He forced it down, concentrating on remembering countless survival lectures and ample practice in open ocean.
Thor stripped off his flight suit, knotted the legs, and flung the garment over his head while holding the legs to inflate the rest of it with air. He tied the neck portion shut, along with the arms. The flight suit swelled satisfyingly as the cotton fibers soaked up water and held the air in.
Thor gathered up his strength and lunged onto the inflated flight suit.
According to what he’d been told, floating instead of treading water accomplished two things. First, he could conserve his strength, extending his stay time in the warm water. Second, by relying on the natural buoyancy of the flight suit, he could avoid the frantic flailing motions of treading water that attracted sharks.
Was there anything else? Of course. He turned the flight suit over, unzipped one leg pocket, and drew out the standard Navy-issue shark repellent and dye marker. He cracked both open, spilling the contents into the water. A sickly yellow tint spread through the water, highlighting his position for the sea-air rescue helos that he hoped would be overhead shortly.
But would they? He considered the matter, his heart sinking.
He and the tanker had been far off course when the collision occurred, well outside of the group’s flight pattern.
While Jefferson’s radar had undoubtedly held them, it would take some time to get the helos vectored over.
How long? Too long.
The tanker crew could they have made it out? Not likelyhe’d seen the fireball, and no chutes. For better or for worse, he was the only passenger the SAR helo would have.
He glanced nervously at the water around him, imagining sharply raked dorsal fins lurking behind every swell, and started stroking for the life raft.
“Where the hell is he?” Batman slammed his hand down on the TAO’s desk. “Damn it, what was he doing inside the no-fly zone? And why didn’t you give him a vector back to Tanker Alley?”
The TAO was pale and shaken. “Sir, they didn’t look that far out-of-bounds.” He gestured at the large-screen display covering the wall before him. An ominous stick figure marked the spot where Thor’s Hornet had last been detected. The estimated location was being transmitted to every ship in the battle group, along with the air assets overhead.
“He’s not too far out of area. Admiral.” The TAO tried to sound confident. “We should have him back on deck in ten minutes.”
Batman stared at the TAO, cold anger lighting his eyes.
“You better, mister. You damned well better.”
Maybe the tanker crew had gotten out? Thor felt a moment of irrational hope. Maybe they were just over the next wave, drifting in closer. He tried to believe that they’d ejected in time, but the memory of the massive fireball he’d seen just as he ejected kept intruding.
Just at that moment, he would have given virtually anything not to be alone in that warm, churning water.
He tried the PRC-70 one more time, speaking slowly and loudly into the small handheld radio tuned to military air distress frequency. “Home Plate, this is Hornet Three-zeroone. Do you copy?” He held the radio to his ear, desperately concentrating on the hissing static.
Had that been a small, extra crackle, an indication that someone was keying a mike on the other end? He felt a surge of hope, followed immediately by despair. No, it hadn’t been. Whether the problem was the notoriously unreliable batteries or some malfunction in the radio from the force of ejection was impossible to tell. The only thing that mattered was the end result no communications. And without that, trying to vector Jefferson’s SAR assets to his location was an impossibility.
He turned the radio over and studied the back. The tough casing was partially shattered, and he figured he must have hit it against the canopy during ejection. The radio might have even saved him from breaking a leg. But just now, it seemed like a bad tradeoff.
The life raft looked farther away than when he’d started swimming toward it. He set out for it again, alternating between keeping it in view and searching the sky for the SAR helo.
“As of two minutes ago, there was still no contact on Major Hammersmith.” The Marine Corps colonel’s voice was grave, but professionally detached. “All six helos are engaged in a standard expanding square search pattern around the last data. Additionally, S-3 Vikings and E2C Hawkeyes are quartering the area, searching for any visual or electronic traces of him.”
“How the hell could they miss him?” Batman burst out.
“Jesus, it’s not like we don’t know where we lost contact on him.”
The Marine Corps colonel stiffened. “I don’t know, Admiral. That’s a question Major Hammersmith will have to answer for us, when we find him. When, not if.” The Marine’s tone of voice brooked no disagreement. “The admiral will recall that there are seven MiG-29s in the immediate vicinity. The Cubans are in targeting mode, so my fighters are having to cover the SAR assets and keep the MiGs off the slow-flyers. The seas aren’t helping any, either.”
“Just find him. Colonel,” Batman said wearily. “We’ll sort out what happened later. Right now, all that matters is we have a man in the water and we don’t know where he is.”
The admiral took a deep breath and turned to his chief of staff.
“What’s next on the agenda?”
The chief of staff pointed at Bird Dog. “Preliminary CONOPS-contact of operations for integrating the Arsenal ship into battle group operations against Cuba under the current scenario. Arsenal is too new to be covered in the standard scenario. Until we have Major Hammersmith back on board and air superiority established, we need to consider a full range of options.”
Batman nodded. As distasteful as it was, the tactical situation demanded that he and his staff put aside their worry over one pilot in the water to focus on the big picture.
If the MiGs kept swarming, odds were that Washington would feel obliged to execute one of the contingency plans developed for this area. It was up to him to make sure the carrier battle group used every asset as effectively as possible, and that included the USS Arsenal. “Go ahead.”
Bird Dog stood and moved to the podium, gesturing at the enlisted technician manning the computer at the back of the room as he did. His entire presentation was integrated with intricate graphs and charts, a briefing skill he’d been especially adept at at the War College. Not that anyone in this crowd would notice, not with their attention riveted on Thor’s fate. Bird Dog felt a ripple of anger, then pushed it away, ashamed to be considering the impact of Thor’s mishap on his staff work.
After the standard greeting to the admiral and senior officers. Bird Dog said, “All war, of course, is political in nature. All operations here are merely the extension of politics by other means.” He paused, surveying the room, assessing the impact of quoting Clausewitz to officers so senior to him. “With that in mind, our targets against Cuba must be carefully chosen in order to maximize American national security objectives.” He clicked the mouse in his hand, flashing a detailed topographical map of Cuba onto the screen. “Indeed, given the delicate issues at stake, I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a precise list of target locations and the estimated impact on Cuban national strategy for Joint Chiefs of Staff approval. I’ve also detailed areas that we must avoid, where the danger of collateral damage is too great.
Here, for instance.” He flashed his laser pointer up on the slide, privately pleased at the professional look it gave his presentation.