re just a little underpowered now. A little power, back to the right,” the voice of the LSO, smooth, caressing, careless. Another day at sea, for all his voice might give it away, but how did I get low? The power coming up and catch it, catch it on line-up ” don’t chase it. Almost there, don’t lead it ” Now, a little power back off, half of it back on again to catch it, rate of descent is looking good. Looking good, but wait, drifting a little “a little right for lineup,” said the LSO, the JG responded, silently cursing, I saw it, I was just about to “a little power” the LSO again, throttles up but not too far, for God’s sake don’t bolter. “Easy with it,” the LSO said and a part of him wanted to cry that there was nothing easy about it, but he stuffed it aside and he was almost there, crossing the ramp, one more correction, a little power off ” no: ON and a little left wing down and WHAM!
On deck! On deck, by God! And the joy in his heart, the engines screaming at military power as the wire ran out, went taut, held hard, the jet bucking like a trapped beast in a snare and there was the Air Boss on the radio, saying something, something to him, repeating it again, again with emphasis and finally the words making sense, “Lights on deck 311, lights on deck. We’ve got you, throttle back. We’ve got you.”
Yaaay!!!
BZ Lex!
whew
*sigh*
Sir, I though you were never going to post this part.
Good landing.
rr
*GRIN*
…oh sure, “the Hummer can wait…” Geez, how many times have I heard that? While sitting in high holding, hanging on the blades…
Gonna barricade the A-7?
Boss — confirm we’re blue water (hint, hint)
Roger Bluetail
Roger, (pause) be advised we’re @1.4 …
Roger Bluetail, max conserve…
(yeah, no s……)
And the yo-yo tanker is going to be trapped first….?
Roger
(not one of my fonder memories at the boat)
The problem? A-7 lost it’s hookpoint, tanker was sweet and the subj A-7 had successfully tanked earlier in the cycle. We, OTOH, had been extended to a triple cycle and here we were over the deep, fracking, blue mid-Atlantic…
SJS
Sh*t Hot flying and writing!!!
Can the Hummer come down now?
Okay so the kid made it on to the deck with the airplane and still keeped about 98% of the fastners on the airplane and all his fingers and toes. Now will he face his section leader or his department head? Will they start to ask the hard questions about him? What about the rest of the JO Monkey Cage (otherwise known as JO stateroom), are they going to pull him aside and congratulate him or shun him? Finally, will the kid do that hard look into his face in the rain locker mirror and go “Did I keep the number to that truck driving school?”
It ain’t over yet folks, not till the poor kid is ashore and after a few beers and a good LCDR or even the XO pulls him aside and tells the kid that they have all been there done that and gotten the t-shirt.
thank God.
Great work Lex.
Can we finally breathe now, or do you have something more up your sleeve?
And standing in a cockpit, with tears in his eyes, tears he will never mention to anyone, is a 2nd Class Com/Nav tech. Holding his headset and cheering, hollering, “Yeah, HELL YEAH!
Tired, with midrats and a bunk in a crowded section just below the bow to look forward to, and still that joy.
He’d worked on that bird two nights before, the radio had been intermittent, and after swapping boxes twice, he’d found a broken wire in a cannon plug at the bulkhead connector.
No big deal, it’s what he did, what he’d trained to do. But tonight the radio had been clear and strong, and tonight it had mattered.
Semper Fidelis,
ASM826
Even though Lex didn’t make me cry with this posting…ASM826 just made me break down like a baby…I was an ET, a long time ago, and you hit a soft spot…thanks shipmate.
You had me holding my breath right down to the “wire”, Lex … *whew*!
Nice job jamming it together at the end showing how those last few seconds slow down and speed up seemingly at the same time, the last few seconds where you wonder if you’re controlling the pass or if it’s taken on a life of its own and you’re merely hanging on for the ride.
Yahooo!
Having read through the first 15 comments, doesn’t anyone care about that loose drop tank? I have no doubt our stout Captain will have more to say about that loaded tank which is now undergoing some rather radical accelerations/deccelerations. F still equals ma.
Voiceover, with announcer and soap opera organ in background, “Stay tuned tomorrow, when we answer these questions three:
“Will the M.O. contact the Skipper, concerning the “Tanks” situation, ASAP?”
“What of the NATOPS instructor, and his Emergency Procedures training, and compartmentalization techniques…”
And finally, “Will there be a long green table in our Nugget Pilot’s future, and will he be served coffee????”
“Stay tuned for those answers, and more on Lex’s Rhythms!”
Lex, you need to travel more often. That’s what seems to get these stories drawn out of you.
What loose drop tank? I thought the aircraft with a drop tank problemw as already on deck…
Well, Thank God (and Lex)!!
*whew*
Nice writing, Skipper…
Ahhh, you’re right, Fbl (comment 19). Our most entertaining Captain is, on reflection, no doubt fully aware that a Technothriller that bogs intself down on inanimate trivia will have no market. In good fiction, as in Adventure gaming, the money is in human beings…it’s the JG, CATCC, CAG, JOOD, LSO etc. etc. and their interactions that move the books off the shelf. A drop tank mounting point that might break on the impact of a carrier landing can’t hold a candle to a green Lt(jg) who might break on the impact of a carrier landing.
Ah, the drop tank wasn’t loose – or at least, it wasn’t meant to be – it just had a transfer failure. All of that gas… Just. Stuck. There.
Useless.
Glad you all enjoyed – now it’s likely all about spinning down, finishing the day.
Hey Charles
“good” LCDR? You obviously don’t know much about the Navy!!!
JOPA RULES!!!
Nose
Hey Idaho,
I have thought of your comment several times, and since I have no other way to contact you, I am replying here.
There is the maintenance story, isn’t there? A couple of hundred enlisted, in the Marine squadrons anyway, that work the long hours. Very young men, working under E-7 and E-8 shop chiefs. Entrusted with the lives of their officers and millions of dollars of equipment. Powerplants, hyd, elctrical, metalshop, radar, com/nav, flightline. We deployed alongside the fighters like the rest of the spare parts. Lived in tents in February in Korea, in old Quonset huts on the top of the mountain at Cubi Pt., and sometimes, below the deck on a carrier.
I never made a carrier deployment, the squadron I was with went to West-Pac, but only two of the Marine squadrons homebased at Beaufort were carrier qualified. I kept a journal during my last West-Pac, with F-4S aircraft, in 1983. Always thought there was a novel in there, even if I didn’t have the time or skill to tease it out. Sort of like the other half of the Great Santini story.
Even in Lex’s story, it may be officers making the decisions, but every single piece of equipment, every radio, valve, light fixture, engine, the million small parts that make up an airplane, and the hundred million small parts and interactions that make up a ship, work or don’t work directly at the hands and responsibility of the enlisted techs.
Semper Fidelis,
ASM826
This is way better than fantasy baseball, thanks for tripping me back to another lifetime, Lex, very well done indeed.
Trap ‘em! The team works again!
I say the jg needs a double slider w/egg after he gets in the chocks, debriefed at CVIC and paddles and of course eyeballed by the CO and ‘critiqued’ by his buds….
Lex- thank G for your sportsfans you didn’t break down that last 3/4 of a mile into milliseconds, because, well…..you know- you coulda!
B2
Lex,
Ok, the kid is on deck and all is well. Now for a question. You made reference to how expensive the drop tank was. Can you give us an idea of the cost. I for one would be happy to dump a $50K tank instead of trashing a 20M jet in a barricade.
Thanks for the peek into the world of a Naval Aviator.
Good Story CAPT Lex,
As the young enlisted and prior enlisted Men here have said, it is all about the TEAM, ain’t it? God, don’t those boys, and the JOs in charge of them, make us old guys look good?
Carry on, Men. Each of you wins a Super Bowl Ring of Gratitude, and a pat on the back for each of your philosophical contributions to this story, and for the service you rendered in saving one young man’s life somewhere on this planet by just serving in the United States Military. I wish there was more money in the till.
But that ain’t why you served, is it?
Press on, good CAPT.
Subsunk
My $0.02.
Un-put-down-able!
The comments about the EMs working so hard reminds me….
I am an old Army infatryman so my experiences are on the ground (though my late uncle was a Silver Eagle).
I remember my discussion with my company motor sergeant one day when I told him a particulalry nasty job had to get done that day in the snow and mud in Germany. He didn’t like it but he would do it….just like the professional he was. So when we were drinking cups of coffee later outside our tool truck, SSG M turns to me and says, “You know sir, I think the Air Force and the Navy have the right idea.”
I responded, rather puzzled, “What do you mean, SSG M?”
He responded, “Well, the enlisted men all bust their butts all of the time so the officers can go out and get their asses shot off.”
He then dumped out th edregs of his coffee, gave me a sharp salute and walked away leaving a very chagrined and apoplectnd 1LT behind.
Learned a valuable lesson that day….one I hope I never forgot.
God, this is good stuff! Makes those of us who could never have been a naval aviator (really bad eyes to start)appreciate those of you are (or were) even more than we always have.
[...] (Previously) [...]