“Mongo comes to us from the West Coast where he just finished his department head tour.”
“Oh, yeah?” Annie asked. “What ship?’
“Nimitz,” he answered. Offering the minimum response possible, the pilot effectively brought to the conversation to a halt, and Mongo excused himself with a pained smile.
“Are all your guys so affable?” Wilson asked Weed.
“Okay, he’s no Regis Philbin, but he’s a Jedi Knight when it comes to the Hornet and sensor fusion. My best tester. And, in his spare time, he paints with watercolors and arranges flowers. Yeah, okay… he’s a geek.”
Annie smiled. “Does he need to bunk with our JOs?”
“Nah, we’re good. The ship found a bunkroom for my guys.”
“Can he fly?” Wilson asked.
“Yeah, he can fly. He has that ability — like you guys — to use his head to analyze the airborne situation and transfer that into stick and rudder skills. He’s solid around the ship. Seriously, you won’t have to worry about him.”
Wilson nodded. “Okay, welcome to the Firebirds. We’ll get Stretch to put you guys on the day/night qual schedule — for tomorrow.”
“Stretch Armstrong is your Ops Officer? Terrific. And, hey, no rush for the night stuff. In a few weeks, when the moon is fuller, I’ll be ready to go!”
Wilson smiled. Same old happy-go-lucky Weed. He was pleased to have his old roommate back in the squadron with him. He looked forward to a fun at-sea period.
CHAPTER 8
Shane Duncan had never been so nervous.
With sweaty palms she sat next to Macho and Jumpin in the last row of high-backed chairs in Ready Room 5. The folder on her lap consisted of “Order of Battle” information on drug cartel go-fast boats and the Colombian Air Force. After Skipper Wilson finished talking she expected to be next, and while she wanted to listen and absorb his every word, her mind wandered. In five minutes, she would be giving her first presentation, ever, in front of real pilots in this fleet Hornet squadron on an aircraft carrier at sea. This was the big leagues, for sure.
Mercifully, she wasn’t seasick; she detected no motion at all even though she could see by the closed circuit TV image of the flight deck that they surely were moving across the water.
How beautiful St. Thomas was! And by the looks of it, the day outside was gorgeous. She couldn’t wait to go outside to smell the salt air from the flight deck, to see the blue Caribbean. And later in the day, the pilots were going to fly! So exciting! I can’t wait to watch that!
Everyone in the ready room — except for Shane — wore green flight suit. Like a real sailor, she wore a wash khaki shirt and slacks, another first. She admonished herself for not concentrating on the CO, and once again gave him her attention.
Wilson wrapped up his comments about the upcoming exercise and how he wanted his squadron pilots to behave.
“Remember, our job is to support both the ship’s drills and tasking from SOUTHCOM. We’ve got a nice exercise for us to get some training and have fun, and we’ll hear more about that in a minute. If you are called off an exercise intercept, do it without backtalk and investigate what they want you to look at. If the ship can’t schedule our hops when we want them, too bad, we’ll fly when available. Also during this time we’ll have testers from OPTEVFOR flying with us, like Commander Hopper and Lieutenant Commander Meadows here. They’ll be helping test some Fire Scout UAVs from the small boy Max Leslie, and that ship could be anywhere. So, it’s going to be a fun and diverse three or four weeks in this new and beautiful part of the world for many of you: both exercise and real-world operations, lots of gas from big wing tankers, and flying, which is always a good deal.
“So, we’ve got day and night ops today after a nice week off in port. Now we need to refocus on routine carrier operations. Flight leaders, we need solid preflight briefings, and because the jets have sat for a week, they’ll have some bugs to work out. So don’t press it. Fly smart and fly the brief. Okay, enough motherhood. Stretch, what’s next?”
“Sir, we have the spy next,” answered “Stretch” Armstrong
Wilson gestured to the back of the room. “Okay, new guy, Ensign Duncan, come on up here.”
With heart pounding, Shane gathered her folder and slid out to the aisle and strode forward. Wilson motioned her to stand next to him.
“All right, we’ve got our new guy spy, Shane Duncan, who comes to us from the University of Idaho via a little stop at intel school. Shane, it’s good to have you in the squadron as we’ve been without an intel officer for some time. We need your analysis and knowledge of the local situation, and we look forward to your brief. Firebirds, let’s welcome Ensign Duncan.”
“HELLO, FUNG!” the pilots boomed.
Shane flinched from the blast. “Thank you, sir!” She said smiling, feeling the blush of embarrassment that covered her face. For a moment after Wilson took his seat and the floor was hers, she froze. Knowing that all eyes were on her, she took a deep breath, picked up the projector remote, and brought up her first slide.
Three rows back, Trench and his sidekick Coach indeed had their eyes on Ensign Duncan, now known throughout the wing as Wonder Woman.
As Shane delivered her briefing and pointed to various positions on the chart of the western Caribbean, her figure a distraction even in her regulation khaki uniform. The two pilots were watching, but weren’t listening, to her presentation.
“Mmm-mmm” Trench sighed as Shane pointed high to show a divert field in Jamaica.
“Roger that,” Coach responded in a tone only Trench could hear. As she continued with the exercise slides, Shane briefed the ready room with increased confidence.
“The Colombians will be flying C-10 and C-12 Kfirs from Barranquilla here on the coast. These are rebuilt Israeli aircraft obtained in 2009, and they are Mach 2 capable, used mostly for strike missions, have an internal gun and the forward-quarter Python missile. Good thrust-to-weight, not much of a turn rate, but they do have canards for enhanced slow-speed handling, and a glass cockpit. The pilots are fairly well trained in air-to-air and fly their aircraft to the limit. Typically, they fly in pairs, and we can expect them to operate under strict ground control.”
As they feigned attention, Trench and Coach were not thinking about strict ground control.
“You’ll be conducting mock attacks against the mainland, and Kfirs of the Fuerza Aérea Colombiana, or FAC, will be intercepting you off the coast.”
As Shane spoke, Macho surveyed the pilots as they watched her. The heavies up front, adults like Skipper Wilson, gave her the professional attention she deserved. It was plain to see, however, that back in the cheap seats Trench and Coach and probably the others were undressing her with their eyes. She had set Shane up in St. Thomas: Sure, meet the guys by the pool in a swimsuit. We do it all the time. Play grab-ass volleyball with them in the water. And Wonder Woman had played it perfectly, enthralled by the pilots’ attention, gushing like a schoolgirl, the naïve and delicate princess whispering to Macho at night in their bunks about how cute Trench was. Yes, Shane was the perfect bait to catch Trench and his bastard side-kick, Coach. They were going to slip up: a stray public comment, causing Shane grief and creating a hostile workplace, and Macho would be there to “protect” her frail roommate — and the sisterhood, in general — from these lecherous assholes. She envisioned Trench standing tall in front of the XO having to explain himself, and a smile formed on her lips. Just a matter of time…