Ricardo clicked his mic twice, slowing down the Super Hornet while flying over the carrier before making a 180 turn and coming back on the requested downwind leg. By the time he flew abeam the carrier stern, he could see the barricade already raised.
The moment he aligned the nose with the carrier’s stern, the LSO said, “Level your wings.”
Slowly Ricardo inched the power setting and centered the stick.
“Nice,” the LSO said. “Just give me a little more power.”
Working the stick and throttles, Ricardo shifted the nose to place it along the centerline of the angled deck.
“More power, Dragon. Get that nose up.”
Inching the throttles again, Ricardo kept his eyes on the deck, but the meatball kept climbing on the Fresnel lens, indicating that he was dropping below the required flightpath.
“Power!” the LSO radioed as the jet flew over the stern.
Ricardo shoved the throttles to the forward stops just as the jet slammed onto the deck.
The hook caught the number two wire, which brought the aircraft to a sudden stop well before the barricade, and a couple of seconds later Ricardo idled the engines.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to get his breathing — and his heartbeat — to settle down. When he finally opened them, he saw Cmdr. Benjamin Kowalski and Lt. Cmdr. Ed Stone, clipboard in hand, standing stoically at the edge of the flight deck.
Then, slowly, Kowalski stretched the index finger of his right hand at Ricardo, and pointed his thumb at the open bulkhead behind him, before disappearing through it with the safety officer in tow.
Fifteen minutes later, Ricardo stood at attention next to Amanda in the ready room as Kowalski slowly sipped an espresso and regarded the two sweat-soaked aviators who stood before him, still in their flight gear. Lt. Cmdr. Vince Nova stood behind him, already deep into making notes on his damn clipboard. And on top of that, the air boss, Capt. James Buchelle, sat at a corner table watching the show while also enjoying a cappuccino, his equally intimidating gaze focused on the two pilots. Next to him sat Vinson’s skipper, Capt. Peter Keegan, who kept his arms crossed and looked like he’d swallowed something that tasted very bitter.
“Did you fire your guns on that bomber after it was headed back to China, Commander?” Kowalski asked.
“Sir,” Ricardo began, “that bomber—”
“See, Vince?” Kowalski interrupted, glancing over at Nova. “I just can’t get a straight answer anymore.”
“What’s the world coming to?” Nova said, making another note.
“It’s a yes-or-no answer, Mr. Ricardo,” Kowalski said.
“Yes, sir.”
“And were you fired upon?”
“Negative, sir.”
“Then why did you choose to break our rules of engagement?”
“The bomber, sir, it had opened its payload doors and—”
“And you fired in such proximity as to damage an airplane that’s the property of the United States Navy!”
“Sir, I—”
“And you,” Kowalski said, turning to Amanda. “Exactly which part of ‘take the lead and land first’ did you not understand?”
“Sir, I… I wanted to—”
“Were you not satisfied with crashing one Rhino and getting another one all shot up, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, I—”
“Did you learn nothing from Mullet’s death — from his failing to obey a direct order?”
“I—“
Getting right in her face, Kowalski asked in a loud voice, “Have you no respect for the tens of millions of taxpayer dollars provided by the hardworking citizens of our country and entrusted to you by the US Navy?”
Amanda stammered, “I–I just—”
“Do you think you own that Rhino, Miss Diamante?”
“No, sir!”
“That’s the first smart thing I’ve heard you say since you came under my command! That’s right, Lieutenant, the taxpayers do! So, when the taxpayers — as represented by your flight leader — tell you to land it, you damn well better LAND IT!”
“Yes, sir!”
Kowalski stepped back and calmly sipped more coffee, his eyes shifting between the two aviators. “What do you think, Vince?”
Nova slowly nodded. “Definitely rebellious.”
“Yep. Most definitely,” Kowalski agreed before turning to Buchelle and Keegan, who had remained quiet the entire time.
The skipper of Vinson looked over at the air boss, who gave him a slight nod. Standing, Keegan finally said, “Brief them,” and he turned to leave, followed by Buchelle.
Ricardo made a face. Brief us?
But just before disappearing through the bulkhead, Buchelle looked over his shoulder, his tight face softening a bit. “But Dover, we’re not animals. Let them have a cup of coffee first. God knows they’ve earned it.”
— 30 —
Frank Kelly watched Marshon Chappelle tracking the cavitation from the twin screws of the 488-foot destroyer Qingdao, which continued trailing the carrier strike group by six thousand yards.
Vinson and its escorts had left the operating area southwest of Taiwan and sailed through the Luzon Strait to a position one hundred miles northwest of Laoag City, Philippines.
In doing so, the US warships had taken themselves out of the footprint of China’s Leung-2 reconnaissance satellites positioned over the Taiwan Strait. Twenty minutes before, the American vessels had slowed to a crawl while Kelly received his confirmation orders from the White House via Commander, US Pacific Command, to Commander, US Pacific Fleet, and finally Admiral Jack Swift.
Kelly said, “Sonar, Conn. Range and bearing.”
“Conn, sonar,” Chappelle replied. “Six thousand yards. Three-two-zero.”
“You sure Beijing isn’t watching?” Giannotti asked.
Kelly shrugged. The latest intel from the Pentagon and reports from an airborne E-2D Advanced Hawkeye had convinced the commander of the Mighty Mo that no Chinese satellites or reconnaissance aircraft were tracking the flotilla this far out.
“But if they are,” he finally said, “screw ’em.”
“Range five thousand six hundred yards,” Chappelle reported. “Bearing three-five-zero.”
“Fire one,” Kelly said, counting to five before adding, “fire two… fire three… fire four.”
Giannotti blinked before repeating the order. Then, leaning over, he whispered, “Jesus, boss. Two would have done it.”
Kelly ignored him, and a moment later, the Virginia-class attack submarine fired four MK 48 ADCAP torpedoes in sequence from its bow tubes.
“Conn, Sonar,” Chappelle reported. “The destroyer is turning to port and releasing countermeasures.”
Kelly nodded. It wouldn’t matter. Missouri carried the Mod 7 CBASS (Common Broadband Advanced Sonar System) version of the MK 48 ADCAP, meaning it had improved resistance to countermeasures and a new propulsion system.
The quartet of powerful explosions happened in sequence. Four 650 pounds of high explosives engulfed the destroyer’s starboard from amidships to its stern.
A moment later the vibrations from the shockwave reached Missouri’s hull as the Chinese ship broke up in three sections and vanished in less than a minute, along with its 260 sailors.
“Not much time to launch lifeboats,” Giannotti observed.
Kelly fought his emotions. For the past two days, the US Navy had ordered him to slaughter Chinese military personnel without any regard to the rules of engagement he had grown up on. The conflict between his sense of morality and his Oath of Enlistment was tearing him apart. But he knew better than to let an ounce of any sentiment show externally. “My orders were clear, Bobby. No witnesses and no time to send out a distress signal. You have the conn.”