Batman had mingled feelings as he looked at the sleek Hornets with their red spear tail markings identifying them as planes of VFA-161, the Javelins. The Hornet was superb, the hottest, most modern of all Navy aircraft. Pilots for the Javelins and their sister squadron, the Fighting Hornets, consistently took the honors on the big chalkboard on the 01 deck which tallied each of Jefferson's aviators on their skill at carrier landings. Those standings were normally a source of constant, fierce competition among the pilots, but the Hornet drivers were always at the top because their aircraft handled so well. Batman was looking forward to the day when he could strap on one of those babies.
At the same time, though, Batman was glad he was riding a Tomcat today. The Hornet served a dual role, air superiority and ground attack. On today's raid they'd be hauling eight or ten thousand pounds of bombs all the way in. While the F/A-18s might have a chance to dogfight coming out, the F-14 Tomcats would be aloft today for one reason and one reason only: to kill enemy MiGs. And that was what Batman wanted to do, more than anything else in the world.
The piercing whine of engines revving up to full throttle shrilled from the forward deck, followed by the slam-pause-slam of a double catapult launch as a pair of A-6F Intruders clawed for sky. The raw noise was painful even through Batman's helmet. A carrier flight deck is so noisy during a launch that a man without ear protectors can die in minutes, killed by the intensity of the sound alone.
The water-cooled JBD blast shields dropped back to the deck as the Intruders dwindled into the distance and the next two planes were hauled into position for launch. A number of Jefferson's aircraft were already aloft, a pair of E-2C Hawkeyes, three of her four KA-6D tankers, several Intruders.
Batman found his Tomcat parked on the far side of the Hornets, Number 232, her tail emblazoned with the blue snake emblem of the Vipers. The crew chief signaled one of the yellow, flat-topped tractors called mules into position to hook her up. He looked over his shoulder as Batman mounted the boarding steps, grinned, and gave him a thumb's-up. "Kill us a MiG, Lieutenant," the chief yelled above the roar of another pair of Intruders vaulting off the catapults forward.
"That's why we're here," Batman replied. He swung into the cockpit and began fastening the harness. "Time to earn our pay." Malibu climbed in behind him.
Batman thought about the coming combat and felt the excitement grow.
For most of his adult life, Batman had been training and practicing for one thing and one thing only: combat! Everything ― the practice ACMs, Tombstone's lectures, the hours of study, his training at Pensacola, and later flying Tomcats with a RAG ― everything had been preparation for the moment when he would vault into the sky to face some enemy pilot one on one. He was ready, knew he was ready as he felt the jerk of the tractor pulling his aircraft forward toward its position in line aft of the catapults.
The KA-6D filled the sky, a huge gray whale seemingly only yards in front of and above Tombstone's cockpit. The F-14 looked like a fish hooked on the tanker's line as the KA-6D topped off the fighter's tanks.
"Roger, Fox Echo Two," Tombstone radioed the larger aircraft. "Casting off and breaking to starboard at three… two… one… break!"
The Tomcat detached its fueling probe from the tanker's basket and gently dropped away to the right. Each of the fighters was taking its turn refueling over Point Whiskey, waiting the final signal to go in.
The staging area for the attack was over Yonghung Bay, one hundred miles east of Wonsan Harbor. There was nothing below the slowly circling aircraft to mark the spot but empty water. It was identified as Point Whiskey. From his vantage point at thirty thousand feet, Tombstone could just make out the gray blur of Korea's east coast mountain spine, the Taebaek Sanmaek, through a low-lying, hazy murk. At this altitude, the weather was perfect, with scattered clouds below at ten thousand feet and visibility unlimited. A high, thin layer of wispy clouds rushed past overhead, close enough to touch. Tombstone ignored the spectacle.
It wouldn't be long now.
The two Intruder squadrons circled halfway between Tombstone's position and the sea. He could make out their stub-winged, cruciform shapes far below. They'd been launched first since it had taken them longer to make the almost one-hundred-fifty-mile flight from the Jefferson.
Not counting the KA-6Ds, the Hawkeyes circling farther out at sea, and the electronic warfare EA-6B Prowlers now jamming Korean radars, there were forty aircraft in the attack, five squadrons minus six planes with maintenance downchecks. The Alpha Strike, designated "Marauder" and composed of two Intruder squadrons and two Hornet squadrons, would go in with bombs and missiles. They would be covered by eight of VF-95's Tomcats flying TACCAP under the call sign Shotgun.
The remaining F-14 squadron, the War Eagles of VF-97, had drawn Homeplate BARCAP, sitting out the raid while they protected the carrier, much to their vociferous and energetic disgust. Their skipper, "Made it" Bayerly, had been furious when he'd heard. "That just goes to show what having an admiral for an uncle will do for you!" Bayerly had said to Tombstone.
The words might have been spoken in jest, but Tombstone had heard the sting behind them. Was he ever going to get clear of that Jonah?
"We're getting a good vector from the Hawkeyes, Tombstone," Snowball said over the intercom. "It's a straight shot into Wonsan from here."
"Sounds good to me, Snowy."
He was glad that Snowball Newcombe had decided to stick it out as his RIO. To have quit before this op would have been an admission of cowardice, and the decision could have finished the man's career. Snowball's next assignment would have been at the radar console of a Hawkeye… if he was lucky.
"So," Tombstone said. "Any sign of the bad guys?"
"Lots of radar fuzz," Snowball replied. "The EA-6Bs are jamming them, but they know we're here. No clear targets yet."
"Keep an eye on them. I imagine it'll get pretty busy soon."
He checked the F-14's weapon load: two Phoenix, one Sparrow, and four Sidewinder missiles, plus 676 rounds for the six-barreled M61 Vulcan cannon.
Two days ago the sky had seemed to be filled with MiGs, turning and burning above the Sea of Japan. They were probably waiting now, somewhere ahead beyond the twelve-mile limit, or spooling up their engines on the airfield outside of Wonsan. He wondered if the Tomcats' combat loads would be enough when the time came.
He turned his mind away from the thought and concentrated on his flying. It was Batman's turn to refuel now. In minutes, they should be getting the word to proceed.
Tombstone was surprised to realize that he wasn't afraid. He'd thought, after losing Coyote, that he would be.
An aide held up a telephone. "Mr. Secretary? For you. Priority and scrambled."
The Secretary of State got up from the table and walked to where the aide waited. The President watched in silence as Schellenberg identified himself, then listened.
"Right, Frank. Good work," he said after a moment. He returned the phone, then turned to face the President. "That's it." His manner was jubilant. "It came through ten minutes ago. They've agreed to talk!"
"Where?" Caldwell asked. "When?"
"Special MAC meeting this Friday. Kim's top men will be there."