“I don’t know, Seaver,” Furness said. “I don’t like seeing you in here when you’re supposed to be recuperating, that’s all.”
“I’m all right, Beck,” Rinc said. “I’m ready to get moving.” He looked at her, then at Long’s scowl. “What else, guys?”
“Start by telling us the real reason you lost it, Seaver,” Long said acidly.
“Excuse me?” Seaver asked incredulously. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You heard me, Seaver,” Long retorted. “The wreckage and the bodies are still warm and you already want another crew and another plane…”
“Those ‘bodies’ were my friends, Long Dong,” Seaver said bitterly.
“They were my friends too,” Long said. “But I for one don’t think you deserve another chance until you fully explain what really happened out on the range.”
“Like I told you and the accident board,” Seaver said, “we were in trouble. We were scramming away from the SAMs. I popped speedbrakes to get us down to cornering velocity. I admit I went over forty-five degrees of bank, but I had the TERFLW paddled off and I was flying it visually — if we were in the clouds, I would’ve kept TERFLW on and done forty-five. But we were under attack, dammit! I tried to roll out but couldn’t straighten her out. I knew something was wrong, so I gave the command to eject—”
“Bullshit you did,” Long said.
Seaver looked angrily at Long and finally nodded. “Okay, maybe I didn’t give the command,” he said. “But the plane was in a bad skid, a high angle-of-attack, a steep bank, and we were still at two hundred hard ride with TERFLW doing an inverted fly-up. I was trying to fly it out, but I lost it. When I couldn’t get it back, I didn’t think. I just reacted.”
“You’re damned right you didn’t think. You screwed up,” Long shot back. “Did you ever think to give us a yellow light?” There was a yellow PREPARE TO EJECT and a red EJECT light that were manually activated by the pilots in a controlled ejection situation. Normally during a flight, the crew’s ejection mode switches were set to AUTO, which allowed either the pilot or the copilot to eject the rest of the crew. Even on the ground, Long and most other crew members couldn’t actually say the word “eject,” as in the “red EJECT light.” He and every other flier knew it was a command that demanded an instantaneous response. Seeing the red EJECT light was the same as issuing the “Eject! Eject! Eject!” order verbally.
“No. There was no time.”
“There could have been, if you didn’t have your head so far up your ass,” Long said angrily.
The memory of his dead fellow crewdogs hit Rinc Seaver hard, and the anger welled up out of his body like air out of a popped balloon. Seaver had been training both Chappie and his wife, Daphne, to fly — Daphne had already soloed and was just a night cross-country from her check ride. Rinc was godfather of one of their kids, even though none of them were very good Catholics. They were the closest friends — no, the closest family—Seaver had. Chappie left his wife and two kids, a son and daughter, behind.
“You’re damned right. No one else went. No one else even initiated the sequence,” Long said bitterly. “You know what I think, Seaver? I think you couldn’t handle it. You were getting hosed by the Navy, you were confused, you were disoriented, and you were scared, so you panicked and hit your handles!”
“We were in a skid, we were headed down, and I thought I could save it.”
“That crash was your fault, Seaver!”
“No it wasn’t,” he cried out. “I proved what happened. I tried to fly it out, but the left bank was still in and we never leveled out. I knew I lost it, and I went. I did the best I could.”
“You caused that accident, Seaver! There was no reason for that crash except for your stupidity.”
“John…,” Furness said softly, as if trying — not very convincingly — to tell Long to stop arguing.
“You oughta be grounded, Seaver,” Long dug in, jabbing a finger at the OSO. “You oughta be kicked out of the Guard. You oughta be kicked in the fucking ass!”
“You don’t have the balls to try it, Long!”
“Enough, John,” Furness said, forcefully this time. She looked sternly at John Long, her second-in-command. “We’re not going to solve anything here. The accident board will have its report in a couple days, and then we’ll all know for sure.” Then she looked grimly at Rinc and shook her head. “But our problem right now is one of trust, Seaver. Even if you’re found not responsible for the accident, who’s going to trust you? Who’s going to fly with you? And if you’re grounded, who’s going to trust you to properly plan a mission or give a tactics briefing?”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re going to have to prove to this squadron that you can handle it, that you can follow orders, that you can be part of a team and not think about yourself.”
“I damn well can be part of this squadron, Beck!”
“Shut up and listen,” Furness broke in angrily. “I’m not going to fire you unless directed by higher headquarters or unless I feel your membership here is dragging this unit’s performance and morale down. Both situations are out of my control. It’s going to be up to you to prove that you can fly with Aces High.”
Furness grabbed the flight authorization form, scanned it, then signed it. “You can fly again, Seaver — we can’t spare the manpower to keep you sitting on your ass for another two weeks. I want you to do a full annual check ride, including open-book, closed-book, orals, sim, pubs check, and flight evaluations.”
“No sweat, boss,” Seaver said confidently. “I’ve already talked with Scheduling, and I got a crew and a plane penciled in. I’ll be ready for a flight check by the end of the week.”
“You better be,” Furness warned. Long shook his head and snorted as if saying “No way,” but they both knew that if any member of the squadron could be ready for a flight check in less than seven days, it was Seaver. “If you pass, you can accompany us to our pre-D work-up — but I’m not going to let you try to requalify until I’m positive your head is on straight and you’re ready to do your job.”
“Hey, boss, give me a break,” Seaver said. “I’ll be mission-ready and up to speed before we go to pre-D. All I ask is for a chance to qualify.”
“I’m not worried about you, Seaver,” Furness said bitterly. “I’m worried about the morale of this unit if we fail the pre-D. I choose the crews that qualify, and right now I don’t think you’ll be ready in time.”
“But…”
“Do me a favor, Seaver, and shut up and listen. This entire unit has been through hell the past several weeks. We’re all hurting, not just you. But what do we see? You’re in here cooking up wild excuses for the crash.”
“They’re not wild excuses, boss. I think I know…”
“You don’t get it, do you? You might have the answer, you might not. But it doesn’t matter. Right now we don’t want to find out that someone screwed up. We all just need to know it’s gonna be okay, and everyone needs to pitch in, including you. You should start thinking about ways you can help this squadron pull itself together, rather than worrying about clearing your precious reputation.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do, boss?” Seaver asked hotly. “Give everybody a big hug? Serve tea and cookies and explore everyone’s feelings? Flog myself with a horsehair whip?”
“You do whatever you have to do to make this squadron believe you’re one of us, Seaver,” Furness responded. “If you do it, everything will eventually get back to normal. If you don’t, we’ll be on our way to being disbanded. Think about it. Now get the hell out of here and go home.”