Again, most folks are real, one callsign and one real name are changed for obvious reasons.

Enjoy.  If my grammar is poor, please don’t tell my mother.  Thanks.

—-

Event Nine

We lost two events recovering from the emergency pull forward.  If it were up to the handler, we would have cancelled rest of the day’s flying and just started anew tomorrow.

Handlers like no-fly days.

We had a quick planning meeting in Strike Ops and Ice, our strike ops officer, convinced the ship that we needed at least one night event just to keep our pilots current.  A tailhooker needs a night arrested landing every seven days or he loses currency.  Going over seven days is not the end of the world, but the further they are from “current” the harder it is for the squadron, the wing, and the ship to get the back up on step.  We sold the Boss on the fact that he would only have to spot for one launch and the airborne jets would make room for cleaning up the mess on the flight deck, and he sold the Handler.

In our original plan for the day, Shaggy was going to be on the platform for event nine, the last cycle of the day.  I told him I would take it since he would be busy for the next couple of hours.  His aircraft had suffered serious damage and, for now, the squadron safety officer wanted to cover his bases and call it a “mishap.”  When a pilot is involved in a mishap, there are several things that have to happen in a relatively short period of time.  Blood and urine samples must be taken to determine line of duty status and ensure there are no “chemical factors” which contribute to the mishap.  The pilot must account for everything he did in the 96 hours prior to the mishap to help determine if there were any psychological or physiological factors.

It was no big deal for me to take the recovery, I had nothing else to do, and the lone night event was nothing more than an “airborne respot.”  It made it easier for the Handler to clean up the flight deck after today’s mess.  They would start the recovery almost as soon as the launch was complete.  The handler would have a half loaded deck to work as the launch finished and the recovery began, and we would maintain currency on about 20% of our pilots.

Aside from my morning flight, and the excitement of the emergency recovery of Shaggy and Sewp in 104, it had been pretty much a boring day for me.  I decided to go up to the flight deck early.  It would be a short cycle and I’d have jets in the chute almost as soon as the handler and his guys got the landing area clear.  I left CAG operations and made my way aft.

Night recoveries are always controlled by the ship’s carrier air traffic control center or CATCC.  (Pronounced “Cat-see”), so before a night recovery, I always stopped in to see what was going on.  Walking aft on the starboard side of the ship, I passed through the naugahide curtain and entered the Flag’s area of the ship.  The door to the Flag mess was open and I could see the staff finishing up what was left of their dinner.  Looked like MS2 Harmon, one of the Admiral’s cooks, had made his famous chocolate chip cookies.  The staff were enjoying their cookies and tall glasses of milk.  Obviously the Flag mess got their milk form somewhere other than the ship’s Supply officer.  We had run out of fresh milk on the third day of cruise and had switched to the boxed and often warm Parmalat, which I think is French for “Fake milk.”

I entered Air Ops.  The room was darkened and Charlie, the Assistant Air Ops officer was on the phone.  It sounded like he was checking the status of the divert fields.  He was much better at doing his job and the Air Ops officer’s job at the same time than the Air Ops officer was at just doing his own.  Lucky for AirOps, he had a great assistant and a great CATCC officer.  I nodded at Charlie and he smiled and flipped me a bird.  Lots of love in the ship-Air Wing team.  I made a quick scan of ISIS to see who was flying.  ISIS was the Intigrated Ships Information System, it had replaced the grease boards that had been in use for about 200 years.  I noticed that Taz a Tomcat nugget who was having a less than stellar start to his career behind the ship was in 106.  I took out my pen and wrote “106” in big numbers on the back of my hand.

I went in the door to CATCC and found Barb and her controllers performing their pre-recovery brief.  Barb was the most squared away CATCC officer I have ever seen.  Her radar room was always quiet and controlled.  Her people were professional and very, very good at what they did.  There was a humming above us that grew steadily louder.  I glanced at the Pilot Landing Aid Television (the “PLAT”) and saw that an E-2 was being taxied into position on CAT 3, almost on top of our heads.  They finished their brief and manned their positions.  Barb and her Chief came over to say hi.

“A little fun out there today, huh sir?” said Chief Polk.

“Yeah Chief.  You guys did a great job getting all the goodies turned on in a hurry.”

We talked quickly about the recovery – the ramp time, the time when the first aircraft was supposed to be crossing the ramp, was in about 35 minutes.  We bet $10 on whether the deck would be ready or not.

I looked at the back of my hand and told Barb “Do me a favor, if you are doing training on final tonight, that’s cool, but when 106 shows up, keep a good eye on him and help him as much as you can.”  She glanced at her ISIS screen in the front of the room, saw Taz was in 106 and nodded knowingly.

I went back out into Air Ops and sat on one of the benches in the back.  The squadron representatives were beginning to filter in.  Every squadron that had an aircraft flying was required to have a rep in Air Ops for night launches and recoveries and in the tower for day ops in case something happened.  When a plane had a problem, they would call for their rep to discuss options and to get a backup on their NATOPS procedures.  I sat and jawed with Chachi, who was the E-2 rep for the launch.  The 1MC sounded six bells and I instinctively looked at my watch.  1900, time to launch ‘em.  The jets on Cat 1 were still getting spotted and the Hummer on 3 was just getting hooked up.  Late again, as usual.

“I wonder what time the 1900 launch is?” Chachi said to me.

I giggled, smacked him lightly in the back of the head and said over my shoulder as I got up to leave,  “Need to be a team player and stop looking at the bad side of everything Chach, why don’t you get on board for the big win?”

Down the starboard p-way to the back door to ready room 8, the Tomcat ready room.  I walked in and saw Otis, the Diamondback’s OpsO.

“Heya Nose”

“Otis, my man” I said in my best Animal House voice.

He came over and lowered his voice.  “Taz is in 106 tonight.  Don’t let him get stupid on you guys.”

I held up my hand, showed him my “106” and he nodded in approval.  I made a mental note to myself to wash that off before I saw Taz.

Out the front door, grabbed a pair of yellow foamies from the box sitting on the Maintenance Control counter.  Quick left turn, quick right turn and I was at the hatch that lead to the gallery deck.  I stepped outside, dogged the hatch behind me, and stood there.

Nothing.  I could see absolutely nothing.  Nice.  I rolled the foamies and stuffed them in my ears, then threw the paper carton over the side.  I stood there for about a minute waiting for my eyes to adjust, but they really didn’t.  I took my mag light and twisted the head.  White lights were not cool on the flight deck, so I had a yellow filter on mine.  The dim yellow light lit up the catwalk under my feet, but I couldn’t see far enough down to see the warm gulf waters passing below me.

I turned right and slowly made my way forward.  There was a fuel hose still laid out on the catwalk, I stepped over it and made my way to the ladder.  Before taking my first step up the ladder, I instinctively looked up to make sure there wasn’t anything parked over my head.  All clear, a couple of steps up and then I peaked my head up to flight deck level.  If there was a jet with engines turning nearby, I didn’t want to stand up into their jet blast.  Still clear.  There was a Hornet on elevator four just to my left.  To my right, just aft of the LSO platform was a Prowler, to his right a Tomcat and a Hornet sat side-by-side on the fantail.  A couple of Hornets were pointed at me from across the landing area on the starboard side of the ship.  Everyone’s engines were turning. I was really coming up too early, but I like to get up there, let my eyes adjust, and enjoy the almost dead quiet after the last jet launches.  Right now it was loud. Very, very loud.  I looked forward and saw a Hornet climbing off of the bow cats.

I also noticed it was pretty windy.

The VLA guys were setting up the platform, the blast shield was coming up and Tanner, the tall grimy gear guy was plugging in his sound powered headset.  I slowly made my way back to them.  I stepped over the combing onto the LSO platform.  The VLA guy nodded at me and reached down for the hand controller that raises and lowers the hud.  The hud started its slow hydraulic ascent from below flight deck level.  I went to Tanner, who had saved us all from possible catastrophe earlier in the day.  I grabbed him by the shirtsleeve and pulled him to me so that my mouth was right next to the earcup on his cranial helmet.

“GREAT JOB TODAY.  THAT COULD HAVE BEEN UGLY”

He nodded and said “Thanks sir.”  Or maybe he said “Pound sand.”  I couldn’t hear a thing.

I reached inside my floatcoat to my left pocket where I kept my candy, pulled out a couple of Jolly Ranchers and pressed one into his hand.  I slapped his back and turned and handed candy to the VLA guy who had just set everything up.  One for me too.  Watermelon.

Up forward, I heard a jet go into tension, its engines roaring.  I didn’t bother to look forward, too many planes parked around us to get a good view.

The Fly3 director came back to the Hornet that was on EL4, went to the pilot and asked with his hands if the pilot was ready.  The pilot gave a thumbs up and the plane captain and his squadronmates scrambled under the jet to pull the tie-down chains off and the chocks out.  Another director came back and joined us at the platform.  He tapped my on the shoulder pointed at the Hornet and made a twirling motion with his index finger like an umpire signaling a home run.  When they brought it out, it would have to taxi straight ahead until its tail was clear of our blast shield, then make a left turn to taxi forward.  When he made the turn, he was going to sweep us with his jet blast.  I nodded and made sure Tanner and the VLA guy saw what was coming.  The Fly3 director started the Hornet forward slowly standing off to the pilots right so he could see the director who was back with us.  When the tail was clear of us, the director on the platform made a circle motion with his yellow wand and the Fly3 director immediately pointed his right arm forward while still giving the “come ahead” signal with his left.  The jet started its left turn and we all turned our backs and huddled.  The jet blast was hot and it almost knocked the VLA kid over.  He dropped to one knee and grabbed the grating that we were standing on to anchor himself.  The Hornet turned further left and we were clear.

The deck was starting to clear, and we could see more of what was going on up forward.  They were using Cat 1 on the bow, and 3 and 4 on the waist.  There were Hornets parked on the “four row” which put them on top of Cat 2 and blocked it from use.  All the jets aft that were going flying were broken down (had their chocks and chains removed) and were ready to go.  One by one they were pulled out of their position by the Fly3 director or his buddy that had been with us.  They got them up to about the 1 wire and then passed them off to other directors up forward.  Other jets that were not part of the launch were being hooked to tractors and towed forward to be parked on the bow as the deck cleared.

Cling and one of the junior LSOs came up, followed by Paps, the Tomcat LSO.  I did the LSO high five with everyone as they arrived at the platform.  Hand up like a normal high five, but just before you clap hands you bend your arm backwards and pat yourself on the back.

We were so damn funny.

I pointed at Cling and then at Paps.  Cling nodded.  I wanted them on the pickles tonight – they were the two most experienced guys on the team.  We usually tried to do some training on the junior guys on each recovery, but it was our first day out of port, it was a dark night, and I just didn’t want to tempt the fates at all.  The rest of the team meandered up as did the hook spotter, a kid from the tower who was responsible for reporting who was next and that their configuration was correct.

Cling handed the grade book to BEGWI (Big Ed Garrett from Whidby Island), he would be the writer for tonight, the basic starting position for a new guy.  You didn’t get to wave until you knew how to write.  The landing area was clear, four or five more to launch.  It was starting to get quieter.  Paps wandered out onto the flight deck, walking slowly away from the LSO platform.  He walked to the middle of the landing area, stood on the centerline, and raised his flashlight over his head and pointed it forward.  Cling looked down at the PLAT on the HUD and saw that Paps’ flashlight was on the crosshairs of the PLAT.  Everything was aligned, so we could use the PLAT as a centerline reference.  Cling made a circle with his flashlight to signal Paps that the check was good and Paps started back.

The 1MC rang out.  “MAN ALL RECOVERY STATIONS, MAN ALL RECOVERY STATIONS.”  I was standing on the edge of the flight deck with my left shoulder against the edge of the blast shield, looking forward.  I looked back over my shoulder to the hook spotter, who had just plugged in his sound powered headset.  I gave him a thumbs up, and he nodded and spoke into his mouthpiece.  The LSO platform was manned and ready.

Paps came over to me.  “You know Taz is flying tonight?”

“Yep, don’t screw it up” I said.

Cling walked over and joined us.  “Winds are a steady 37 knots, want to get the Hornets to half flaps?”  He was good.  When the wind was over 33 knots, we put the Hornets at half flaps to improve their performance on the ball and their waveoff ability.   I glanced aft, there was not much of a wake which meant the wind was natural.

“Yeah, and I’m gonna tell the boss to bump the glideslope up.”

He nodded.  With higher winds, the apparent glideslope went down so we raised it up by ¼ degree to keep the hook to ramp clearance acceptable.  I went to the J-dial phone and dialed the tower.  7FLY.  I asked the petty officer who answered for the Air Boss.

“Air Boss”

“Hi Boss, it’s Nose.  I got $10 with the CATCC guys about whether we will have a ready deck at ramp time.  Am I gonna win?”

“Nose, this is the best flight deck in the Navy.  We will be ready five minutes early.”

“Ooooookay.  Sounds good.  Sir, I’m showing a steady 37 down here, I’d like to go 3 ¾ on the glideslope.”

“Okay, you got it.”  Click.

Next I called Barb in CATCC.  7CCA.

“Barb, put out a call on Marshall for me please, I want the Hornets at half flaps.”

“I’ll do it.  And I think you owe me $10”

“Not yet, and I remain hopeful.  Thanks.”

We hung up and I went over to the HUD, picked up one of the handsets, and rolled the frequency selector to “16”, the Marshall button.  A couple of minutes later, I heard the call I had asked for.  “99 Hornets, Paddles passes half flaps on approach.”

The last couple of jets were on the Catapults and the yellow shirts were dragging everything else forward and out of the landing area.  I stepped out into the landing area to watch.  The ramp time was in about seven minutes and I wanted to see if I was going to lose ten dollars.  The arresting gear shivs had been raised and the Arresting Gear Officer was walking all four wires checking with his flashlight for any problems.

An S-3 launched off of CAT 3, and I watched it climb out.  One hornet on the bow to launch.

5MC:  “WRAP THE WAIST.  WRAP THE WAIST.”

They were done with the waist catapults, and began securing them for the recovery.  The Hornet on CAT 1 went into tension, his power came up and a few seconds later, his external lights came on.  He rolled down the cat and suddenly, it was silent on the flight deck.  For the first time since coming up, I could hear something besides jet blast.

“LAUNCH COMPLETE.  LAUNCH COMPLETE.  WRAP THE BOW AND MAKE A READY DECK.  FIRST AIRCRAFT IN FIVE MINUTES.”

I looked over at the platform.  Cling had his LSO gouge book out and was going over the pre-recovery checks and brief with his team.  Cling was a great LSO, if he stayed in and wanted the job, he would be a CAG LSO for sure.  The rest of the team had wandered up, along with a few others who just came up to watch.  I generally didn’t care how many people were on the platform, and encouraged our guys to bring up their troops when they could.

“ON THE FLIGHT DECK, FIRST AIRCRAFT IS TWO MINUTES OUT, MAKE SURE YOU REMAIN IN THE COMPLETE AND PROPER FLIGHT DECK UNIFORM.”

I wandered back to the platform and out of the wind.  The ISIS was now on and I could see that the first jet was a hornet.  Cling had switched the radios off of the Marshall frequency and over to Final A, one of the two channels we used for recoveries.

Paps was controlling, Cling would be the back-up LSO.  The controlling LSO was usually the one you heard on the radio.  He rogered the ball call, and was primarily responsible for keeping the landing aircraft from hitting the ramp.  The back-up LSO stood behind the controlling LSO and was responsible for everything the primary LSO had, plus line-up and deck status forward.  Usually the most experienced LSO was the back-up, but sometimes we trained with a more junior guy in the back so he could get the experience.  Paps was a great LSO and be a team leader soon, I would not have cared if he were backing up tonight.

First jet was now at about two miles.

“ALL DOWN HORNET”  Shouted the hook spotter.

“GEAR SET HORNET 360, FOUL DECK!”  Shouted Tanner.  It was his job to call out the deck status to us.  The closer the jet came to landing, the more emphatic he would be.

“PADDLES, LENS IS ON AND YOU HAVE CONTROL.  THREE AND THREE QUARTER DEGREE GLIDESLOPE, TARGETING THE THREE WIRE.  ON THE FLIGHT DECK, MAKE A READY DECK, FIRST AIRCRAFT HORNET, 404, ON ALPHA, STAY CLEAR OF THE FOUL LINES, STANDBY TO RECOVER AIRCRAFT.”

I took my spot, just to the right of the HUD.  During the daytime, I was more realaxed, and often stood towards the back of the platform with just a pickle in my hand, but at night, I stayed close to the HUD and used both a pickle and a radio handset.

The deck status light in front of us changed from red to green.  The AGO had looked forward up the foul line and it was clear, so he squeezed his dead man switch. If anyone stepped over the line, he would release the switch and the light would go red again.

I checked the pilot’s name on the ISIS, it was Size, the Sidewinder’s XO.  Great guy, great stick.  Gear, winds, lens, crosscheck, deck. CATCC was just getting ready to drop this guy on us.

“404, slightly right of course, on glidepath, three quarters of a mile, call the ball.”

“404, Hornet Ball, six six, auto.”

“Roger Ball, Auto.  37 knots.”  Replied Paps.  The “auto” call meant that Size was using auto-throttles which adjust the Hornet’s power settings automatically in response to changes in the angle of attack.  I didn’t normally like to have guys fly auto passes in higher winds, but Size was good so I decided to let him continue.

Cling leaned up towards Pap’s ear, “He’s a little lined up right, correcting.”

Paps nodded.  As Size got the jet on centerline and corrected back to the right, the jet settled below the glideslope slightly, which he corrected by gently moving the nose up.  The increase in AOA made the auto-throttles add power.  He touched down just left of centerline and just before the three wire.

Paps leaned over to BEGWI and graded the pass.

“OK Pass.  Little lined up right start, little settle on line-up in the middle, little flat at the ramp.”

BEGWI transcribed the pass into the book in LSO shorthand:

OK            (LURX) (S.LUIM) (BAR)            3

I was out $10.

The phone talker was next, “NEXT AIRCRAFT, HORNET 310, ON BRAVO”

BEGWI reached over to the Radio controls and switched both LSOs to Final “B.”

“ALL DOWN HORNET”

“GEAR SET 360 HORNET. FOUL DECK!”

Paps and Cling both raised their pickle switch over their heads, showing everyone else that they knew the deck was foul.  Cling looked back over his shoulder and called out “100 Feet.”

“FOUL DECK!”

We had two waveoff windows for a foul deck.  If there were personnel or equipment in the landing area, a waved off aircraft had to pass 100 feet above the highest obstacle.  If the LA was clear, we could take them pretty close, we only needed 10 vertical feet of clearance.

“FOUL DECK!”

I slid to my left and looked backwards up the LA.  Size’s jet was not yet even clear of the arresting gear.  The cable had wrapped around his hook and they were manually pulling it off.  We were not going to get 310.  I caught Cling’s eye and gave him the umpire “you’re out” signal.  He leaned forward and said “No Chance” to Paps.

“FOUL DECK!!”

“310, three quarters of a mile, on and on, call the ball.”

“310 Hornet ball, six eight.”  Paps turned on the waveoff lights.  They both dropped their hands.

“Waveoff Foul Deck.”  Paps called on the radio.  The jet began an immediate climb and as he flew over us, I could see the landing gear retracting.

That sucked.  Flying behind the ship at night is pretty much a lot of work and to bring it all the way to the ball call and get waved off was like salt in the wound.

CATCC Jumped in, “310, take angels one point two, turn left to the downwind heading one five zero.”

“310” was the only reply.

“NEXT AIRCRAFT 207 HORNET ON ALPHA”

“ALL DOWN HORNET”

BEGWI switched the radios back to Alpha.  When a jet is “on the ball”, a period of about 20-30 seconds, no one except the LSOs are allowed to talk on the radio.  There are so many aircraft moving around, those required moments of silence would make it difficult to keep all the aircraft going where CATCC wanted them to go.  The solution is to run the recovery on two different frequencies, with half of the aircaft on the Alpha side and half on BRAVO.  There were two sets of controllers and two different final approach radars.  While we were on the ball on ALPHA, the BRAVO side controller were free to keep giving directions.

“GEAR SET 360 HORNET, FOUL DECK!”

Gear, winds, lens, crosscheck, deck. Size was taxiing clear now, we should be able to get this guy.

Paps looked back “100 feet, clearing.”

“FOUL DECK”

“207, three quarters of a mile, on course, slightly high, call the ball.”

“207 Hornet ball, auto.”

“Roger Ball Auto thirty five knots”

“FOUL DECK”

I looked at the ISIS.  207 was Libbo, one of our Marines.  Not a problem child but I didn’t want him on Autothrottles.  “Paps, manual” I shouted.

“Go manual” Paps immediately said on the radio.

“Manual” replied Libbo.  He clicked a thumb button on his inboard throttle and he now controlled the throttles directly.

“CLEAR DECK!”  Both hands came down.

Still a little low.

“You’re a little low” called Paps in a very calm voice.  Nice.  Didn’t need to scare him.

Libbo put power on the jet, maybe a little too much but not too bad.  He was still on glideslope going just a little flat when he passed us.  His hook landed right on top of the three wire but didn’t catch it, sliding the additional 40 feet up the landing area and getting the four.

Paps leaned over to Begwi, “Fair pass, too much rate of descent on the start, overcontrolled low in the middle, fly through up in close to at the ramp.  Ticked the three.”

(OK)            TMRD.X  ocLOIM  /IC-AR    T3 4

“Next Aircraft 106 Tomcat on Bravo”  It was Taz.

“ALL DOWN TOMCAT”

“GEAR SET 5-4-0 TOMCAT.  FOUL DECK!”

Paps looked at me and held out the pickle and handset. Taz was a problem child and Paps wanted to know if I wanted to wave him.  I shook my head, it might be better for Taz to hear Paps’ voice than mine.  CAG paddles usually only waved when it was an emergency aircraft or a problem child who was having a problem.  Don’t want to get in Taz’s head if we don’t need to.  I was looking down at the ISIS screen when I heard Cling on the radio.

“At a mile and a half, you are low”  I looked up.  Hell, he was low.  Nice call.

“CLEAR DECK”

“One Oh Six, One mile, below glidepath correcting, left of course.”

“One Oh Six” replied Rat from the backseat.  Aside from the squadron’s XO, Rat was the senior RIO in the Diamondbacks.  He was the adult supervision tonight.

“One Oh Six, on glidepath, slightly left of course, three quarters of a mile, call the ball”

“One Oh Six, Tomcat Ball, Six Five”  Rat sounded bored, but that was just for show.

He was on glidepath, but only for a moment.  In correcting for the low that Cling called him for, Taz had left the power on too long and was now going high.

“Roger ball, 36 knots, don’t go any higher” Replied Paps.  Most really bad passes don’t result from guys who fly low, they are guys that fly too high too long and try to fix it too late.  Taz now had about two seconds to start making a positive correction back to the glideslope or he was gone.

“Left, correcting” shouted Cling to Paps.

The engines wound down slightly.  He had made the positive correction, and the jet would start down in a second, the next step was to arrest the extra rate of descent he was getting ready to create.

Almost everyone on the flight deck wears “Cranials” which are a combination of a hardhat and hearing protection.  LSOs don’t wear cranials.  We only wore foamies, and Taz was about to demonstrate why.  The Tomcat’s engines have a distinct sound on approach.  It is almost a whistle, and you could tell what the pilot was doing with the power by listening.

The sound stayed the same.

“A little power” I said into the microphone and instinctively tightened my index finger on the pickle switch.  He was already too late and if the power didn’t start coming on in about another second, he was gone.  My call to him was what we call an “imperative” call.  He had to respond.

It came on, it came on a lot.  The jet flattened out on the glideslope and went by us well above where it should be.  As I turned to watch it go by, I saw one of my LSOs, back in the peanut gallery waving goodbye to the jet.  He knew what was coming.  So did Paps.

“Bolter, bolter, bolter!  Power back on!”  Paps called on the radio.

Taz touched down about 50 feet past the four wire and rolled down the landing area.  When the deck disappeared beneath him, he was flying again.

CATCC picked them back up “106, take angels one point two, turn left to the downwind, report abeam heading one five zero.”

Two for four so far on the recovery.  Not a good way to start the night.

“Bolter, stopped rate of descent on lined-up-left start.  Too much power on high coming down in the middle.  Fast flat in close to at the ramp.  Over the top.”

B  SRD.LULX  TMP.HCDIM  FBIC-AR ^ B

Over the top.  He had flown over all four wires.  A bolter was usually a safe pass, just not a good pass.  At least he had responded, that is a good thing.

I heard the phone ring and bent down to answer.

“Paddles”

“Are you training up there?  If you are, it’s time to knock it off and start getting guys aboard.”  It was CAG.

“No sir, got the A team on.”

“I’m gonna want to start hearing more talking.  Don’t put us in a bad place the first night out.”

“Aye aye sir.”

Click.  He was gone.

Shaggy and I both subscribed to the “less is more” theory of waving aircraft.  The less we talk, the more the pilots will learn to do it themselves and the more they will listen when we do talk.  We did not, in general, believe in “sugar” calls, which did not make the pass safer, just prettier.  We also did not like our LSOs to use “buffalo” calls, which were designed to get an overpowered jet down in the wires.  Buffalo calls on our platform were reserved for CAG Paddles use.  A bolter was a safe pass and if a pilot wanted to bolter, that was usually something we could live with.  CAG wanted us to start being more vocal before our two for four turned into a three for seven or eight.  There was never enough gas in the air and bolters and waveoffs raised CAGs blood pressure.

The next two jets, Temp in a Tomcat and Bino in a Hornet, got aboard fine.  310, our previous foul deck waveoff came back and also got an “OK.”

The Prowler was next.  He drifted left in close, but a nice “Right for lineup” call from Cling put him in the spaghetti, on centerline.

106 was next.  Paps looked at me to see if I wanted it this time.  I pondered for a second and shook my head.  I was pretty sure Paps could get him.

Taz was weaving back and forth at about a mile and a half.  I looked above his jet and saw the green light of the S-3 Tanker rolling in above him and at just a bit to the right.  The Tanker was “hawking” 106 and in perfect position.  Taz was going to be “Trick or treat” on this pass.  Either he gets aboard or he goes to the tanker.  If he was sent to the tanker, on the climbout, the S-3 would be at his 1 O’Clock position and just a little bit in front of him.

Still chasing lineup at a mile, Cling had had enough.  “At a mile, level your wings, you are on centerline.”  Great call.  Immediately, the rocking stopped.

CATCC dropped him off again, and this time I noticed it was Chief Polk’s voice.  “One oh six, three quarters of a mile, slightly above glideslope, on course, call the ball.”

“One Oh Six, Tomcat Ball, Five Two”

“Roger Ball, 36 knots.”

Taz was high and going higher.  He needed to make a positive correction.

“You’re high” said Paps, matter of factly.

“Clara” was the response from the Jet.  “Clara” meant I can’t see the ball.  He was so high, he was outside of the limits of the Meatball.

“You are high, start it down now.”  Paps still sounded cool, but we were all tensing up.

Taz had to play this just right.  He had to get enough power off to start an aggressive correction, then do what he had failed to do on his previous bolter, put it back on to stop the excessive rate of descent.  That was a varsity play.

Taz wasn’t ready for the varsity.  I heard the engines winding down and then saw the nose of the jet drop ever so slightly.  Power off and nose down were a bad combination.  Where the nose goes, so goes the jet.

Paps gave an aggressive “POWER!” at the same time Cling and I hit our pickle switches.  “WAVEOFF WAVEOFF”.   The jet continued to sink, dipping below the glideslope but the big GE F110 engines soon roard back to life and the jet started to climb.

“Lens Check – all cells OK” somebody behind me shouted.  He was pointing out the fact that Taz had seen all 12 cells on the IFLOLS lens from the top to the two red flashing cells at the bottom that showed a pilot they were waaay below the glideslope.  A little gallows humor.

CATCC was right back on, “106, your signal is ‘tank’.  Clean up, take angels two.  Texaco currently at your 1 o’clock, less than a mile.  Switch button 14.”

I checked ISIS, Shaq, one of my LSO’s was the tanker pilot and was exactly where he should have been.  He always was.

Cling put the radio back to his ear and switched his side to 14.  A minute later, he gave me a thumbs up.  Taz was “plugged” into the tanker and getting gas.

I called CATCC and asked Barb to give Taz at least 4 miles on final to get himself back into the game.

212, the last jet to launch returned to the ship and flew a nice OK 3 while we were waiting.  600 came back, Lobo flew a nice pass with the FNG in the right seat, getting his last look before he had to come out tomorrow night and do it himself.

I watched as Shaq dragged the thirsty Tomcat around the pattern.  At about three miles downwind I saw the two jets separate.  106 Would be back in about four minutes.

I waved Paps over.  “Well, you couldn’t do it, should we call the mess decks and see if there is a free airman down there to take your place?”

“Dude!  It’s not my fault!  The sun was in my eyes.”  We all laughed and Paps handed me the pickle and handset.

“Not your fault, Paps, I blame his squadron LSO.”

Everyone laughed, Paps was his squadron LSO.

They checked back in, “106 back on angels two.”

“106, Approach, roger, descend to angels one point two, report ready to come aboard.”

“106 descending, we are ready.”

“106 roger turn left to the final bearing three four zero stand by for needles.”

I jumped in.  “106 Paddles”

“106” Rat answered for Taz.

“Taz man, you are creating a lot of extra work for yourself by not getting to a good start.  Fly some good needles for me and that will make the ball flying part a lot easier.  C’mon down here and we’ll buy you a bag of popcorn.”

“106.”

Most of us had been in Taz’s shoes at one time or another, but we beat it.  We broke the code.  We were all starting to wonder if Taz was going to be able to overcome his troubles. He had already had a couple of nights like this one and his time was running out.  As one of my fellow LSOs a the RAG had once told a student, “This is big-time carrier aviation, and if you can’t keep up, we are gonna leave you behind.”  Shaggy and I had already had a couple of discussions with CAG about his performance and I know CAG had talked to the Tomcat skipper about him.

“All Down Tomcat.”  Called the hook spotter.

“Gear set five four zero, CLEAR DECK!” shouted Tanner.

Chief Polk had him on final again and was giving him some close control, catching every deviation early and pointing it out to Taz.  It was obvious that Taz was focusing on his approach – he was much smoother this time and got to a good start.

I glanced over my shoulder, the landing area was clear.  All around it’s periphery, sailors stood and waited.  They didn’t care about Taz’s troubles, they just knew that 106 and the tanker were all that stood between them and some sleep.

Gear, winds, lens, cross-check, deck.

We were ready, was Taz?

“One oh six three quarters of a mile, on and on, call the ball.”

“One oh six Tomcat, ball, six six.”

I took a quick look at the wind gauge “Roger ball, thirty four knots, that’s a good start.”

He was on glideslope and on speed, but I heard the engines wind down.

“Don’t settle” I said quietly into the radio.  It’s all about voice inflection.

I saw Paps off to my right bend his knees and bounce slightly, trying to will some power onto the jet.

The engines spooled back up, just a bit too much, but not bad.  Taz touched down on centerline, just past the four wire.

I handed the radio and pickle back to Paps.  “See?” I smiled “I don’t know why you have to make it so hard.”  No slack.

I put my hand on BEGWIs shoulder “Fair pass, little not enough power in the middle, overcontrol settle in close, little fast, full flat in at the ramp.”

(OK)  (NEPIM) ocSIC (F)BAR  4

Paps and Cling got the Tanker, Shaq flew a nice OK 3.  We left one of the junior LSOs on the platform to recover the Helo and we went below to QA our grades.

After our pow wow below the platform, Cling and Paps started the trek through all the ready rooms to debrief pilots.  Every pilot got a face to face debrief for every landing.

I followed them to Ready Eight where Taz would eventually show up.  Inside, Shaggy and the Diamondback’s skipper were sitting in chairs at the front of the ready room talking quietly.  I joined them.

We had a long talk about Taz and his future as a Naval Aviator…

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The Idaho Daughter didn’t make it into the Academy after two tries, so she decided to serve her country anyway.  She signed up for the Delayed Entry program last fall and flew away to Great Lakes, Illinois on January 6th.  She had her ups and down (it is Boot Camp, it’s supposed to be hard) but it was mostly a positive experience. Especially now that it’s done.  And after she’s been in a while it could still be possible to switch to the officer track if she wants to put in the work.

As a father, I’ve always been proud of all my children, which include an older and younger brother and five exchange students who were on loan to us for a year.  But I have to be honest and say seeing her march into the drill hall with 561 new Sailors was the thrill of a lifetime.  I only knocked over three little old ladies and a Chief RDC trying to get to her for that first hug.

I’m sure,  just like any job, I’ll hear complaints about the Navy from my daughter over the years ahead, but they sure can put on a ceremony.  The honorary inspecting officer was a Rear Admiral (forget his name) who works in the Pentagon.  He said a lot of good things about our Saiors and the Navy in general and then mentioned he had a special feeling for this class, since his kid was out there with them.  I thought he was going to lose it for a minute, and I sure came close.

The girl called this morning from O’Hare and said she was on her way to Monterey.  She’ll be there for about a year and a half, learning a foreign language.  She’ll eventually head to the fleet as a Navy interpreter and I’m sure I’ll quit hearing what’s going on as things get sensitive. 

Thanks to everyone who gave us so much encouragement and advice over the years.

One Happy and Proud Dad,

Idaho Joe

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I’m gonna try to do my part…

I started this a long time ago, after posting a story about Event Four.  I have one request from those in the know:  I try hard to make my stuff as technically accurate as possible, but I lost my old ARB book, so I made up a little bit in the body.  You will see where it is.  This is a true story.  The names have been changed OK, so we don’t use names anyway.

Enjoy…

====================================

Event Six

It was turning out to be a great day.  My flight on event four was awesome.  Beautiful day, good flying, Chachi and Gozer split the wins on the 2v2 so the beer bets were all pushes.  We finished early, did a fly-by just prior to the event 5 launch starting – motivating for the troops and fun for us too!  Boss called me down first and gave me a trap-cat-trap, always a good deal.  I got a Fair 3 wire and an OK 2.  That’s a 3.5 grade point average for the day – better than I ever did in college!  FNG did a good job in the right seat.  He’d do it as a spectator one more time tonight, then the skipper would put him in the driver’s seat to see if he had it or not.

I did a quick turnover with Shaggy, the other CAG LSO.  He had just finished waving my recovery and was on the way to brief for event six which was the last day event on the Air Plan.  He gave me grief for getting a trap-cat-trap, always a good deal when deployed.  I promised him I’d try to work one out for him.  I dropped my gear in the paraloft, and went to maintenance control to enter all the appropriate data into NALCOMIS.  I told the Master Chief that it was a good plane, and he mumbled something about me ruining his plan to work overtime tonight.  Quick crew debrief with Chachi, Gozer, and the FNG and the moles ran off to de-brief the tactical portion of the flight with the fighters.  Normally I would go along, especially with the new guy, but I had to be on the LSO platform for the rest of the day and the FNG needed to get ready to brief for his night event.

The event five recovery was uneventful.  We almost had a star recovery, but had a foul deck waveoff on a hornet who didn’t give the guy ahead of him enough interval.  One of our S-3 pilots, a nugget who was having a tough time of it showed us more color.  I made a mental note to talk to Shaggy about the kid.  We may have to take him off the night flying until he can square himself away.  I sent Cling, the team leader for the day, and one other LSO to make “the rounds” to each ready room and debrief the pilots that had just landed.  In homage to Mr. Mazlov, I ran up to get some chow, stopping in our stateroom to get a couple of Ibuprofin out of our 1000 count jar.  Doc got it for us at the beginning of workups. It was about half empty now.  One of our roommates, either Doc or Ice got funny one day and wrote “LSO Candy” on the side in magic marker.

Up forward in the “dirty shirt” wardroom, I shoved some Chili-Mac into my gob and laughed with the others at the table as a couple of the T-Bolts argued about who had the uglier date for the last Marine Corps ball.  I looked at my watch, 20 minutes until the launch – might just have some time for a little cake and dog.  I was on my way to check out the dessert selection when the 1MC rang out.

“LSO TO THE PLATFORM!  LSO TO THE PLATFORM!”

Rats.  If they’re calling us to the platform before the launch has even started, something is wrong.

I do a quick scan of the wardroom.  One of the junior LSOs from the Sidewinders is just finishing his chow and looks over at me.  “C’mon and watch the fun” I say and then I turn around and take off out of the wardroom and aft along the starboard side passageway at a half lope.

From the forward wardroom to the LSO platform is about 700 feet.  Every 15-20 feet is a bulkhead with an oval cut in it.  The bulkheads are part of the structure of the ship, the ovals allow us to pass through the bulkheads.  The lower part of the oval is about 10 inches off of the ground and they are non-affectionately referred to as “Knee Knockers.”

The total height from the bottom of the oval to the top is about 5 and a half feet.  I’m 6’ 3” so not only do I have to step up, I also have to duck at the same time.  I’ve knocked my knees before, and I’ve forgotten to duck before, neither one feels good.  I once saw a guy who must have been in a huge hurry and forgot to do both.  He ended up unconscious.

About halfway back, just before the blue tile area that signifies the Admiral’s neighborhood, I take a right and turn inboard.  I jog into the Air Wing operations office and grab my float coat off the back of my chair and I’m back out the door with Spider calling after me “The Air Boss is looking for you!”

Back to the main passageway, and through the blue naugahide curtain that is the demarcation line between where we mortals live, and where his holiness, the Strike Group Commander and his staff live and work.  I almost knock over TR, the Admiral’s Air Ops officer.  Many years ago he had this job and knows why I’m running.  Wordlessly, he waives protocol and waves me into Air Ops ahead of him.

Air Ops is the area where they keep track all of our airborne aircraft.  It is where flight ops are coordinated at night and during bad weather. There were several people gathered here, all were currently huddled around Rat, one of the Department Heads from the Tomcat squadron.  Rat was on the radio talking to the pilot and his RIO, and they had a lot going on, he looked up, caught my eye and gave me a “one sec” with his finger, so I left them alone.  I scanned the greaseboard in the front of the room –which faced aft – you figure that one out – and saw that the problem jet was 104, a Tomcat, with Shaggy in the front seat.  Good, new guys in Tomcats are scary enough with a good jet, I was thankful it was someone I knew and could trust.  That’s not a bust on the new pilots, it’s just that the Tomcat is a whole lot of airplane to fly and it is not nearly as pilot friendly as other jets in the air wing.

Through the inboard door of Air Ops is CATCC, the Carrier’s Air Traffic Control Center.  CATCC is normally only covered by a skeleton crew during day VFR operations.  I stuck my head into the darkness and was relieved to see them manning up one of the two “final approach” stations.  Barb, the Air Traffic Control Officer saw me come in and was, as usual, ahead of the game.  “We’ve got the bullseye and PALS coming up and I’ll have a controller ready if he needs it.” 

“You rock, Barb.” 

“Don’t I though?”  I hear her say behind me as I close the door. 

Back in Air Ops, I go to Rat who is busily working his way through the emergency procedures section of the F-14 NATOPS, “What’s up?”

“He’s single engine, got a hydraulic failure, flaps won’t come all the way down, and the fuel isn’t transferring like it should be.  Other than that, he’s fine.”

I get a brain cramp trying to process that.  Single engine.  Flaps.  Hydraulics.  Fuel.  Each one was a problem by itself.  The F-14, being a Grumman aircraft, won’t fly with a complete hydraulic failure.  If the flaps aren’t all the way down, he is coming aboard faster which affects how we set up the arresting gear.  Fuel transfer problems can be benign or they can be catastrophic.  Of all the problems, the single engine was the least of our worries.

The Air Operations Officer leans over my shoulder.  “Flight deck is in the middle of an emergency pull-forward.  Boss says ready deck in 10-12 minutes.”

“Okay, sounds fun.  I’ll be on the radio in a couple of minutes.  Rat, will you see if he can figure out what his approach speed will be?”

“I’ll call him now.”

I leave Air Ops and resume the low hurdles.  Back a few more frames and then I cut across to the port side and continue aft.  I pull the yellow foam earplugs out of my pocket roll them and stuff them in my ears.  I exit the skin of the ship underneath the LSO platform and then climb the ladders that take me to the flight deck level. 

The flight deck is hopping with activity.  They are in the midst of an emergency pull forward.  This isn’t the “ballet on the flight deck” that every PBS special talks about, this is pure bedlam.

During cyclic operations, as jets land on the relatively empty flight deck, they are de-armed then taxied forward and shut down on the bow and forward of the island, clear of the landing area.  When the recovery is complete, those jets are re-spotted to various start positions and many of them are parked in the landing area and other areas aft of the island.  There they are re-fueled, re-armed, and prepped for the next flight.  When they launch, they leave behind an almost empty flight deck, ready to recover the previous cycle.  If we have geo/political sea space constraints, the respot is also a chance for the captain to run downwind and “reset” the carrier so he has room to drive into the wind for the recovery.  It is all part of the rhythm of life on a carrier at sea.  Because 104 is coming back before the next launch, all the planes parked in the landing area have to be moved clear so we can get the broken jet back aboard.  After we get him, there won’t be time to re-spot the aircraft on deck in time to get them airborne and clear the deck for the other jets that are flying right now.  This will have an impact on the rest of the day – our cyclic ops are going to come to a screeching halt.  The Handler would surely be upset.  Fine with me, the Handler needs to take a beating every once in a while.

Several jets have engines turning and are taxiing forward, others are being pulled forward by tow tractors.  My earplugs reduce the thunder to a dull roar.  I can’t help but think that the timing for this couldn’t be worse.  15 minutes earlier, most of the jets would still be all forward and those that weren’t would still have tractors attached to them.  15 minutes later and the crews would have all manned up and we could be taxiing everything under it’s own power.  The Handler is making calls about every 20 seconds on the 5MC, the flight deck PA system.

“PUSHBACK ELEVATOR TWO!  LEND A HAND!  WATCH THE MAINMOUNTS, WATCH THE INTAKES!”

I get to the platform and am relieved to find Cling already there.  Cling is a first-tour Hornet pilot and an excellent LSO.  He’s got a radio handset to his ear and the Aircraft Recovery Bulletins in his hand.

“I got everything set up, radio checks are good.  We are on the rep frequency right now, he’s talking to Rat, sounds like the jet is a mess.  I can’t even figure out where to start in the ARBs”  he shouts into my ear to overcome the noise from a Prowler taxiing past.

“HEEL TO PORT”  The ship was starting a right turn, turning for the wind.

I pick up the radio and listen to the conversation between Rat and Shaggy.

“…still got flight hydraulic pressure and the jet is handling fine.  The right motor seems to be working fine.”

“104, Paddles, I just got on the radio, can you give me a quick rundown and do you have an approach speed yet?”

“Paddles, 104, Nose I got the left engine shut down, only got partial flaps, I don’t think the inboards are down at all, and I’m not getting any fuel transfer.  I’m guessing about 15 more minutes of fuel right now based on what’s in the tanks that are transferring.  I’m working on a slow flight to get you an approach speed, I’ll get back to you on that.”

“Roger, I’m gonna need your aircraft weight on the ball too.”

“Right now looks like 51K, I’m about eight minutes out.”

I looked up the flight deck to see the progress of the pull-forward.  It was going to be close.  “Rog, I’m gonna do some math here, we’ll get back to you.”

“Roger, math.  Don’t hurt yourself.”  Everybody is a comedian.

Cling hands me the ARB book and shrugs.  He doesn’t know where to look on this one, and I’m not sure I do either.  The Aircraft Recovery Bulletins are several sets of charts that cover the problem of taking an airplane that has a pretty serious amount of mass and velocity and stopping that aircraft in a relatively short distance without breaking anything.  They are based on carrier suitability testing done ashore by test pilots at Pax River and at the Naval Air Engineering center at Lakehurst, New Jersey and take into account each aircraft’s approach speed, weight, maximum allowable sink rate, hook loading, landing gear limits, ship’s arresting gear capabilities, wind over the deck requirements, Lens settings, Glideslope settings, ship’s trim, and several other relatively esoteric items. 

For normal landings, the ARBs boil the numbers down to the simplest terms.  We set a standard setting on both the lens and the ship’s arresting gear engines for each type of aircraft and ensure we have the minimum required wind over the deck, and we can recover aircraft up to their maximum landing weight.  It is pretty simple.

The problem comes when a jet is in a non-standard configuration.  That may make the jet faster or slower, or more cocked-up on approach, or they may weigh too much.  104 was going to be fast and cocked up due to his flap problem, so we were going to need to change some stuff.  We have charts for Single engine.  We have charts for no flaps or reduced flaps, we have charts for just about anything you can think of, but we don’t have charts that cover multiple emergencies. 

“PADDLES, PICK UP THE PHONE!”  It was the Boss on the 5MC.  I grabbed the sound power phone.

“Nose is on, Sir”

“You got numbers yet?  My guys up here are having a hell of a time working this one.”

“Not yet Boss, just cracking the book, how much wind can the Captain give us?”

“Well, that’s the problem, we didn’t get a full run downwind so he may have sea room issues.  The ‘Gator and his crew are noodling that one right now.”

“Okay sir, let me see what I come up with, I’ll call you right back.”

I sit down on the Bug bench that is attached to the aft side of our blast shield, opened the ARBs and started trying to work the numbers.  Cling was listening to the radio.  I could hear snippits of the discussion between 104 and Rat, who was still down in Air Ops.  They were discussing asymmetric fuel loads and partially full drop tanks.

“Shaggy says 51K and 170 knots on the ball.  He can’t dump anything because he won’t have enough usable fuel with the fuel transfer problem.”  Cling shouts over to me.  I nod.

170 knots.  Wow.  That is smoking.

I start out in the single engine chart, but that won’t work because it doesn’t account for the flap problem.  I go over to the abnormal flap chart.

The dial phone starts ringing, our gear guy, a lanky Airman from North Dakota is standing by it.  I motion for him to answer.

He slides his cranial back on his head and puts the phone to his ear.  I notice the line where his cranial usually covers.  Where his skin is normally exposed, he is tan and dirty.  The part that is usually covered by his cranial is fish-belly white.  He spends almost every waking minute on the flight deck or down in the arresting gear rooms.  His camo pants, green flight deck jersey and float coat are all permanently grease stained, but it looks like he has been that way all his life.  Like he was built to work the arresting gear.  A second later, he is tapping me on the shoulder.  “It’s the Captain, sir.”

“CAG Paddles, sir, it’s Nose.”

“Yeah, Nose, I can give you just shy of 45 knots of wind over the deck, but not for long.   I got some sea room issues. You need to get this guy aboard first try, OK.”

“Yes sir.  We are working the final numbers now, I’m sure we will need more than usual, but may not need all 45.  I’ll call the boss when we finish the math.”

“Sounds good, Paddles.”  Click.  He’s gone.

I hand the phone back to the gear guy, he hangs it up.  It immediately starts ringing again. Other squadron LSOs have made their way up to the platform to watch the show, I motion for one of them to get the phone.  I need a second to work these numbers.

“12 Miles.”  Shouts Cling.  The landing area is starting to clear out, and one of the LSOs runs out and stands on the centerline and raises his hand.  Cling looks at the PLAT monitor in the HUD console, checks to make sure the camera is calibrated and the vertical cross hair is lined up on our guy standing on centerline.  It looks good and Cling waves for the guy to return to the platform. 

Okay, numbers.  I can use the Partial Flap tables, which are most restrictive, and from his approach speed work my way back out of the table to find the wind required.  I showed Cling what I had come up with, got a nod, and then I picked up the sound powered phone and buzzed the Boss. 

“Air Boss.”

“Boss, it’s Nose.  Here’s what I’ve come up with.  I’m using the bulletin for flap abnormals.  Got to page 24 which is No Flap and Partial Flap Tomcat.  He is at fifty-one thousand pounds and has an approach speed of 170 knots.  So instead of going into the table at his weight like you normally would, I’m starting in the middle at his approach speed and then working backwards to the weight setting.”

“Okay, we’re with you so far.”           

“That gives us a 56,000 pound single weight setting and a required recovery head wind of 32 knots.   Then we add six knots for the inboard flaps not down.  Add two more for the temperature being 40 degrees hotter than standard day, and I think that will cover it.  So we will do a single weight setting of 560, and we need 40 knots wind.  I want to go to a three and three quarter degree glideslope for the wind over the deck and let’s target on top of the two just to give him more to play with.  You good with that sir?

I looked up at Pri-Fly and could see him writing on his window with a dry erase marker as he repeated my request.  “Five Six Oh, 40 Knots, Three and three quarters, target 2.  Got it.”

I hung up the sound-powered handset and grabbed the gear guy by his float coat and shout into his cranial earcup,  “We are going single weight setting on this guy.  Make sure you hear 5-6-0 for the engines, not the usual 5-4-0, got it?”

“5-6-0, yes sir.”  His breath smells like cigarettes.

Normally, we set the arresting gear engines at 54,000 pounds to recover a Tomcat.  For this one, we are going to set 56,000 to make up for the extra energy we have to dissipate with his increased approach speed.

The whole ship starts rumbling and the wake instantly turns white and frothy.  The boss had called the Captain and briefed him on our plan.   The Captain was using nuclear magic to conjure up some wind for us.  I look up forward, the flight deck was about three or four minutes from being ready.   I can see him out there, looks like he is about 6 miles out.

On the radio, someone in CATCC makes a good call, “99 TARBOX, max conserve, anticipate recovery starting 10 minutest late.”  They are letting everyone else that is airborne to knock off the fun stuff and start saving gas.  With our sea room problem, we may have to run for sea room before we can start the recovery.

I picked up the radio handset and switch the radios to the land/launch frequency.  “104, Paddles.”

“104.”  It’s the RIO this time.

“Yeah, 104, looks to me like we’ll be ready on three or four minutes, may want to do a couple of S-turns.  Let me know when you are ready for a quick brief.”

“Go ahead for 104”  I see him take a cut to his right.

“Okay boys, here is how we have you set up.  Mom’s speeding up, estimating 40 knots of wind for the approach.  I’m bumping up the glideslope to three and three quarters for the winds.  You got any other issues I’m not aware of?”

“104 Copies.  Nope, we are single engine, flaps aren’t all the way down, and we’ve lost one hydraulic system.  Useable fuel down to about 1.7 best we can figure.”

“Paddles copies.  CATCC has the needles up for you if you want them.”

“104”

“Okay, Cling.  I’m going to wave him, you back me up.  We will be single weight setting of 56,000 pounds, 40 knots of wind over the deck, and three and three quarter degree glideslope.  You got the pre-recovery checks done?”

Shaggy turned back to the left to line up with the final bearing, the extended centerline of the landing area.

“We’re good, centerline checks, pickles are good.”

Airboss:  “ON THE FLIGHT DECK.  WE HAVE A DAMAGAED TOMCAT ON A FOUR MILE FINAL, I WANT EVERYONE TO BACK OFF AND STAY WELL CLEAR OF THE FOUL LINE.  THIS GUY GETS ONE LOOK AT THE DECK SO LET’S NOT HAVE ANYONE TRIPPING INTO THE LANDING AREA AND MAKING IT A BAD DAY.”

I grab a pickle and a handset and look back over my shoulder, the landing area is clear.  I glance at the lens and quickly toggle the waveoff lights and cut lights on and then back off.  The ship’s movement is making most of the wind so the wind is not aligned with the centerline of the landing area, but instead with the ship’s centerline.  This makes the wind a little bit right to left, or “axial” as we call it in relation to the landing area.

Boss again:  “PADDLES, LENS IS ON AND YOU HAVE CONTROL.  THREE AND THREE QUARTER DEGREE GLIDESLOPE, TARGET TWO WIRE.  ON THE FLIGHT DECK, STAND WELL CLEAR OF THE PORT CATWALK AND THE FOUL LINE, TOMCAT AT 2 AND A HALF MILES – STANDBY TO RECOVER AIRCRAFT.”

Without looking at him, Cling and I wave to the boss to acknowledge the meatball being turned on.

The deck status light switches from red to green indicating a clear deck.  Something is weird, though, because usually the Arresting Gear Officer doesn’t squeeze his dead man switch to clear the deck until the arresting gear is set to the proper weight setting, and our gear guy always shouts out the setting as soon as the gear is set.

I look over at the gear guy who is pressing his hands onto his earphones.  He looks up at me.  He’s shaking his head.  Something is wrong.

“Sir, the gear is set, but they set 540, not 560.”

Damn.  They set the gear to the normal Tomcat setting of 54000 pounds.  If we recover him at his higher energy state the loading on his hook and on the arresting gear will be higher.

I don’t have time to go to the phone and call.  So I use the radio, “Boss, we need the gear set at 560 for this guy.”

“Cling, we are foul deck until we get this squared away.” I yell over my shoulder and raise my right hand over my head.

He replies on the 5MC  “PADDLES, THE GEAR IS SET FOR A TOMCAT, YOU HAVE A CLEAR DECK!”

I look back at my gear guy, he is shouting into his mouthpiece “NO NO!  560.  FIVE, SIX, OH!”

I look across the landing area at the arresting gear officer, he is looking at me and emphatically flashing a thumbs up.

Back to the radio,  “104, paddles.  How you doing on gas?”

Shaggy is no fool.  He is at two miles and knows from my question that something is wrong.

“I can do a 360 out here, but that is about all I can give you.”

“Do it.  We aren’t quite ready for you.”   I’m trying to keep my voice calm, but I really need to punch someone or something right now.

“PADDLES PICK UP THE SOUND POWERED.”  I knew that was coming.

One of the other LSO’s starts to pick up the sound powered headset.  I hold out my hand and he hands it to me. 

“Nose, sir.”

“DAMMIT, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING OUT THERE?!?” He roars at me.

“Boss, I told you we need 5-6-0 set for the weight, your AGO set 5-4-0!  I’m not going to take him with a 54K setting, the jet is screwed up already.” 

It takes a second, but the boss realizes his guys screwed up.  With that much energy, an improperly set arresting gear engine can cause a wire to part or a hook point to break off, neither of those are good.

“We’ll get it.”

I hang up the phone and glance across at the Arresting Gear Officer.  He is having an animated conversation on his radio, I’m sure the bosses wrath has been directed at him, and everyone else on the flight deck with a radio can hear it.  Ouch.  The deck status light switches back from green to red as they reset the gear engines.

Shaggy is rolling out at about 2 miles.  He is a good stick, but in this kind of situation, I’m still going to lip lock him down.  He knows it’s coming and I know he won’t care.   Holding the radio handset to our ears with our left hands, we again raise the pickle switches over our heads with our right to signify that we see the deck is foul.

“Lined up right” says Cling into my ear.

“Paddles contact, you are a little lined up right and a little low.  We got 40 knots, axial winds.  Three and three quarter degree glideslope.”

“104”

“Gear set Tomcat, FIVE SIX  ZERO, Clear deck!”  shouts the gear guy.

“Clear deck.”  I repeat, dropping my hand from above my head.  I look over at the 18 year old kid that just saved us “professionals” from screwing the pooch in a royal way.  I point at him with my right hand and give him a quick nod.  He knows exactly what I’m saying.

I have a mantra I do before every pass.  It is my final check that everything is ok.

Gear…winds…lens…crosscheck…deck.

The gear is set. 

A quick glance at the XW/HW indicator – winds are good 41 knots, a little right to left.

Lens is set.

Crosscheck – the LSO HUD has “F-14” annunciated which tell me the tower guys believe that both the lens and gear are set properly.

Deck – one last look over my shoulder.  Nothing in the LA.  Green status light.

Game on.

I glanced at the LSO HUD.  Barb and her controllers in CATCC had 104 locked up with the Precision Approach radar and so I could see his Airspeed and distance from touchdown.

“Mile and a half now, on centerline, slightly low, call the ball when you have it.”

“104 Tomcat ball, one point oh useable.”

“Roger ball, forty knots, axial winds.  Just a little underpowered.”  I pretty much talked the rest of the way down, “on glideslope, on centerline.  On glideslope.  A little power, don’t settle.  On glideslope…don’t go high, DON’T GO HIGH.”

Those last two calls were what is known in the business as Buffalo Calls.  Shaggy wasn’t going high, in fact, he landed on top of the 1 wire.  When I gave him the “don’t go high” call, I was telling him he had cleared the ramp and to make sure he didn’t add power.  He didn’t.  He wouldn’t.

As the jet rolled out he added power on his good engine, but did it slowly.  A Tomcat with only one engine running can be a handful if the other engine is at full power.  He quickly pulled it back to idle after he stopped.

“104, tower, nice job.  We’re gonna hook you up and tow you out of the wires there, just follow the Bosun’s directions.”

“104”  Cool as a cucumber.

“ON THE FLIGHT DECK, EXCELLENT JOB EVERYONE, BUT WE STILL GOTTA RECOVER 14 OTHER JETS.  WE ARE GOING TO TURN AND RUN DOWNWIND FOR ABOUT 10 MINUTES AND THEN START THE RECOVERY.  LET’S SEE A LOT OF HUSTLE AND BE SAFE OUT THERE.”

I hung the radio handset up, and put the pickle on top of the LSO HUD.  Cling and I shook hands.  “Your platform again Cling.  Nice job.  Keep the boys up here and we will get the next recovery.  I’ll be right back.”

Cling immediately began assigning duties for the next recovery.

“HEAL TO PORT”  The Captain was starting a right turn to run downwind for some sea room.  He was sweating the next recovery, along with about 500 other things.  I glanced up at the Nav Bridge just below Pri-fly and thought about the job the Captain of a carrier has.  No thanks.

I looked up the landing area to make sure the lens was off, then started walking forward.  With the exception of a lone Hornet somewhere up on the bow, all the jets were shut down, it was relatively quiet on the flight deck.  I stopped about 10 feet aft of the 1 wire which the arresting gear crew were just beginning to retract after clearing it from 104’s hook.  I watched as they brought it back, a little slower than usual.  When it slid back into place, sliding back and forth on top of the risers that held it off of the flight deck, two green shirts and a chief began inspecting it to make sure 104 didn’t do any damage.  I stepped over the wire and made my way forward.

104 had been pulled clear and spotted abeam the island.  The canopy was coming up and Shaggy and Soup, his RIO were unstrapping.  I saw a crowd gathering in front of his left intake.  I walked over and took a look.  Incredibly, I could see all the way through the engine and see a bit of the ship’s island behind the jet.  Whatever had happened had destroyed the fan blades on the front of the engine and the turbine blades aft. 

Soup, the RIO, stepped off the boarding ladder and started debriefing the maintenance chief and the power plants troops that were waiting for him.  They all shared a look of grave concern.  This was their engine and something had gone very wrong.  Their sense of responsibility was palpable.  Later, an engineering investigation would reveal that the engine had suffered damage on the cat shot.  It had probably ingested something small which began a chain of damage that led to the engine slowly “eating itself.”  A jet engine at power turns at tens of thousands of RPM.  A damaged fan blade in the front of the engine gives way and pieces fly back through the rest of the motor, causing damage and knocking other pieces loose as it goes, like a cascade of dominoes.  The result is more pieces coming off and more damage.  In 104’s case, the engine held together longer than expected, but the down side was that it became so out of balance that it shook itself off of its mounts, ripping off hydraulic and bleed air lines and damaging other components in the fuselage.

Shaggy came down the ladder, saw that Soup had the attention of the maintenance team and came over to me.  We shook hands.

“Nice work.” I said.

“Yeah, thanks.  Tell me I didn’t have to do a 360 because you were looking for your glasses or finishing lunch or something like that.”

“You don’t even want to know brother, you don’t even want to know.”

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That was quite a while ago, and of course mining and logging have now caught up, mainly due to better safety devices on farming machinery.  It’s getting to the point that you almost have to rip the warning labels off, disconnect the alert siren, and have an accomplice bodily throw you into the machine in order to have a farm-related fatality these days.

That’s not what I wanted to talk about.

We all have Sea Stories.  Tales of glory and derring-do and stupidity run amuck, mixed in with tales of heroes and screw-ups and during it all we civilians recognize that these are the folks protecting our way of life, serving a higher calling.  I thought I’d tell a tale of a couple of farmers I know, so the next time you eat that bowl of Malto-Meal or grill that steak you’d know.  You probably want to stop eating before reading further.

In 1902 we could harvest enough wheat in an hour to make roughly ten loaves of bread.  Today my renter has a combine that is physically larger than my first home, burns 20 gallons of diesel fuel per hour, and harvests a  20′ wide swath at 8mph.  Such is the stuff of mechanization.

Jim Sullivan went to war in Vietnam back in the early 70’s.  Short guy, maybe 5′5″.  Bouncing Betty popped up when he wasn’t looking, instead of losing his Courting Tackle he had a stomach full of shrapnel.  Eight months in the hospital, he returns home to the family farm with a gut that looks like a checkerboard, but he’s alive.  That fall he’s picking corn, steps off the machine to drain the main vein, brushes a wayward stalk into the rollers…

For those not in the know, pickers and combines have v-shaped rollers moving at several thousand RPM’s.  The idea is that the corn stalk is pulled down and the ear of corn is shocked loose to be later shucked and de-kerneled.  If you take a 3′ long strip of paper and attempt to place it into the rollers, your hand will be in the rollers before you can let go the strip.  This was a popular demonstration when the first corn pickers came out, and one saw a lot of one-handed farmers who had to learn the lesson the hard way.

Back to Jim. His hand is in the rollers, being ground down.  He has a watch on, he can’t pull his hand out, all he can do is look at his watch and wait for the rollers to finish.  Four minutes, I believe it was, he was able to remove the stub of his left hand.  Drove the tractor home at 14mph, hopped in his car, drove the 40 miles to a hospital.  Seven operations later, he has the meaty parts of his thumb base and the remainder of his finger-side operable.  Place your hand upwards, touch thumb to pinkie.  The inch of padding in the center of the palm?  That’s all he has, but he’s happy with it — he can hold a cigar and grip the wheel of his tractor.  Hasn’t slowed him down a bit.  Has a lovely wife, two children, and raises some of the most prized Simmental cattle in the midwest.

Toughest man I’ve ever met was Old Man Jensen.  Raised row-crop and cattle, was about 60 when Bad Things Happened.  I never did know his first name, I just did chores for him for 6 weeks while he recovered.  Feeder Wagons are tow-behind wagons with tank-like treads on the bottom internal side leading forward, made of angle iron and chain links.  To the front there’s a ramp with the same arrangement, moving faster.  This all feeds another chute to the side, and there’s an iron bar in the middle of the wagon to provide support.  The idea is that you can fill this thing with whatever you want, pull it next to a feed bunk, and it’ll force its cargo forward to the elevator chains, discharge it out the side, and you can just drive past your cattle and it’ll spew food to them.

Until it freezes.  At which point the whole thing is useless.  Unless you break the ice up, which Old Man Jensen tried to do.  While the motor was running.  Got a boot cought under the feed chains.  Hooked an arm over the support iron to pull himself free.  Pulled his arm free instead.  His foot continued, trapped, to the elevator chains.  The elevator chains removed his boot, as well as his foot.  Thus freed, he drove the tractor home, minus one arm and a foot, drove to the hospital, and from the ER called this neighbor to please do his chores for him.

Yeah, it’s not exactly flying on a B-17 towards Frankfurt or probing for mines in Baghdad, but it deserves note.  There are heroes among us, not for what they’ve suffered but for what they continue to do.  And many do so for so little in return, so most aren’t even known.

Next time you have that steak, think of Jim.  Next time you have that corn on the cob, think of Old Man Jensen.  Then reflect, so much of what we take for granted is paid for in blood by those noble few.  Jim and Old Man Jensen are merely examples, our military does what they do on a daily basis.

There are an awful lot of heroes about, most we’ll never know.  You never knew of Jim or Old Man Jenson until now.  I’m betting there are more and we would be well to write about them.

 - Max

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And Memorial Day video here.

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When I finished my apprenticeship training, I had orders the the Vinson.  She was already underway.  I proceeded to travel from the US to the Philippines. Was bumped off a flight to Singapore and instead ended up on a flight to Diego Garcia.  From there, I was loaded with a few others onto a Greyhound and we flew to the boat.

I was taken to the ships personnel department and there told that I would work for the air department.  I was taken to the air department office and there told that I would be working in the V-2 division.  I was taken to the V-2 office.

As I stood just inside the doorway of the office, and the various powers that be discussed my work center, one of the officers sitting at a desk looked over and asked, “What do you weigh Peck?”  It seemed an odd question but I was so overwhelmed, not to mention unused to speaking with an actual officer that I stuttered back, “180 sir.”

He looked at me with a bit of a frown and said, “180 pounds of mail we could have had on that COD and we got you instead.”

I try to keep that memory fresh – helps keep the old ego in check.

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And this one was an aviator.

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“…everybody’s going to make it.” – Thomas K. Jones, 1982

Counterveil vs. Countervalue…

Decapitating strikes…

Winning a protracted nuclear war…

Nuclear calculus…

These, and other topics were points of not just mere discussion, but deep, serious study and analysis in the early 1980’s by, among others, a small cohort of graduate students at the Naval Postgraduate School. Leading the charge was a civilian professor, a recent PhD and acolyte of one of the advocates for this “new” way of thinking about nuclear warfighting. A young LT, fresh from his first sea tour was part of this cohort, not so much by an inclination towards that line of thought as by the nature of his particular studies… (more)

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How much would you pay for what appears to be the civillian version of a Barney Clark?

 I dunno …. looks a little pricey to me.
Too bad, so close and yet so far away…

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