Raven One - [9]

CHAPTER 5

As the sun set the following evening the ship began to pick up some appreciable movement from the long Indian Ocean swell. Wilson noted this as unusual in the IO. These waters off the Arabian Peninsula were often calm and sunny throughout the year. If seas were heavy at any time, it was during the winter months, when squall lines with heavy thunderstorms and occasional sand storms were not uncommon.

From his stateroom desk, Wilson checked the flight schedule: the XO and Sponge Bob were on the “pinky” recovery, followed by the Skipper leading a practice intercept hop with Olive. Glad I’m not out there tonight, he thought. Night carrier aviation was difficult enough without a pitching deck. He surmised the weather was deteriorating, and realized he had not been outside the whole day.

He clicked on the PLAT… the ceiling was down from earlier and the deck was slick from a passing rain cloud. The Hornets on the bow were preparing to launch and the camera showed one taxiing out of its Cat 2 parking spot. Wilson watched it taxi aft past the bow jet blast deflectors, take a 45-degree right turn to clear the aircraft parked amidships, and then turn left down the angle to the “waist” cats. The camera showed a close-up of the aircraft… side number 406. Wilson clicked up two channels for the air ops status board: 406 was Sponge Bob’s aircraft, and the XO was in 402. He clicked again and checked the weather. Low broken-variable-overcast clouds, three miles visibility in rain, with occasional lowering to 500 feet overcast and one mile with lightning, freezing level at 14,000 feet and high gusty winds.

Not a good night at all.

Wilson wondered about the thought processes of the captain on the bridge, the admiral in flag plot, and the CAG in his office. They’ve got all the information I’ve got, and more, he thought, and these guys are still taxiing to the cats. He saw Sponge Bob on Cat 4, with the Viking tanker next to him on Cat 3. Ten minutes to launch.

The sound of an E-2 on Cat 2, two decks above, caused him to switch again to the PLAT. The screen was obscured by water droplets from another rain cloud as the “Hummer” extended its wings at a measured pace while its big turboprops kicked up clouds of spray behind it. Clackety, clackety, CLACKETY, CLACKETY, clackety, clackety sounded overhead as the “shuttle,” the above-deck catapult launching mechanism, was retracted aft for hook-up. Underneath the shuttle and below the metal catapult track, two large pistons, the size of a small car, moved into launch position. Once the aircraft was connected to the shuttle, and on signal, superheated high-pressure steam exploded into the piston cylinders to propel the aircraft forward to reach flying speed. The pilots likened it to being flung out of a slingshot.

Wilson exited his stateroom and headed for Ready 7. As he strode aft on the passageway, the noise of the Hummer, although at idle one deck above, surrounded him. He heard the familiar “thunk” as the catapult was placed in tension. That was followed by the increased engine reverberation as the aircraft props changed pitch at full power for launch. Are they really going to shoot these guys? he wondered. They are going to have a tough time getting back aboard in these conditions.

He made a right turn, then a left, as he continued aft to the ready room. He had to cover his ears as the familiar, yet annoying, din from the jet blast deflector pumps and the aircraft at full power pounded into his brain. A thud above and behind signaled the firing of the catapult, and the swift movement of the shuttle made a zziiiiipp sound as it moved forward pulling the E-2 with it. The sound of the E-2 engines also faded away at the instant a THUNK was felt forward on the bow: the sound of the catapult slamming into the water brake as it flung the Hummer into the air.

Just then a loud CLACK, CLACK, CLACK passed from inside the ship on his right side as the shuttle roared along the track. It stopped with a booming THUNK that rattled the ship’s frames. This was followed by a faint whistle sound as the S-3 tanker was launched off the waist. They’re gonna do it. Wilson smiled and shook his head as he stepped over a knee-knocker.

Halfway to the ready room he steadied himself as the ship took a starboard roll. Right after it stopped, the grim-faced Deputy CAG and his Operations Officer, whom he knew as “Bucket,” passed him in a hurry.

“Sir,” Wilson said. The DCAG passed with a barely audible acknowledgement and turned outboard toward the island ladder, shoulders hunched and head down.

As he trailed his boss, Bucket raised his eyebrows at Wilson to convey his thoughts: I don’t know what’s going on.

Wilson wondered where they were headed. The bridge? The tower? Who knows where? He walked past the S-3 and helo ready rooms, pushing off a bulkhead to steady himself as the ship took a roll. It’s getting worse.

When he entered the ready room, Wilson’s eyes were drawn to the Skipper, who was conducting his brief in the front of the ready room. Olive, two