The Flight Deck

The event one launch woke me up. I heard them shoot the no-loads to test the cats earlier, but rolled over for a few more z’s. When they shot the first Tomcat, I know it is time to rise and shine. It is, after all, the crack of 0900.

Quiet so as to not wake my roommates, I get out of bed, brush my fangs, put on some PT gear and run down and do 45 mins on the step machine, because I know that today, this would be my only chance. Quick shower and a shave, throw on my bag, make sure I have my wallet (just in case we divert!) and off to the wardroom for an early lunch. Trapezoidal fish, my favorite. I scarf lunch, grab an apple for later and start the long walk aft.

We were in ready room seven, pretty far back aft. Flying with the new guy today. He’s just out to us from the RAG – the training squadron. He’ll fly with me today in the right seat, and tonight he’ll fly with someone else – probably TQ or Vinnie, and tomorrow he will be in the left seat both day and night for his first traps as a fleet guy. He seems like a good guy, we’ll see. Great crew for this one, both Gozer and Chachi in the back, two of the best NFOs I’ve ever flown with.

Fun hop today, single cycle AIC. We are controlling both sides of a 2v2 mixed section hop. One Hornet and one Tomcat on each side. In our crew, we think of it as Chachi vs. Gozer, beer bets all around. And oh by the way, a day trap for me.

After a tactical briefing with each section, our NFO’s return to the ready room for the event brief. Everything is pretty much standard. Starts with the S-3 squadron’s intel guy briefing the overall event on the closed circuit TV from CVIC: Launch posit, PIM (Path of intended movement – where Mom is supposed to be at recovery time) diverts, tank states etc. Because of political constraints in the gulf, we are working “tank states, divert available” which means we will almost never send a plane to the beach unless we have to. Next, it is the weather guesser’s turn. Standard stuff for this time of year.

On to our crew brief. We are feet wet the whole time, no SAMs to worry about, no other threats, just stay away from Farsi Island. Farsi Island is a rock in the middle of the gulf. It is claimed by Iran and they supposedly pule each time we violate their “international airspace” around the island. The Admiral is on the warpath for Farsi violators. Last week, two our hornets were up doing Air Intercepts on each other under the control of one of the destroyers in the battle group. The controller on the destroyer sent one of the Hornets directly over the island and then turned in the pilot for violating the 12-mile standoff!! Needless to say, that destroyer won’t be controlling any of our fighters for a while.

Brief is smooth, relaxed. We’ve been doing this pretty much every day for three months now. I pass some quiet comments to the FNG as Chachi gives his part of the brief. I’m not an instructor any more, but when you fly with a new guy, you are automatically a teacher.

When I started out in E-2s, there was no need for a pilot to learn anything about the mission, the tactics, or the aircraft we controlled. We were pilots, we flew the plane, and we brought it back safely. That was changing, and I wanted to make sure that “my” new guy would feel comfortable and make a contribution in a strike planning group or a discussion in another ready room. He had a lot to learn.

Brief over, we agree we will meet in the paraloft in 20 minutes. I head outside the ready room to the maintenance control desk to read the aircraft discrepancy book. With only four planes in the squadron, you got to know each one pretty thoroughly, so there was nothing in the book that was surprising. The Maintenance Master Chief looks up from some paperwork, gives me a nod, and then says something about me flying equals job security for the maintenance department. We both know it is an old joke, but the young folks like it. I promise to bring back to plane in “less than 5 pieces,” and sign the “A” sheet. Now the airplane belongs to me, and we go to the paraloft.

PR1 Bailey was in the loft, and as is his style, he had all of our gear laid out with alcohol wipes for our masks and a chamois for our visors. This guy was seriously locked on and if he didn’t make Chief this year, I don’t know who would. Gear on, visor clean, time to go. We make a small parade going up to the flight deck. We walk forward on the O-3 Level’s starboard side until about frame 150, then a right turn we walk outboard to the hatch that leads outside. It’s another beautiful day – sunny, warm, light breeze. We go up the ladder to the flight deck. We are behind the island and the flight deck is quiet, they have just finished the recovery. I can hear the tractors thrum as they pull the various aircraft to their spots for our launch.

602, “our” plane was spotted in an area just aft of the Island referred to as “the junkyard.” I tell the FNG to go start his pre-flight and I’d join him in just a second. I walk forward and around the front of the island. I go to the window where the Handler sits directing the chaotic respot on the flight deck. I pull my flashlight out of my survival vest and tap it on the thick blast proof glass to get his attention. When he turns, somewhat miffed that his concentration had been broken, and sees me, he feigns mock surprise. I point at my chest and then hold up my index finger to remind him that I am to be the first off. This was a deal that he and I had made over about four beers that I had bought him at the Irish Village in Dubai a week before. He laughs and nods, turning and pointing at the little plastic airplane that represented my Hawkeye on his little model of the flight deck and gives me a thumbs up with the other hand. I put a huge kiss on the glass that makes a large smear and walk aft to my plane.

Airman Cottom is our plane captain today. She is my favorite. Not because she looks like everyone’s little sister, which she does. She is my favorite because despite her small stature, she works harder than any two guys in the line division. She is with a couple of the junior petty officers on the left side of the plane, waiting for me. As I approach, she stiffens up and delivers a pretty impressive salute. I return the salute and offer may hand. She shakes my hand and reports that the plane is ready to go. I also shake hands with the other sailors with her. “Got the new guy, huh sir? Can we help train him?” Evil grins all around.

I can only imagine what it is that they want to do to him, and I beg them to be nice, at least until after he gets his first night trap. They reluctantly promise to behave and I start my pre-flight. I generally try not to take too much time doing the walk around. I trust our maintainers with my life, and I want them to see it. I try to put on the air of “I do this because I have to, and I know that you guys have this thing ready to go.”

Plane looks good, so I climb in. Up to the cockpit, strap in, ICS check with the FNG. Silence. He’s forgotten to plug in his helmet, so I do it for him. He’s embarrassed so I slap the back of his helmet which I am sure makes him feel better. Then I select Chachi and Gozer in the back, and sing out “All I want to do is a boom boom boom and a zoom zoom” to which they reply (together and loudly) “JUST SHAKE YA’ RUMP!” It is the song d’jour in the ready room and another one of those inside “cruise jokes” that makes us all crack up, but seems stupid to others- and it is.

I work my way quickly around the cockpit, making sure all the switches are properly positioned for the start. I also surreptitiously check the stuff the FNG is responsible for – he got it all. We read the checklist quickly, he challenges, I reply. We finish and, noticing that the air start units, the huffers, are not running he says to me “So why aren’t the guys on the deck getting ready to start?”

“They are waiting, we are all waiting.”

“For what?”

And as if on cue, the voice of the mini-boss rings out over the 5MC:

“On the flight deck, crews are manning up for the event 4 launch…”

“For that.” I say as we close our overhead ditching hatches. The hornet pilots start their APUs and the deck folks start the huffers all at once. It gets loud fast.

The start is uneventful, FNG is ahead of the program and gets the inertial navigation system spun up and aligned to our position. We check the trim, the bleed air, and the rudder limiter. I look up at Airman Cottom and nod. She immediately begins giving crisp signals for the rudder and elevator checks and asks for us to show our hands while the airframe’s troubleshooter looks at our nose gear. We can’t check the hook because we are tail over water.

We are finished up front. “Goze, Nose. How you looking in the back?” I ask over the ICS. The Yellow Shirts are starting to get anxious, like the big fish in an aquarium when they know it is almost time to be fed.

“We’re good, let’s go flying” he replies. Before he has finished talking, I am giving Cottom two thumbs up, which she passes to the nearest Yellow shirt. He speaks briefly into his mic, telling Flight Deck Control and the Deck Chief that we are ready. A second later he nods at Cottom.

Cottom looks at me, pats her head with both hands and points at the Yellow Shirt. I belong to him now. She gives me a goodbye salute and disappears. The Yellow Shirt gives me the “Hold Brakes” signal, both hands over his head with fists closed. I nod and he lowers his arms. His right hand brushes the back of his left forearm and his left hand brushes his right then he puts his hands together below his waist, thumbs out and pops them away from each other. “They are breaking us down, looks like Cat one today boys.” I report to the moles.

E-2 Moles are a special breed, they have the worst seat in the house when it comes to visibility, but no one is better than they are at building and maintaining the big picture. For safety reasons, we narrate events on the flight deck for them so if something goes awry, they know where we are and what their best escape is.

Cottom and another airman in the Line Division re-appear with 25 pounds of greasy tie-down chains hanging off of each one of them. Chief Wolly, our burly flight deck chief points at them and gives me a thumbs up, all the chains are off, all of our people are clear.

The Yellow Shirt gives me the hold brakes signal again and turns and walks out about 30 feet in front of us. Instinctively I turn to the right and look to see if I can see the flight deck chief further forward. I pick him out; he is easily recognizable in his khaki trousers and yellow shirt, float coat and helmet. The fact that he is 6′ 5″ and weighs about three bills doesn’t hurt either. I see him look aft towards us and talk into his mic. Bring the Hummer up.

“Coming Forward” I say before our Director even moves. He puts his hands over his head with both fists closed and flicks his fingers out into a spread five on each side. Release brakes. (Mental note to tell the FNG to call me Sensei) He begins to slooowly wave his arms back and forth over his head. I put my left hand on the Nosewheel Steering pistol grip and with my right hand I release the parking brake. I add just a touch of power and we inch forward. When I have some momentum, I tap the brakes, just to make sure they work.

We pull forward under the watchful eye of the Director. He keeps us moving and occasionally glances towards the tail of my aircraft on his right. One of his buddies is back there watching the tail. Once I am all the way out of the parking spot and the tail is clear of all the jets and equipment back there, he will get a signal from the guy watching the tail – a signal just like an NFL ref’s “Run the Clock” signal.

This guy is good and without slowing us down, he starts me in a slow right turn. Once I am established in the turn and he knows I can see up the flight deck, he passes control to another Yellow shirt further up the landing area who has one hand raised over his head. When he sees he now has control he continues the hand signals. I notice that standing right behind him is another Yellow Shirt.

“See that guy directing us?” I ask the FNG.

“Yeah.” He nods.

“Well that guy behind him is training him, he is new, that means that we will do what he says but not blindly. If you see anyone else give a signal that contradicts him, let me know.”

“Okay.”

“Gozer, we are moving forward in the landing area, Tomcats turning on the right, helo is on the left. He is just now engaging his rotors.”

“Copy.” Says Gozer.

We continue forward with a few minor turns, mostly to the right. The trainer taps the trainee on his left shoulder and the trainee holds his left arm out while continuing to wave his right arm. I turn right in response. He must be pretty new, because he isn’t doing anything without being told.

They keep us coming forward and hand us off to the “Fly 1″ Director. The flight deck and hangar deck are divided into thirds. Fly 1 is forward, Fly 2 amidships, and Fly 3 is aft. We call the Fly 1 director “The Lifeguard” because he always has white zinc oxide on his nose. He is an excellent director who can say more with his hands than most people can say with their mouths.

We are almost clear of the landing area. The ship is turning into the wind and the wind over the deck picks up, which slows me down a bit. The Lifeguard stomps his right foot a couple of times. C’mon, step on it, you can go faster. He gets me up almost to the jet blast deflector and stops me with my nose pointing about 45 degrees off the starboard side of the ship.

“Gozer, parked behind the number one JBD, hornets turning behind us.”

The lifeguard makes a thumb down with his right hand and drops it onto his open left hand. I drop the hook. A few seconds later he reverses the signal and I raise the hook. He again gives me the “Hold” signal and I nod. I can see the Catapult officer walking the length of the catapult looking for anything amiss. It is a nice day so the shooters are working on the flight deck instead of hiding in the bubble that sits between the catapults.

A young sailor in green comes over to me with the weight board. He holds it up. “53,000″

I give him a thumbs up and he runs back forward. He shows it to the catapult crewman sitting on the flight deck with his legs down inside an open hatch. As the catapult officer comes back and joins them, he tips the board towards himself to see our weight and then looks over the sitting sailor’s shoulder. They both point to a spot on the page of the Aircraft Launch Bulletin sitting on the sailor’s lap. Thumbs up all around and the cat officer makes a beckoning motion to The Lifeguard. Get him up here. The sitting sailor leans down and rolls the proper setting into the Capacity Selector Valve. This will determine how much steam we will get for launch.

Time to start forward again. The lifeguard takes us straight ahead for a second to align our fuselage with the catapult. When he is happy he gives me a left turn and hands me off to the “cat spotter.” The cat spotter is another yellow shirt straddling the catapult who is responsible for getting us into launch position.

I call for the takeoff checks, again FNG challenges and I reply.

“Cat Grip” “It’s up”
“Trim” “Cycled, set 2,3, and 0, I have control”
“AFCS” “Power only”
“Max Rudder” “20, auto, 20″

“Goze, crossing the JBD.”

The cat spotter straightens us out in line with the cat and then with a quick glance left and right, folds his arms across his chest and spreads them open like wings.

“Go ahead and spread’em” I tell the FNG. He reaches down and flips the switch to spread the wings. We continue to creep forward as the wings fold down away from the fuselage and out. I glance left and see Petty Officer Doolin check the left wingtip as it goes by him. Without looking, I know that Petty Officer Peeler is doing the same thing on the right side. Peeler and Doolin are our final checkers. They give the plane a once over as we approach the cat and then position themselves back near the tail on each side until we launch. Once we come up on the power, Peeler on the right will pass a thumbs up underneath the tail to Doolin on the left. Doolin will repeat the thumbs up over his head to tell the cat officer they are happy.

The wings come all the way up and FNG locks them. “Tips, flush flags.” “Tips, flush.” I repeat acknowledging that the winglock flags are down and the wings are locked. I flip the flap lever down one notch and wipe out the controls so the troubleshooters can make sure my ailerons are working.

The Cat Spotter stops me so the hook up guys can get under the nose. They are attaching the trail bar to the back of my nosewheel and dropping my tow link on the front. The trail bar goes from the Catapult up to a connector called a hold back fitting which attaches to the back of my nosewheel. The hold back is a small piece of metal shaped like a dumbbell. It will hold me in place, even with the engines at full power until the cat fires. Steam begins drifting up from the cat, which means the shuttle, which will pull us along the cat, is moving aft into firing position. It slides the length of the cat track, between the cat spotter’s legs, and comes to a stop just in front of my nosewheel.

“Goze, shuttle’s aft.”

“Crew’s ready.” comes the reply. It’s now loud back there. They have removed the ditching hatch over Chachi’s head. If we go swimming today, that is their primary escape route.

“Lets finish the checks.”

“Wings and controls” “Spread, locked, controls are free”
“Flaps” “One third”
“Reverse, Parking brake, engines.” “Won’t check reverse, brakes off, engines to go.”

Cat spotter still holding. Since we are the first to go, they are waiting for the green deck from the tower. There are a series of three rotating lights on the front of the tower. The red light means five minutes to launch, yellow one minute, green means launch ‘em.

I check my watch, 59 minutes past the hour. Any time now. The cat spotter moves off of the cat over to the safe area to my left between the catapults and near the cat officer and the sailor sitting on the deck.

The Catapult officer looks at the tower and down at my nose. He points his two index fingers at the guy under my nose and jerks them back towards himself. Hook ‘em up! The Cat Spotter starts me forward. We only have a couple of feet to taxi. When the trail bar catches the buffer hooks on the catapult, I can feel the resistance. About the same time, my tow-link drops into the front of the shuttle. The Cat spotter keeps me coming forward and when my movement almost stops he tells me with his hands to add some power – a couple of inches to go.

Under my nose the hook up guy, the bravest/dumbest guy on the ship is wagging one finger forward telling the cat spotter to keep me coming forward. When he is satisfied that the connection from the buffer hooks through the holdback to my nose and back down the tow link on the front into the shuttle is tight, he clenches his fist, a signal to the cat spotter to stop us. Looking forward and aft to ensure the cat is clear and JBD is up, he points at the nose and as he runs his hand forward, he makes a loop with his arm and ends up pointing down the cat. Take tension.

From the two-hand “hold” signal, the cat spotter gives two signals at once: with his right hand he opens his fist telling me to release brakes, he drops his left arm straight down and then sweeps it out to his left and points his open left hand forward telling the deck-edge controller who is off to my right to take tension. I release brakes and run the power halfway up.

“Tension” I tell the guys in the back.

We feel a solid thump as the shuttle moves forward to tension the whole linkage from flight deck to nose to shuttle. The hook up man takes on last look and then runs out to safety holding up his thumb telling the cat officer everything looks good.

The cat spotter taps his helmet, points to the cat officer and steps back. It is the last time we will be handed off.

The cat officer taps his chest with both hands, I’ve got you, and shakes two fingers on his left hand over his head. I run the power levers up to the stops and grab the catapult grip, which will keep my arm from sliding backward with the power levers during the shot. The plane is howling – we aren’t quite ready to fly, but it sure is.

My litany to the crew: “Hyds good, flaps, trim, engines are good, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

No one says anything so I look at the cat officer and keeping my right arm locked in place in case we launch prematurely, salute with my left.

“Saluting”

He returns the salute. Still spinning with the left hand, he uses his right for his checks: Points forward, green light, cat is good and track is clear. Points aft, Peeler and Doolin are giving thumbs up. Points at the aircraft and does his own litany “Flaps, slats, panels, pins.” Points at the centerdeck sailor who also has a thumb up, Cat and winds are all good.

One last look at me to make sure I’m not shaking my head and he makes a large arc with his left hand as he lowers himself to the deck. He touches the deck for a moment and then raises his arm slightly and points as if to tell us where we need to go.

“Touching the deck”

The deck edge operator, who has both hands in the air so he doesn’t accidentally touch anything, spins his whole upper body forward.

“Looking forward”

Then he pivots 180 degrees.

“Looking aft”

He comes back to center, facing the cat officer, and I see his right hand drop.

“Here’s the shot.”

His hand pops right back up to give a quick salute, but I’m already gone.

As soon as the deck edge operator pushes the launch button, the CSV opens. Steam fills the two cylinders underneath the deck and starts pushing on the rams inside them. The rams are attached to the shuttle, which for the next two seconds is attached to us. The weak link in the system is the holdback, which breaks, leaving half on deck and half attached to the back of our nosewheel.

With enough force to make us fly even if we lose one engine, we are thrown down the deck. Gozer, on the ICS, gives a stoic, I’ve-been-here-before, “Yeeeeeeeeeee-ha”

We are flying…